Unlikely (4 page)

“Answer your brother’s question. I don’t want to die with no grandkids.”

“I kind of don’t know her name… ”

His brother put down his fork and peppered questions like the cop he was. “Her address?” Ryan shook his head. “Her number?” Ryan shook again. “So what exactly do you have?”

He shrugged. “Her license plate.”

His mother got up from the table. “Humph. You got me all excited over nothing. I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said, stomping off.

After he stopped guffawing, Cameron let loose. “No name, no number. What’s the story, man?”

“She said something about me not being her type.”

“Mm, and you can’t take no for an answer.”

“She didn’t kiss me like I wasn’t
her type.
” So much for keeping that a secret. Ryan cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Do you think you can help me out here?”

Cameron shook his head. “Sorry, dude, I use my special police powers for good, not evil.” He waved his fingers in the air like a phony psychic. “You’re on your own here. Wish you luck, though,” he
added, another chuckle escaping.

“Gee thanks,”
Ryan said facetiously. “I’ll find her. Don’t worry.” There was more conviction in that statement than he felt.

After he dropped his mother off at home, he drove around town laying in supplies and preparing his house for its newest occupant. At a Studio City pet superstore he picked up a crate, a leash, and a collar. He went to a natural food store in Beverly Hills and bought organic kibble and several varieties of canned dog food that claimed to be just like homemade. Who made the homemade dog food that it was trying to emulate, he wondered.

He stopped by Goodwill and purchased a blanket to protect the leather seats of his Acura. Next, he talked to his neighbors and perused the Internet, searching for available dog walkers in his area. He had interviewed three and hired one. He was, by two o’clock on Sunday afternoon, exhausted, but ready for Sasha.

It was damned hot on Monday morning, and Ryan was sure he was seeing things as waves of heat shimmered from the pavement. The yellow Beetle convertible with the personalized license plate appeared like an apparition before him. Was Sunflower here to adopt Sasha too? He raced into the shelter, and the bright purple hair in the small crowd called to him like a beacon. It wasn’t yellow, but the nearly neon color had to be her. He pushed his way to the front of the line and froze, unusually indecisive. What was he going to say to her? She solved his dilemma when she turned around unexpectedly to look for something in the small messenger bag looped around her body and resting on her very scrumptious
-looking derriere.

“Oh, Ryan, hey there
,” she said, looking taken aback, her raspy voice sounding a little breathless. “What are you doing here? Are you getting a dog too?”

“I came to get Sasha. I couldn’t leave her here after all your talk of doggie jail. And over the weekend I worked out how I could fit a dog into my life.”

“Ma’am,” the woman behind the counter called out. “Your dog is ready to pick up.” Sunflower turned back to the counter and took the nylon leash he offered, and followed the woman back to the outdoor caged area. A few minutes later, she emerged with Sasha in her arms.

The woman took the paperwork off the counter, dropped it into a disorganized mesh basket, and looked Ryan in the eye. “How can I help you, sir?”

Flustered and holding an empty collar and leash in hand, he said, “I was here, actually, to adopt that same dog.”

The woman nodded. “I think I remember you two from the other day. Found the dog on the freeway, right?” When he nodded, she continued. “Well, she got first rights on that dog, so she’s eligible to adopt her first. If you’re interested, though, we have a whole passel of other dogs that are currently available for adoption and in need of a home.”
Maybe
, Ryan thought, but quickly shook his head. He needed to stay with Sunflower and figure out how he could arrange to see her, and that dog, again.

Ryan sprinted across the lobby and caught up with Sophie. “Do I at least get visitation rights?”

He looked so eager, she couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I don’t think Sasha would appreciate the back and forth between two different households. We’d have to work out a schedule, who got weekends, who got holidays
…it would be hard on her. She’d need psychological counseling within the year.”

“Do you want to have breakfast or something?” Ryan asked. “Maybe we can talk about this.”

Sophie looked down at Sasha, who calmly lay on the floor, panting and looking between them as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Ryan, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think this…is a good idea. It was nice meeting you, but it was just one of those things. We should t leave it at that. Plus, I’m not hungry.”

Sophie was proud of herself for fighting her attraction to him and tying it all up neatly when her stomach betrayed her and growled loudly. Damn.

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Sophie agreed. “Maybe a little breakfast.”

They agreed to drive separately to a Belgian café that Ryan recommended. The dog was far calmer than the last time she was in the car, and hung her head out the window as Sophie drove. When she passed Moorpark, the urge to turn and go home was strong. She could stand him up and never have to deal with the feelings he aroused. She didn’t know what kept her driving south, but she made the left on Ventura and headed for the breakfast place. It wasn’t like breakfast was a precursor of sex or marriage. They would have a friendly meal, and no matter how attractive he was and how much she wanted to kiss him again, she would go on her merry way.

The hostess seated them outside, shaded from the bright September sun by a large umbrella. Sasha curled up around the umbrella’s stand and lapped up the water the waitress brought her. As Sunflower stared at the menu, Ryan looked at her. There was something about this woman that pulled him to her, even though he couldn’t put his finger on just what that was.

His normal “type” was a quiet, modest woman who dressed conservatively and spoke softly. He met them at Junior League fundraisers and alumni events. Sunflower, with her nontraditional job, wild hair, and multiple piercings would scare those women into hiding. He wanted to get married, have kids, do all those traditional things. He needed a wife who would stay at
home, raise their children. Act as a perfect hostess and companion as he moved up the career ladder. Despite his active pursuit of this mythical partner, he hadn’t met that right woman yet.

Intellectually, he knew Sunflower wasn’t that person. But he’d willingly take a breather from his pursuit to see where his attraction to her led, and work her out of his system so he could move on with his end game. He’d planned it all out years ago on a series of yellow legal pads, and while he may be momentarily distracted, he wouldn’t be deterred from his goals.

The waitress introduced herself and scribbled their order on a small pad. When she’d gone, Sunflower leaned down to check on the dog. Damn, the view was good. It was days like this he loved California. Sunflower was definitely dressed for the hot, late summer weather. She was wearing one of those skimpy exercise outfits that were far too expensive to actually sweat in. The purple top she wore did little to cover her small, pert breasts, not that he was looking. Okay, maybe he had glanced once or twice. But she wasn’t wearing any sort of bra under the scanty tank and all sorts of ideas played in his head.

The top was a strappy thing that left most of her back exposed and he admired her pale skin through the intricate weave. She looked very soft and touchable. It was the first time he realized she had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She must have covered them with makeup that other day, though she didn’t need a lick of makeup to look good. She also had the sexiest tattoo on her back near her left shoulder. He wondered what the Chinese characters symbolized. He tried not to imagine himself gently kissing those freckles or stroking that tattoo.

When she was done tending to the dog, she sat bolt upright in her chair, probably sensing his gaze.

“What are you looking at?” she asked. She’d caught him staring.

Telling her that he was admiring her skin or imagining himself stroking her cleavage was out. He stammered the first thing that came to his mind.

“I was wondering what that tattoo says.” He hoped his face wasn’t beet red with embarrassment at his fib.

She stroked her left shoulder reflexively, touching the two calligraphic Chinese characters. “Oh, this. They translate into ‘wisdom.’”

“Why wisdom?” he asked tentatively.

“What, you don’t see me as a wise woman? Not enough wrinkles yet, huh?” She laughed, smoothing her fingers against her unlined face. “It’s the meaning of my name.”

“So, when are we going to stop playing these games? You should just tell me your name now, so we can get that part over with.”

Fortunately for Sophie, the waitress’s arrival with their food saved her from having to answer. She’d gotten a chocolate croissant and a large iced latte. He’d ordered an egg white Florentine omelet and bread that seemed to have enough grains and seeds on it to keep up his daily fiber count with one bite. She stirred three sugar packets into her coffee and took a long sip while coolly appraising him.

“On a diet?” she asked. He looked like he worked out—a lot. The collared blue polo shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and flared out where his waist narrowed. She didn’t even want to think what the baggy cargo shorts hid below the waist. No doubt it was just as spectacular.

“I like to eat healthy,” he answered, taking a huge bite of toast.

She cleared her throat. “Are you a lawyer or an accountant?”

He answered seemingly without thinking. “I’m a lawyer.”

Sophie nodded knowingly. “Please don’t take what I’m going to say next personally,” she said, covering his hand with hers on the small enameled café table. She immediately wished she hadn’t touched him. Being near Ryan was like playing with fire, and she’d just gotten singed.

She liked looking at the weekend’s worth of stubble on his square jaw, hearing his well-modulated voice, touching his hair roughened skin, and kissing those perfect lips. Definitely kissing him.
Crap
, she thought, and pulled her hand away. She needed to stop this relationship—or seduction or whatever it was—before she got in too deep. Being with him would be like wading into a calm ocean with a deathly riptide. She’d be in too far before she realized she’d compromised her life. She needed to keep something back. She needed to keep everything back. If she told him her name, it would be the crack in the door. And Sophie knew, he’d come right in.

“You’re a nice person from what I see,” she continued. “Somewhere out there is a Seven Sisters graduate in pearls who is made for you. I know I’m not your type. We’d be like oil and water, and I don’t date lawyers
—ever.”

She punctuated her comment by taking a big mouthful of pastry. The bite was way too big, she realized far too late. Her smooth brush off was ruined when chocolate went everywhere, and she did her best to catch what she could with her fingers. She was unprepared when Ryan reached across the table and scraped an errant dribble from her lower lip. She shivered as she felt his touch everywhere from her beaded nipples to her tightening womb. She wanted to damn her principles to the wind and give in to the feeling he aroused in her, but she knew better.

He sat back in his chair and smiled at her. The small smile didn’t quite reach his sad eyes.

“Sunflower… ” He didn’t need to say any more. Their attraction to each other was obvious
—to them, and probably to anyone within ten feet of them.

“I know. That’s why I have to go. I have to get food, a bed, a collar, a real leash, and whatever else I’ll need for Sasha.”

“You should come back to my place.”

“What?” She must not have heard right. Was that a come on after her brush off?

“There’s no need for you to buy all that stuff.” He sighed, resigned. “I bought everything yesterday—food, a crate, a strong leather leash, and chew toys.”

“Are you going to get another dog?”

“I wanted Sasha,” he said. “I wanted you.” She could have sworn she heard him utter the last statement under his breath.

“Are you sure?” The real question was implicit in her tone. She wanted to be certain they were on the same page. She would go back to his place for supplies, nothing more.

“Yeah. What the heck.”

She should have guessed he lived off one of the more conservative canyon roads. The Hollywood hills divided the city of Los Angeles. They separated the Los Angeles “Basin” from the San Fernando “Valley.” Crisscrossing the hills, and connecting the more urban basin to the more suburban Valley, were a number of secluded hillside neighborhoods.

Each pass had a different reputation. Laurel Canyon was a haven for artists and sixties hippies who still clung to the ideals of that generation and decrepit VW buses, while Benedict Canyon was filled with nouveau riche movie and television producers. Coldwater Canyon, on the other hand, housed the bankers, lawyers, and every other suit in Los Angeles. So it was no shock to Sophie that Ryan lived in this area.