Rom-Com Collection

I turned around in my seat. Even in the near-dark, I could see my grandfather blushing. “Okay,” I said, opting not to tease him. “See you tomorrow.”

Noah looked at Ian. “Thank you,” he grunted. “And if you stay over, make sure you’re gone by the time I get home. You may be a good man, but she’s my granddaughter, and I don’t want my face rubbed in the fact that she’s all grown up.”

“Two words, Noah,” I said. “Bath. Tub. Okay?”

Jody laughed, and Noah opened the door. “How you put up with her is a mystery,” he growled at Ian, but he reached over and pinched my chin. “G’night, youngsters.”

“Thanks for an absolutely wonderful evening, Ian,” Jody said.

“My pleasure,” Ian answered. We waited ‘til they got inside Jody’s house, then headed to my place. Upon our arrival, Bowie twirled and sang, then sniffed Ian’s shoes with religious fervor.

Ian hadn’t stayed over here yet … well, obviously, since Noah was usually in residence. A gentle quiet fell as we looked at each other. The refrigerator hummed. Wind gusted outside, and a shower of yellow leaves fluttered against the window.

“Well, it’s pretty late,” I said, the universal code for make your move, sonny.

“Yes,” Ian said. Right. Forgot who I was dealing with.

“Would you like to stay?” I asked, my heart rate kicking up a little.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Will Angie be okay?”

He nodded. “I fed her before I left, and there’s a dog door to the backyard.”

Of course. Ian would have all the angles covered. “Well,” I said, suddenly shy, but then he kissed me, his mouth gentle and warm. I didn’t know why, but I never expected the man who looked like a Russian hit man to kiss me so … tenderly. If I was a person who read into things—and God knows I was—I might think that Ian could only kiss me this way if it really meant something, because the way Ian kissed me made me feel … cherished.

Then the kiss changed, became hotter, and harder, and his hands slid down to pull me tighter against him, and he was so warm and delicious—

“Come on upstairs,” I whispered, and taking his hand, led him to my room, shutting it before Bowie could come in. “Go sleep on Noah’s bed,” I told my dog through the crack, and he whined, but then trotted off.

My room was dark except for the moonlight spilling in the eastern-facing windows. Ian stood, waiting, looking at me. I slipped off my shoes. “Have a seat,” I whispered. He went toward the bed, but I took his hand, stopping him. “Have a seat,” I repeated, pointing to the Morelock chair.

Ian looked at it, then back at me. My heart thumped. I gave a little nod, then bit my lip as Ian walked over to the chair. He sat down, his hands on the smooth, carved arms. God, he looked good there! As if reading my mind, he smiled, and my heart lurched toward him.

“Come here,” he said, and I obeyed, sitting on Ian’s lap. The chair didn’t protest, having been made by the master, and Ian slid his arms around me, rocking gently, his cheek against my neck, against my throbbing pulse. We just sat like that for a long moment, wrapped around each other in the Morelock chair, my fingers smoothing Ian’s soft blond hair, tracing the lines that fanned out around his eyes. Then Ian’s hand moved up, and he unbuttoned my shirt slowly, kissing the exposed skin. My hands went to the thick, hard muscles of his shoulders, that sweet, melting feeling spreading through me as he slowly pushed my shirt off my shoulders, his fingers tracing the lace of my bra. When our lips met, the mood changed, suddenly hot and urgent and hungry. Ian scooped me up and stood, the chair gliding silently as he rose and carried me to bed, the moonlight pure and bright and perfect, the only noise from the wind and the two of us, together, the soft and gentle sounds of two people falling in love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“GOOD MORNING,” IAN said the next day as I staggered into the kitchen. My legs were still a little weak from all that happiness. Bowie crooned me a morning song, and I petted his big furry head.

“Hi,” I said to both my guys.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked, already opening a cupboard for a mug from the mishmash selection therein.

“Sure,” I answered.

“Last night was incredible.” He smiled at me, and my heart practically rolled over onto its back, like Bowie offering himself up.

“Yes, it was,” I said, grinning back.

Ian poured me some joe, then added cream and sugar. “Even though you’re already so sweet,” he said, stirring the coffee.

“Oh, my God. Are you flirting?” I asked.

“This is what I get for trying,” he grumbled. But his eyes were happy.

Just then his cell phone rang. Ian glanced at the screen. His face froze. Laura? I wondered. We hadn’t talked about her since the wedding … He picked up the receiver. “Hi, Jane.”

I went on full alert. Could it be his aunt?

“I’m fine, and you?” Ian said, not looking at me. “Okay. Great. Sure. Seven o’clock. Do you need directions? Okay. See you then.” He closed his phone and stared at the counter for a second. I waited, not saying anything. My patience was rewarded.

“That was my aunt,” he said. “She’s in Boston and wants to come up and have dinner tonight.”

“Great,” I said, nodding. “Is Alejandro coming?” I couldn’t resist saying that with a full-blown Spanish accent, and Ian gave a little smile.

“No, just Jane.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, his smile fading. “Would you like to meet her?” he asked.

“Yes! Absolutely!” I said. “Want me to cook?”

“No, no. That’s fine. I’ll pick something up.”

“Ian, you can’t give her dinner from some store. Would she rather eat out? We could go to Elements. Dave would treat us like royalty.”

“She doesn’t believe in restaurants. Too much waste.”

“Oh. Well, then I’ll cook. I’d be happy to, okay?”

He took a deep breath. “Callie,” he said slowly. “I know you’re going to try to make a good impression and do your thing—”

“My thing?” I asked.

“Make her your new best friend.”

I snorted. “Ian, I don’t try … people just like me. Because I’m so nice, remember?”

“I do. But she won’t like you.”

That gave me pause. “Why?”

He squinted. “She’s … a very passionate person, and … well, she doesn’t really approve of me, and she’ll think you’re … uh …” He winced.

“Okay, forget me for a second. How can she not approve of you?” I asked. “You’re her nephew, her brother’s boy. I’ll bet she adores you.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “She wanted me to become a doctor, and the fact that I didn’t is tough for her.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s very proud of you anyway, Ian,” I said, giving him a hug. “You’re so smart! And so handsome! And you have all those special skills, like making dogs love you and killing people with your little finger—”