Author: Bella Andre

His eyes narrowed. “The Mission? No way. We’re going to get your things and you’re moving in with me.”

Shock rolled through her at his suggestion. “I can’t move in with you, Ryan.”

“Of course you can.”

He was so sure. Was acting like it all made sense, like her moving in with him was no different than his giving her a ride home.

“You have a life and I can’t just barge in on it.”

Honestly, just the thought of being in his house while he was making love to another woman under the same roof practically did her in. Plus, if she were being perfectly honest with herself, she wasn’t at all sure she trusted herself to be that close to him without giving in to the urge to strip herself naked and beg him to take her.

“If I had known you were coming to the city,” Ryan said as he pulled into traffic and headed toward the Mission district, “I would have asked you to stay with me. After not getting to see you for so long, I’m planning to keep you here for as long as I can this time.”

It was impossible to hold back her smile. Over the years, whenever Ryan had texted or emailed, or if they’d managed to catch each other on the phone for a few minutes, he’d never failed to brighten up her day.

It was lovely to know that he seemed to feel the same way.

How had the years come and gone between them so fast? She’d moved away from the Bay Area after sophomore year and slogged her way through to high school graduation in the Midwest before finally escaping to art school in New York City. She’d loved every minute of finally being with people she understood and who seemed to understand her. Still, she’d always missed Ryan and had even tried to attend a couple of his College World Series games on the east coast, but the game dates and her test schedules had always conflicted.

Before she knew it, she’d met Anthony and graduated and was married and living in Europe. Her husband had been possessive and jealous of her platonic relationships with other men.

Especially her friendship with Ryan.

No wonder it had never worked for the two of them to actually meet up again. She’d been too worried about damaging her marriage, and Ryan had obviously been just as wary of getting in the middle of it. It wasn’t until she’d finally left the marriage that she felt she could reach out to Ryan again. But by then, according to the tabloids, he was dating an oil heiress. Of course she wasn’t going to cry on his attached shoulder. It wouldn’t have been fair to him—or to the heiress girlfriend. By the time the tabloids declared his relationship to be over, she’d vowed to get her life back together on her own so she could laugh with him again instead of wasting any more time crying.

She’d thought this fellowship opportunity was going to be a part of finally getting her life back on track, rather than finally being a reason to drag Ryan into her messy life.

He didn’t say anything when they got to her motel, but he didn’t need to. The disgusted look on his face said it all.

“You should probably stay with your car,” she suggested. Wouldn’t it be the icing on the cake if his fancy car was broken into or stolen, on top of everything else she’d already put him through tonight?

“Screw my car.” He looked around at the very sketchy men and women loitering on the sidewalk. “I’m coming with you.”

As they climbed the stairs, the sounds of yelling and crying and babies wailing felt like the perfect soundtrack to the fiasco of her life. She’d never wanted to be the woman in need of saving, had scoffed at girls like that.

And now, here she was, with her very own knight in shining armor.

The only saving grace in the whole thing was that it was Ryan. But even though rationally she knew he wouldn’t judge her, she was a little short on rational thought right now.

Mortification, on the other hand, was in healthy supply.

Especially when Ryan got to the bathroom before she could and walked face-first into the bra and panty sets she’d hand-washed in the sink. They were drying on the rusted shower rail, the towel holder, and the doorknobs.

Was he shocked by the fact that her underthings were more suited to a high-class kinkster than a woman who had been a virgin until she was twenty-two and had only slept with one man in her whole life?

She watched as, almost in slow motion, Ryan reached for a pair of panties and the matching bra. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers slid over the lace.

“Pretty.”

She barely had enough breath left in her lungs to say, “Thanks.” She moved into the very small bathroom with him. “I can grab the rest of them.”

Only, to get to the colorful lace hanging from the curtain rod, she had to slide past the sink and the tub. Which was right where Ryan was standing, still holding her unmentionables. Every inch of her body that came in contact with his felt hot. Super-sensitive. Flustered, she yanked so hard at a particularly naughty bright pink thong that it nearly shredded.

She forced herself to stop, to take a breath, to re-center.

Ryan was her friend. The two of them were never, ever going to be lovers.

Never.

Ever.

So getting all flustered and out of breath and nervous around him like this was ridiculous. They were friends, and friends would be laughing about this.

She turned around and looked pointedly at the lingerie he was still holding. “You planning on keeping those for yourself? Don’t worry, I'm not going to judge you for whatever you're into,” she teased.

He held the bra up to his chest. “Do you think it’s my color?”

She laughed as she grabbed it from him and took the stack over to her bags. The dresser drawers had been too gross for her to take much else out, so she was ready to go as soon as she zipped her lingerie into one of her bags. Of course, Ryan took her bags from her, then held the door open for her, always the perfect gentleman.

Was it bad that, instead of appreciating that fact, she momentarily found herself wishing he’d act like a caveman instead?

Chapter Three

Vicki tried not to act like a total doof when Ryan pulled into the Sea Cliff neighborhood of oceanfront mansions.

All these years that they’d kept in touch over email and texts and the occasional phone call, in her head he’d still been the fifteen-year-old boy who liked to climb the big tree in his mother’s backyard. Sure, she knew he’d been a top draft pick out of college and was one of the best pitchers in pro baseball. But she’d never actually put it all together into what his life must be like now, had never compared her transient life with her ex-husband as they traveled between artists’ colonies in various countries with Ryan’s top-flight life as a bona fide celebrity athlete.

Within blocks of leaving her seedy motel, the San Francisco neighborhoods had become progressively nicer. For all that she’d wanted to keep up with Ryan’s life over the past years, she’d always been careful—too careful, she’d often thought since her divorce—not to rub her friendship with Ryan into Anthony’s face. So she truly had no idea how much Ryan’s annual contract with the Hawks was worth even though at his level it was probably public knowledge.

“This is me.” He clicked open the front gate and turned into the driveway of a positively gorgeous two-story oceanfront home.

Trying to act cool about it, despite the fact that her mouth was all but falling open, she joked, “Yup, I’d say your place is definitely at least a couple of steps up from my motel.”

He grinned at her. “I had a pushy Realtor, one of my Seattle cousins who was working in the city for a while. She knew I didn’t have a prayer of saying no to her.”

Vicki grinned at that, knowing exactly what kind of sucker Ryan was for his female relatives. It was so sweet, sweet enough that her heart did more of that melting thing it had already done way too much of tonight.

“When I told her the place was too big, she swore the value would double in under ten years. But she was wrong.”

“How wrong?”

Another grin came. “It tripled.”

“In that case, Chinese is on you tonight.”

He grabbed all three of her heavy bags and she followed with her purse. She’d noticed the way he favored his non-pitching arm when they’d been leaving the motel earlier. Now, she caught his slight wince as he adjusted one of the bags over his right shoulder.

Knowing he was too much of a guy to let her take it from him, she said, “Hey, Ryan, there’s something I want to make sure I remembered to pack in that bag. Could you put it down for a sec?”

“I’m pretty sure there wasn’t anything left in your room,” he said as he set it on the garage’s cement floor.

“You know how disorganized I can be. It might take me half the night to root through everything I stuffed in here.”

“I’ll put these in the guest room and come back for that one.”

As soon as she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, she started dragging the bag across the floor, only bothering to lift it up when she stepped inside the house and hit hardwood. She’d planned on bringing it all the way into the guest room, but as soon as she saw the view from his windows, her feet stopped moving.

Water had always been her weakness. It was why she’d chosen to go to Prague after leaving her ex-husband. The river had soothed her as she walked for hours along it, out of the city and then back again when her mind had been quiet enough to return.

As Ryan came down the stairs, she said, “Your view is incredible.”

“It’s better from over here.”

He reached out a hand for her and she forgot all about her bag as she moved toward him. As she put her hand into his, warmth sizzled all the way up her arm.

He pointed with his free hand. “Farallon Islands to the left. Alcatraz to the right. Heaven's straight up.”

She could feel his grin without needing to look at him. All those years she’d never forgotten the beauty of it.

“I’m so happy for you,” she told him, “that all of this is yours.”

Even better was that she could tell how much he appreciated it. Ryan wasn’t one of those guys who bought something as a status symbol. Regardless of what he’d said about his Realtor cousin pushing the place on him, if he hadn’t also loved it, they wouldn’t be standing here now.

“I’m glad you agreed to stay for a while, Vicki.”

She’d been so worried about being alone with him, but now that she saw how huge the house was, she realized they could probably go several days without seeing each other if they wanted to.

Not, of course, that she wanted to not see Ryan. But if he needed some alone time—say, if he had a woman over—she could easily disappear. If nothing else, she could always happily head down to the beach to get out of his hair.

“I am, too.”

He picked up her remaining bag. “Come on, I’ll show you your digs.”

Silly her. Even after the little pep talk she’d just given herself, her heart was still flipping around at the thought of being in a bedroom with Ryan. Silently reminding herself that she wasn't a teenager any more, she was starting to follow him through the house when her mouth fell open in shock.

“You’ve been collecting my sculptures?”

He had several of them placed throughout the main level of his house. Not just that, but they were some of her favorites.

“I’ve always been a fan, Vicki.”

His simple, heartfelt response warmed her inside and out. Still, she had to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted them? I would have given them to you.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t. Your work is worth a hell of a lot more than what I paid for each of these. I can’t tell you how many times over the years people have tried to buy them from me.”

“They have?”

“All the time. For a huge profit.” He looked around at her sculptures. “My answer has always been, and will always be, that they’re not for sale. To me, they’re priceless.”