Ryan's Rules

She jerked away from the touch of his hand on her shoulder and lifted her chin. ‘I’m not crying!’ she insisted as two huge tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Nor am I a kid.’

‘Fine. But in that case I think you should know your eyes are melting.’

She tried hard to muster some anger towards him-she really did—but the wealth of understanding and gentleness shining in his eyes negated her efforts. This was one of those times when kindness was the hardest thing to take.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered, a sob rising in her throat. ‘I…I had no intention of crying. It’s stupid. I…I…’

Kirrily wasn’t sure which she surrendered to first, the flood of her tears or Ryan’s strong, comforting embrace, but it was a relief to give in to both. It was as if the warmth of his body and the sensation of his hands stroking her head and back were releasing all the emotions she’d kept penned up for months. Crying felt good. It mightn’t be constructive, but it felt good!

‘Shh, honey,’ he whispered. ‘Jayne’s going to be fine. It’s not as if she’ll be on her own; the folks will be there for her.’

Though she nodded against Ryan’s chest, Kirrily knew she was reacting to more than just the significance of Jayne’s leaving. With the stress she’d been under in recent weeks and the disappointment of leaving the cast of Hot Heaven she’d been a prime candidate for a serious bout of waterworks.

She considered telling him about the turmoil she’d been going through during the past few months, but thought better of it. The last thing she wanted to invite was a dose of Ryan Talbot’s brotherly sympathy, which was as suffocating as his over-protectiveness; better to let him think her tears revolved entirely around Jayne’s departure.

She drew a deep breath with the intention of trying to stop the half-sobs still raking her body, but instead of regulating her respiration it made her dizzy. Not the light-headed dizziness which preceded fainting, but the fuzzy, blurry, aroused kind, caused by inhaling the earthly masculine scent that was uniquely Ryan. She shivered as a shower of electric sparks erupted in her bloodstream. Crazy as it was, she couldn’t stop herself from nuzzling closer. Just a few seconds longer then she’d step away from him…

Ryan knew he had a problem the moment K.C.’s arms locked around his waist, but when she went limp in his arms and shivered a part of him told him he was in deep trouble. And unfortunately his brain hadn’t been the source of his intuition.

Placing his hands on her hips, he gently eased her away from the lower half of his body. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass her.

‘Er…K.C…?’ he said hesitantly. ‘Are…are you all right?’ Her face remained pressed into his chest, but there was a slight nodding movement of her head. ‘You’re sure?’ he urged, hoping that the more inane he kept the conversation, the quicker his body would settle down. But, given its slow rate of recovery at present, Ryan figured he’d have to start reciting nursery rhymes pretty soon. Another attempt to withdraw further from her had her arms tightening. He sighed, torn between the need to comfort the distraught woman in his arms and the need to save what little dignity he had left; God knew, his self-respect was right out the window!

Comfort the distraught woman? K.C. wasn’t a woman! Yeah, right, mate! his brain chided. So how come you’re in such bad shape, then, huh?

OK, so technically and physically Kirrily was a woman, he rationalised, but she was also Steve’s kid sister! Why the hell was he having such a hard time remembering that lately? Why, after more than two decades of thinking of her in a wholesome, brotherly way, was he suddenly being plagued by constant speculation of what it would be like to make love to her—the kind of hot, heavy love which left both participants hungry for more of the same?

I’m sick! he thought with disgust. I’m really, really sick!

‘Yeah, you do look a bit pale.’

Ryan groaned when Kirrily’s observation made him realise he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. Yet as he looked into her frowning, concerned face he couldn’t help smiling. Even with red-rimmed eyes and her face mottled the tell-tale pink of a crying jag Kirrily Claire Cosgrove was beautiful; he took a perverse sort of comfort in knowing that there was no way he’d be the only man to make a fool of himself because of her.

A suspicious light came into her green eyes. ‘What are you grinning at?’

‘Nothing I want to talk about. What say we head to the bar?’

She knew her face reflected confusion, but she couldn’t help it; Ryan usually pushed the teetotaller ideal at her. ‘The bar?’

‘You look like you could use a drink and I know I need one.’

‘I thought you felt sick.’

‘It’s mental not physical,’ he said, taking her arm and steering her towards the lifts as she shot him an impish smile.

‘Oh, that’s OK, then! For a minute there I thought it was something unusual.’

Schooling his face into a look of disappointment, Ryan shook his head. ‘Too predictable to be witty, K.C. I’ve come to expect better from you.’

‘I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that, unlike yours, the precedents I’ve set are of an exceptional standard.’

‘Better!’ he praised her, a slow grin spreading across his face. ‘A load of absolute rubbish, but that, too, is typical of your standard!’

Despite the elbow she jabbed in his ribs, Kirrily smiled, glad to discover they were back to their familiar banter-and-bicker relationship. It was, she’d decided, the safest way of dealing with her recent feelings towards Ryan. Though the short time spent in his arms had been wonderful, knowing that from his perspective it was purely platonic was murder on her feminine pride. Not being into masochism, Kirrily resolved to cure herself of this latest bout of ‘Ryan fever’ before she ended up making an idiot of herself.

When they reached the bar Ryan steered Kirrily to a corner table and pulled out a chair for her.

‘Scotch straight up, isn’t it?’ he queried.

‘Er, yeah…Thanks,’ she said, feeling incredulous when he merely nodded and went to place the order. At his parents’ anniversary he’d been openly disapproving of her drinking spirits, not because he rarely drank anything except the occasional light beer but because he’d assumed she was drunk. And he’d started verbally tearing strips off her without giving her a chance to explain that the reason she’d been stumbling her way around the dance floor had been that Aidan had been so damn full that he’d barely been able to stand, much less dance as he’d insisted! But by the time Ryan had finished admonishing her Kirrily had been too angry with both men to care about offering a defence.

She sighed. While there had been times in her teens when Ryan had been justified in thinking the worst of her, she wished he’d stop judging her on her prior record. Irritated to realise she’d been staring at him ever since he left the table, she redirected her attention to her surroundings.

The bar, designed in a relaxed, open-lounge style, wasn’t crowded. Laughter rang out from one table occupied by a group of foreign flight attendants. At another what was obviously a family group seemed to be passing the time before an awaited arrival or departure and at the far end of the room two couples chatted in animated whispers.

It struck Kirrily that this was the first time she and Ryan had socialised together as adults without either their parents or Jayne being present. In the years since she’d attained the age of eighteen they’d only interacted at family functions and traditional celebrations such as Easter and Christmas.

The friendship between the Cosgroves and Talbots stretched back to the childhoods of Kirrily and Ryan’s fathers; they’d grown up next door to each other, married local girls and then proceeded to raise their children within a few blocks of each other. Later it had been friendship rather than economic sense which had prompted Kirrily’s father to inject funds into Bob Talbot’s financially strapped business when the banks wouldn’t; thus a personal relationship had expanded into a professional one.

Ryan slid into the seat opposite, interrupting her thoughts.

‘Here you go,’ he said, putting his orange juice on the small, low table separating their chairs and placing her drink in her hand. ‘Scotch straight up; no ice, no water, and, I promise…’ he smiled, sheepishly ‘…no lectures.’

His subtle reference to the incident at his parents’ party caused Kirrily’s stomach to flip. Then again, the cause might have been the sensation of feeling his fingers close over hers.

‘Don’t tell me you can read my mind now?’ she asked, the idea scaring the hell out of her.

‘God, I hope not!’ He looked aghast. ‘What you do gives me enough headaches, let alone knowing what you think about doing!’

‘Your headaches are self-inflicted. No one’s asked you to keep sticking your nose into my life.’

‘Your big brother did.’

The blandness of his response didn’t disguise the emotion in his eyes and Kirrily lowered her lashes as her mind flashed to the memory of Ryan walking into Steven’s room after the funeral and discovering her sobbing her nine-year-old heart out. She remembered how he’d sat down on the floor next to her and quietly started to tell her that he missed Steven too, that he’d loved her brother every bit as much as she did and that maybe it would be better if they were sad together. It was then that he’d said she was to think of him as her brother now, because Steven had asked him to take care of her for him.

‘And Jayne, too?’ she’d asked.

‘Yes, Jayne too,’ he’d said. ‘We’ll both have to take care of Jayne, K.C..’

That was the first time he’d called her K.C.; until then no one but Steven had ever called her that. Now only Ryan did.

Kirrily stared into her drink and sighed. Strange how Jayne’s decision to get on with her future had made everyone else so much more sensitive to the past…It was the first time in years that Ryan had made reference to her brother’s dying request.

Ryan changed his mind and began wishing he was able to tap into K.C.’s thoughts!

The lines marring her brow bothered him, nearly as much as his urge to reach out and stroke them away. In the past he’d taken pains to avoid mentioning Steve in front of K.C., never again wanting to see her hurting as she had been the night of the funeral, when he’d found her crying, curled up in the corner of Steven’s bedroom clutching his football jersey, all alone. It had ripped his heart out, and with hindsight he’d often wondered if Steve hadn’t somehow foreseen that his little sister would be almost overlooked in the emotional turmoil that had enveloped the adult members of both families. It was cruelly ironic that when Jayne had taken the final step in letting go of the past he’d been the one to toss it carelessly in the face of an already distressed K.C.

But had it really been done carelessly?