“A man named Michael,” he said briskly. “I told him you had your hands full of paint and you’d call him back when you could.”
Greer took a huge breath. “Thanks. For a minute, I was afraid it was my favorite crank call-”
“So who’s Michael?” Ryan interrupted conversationally. “Another potential heavy breather?”
Expecting him to pick up his roller again, Greer was startled when he blocked her from behind. He stole her paintbrush from one hand and a small rag from the other. For one very small moment, the backs of her thighs were cradled against the fronts of his, and Greer stood immobile as a statue. “No. Just someone I occasionally go out wi-what on earth are you doing?”
“Break time,” Ryan announced, moving away from her.
“But we could have the whole room finished in just a few minutes…” Her voice trailed off. He’d already disappeared into the hall.
“I brought Truce with me,” Ryan called over his shoulder, “so he wouldn’t start howling if you stayed a few more minutes.”
“Oh. Well, that was nice of you, but…” Greer let her voice trail off again, so he wouldn’t hear the hint of doubt. Not that saving the cat wasn’t kind, but somehow the man kept making it difficult for her to leave.
Truce sat on the kitchen counter watching both of them wash the paint from their hands, occasionally flicking his tail in disdain when water threatened to splash his way. “We’d be better off in the shower,” Ryan said.
Greer’s head jerked up. Was it only in her head that he’d just added “together”? “Yes. So I’ll just go next door, and-”
“But we’ll make do.” He tilted her chin before she’d realized he was going to, and took a small damp cloth to a white splotch on her nose and another on her cheek. She lowered her eyes the instant he touched her, and kept them lowered, her soft, dark lashes shadowing her cheeks like tufts of velvet.
Since she obviously had fifty million men in her life, Ryan couldn’t figure out why she was skittish with him. Particularly since her cheeks just faintly warmed with color when he touched her. She wasn’t indifferent.
“Let’s have a glass of wine before we call it a night,” he suggested.
Greer dried her hands, debating. Go home, she told herself. Her heart was thundering again, but that was just plain silly. He hadn’t made a pass or implied one; they’d shared a neighborly couple of hours and both of them looked like derelicts. Enough of this overreacting to him. So his touch had been infinitely gentle on her cheek. What had she expected him to do? Attack her face with a scouring pad?
She accepted a full wineglass from him, and then he poured his own. Unfortunately, there was no place to sit, between packing crates and a distinct lack of furniture. Ryan solved that by setting a candle in the middle of the hall carpet, and Greer chuckled, flopping down cross-legged next to him.
“To good neighbors.” Ryan raised his glass.
She clinked crystal to crystal. “Absolutely.” The barren hall had thick carpet and a ceiling light fixture. That was it. After the first two sips Ryan leaned back against the wall and stretched out his legs. Greer leaned against the opposite wall with an equally weary sigh.
“An hour of physical work and I probably won’t be able to move tomorrow. I think I’m getting old,” she complained ruefully.
Ryan peered at her critically. “I see three freckles but no wrinkles.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“Good Lord. That old?”
She couldn’t help but stretch out one bare foot to kick him. Only Ryan grabbed her ankle, and before she could pull away he ran his forefinger up and down the sole of her foot. She jerked back with a startled giggle. “Hey,” she objected.
“Hey nothing. You’re ticklish, all right.”
She took a sip of wine, studying him warily over the rim of her glass. “A little,” she admitted.
“You said you weren’t.”
“Fib.” Greer hesitated. “I learned to fib a long time ago around men I don’t know very well,” she said casually. “Actually, that’s partly why I came over here tonight.”
“To admit you fibbed about being ticklish?” he said gravely.
Greer smiled. “No. Because I…” Her finger slowly traced the rim of the wineglass. Facing the goblins was always the best way. The kiss was still bothering her, and so was her emotional reaction to him. “Friendships are hard to come by. Know that?” she said abruptly.
“Are they?”
“Friendships with members of the opposite sex. Relationships are easy to fall into, friendships less so.” Greer paused again. “I value friendships a great deal,” she said quietly.
He couldn’t help but get the message. Ryan swallowed the last of his wine and set down the glass, his eyes enigmatically dark in the shadowed hall. “You have a man in your life you’re serious about?”
“No. I just don’t…rush into any kind of involvement. Ever.”
“Still feeling burned from your ex-husband?”
“It’s not that.” At all, Greer thought fleetingly. She would never again be so naive as to fall for a man who wanted a mother. Over the past year, though, she’d been increasingly aware of the itsy-bitsy paradox she’d made of her life. On the one hand, she’d tried a relationship in which she was the main caretaker, and it had failed miserably. On the other hand, she never allowed men close unless she exerted exactly those same controls. The old resentment over being treated like prey and used like a sex object refused to disappear. Yet only occasionally, she felt this restless loneliness…a foolish thing. She had plenty of male friends. “How on earth did we get talking about this?” she asked abruptly. “Of all the silly subjects…”
Ryan leaned over to refill her glass before she could get up. “One more,” he coaxed.
“Well…”
She was smiling sleepily by the time he poured the third glass. She was smiling like a woman who badly needed a pillow and a soft mattress…and a man to cuddle against. Ryan mentally groaned. The lady was beginning to drive him bananas.
She hadn’t told him so, but he had the definite impression she was wary of physical relationships and he couldn’t fathom it-unless her ex-husband had been an insensitive jerk in bed. The vibrations didn’t feel that way to him, though. When he looked at her, he didn’t see a woman who’d been hurt sexually; he saw a woman who hadn’t been sexually awakened at all.
He suspected that was sheer male wishful thinking on his part. He couldn’t get one thought out of his head: he wished he’d been her first lover. Her only lover. He’d even been jealous of the wall, the way she’d stroked the paint on it. Every damn movement she made was sensual, graceful. The way she pushed back her hair, the way she curled her bare toes; she had small hands that waved expressively when she was talking.
The old sweatshirt and baggy jeans were supposed to conceal the most alluring figure he’d ever laid eyes on. They failed. Her breasts were firm and full, her long legs sleek and feminine, her hips delectably curved, her tummy flat. And no, dammit, it really wasn’t just her looks that were driving him nuts. It was Greer. The inside-lady Greer. The sensual woman who was hiding for some unknown reason behind bread-baking sprees.
And from the number of men calling her, she could probably open a successful bakery.
“Ryan.”
She was suddenly wearing an exasperated frown. He’d been expecting it, and smiled to himself at the groggy look in her eyes.
“I hate to have to confess this, but I’m not absolutely sure I can get up. Do you know how very rarely I drink three glasses of wine in a row?” Greer asked.