Unstoppable (Page 43)

“That’s OK, pookie.” He gives me a wicked grin. “I can take it.”

After a couple of hours on the road, we make it to the city as the sun sets. Ryland directs me through the downtown traffic, and we park on a street full of fashionable boutiques and bars, spilling music and the sound of laughter out onto the street. He leads me to a restaurant in the middle of the block, a place with a cool, rustic-looking design—and people lined up outside.

“Jaybird,” I pause, looking up at the restaurant sign. “Why does that sound familiar?”

Ryland looks bashful. “It’s my brother’s place. I thought since I haven’t checked it out yet… And I wanted you to meet him,” he adds, looking away.

I feel a glow. “That sounds great,” I smile, sliding my hand into his. He walks us past the line and opens the door for me.

Inside, the place is packed, every table taken. There’s a bar along one wall with a polished wooden countertop and black-and-white photographs framed on the walls. I glance closer at the pictures by the door, and stop. “That’s Beachwood,” I exclaim.

Ryland looks. “Emerson’s wife, Juliet, takes photos in her spare time,” he explains. “She’s good enough to make it a career, but she likes having it be just for fun.”

“They’re beautiful,” I say, admiring the shots of the dunes at the beach and the ocean foaming on a cloudy day.

“You can tell her yourself,” Ryland nods to where a slim, brunette woman is crossing the restaurant towards us, a huge smile on her face. A man follows a few paces behind, and the resemblance to Ryland is so strong, this could only be his brother. They both have the same dark hair and chiseled jaw, but Emerson is a little taller and leaner with a look of quiet intensity.

Juliet pulls Ryland into a delighted hug. “It’s so great you’re here!”

“We almost didn’t make it past the line at the door,” Ryland says, looking around. “Looks like business is good.”

“We just had a write-up in Southern Living,” Juliet confides. “My sister, Carina, has been doing PR for us. She’s got every food critic in the state wrapped around her little finger.”

Emerson extends a hand to me. “And you must be Tegan.”

I feel a ripple of nerves. “Hi,” I say shyly, shaking his hand.

“Tegan was just saying how much she likes the photographs,” Ryland speaks up.

Juliet beams. “Thank you! Beachwood Bay means a lot to us, so even though we’re here now, it’s like having a little piece of home.”

Ryland looks embarrassed.

“How do you know I’m not the bad example?” I shoot back. Emerson laughs.

“I stand corrected. You’ll handle him just fine.”

Juliet ushers us through the restaurant to a booth in the back. It’s tucked away in a dark corner, but there are candles flickering, beautiful fresh flowers in a crystal vase, and even a bottle chilling in an ice bucket. “Best seat in the house,” Juliet tells us with a conspiratorial wink, “Just the way you ordered.”

“I owe you one,” Ryland tells her.

“The server will be right over. Enjoy!”

Juliet leaves us. Ryland pulls out a chair for me, and I take a seat, overwhelmed. “This is gorgeous,” I whisper. “Did they do all this just for us?”

“For you.” Ryland looks bashful again. “I told them it was a special occasion.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, reaching across the table to take his hand. “This is perfect.”

“Something to drink?” he asks, reaching for the ice bucket. I pause. “It’s sparkling apple cider,” he adds.

“You thought of everything,” I tell him, relieved and touched. I take the glass, and Ryland raises his in a toast.

“To tonight,” he says softly. “And having all our cards on the table.”

I touch my glass to his. Ryland smiles back at me across the table, the handsome lines of his jaw lit up in the candlelight. I feel my stomach twist again, this time with the simple pleasure that we’re here, together, all the drama behind us now.

“What?” he asks.

I give a mysterious smile. “Nothing. Just, I’m happy.”

“Good.” Ryland’s eyes are warm with tenderness. “That’s all I want, you know. You deserve to be happy.”

He leans across the table to kiss me. I shiver at the sudden touch of his lips, warm and firm and searching. He slips a hand around the back of my head, drawing me closer, and I sink against him, breathing in the rich, citrus scent of his aftershave. His jaw is smooth, cleanly-shaven for our date, and I stroke along the chiseled line as he parts my lips, kissing me deeper. His tongue slides into my mouth, and God, I feel it everywhere, sparks igniting in my bloodstream; heat pooling, damp between my thighs.

He pulls away, too soon. I blink and see the server hovering a respectful distance away. I blush as he approaches. Ryland goes ahead and orders for us, amazing dishes that sound incredible, but it’s not food I want, it’s him. The hunger twisting inside of me craves those arms tight around me, the weight of his body settling over mine…