Bosom Buddies Page 9

  “Allie,” he whispered, a thousand questions in that one little word.

  Her answer to each of those questions should have been a resounding no. She’d made too many bad decisions with men. Bull. Dr. Slimeball. She didn’t want add Ian’s name to her list.

  Intellectually she knew her answer was no, but her lips seemed to forget. “Yes.”

  “Yes,” he echoed, his hands tugging at her shirt and untucking it.

  “Ian? Was that Allie I heard?” Anne called from the living room.

  “Damn,” Ian swore, disentangling himself from her. “I forgot Anne.”

  “Me too,” Allie muttered, desperately trying to tuck herself in and pull herself together.

  “Later,” he promised as the door opened.

  Anne stood there, the baby suspended in a sling at her waist as she leaned on her crutches. She looked from Ian to Allie, then back again.

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” she asked.

  Allie felt guilty, like that time when she was a teenager sneaking kisses with Chuck . . . what was his last name? She was getting old if she couldn’t remember the boy’s last name.

  “No, you weren’t interrupting. Your brother was just offering to cook for us tomorrow.”

  “Ian? Cook?” Anne asked, her incredulity reinforcing Allie’s opinion that Ian was going to make a mess of things.

  Despite her growing lack of brain cells, Allie grinned. “Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction, but he insists he can do it. He was mocking my soups,” she added. Maybe there was a tinge of a whine in her voice. Allie wasn’t overly impressed that Ian had reduced her to whining and sneaking kisses in the kitchen like a teenager.

  “You’re both in for a surprise tomorrow,” Ian growled.

  “I’m sure that’s one way to put it.” Anne laughed.

  Allie found herself joining in.

  “Did you want something?” Ian asked his sister.

  “No, I don’t think so. Just wanted to see if Allie was home. Thanks for the laugh.” She turned and crutched her way out of the kitchen.

  Allie watched the door shut and turned to Ian.

  “She’s certainly feeling better.”

  “I’m not,” he admitted, morosely. “I want you, Allie. I want you now.”

  Allie wasn’t about to admit how much she wanted him in return, so she just shrugged, striving for nonchalance. “Looks like we have a chaperone, for better or worse.”

  “We could go up to my place,” he offered.

  “Oh, that would look good. Pardon us, Anne. We’re going up to Ian’s for some wild sex.”

  He grinned. “You think it would be wild?”

  She shrugged again. “Guess we’ll never know.”

  He spun her around. “I’ll give you a reprieve, Allie. But it’s only that—a reprieve. We’re going to find out just how wild it can be, just not tonight.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, needing to keep some distance, hold on to some control.

  He kissed her then and her control went to hell in a handbasket. “Wow,” Ian murmured. “I think I can guarantee passionate.”

  Allie didn’t say anything, she merely allowed herself to be enveloped in Ian’s arms, resting her head against his chest and listening to his heart pound. Its rhythm matched her own, erratic and out of control, and she allowed herself the comfort of just living in the moment. But the moment didn’t last.

  Ryane’s cry from the other room brought reality back with a vengeance. “Ian, we really shouldn’t.”

  “So, what kind of soup are you making tonight?” he asked, moving from passion to normalcy in the space of a heartbeat.

  “Chicken,” Allie murmured. It pretty much summed up her response to Ian Ryan. She wanted him, but she was afraid to go after him, afraid of what would happen if she actually caught him.

  “Didn’t you just make chicken noodle soup the other night?” Ian asked, smiling as if he’d read her thoughts.

  “Gumbo. I’m making chicken gumbo,” she muttered.

  “Isn’t gumbo different than soup?” Ian asked, that same mocking grin on his face.

  “Close enough.” She heard him leave the room and sighed in relief. She was close enough to Ian to warrant a step backward.

  And she planned to make it a big step.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “How much longer?” Allie called from the living room side of the kitchen door.

  Ian grinned. “Can’t wait to get your hands on my . . .” He let the pregnant pause hang for a moment. “Food?”

  “We’re starving out here.”

  “Ah, honey, we can’t have you starving, can we?” he called.

  “Just hurry up and make sure it’s edible.”

  From the ensuing silence, Ian knew Allie had left the doorway. He went back to chopping the vegetables for the salad, grinning over their little war of words. Fighting with Allie, holding Allie, simply sharing a meal with Allie was extremely gratifying. He looked forward to any and all of them. Slowly, he was coming to realize he just looked forward to Allie.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t seem as confident as he was.

  Maybe it was the incident with Dr. Neighbors.

  Maybe it was he was too different from the other men she usually dated.

  She’d said once that he reminded her of her overbearing brothers. He could see why that might not be a real turn-on.

  He gave up theorizing what Allie’s hang-up was. The fact was, he wanted her, and he was pretty sure she wanted him too, but she wasn’t ready to admit it.

  But he had a plan.

  They said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and he figured the same would be true for a woman.

  And maybe a woman whose specialty was soup might appreciate a man whose specialty was pasta. And when he was done romancing her with his pasta, he planned to romance her in other ways.

  He grinned as he tossed the noodles into the boiling water.

  Yeah, it was about time he finished the job.

  He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that whispered he wasn’t good enough for her—that he would never be good enough.

  Fifteen minutes later, he finished carrying bowls of food to the table. “Ta-da,” he said with flourish as he set them down. “You two ladies are in for a culinary masterpiece. It’s just a shame poor Ryane is still on her somewhat limited diet.”

  Allie looked at Anne. “Not lacking in confidence, is he?”

  “Well, in this one instance his confidence isn’t misplaced. I’ve eaten his fettuccini Alfredo before, and you’ll just have to try it for yourself.”

  Sniffing her nose in disdain, Allie put a spoonful on her plate. She twirled a few strands on her fork like an expert.

  “Hiding some Italian blood in there, McGraw?” Ian asked.

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of.” And slipped the forkful in her mouth. “Oh, my.”

  “Is that an ‘Oh my, Ian, you are the god of cooking’ sigh, or is it an ‘Oh my, Ian, your pasta surpasses my finest soup’ sort of sigh?”

  “It’s an ‘Oh my goodness, your pasta-making ability is only surpassed by your overinflated ego’ sort of sigh,” she retorted even as she reached for another spoonful of pasta.

  “I sort of fibbed yesterday when I said he couldn’t cook,” Anne admitted. “Ian doesn’t cook many things, but he has a way with pasta. Actually, I thought your loyalty to soup was funny—after all, all that Ian makes is pasta. You should try his pesto sauce someday.” She looked at the two of them, and the speculation in her eyes made Allie nervous—almost as nervous as Ian’s hand on her knee was making her. She reached under the table and discreetly tried to move it, but it remained superglued to her knee.

  “You know,” Anne continued, “the two of you complement each other. I mean, y
ou’d always eat well. As a matter of fact, if I keep eating like I have, I’ll never lose the weight I gained when I was pregnant with Ryane.”

  “You were too skinny before. A man likes a woman with a bit of meat on her bones.”

  “Then by all means I need to lose it. Looking for another man isn’t high on my list of things to do. As a matter of fact, it’s not even on the list,” Anne snapped, uncharacteristically waspish.

  “Since you brought him up—” Ian started, only to be interrupted by Allie.

  “When and if Anne wants to talk about him, she will.”

  Anne shot Allie a grateful look. “Now, back to the dinner. It’s great,” Anne said, latching on to anything to steer her brother away from the subject of Ryane’s father.

  Allie saw the desperation in her eyes and decided to help out. “Well, Anne, we know what Ian and I have for specialties, what’s yours?”

  Relief radiated from Anne’s eyes. “Ice cream. I worked at an ice cream shop when I was younger and I don’t just make cones, I make creations.”

  Ian obviously decided to let the women win, because he went along with the change in the conversation’s direction. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Anne’s chocolate milkshakes. They are the nectar of the gods.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir.” Anne grinned her appreciation at both of them.

  The three of them ate and joked through the rest of the lazy meal. Just when Allie was convinced she was really going to pop a button on her jeans, Ryane cried from the guest room.

  “I’ll get her,” Allie said and was pushing back her chair before Anne could insist she could do it herself. With the baby sling, she managed to get herself and Ryane where they were going, but it wasn’t very comfortable to watch. The nurse in Allie wanted to rush out and make everything better.

  “Really, I could—” she started to protest, but Allie just turned around and grinned.

  “Really, so can I,” she said with a laugh.

  In the bedroom she picked up her little friend. “Thought you were missing out on all the fun, huh?” she asked.

  “Speaking of fun, I thought you might consider going for a walk with me,” Ian said.

  He’d done it again. He was always sneaking up on her. Even though she knew he was there, she jumped as his hand touched her shoulder.

  “Say yes,” he prompted.

  “We really should do those dishes.”

  “They’ll soak,” he assured her.

  “Well, Anne might be lonely and looking for company.”

  “Anne’s the most self-sufficient person I’ve ever met. I think she can get along without us for a while,” Ian assured her.

  The most self-sufficient except for you, Allie thought. Ian wasn’t the type to ask for help, she recalled the trouble he’d given her initially. He didn’t strike her as the type to seek out company, and yet he seemed to want hers.

  That she wanted his as well, more each day, was a problem.

  Getting involved with Ian was probably a big mistake. Bigger than Bull, her Harley-driving robber. And bigger than Dr. Slimeball, her adulterous colleague. Knowing that didn’t stop Allie from saying, “Yes, I’d love to.”

  Ian looked surprised by her easy capitulation. “Well, okay.”

  “Just let me get this little girl all changed for her mother.”

  “I’ll go finish clearing the table,” he offered and ran from the room, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind if he stayed.

  Saying he ran would probably have insulted Ian—the self-sufficient, pasta-cooking businessman—but his hasty escape looked an awful lot like running to Allie.

  Maybe they both should be running in opposite directions. They were both playing with fire.

  “Here you go,” she said, depositing Ryane into Anne’s lap.

  “I don’t want you waiting on me,” Anne groused.

  Allie smiled reassuringly. “I wasn’t waiting on you. I was waiting on Ryane, and she likes having the entire world cater to her.”

  “I hear you and Ian are going out.” There was speculation in Anne’s eyes.

  “Just a walk,” Allie assured her. She didn’t want Anne reading any more into it than was there. If she was honest, she didn’t want to read any more into it herself. “We’re going to try and work off some of that dinner. Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s a good cook.”

  “Thank you,” said the cook. He was wearing a cocky grin.

  “You’ve heard the story of belling the cat? Well, I think I’m going to need to put a bell on you. You’re forever sneaking up on me.”

  “What fun would it be if you knew all my moves?” The look on his face suggested he was talking about moves that didn’t include cooking.

  “Maybe not as fun, but a lot safer.” Suddenly Allie became aware of Anne, who was watching the byplay with a great deal of interest. She found herself blushing, though she wasn’t sure why.

  “Are you ready?” Ian was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

  She nodded. “Will you be okay?” she asked Anne.

  “We’re fine. Go have a good time. The two of you have been working yourselves to death the last few weeks. You deserve some fun.”

  “Thanks,” Ian said as he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “It’s just a walk,” Allie muttered, though neither of them seemed to be listening. As they shut the apartment door, Allie suddenly felt nervous. “Where are we going?”

  “How about my place first? I want to change into different shoes.”

  Allie nodded and her heart sped up. She felt like a fly, and she knew she was already caught in Ian’s web. Now he was just drawing her in further.

  They didn’t say a word as they climbed the flight of stairs that led to Ian’s apartment.

  “So, you liked my dinner?” Ian said, leading her into his living room.

  “The pasta was great,” she said, though it seemed ridiculous to talk of such inane things when her heart was ready to burst from her chest.

  “I have a way with noodles.” His expression was as serious as ever, but taking Anne’s advice, she looked deeper, and in those eyes, those dark brown eyes, she thought she saw laughter.

  “Flaccid, limp, old noodles are your specialty?” she asked as seriously as she could muster.

  He looked disgruntled. “No, my noodles are always al dente, hard and tasty. Women all over the world clamor for a piece of my noodle . . . s.”

  She laughed. “Okay, I give, you win.”

  “What do I win?” Ian asked.

  “What do you want?” The teasing left those eyes, and in them Allie saw only desire.

  “I want it all,” he assured her. He took two steps and closed the distance between them. “I want you, Allie. I know there are logical reasons for us not to do this, but it doesn’t stop this growing need. I can’t control it, and to be honest, I don’t want to even try anymore.”

  “Ian.” Allie couldn’t think of anything more to say. All her past bad choices faded away and all that was left was this man. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything.

  “Say yes. Say the word, Allie, and know that if you agree, there’s no going back. Once I touch you, I won’t be able to stop.”

  She didn’t want to say it, she really shouldn’t say it, but somehow Allie found herself murmuring, “Yes,” as she slipped into Ian’s arms. Nothing had ever felt so right, and nothing she had ever done had been so dangerous, not even Bull the biker.

  With Bull, it had been the thrill of rebellion, of showing her brothers she was her own woman. With Dr. Slimeball it had been a gentle attraction. Most of the other men she’d dated fell nicely in the middle somewhere. But with Ian it was different, though she couldn’t put her finger on just why.

  Before his lips met hers, he pulled her toward his bedroom. “I want you.�
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  “I need you,” her whisper echoed his.

  He gently pushed her down onto the bed.

  The very squeaky bed.

  “Ian,” she shouted as she tried to sit up.

  He pulled her back, which prompted a cacophony of sound.

  “Ian, stop.”

  “I told you once I started there would be no going back.”

  “I’m not talking about going back,” she said as she pushed her hands against his chest.

  The bed’s er, eek, er, eek reminded her. “I’m talking about moving . . .”

  “Oh, honey, I’ll be moving any moment.”

  “Ian, this room is right over Anne’s,” she shouted as he rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed and setting off another round of its chorus.

  “I swear I’ll be gentle enough we don’t fall through,” he said with a sexy chuckle.

  “Ian, I moved from the room Anne’s using to the other room because your bed made so much noise.” She’d forgotten until this moment. “Every time you moved at night, I heard you. So if Anne’s in her room, she can hear everything we’re doing.”

  That stopped him cold and he rolled away from Allie, which sent the springs to squeaking even louder. Er, eek, er, eek.

  “How are we going to get off this thing without it making noise?” Allie whispered.

  “We don’t have to whisper . . . or do we?” Ian asked.

  “I never heard you talking in here, but you did a lot of squeaking every night. And you must have had a cold that first week I moved in, because I heard you sneezing a few times as well.”

  “Well, hell,” Ian muttered, much quieter this time. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “I moved into the other room my second week, and I just sort of forgot until we started squeaking. So, I repeat, how are we going to get off this thing?”

  “How about at the count of three we both roll to the edge and hop off. Maybe we’ll cancel out each other’s squeaks. And if we don’t, it will be all over within a moment instead of drawing it out.”