Roughing It with Ryan. Jill Shalvis
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“Taylor…is everything all right?”
“No. Remember that tree you warned me about?”
“Which one?”
“All of them, but most importantly the one on the east side of the building. It just fell on my roof and through the loft apartment’s bedroom. I really need you to clear it. Now.”
That particular tree had been at least one hundred years old, massive and severely damaged from the last few Santa Ana winds. The sheer size of the thing had worried Ryan, with good reason apparently. “At least the apartment is empty.”
“Was empty. Tonight it has my new roommate in it, Suzanne, the woman you saw me interviewing today.”
The image of Suzanne flashed through Ryan’s mind—long, wavy, dark-red hair, a lush, generously curved body beneath a flowing sundress. Crystals hanging from her ears, and the biggest, greenest, most expressive eyes he’d ever seen.
There’d been awareness in those eyes, an awareness he might have been interested in, if his life could handle one more interest. Now dread filled him. “Is she—”
“She’s okay, but the way the tree fell, it’s blocking her way out.”
“I’m on my way,” he promised and hung up the phone, only to immediately lift it again to wake up his crew, made up of Rafe and Russ, his two younger, very groggy twin brothers. At least they’d been in their apartment, alone and available, he thought with relief, racing for his truck. Old habits were hard to break, which meant he still felt like mom, dad, boss and older brother all at the same time—too many hats for any one person.
He lost five minutes stopping at his office, but if he was going to be pulling a tree off a building, he needed the big rig from the yard there.
As he switched trucks, rain slashed through his clothes, aided by a vicious wind that wouldn’t help him tonight.
She’s okay, Taylor had said, but the devastating possibilities made him go as fast as he dared. South Village was deserted, unusual for the trendy streets, even at this hour. The storm had sent everyone scampering home.
When he finally pulled up in front of the building, his stomach tightened. The huge old oak had indeed hit the roof. And as Taylor had said, just the far east corner, which was both good and bad. Good, because the main structure and all three floors were intact. Bad, because the crash impacted the loft apartment, specifically the bedroom, where according to Taylor, Suzanne was at this very moment. The window was gone, blown out, as well as the entire left half of the front wall, where the tree protruded obscenely.
Ryan squinted past the downpour and squeezed the arm of a worried Taylor, who stood on the porch in a silk lounging robe, looking as absolutely glamorous at one in the morning as she had twelve hours earlier.
“Her bedroom door is blocked,” she said, gripping the edges of her robe tight against the wind, staring through the stormy night to the destroyed window three stories above them. “The way the tree fell, she can’t get out.”
“We’ll get her.”
“Hurry. And Ryan,” she added when he turned away to get to work. “I’m sorry. So sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
“It’ll be okay,” he said. And hoped he could make it so.
His crew went to work, and when the rig ladder had been set parallel to the fallen tree, Ryan started climbing. Rain and wind whipped his face and body, but if he felt unnerved, he could only imagine what poor Suzanne was feeling, and he climbed faster. From below, Rafe directed a spotlight, highlighting Ryan’s way.
When he got to the top, he could understand why Suzanne hadn’t been able to get out. The tree had fallen diagonally across her bedroom, trapping her in the far corner of the room, away from both the blown-out window and the door.
He was at the hole now, but the massive trunk and branches blocked his view. Craning his neck, he tried to see past the dark and the driving rain and all the drenched greenery. He moved from the ladder to the ledge, wedging his body in with the tree.
Still couldn’t see a damn thing. “Suzanne?”
“H-here!”
Hunkering down, he was able to crawl on his belly beneath the trunk, ignoring the sharp branches scratching his arms and back. He slicked the rain from his face, and still couldn’t see her. Where was she?
A sudden female sneeze gave him his answer, and he moved forward until he saw ten toes. Pulling himself up, Ryan squeezed into the cramped little space with her, letting out a pent-up breath because she was here. Alive.
She’d indeed found the one small safe haven available to her, and as he pulled the flashlight from his belt and turned it on, his heart clenched. She was huddled, back to the wall, knees to her chest, her arms wrapped tight around her legs.
Careful of the broken glass, he shifted up to his knees. “Suzanne? You okay?”
Her long hair, wet from the blowing rain, clung to her head and shoulders as she gave him a jerky nod paired with a shudder. She relaxed her position slightly, not huddling quite so tightly.
Her arms and legs gleamed in the glow of the flashlight, bare and also wet. No longer dressed in her long, flowing sundress and crystals, she wore only a tank top and a pair of panties, and even as he looked her over for injuries, trying not to linger on the way the material clung to her breasts or the way her nipples were so clearly defined, she continued to shake. The hem of the tank top didn’t meet her panties, showing him the smooth skin of her belly. It quivered with her every shallow breath, whether from fear or cold, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter.
Reacting only to the fact she was shaking so violently—probably in shock, damn it—he simply put down the light and pulled her close.
3
SUZANNE DOVE INTO Ryan’s long, strong arms, nearly whimpering in gratitude. Despite the fact he was as wet as she, warmth radiated off his body. She felt like a heat-seeking missile, burrowing close, then closer still, not caring at the moment that she didn’t know him from Adam.
Later she’d worry what he’d thought of her when she crawled up his big, hard body and pressed her face to his throat. Later she’d worry about her less than half-dressed state, or that she’d arched her body to a perfect stranger’s in mindless terror. Later.
But for right now, never more thankful to see another living soul, she just closed her eyes against the storm blasting through the broken window, wrapped her arms around him tight as she could, and held on through the wild tremors that shook her body in uncontrollable waves.
He made a rough sound of wordless comfort and pressed her closer. In spite of the urgency of the situation, she became startlingly aware of him and how he felt plastered to her. And how he felt was…incredible.
The wind continued to blow, bringing in more cold rain and the tinkling sound of glass scattering over the floor. “The glass from the window,” he murmured in her ear, and slipping an arm beneath her, he lifted and turned her so that she lay in his lap, his body hunched over hers, protecting her from the elements the best he could. As a gesture, it was the sweetest one that anyone had ever made for her. But the sweetness contrasted sharply with the decidedly not sweet feelings making themselves known within her.
“Are you cut?” His voice was hoarse with worry, probably because she was staring at him like an idiot—as she sat there realizing her best intentions to stay away from men for their own good were about to fail.
“Suzanne?”
Still shaking—though now she wasn’t sure it was all from the cold—she shook her head.
He cuddled her closer, one hand on her still quivering belly, his face only an inch away. His gaze burned into hers, dark and intense. “Are you sure?”
The shivers had really taken over