Mountain Challenge (Mont Blanc Rescue #9)

Chapter 11

11

Ry

R y was nervous. Fucking nervous . And he was never nervous when it came to meeting women.

Except this wasn’t any woman. This was Isla—the woman who’d rocked his world the night before. He wanted—no, he needed—to see her again. To see if her voice was as velvety as he remembered, her skin as soft, her hair as?—

You’re a moron. She’s going to kick your ass to the curb. If she’s even home.

It was closing in on eight p.m. Her store was closed. And she didn’t have her car yet. He knew that for a fact, because that was his excuse. He’d picked up her car from the shop after getting discharged from the hospital, driving slower than his grandma, because Beau would rip him a new one if he knew he’d been driving with only one arm.

Ry ran his left hand through his dirty blond hair. His right arm was still in a sling. He would not be doing anything much with that arm for a few days.

Apparently, he’d been lucky to walk away with only a mild rotator cuff strain. Every doctor who’d come in to see him, and there’d been a few, had expressed surprise at the fact that his tendon hadn’t ruptured. But shit, his shoulder was killing him. He should be on his way home to sleep. And instead, he was out here in the cold, hanging outside Isla’s tattoo studio, trying to muster the courage to go up the stairs and knock on her door.

Come on. Just knock. The worst thing that can happen, she doesn’t invite you in. You leave her the car keys and head home.

To be fair, that sounded pretty bad. But he’d man up and take it if it meant seeing her again, even for just a few seconds. He walked up the wooden stairs, trying to keep the thumping of his boots to a minimum. If she was sleeping, he was going to feel like the biggest fool.

Knock. Knock. Before he could change his mind. He wasn’t going to give himself the chance to back away.

He heard her soft footsteps on the other side of the door. His heart rate increased, and he felt dizzy. Maybe he should have stopped for some dinner before coming. He had the sudden urge to run but forced himself to stand his ground. He expected her to open the door a sliver, but she opened the door fully.

“Ry?” Her expression went from surprised to concerned in an instant. Either she’d noticed the sling, or else he looked as bad as he felt. “Are you okay?” Her eyes were the softest brown caramel.

As she moved aside to let him in, Ry’s breath just about left his body. She was wearing a black tank top that enveloped her high, pert breasts. If he concentrated—and he he knew he shouldn’t—he could just about make out the little bar piercing her nipples. He dragged his eyes back up to her face, but not before noticing how her nipples puckered under his attention.

A small smile crossed her lips. “I guess you’re not at death’s door quite yet,” she said.

“Sorry. You’re just …”

“Come in. What happened?”

It was warm inside her apartment, and tonight he was glad for that. He’d spent most of the day dressed in nothing but a hospital gown. He felt his shoulders sag, releasing the tension that he’d been holding on to all day.

“Just a hard day,” he said, aiming for stoic and knowing he was missing it by a mile.

“Were the hikers okay?”

He wasn’t sure she’d remember much of what he’d told her at four a.m., but apparently she’d been more awake than he’d given her credit for.

Ry ran his hand through his hair and let out a careful breath. “We got them out. They’re going to be okay,” Ry said. He was still unsettled by the raw fury in the man’s eyes as he’d accused Ry of trying to kill him.

“That’s good news,” Isla said carefully. “But you don’t look so good.”

“I came to give you back your car.”

Her expression lit up. “My car? How did you get it so quickly? I’d expected it to take all week! And how much do I?—“

“Don’t worry about it. The owner owed me a favor.”

Deep lines appeared on her forehead. “I can’t let you pay for my new tires.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I pay for my own things. Always.” Fair enough . Her expression softened. “But we can talk about it tomorrow,” she said.

“Thank you. Would you let me take you out to dinner? I need to eat something,” he said. He needed food, but he was also about ready to fall asleep on his feet.

She pointed to her dining table, which sat between the living area and the kitchen corner. “Sit down. We can order a burger.”

Isla

She smiled at the way his eyes lit up at the mention of the burger.

“The corner restaurant makes a mean burger. They’ll deliver in less than fifteen minutes. Cheese and bacon? You’re not vegetarian, are you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m Australian. I eat anything that moves.” Ry eyed the wine bottle and the single, half-empty glass.

Isla laughed. “I prefer my food dead, thank you very much. Sit down while I make the call.” He looked dead on his feet. She dialed the number, ordering two burgers and a side order of sweet potato fries. Yet another weakness of hers.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked, eying her own.

“Probably best not,” he answered ruefully. “They gave me some painkillers at the hospital, and I might take some more tonight.”

She liked that, a man who wasn’t afraid of admitting to being in pain, or unwilling to sort it out. She picked up the wine bottle and glass and brought them to the kitchen counter, then made her way to the fridge, finding an open carton of apple juice and a bottle of sparkling water.

“ Apfelschorle? ”

“Sounds great, thank you.”

She poured a glass for each of them and sat down across from him. There was a bleak look in his green eyes that hadn’t been there the first two times she’d seen him. It certainly hadn’t been there the previous night, when he’d grabbed her and?—

Her nipples tightened further, and she crossed her arms over her chest to hide them.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He pointed at the sling with his free hand. “This? It’s fine. Just strained my rotator cuff.”

“Not the shoulder. I mean … you look … you look like you saw something today.”

He nodded. “That seems like a good way of describing it. But I don’t want to go into it. I’d rather …” He took a deep breath. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“Myself? There isn’t much to tell …”

“You’re Belgian, right?”

She looked up in surprise. Most foreigners weren’t able to tell the difference between French and Belgian accents. But apparently, Ry could. “From Brussels, yes. I moved to Chamonix six months ago to take over the tattoo studio after the previous owner retired.” She clamped her jaw shut to stop herself from talking about her divorce. She wasn’t going there. No way. Not now, not ever . “I wanted to be close to the mountains,” she continued, instead.

Ry perked up at her words. “I also moved here to be close to the mountains.”

She could feel her voice gaining strength. This was something she could share with him. “I was sixteen the first time I got on a snowboard, and from day one, it was the most incredible feeling. The closest to flying without actually buying a plane ticket. Since then, I went out to the mountains every chance I had, which wasn’t often, living in Brussels.” Or when you have a husband who hates the cold . But she wasn’t going to talk about Roland. “Do you snowboard?”

“I’m a skier through and through,” Ry laughed. “I value my tailbone too much to take up snowboarding at my age.”

Isla cocked her head to one side. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two,” he replied, immediately.

“Not exactly an old man. Though you are older than me. I’m twenty-nine.”

“That’s why I have gray hair, and you don’t.”

Their burgers arrived. Ry insisted on paying, leaving a generous tip for the delivery person. Isla quickly plated the food, making sure the sweet potato fries were close to her. “These things,” she said, grabbing one and biting into it, “are the best I’ve ever tried.”

“Mind if I steal one?”

“I got them to share.” She munched on another one. “You’ve really never tried snowboarding?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“I could teach you. It’s so much more fun than skiing, when you get the hang of it.” The words were out before she could stop herself.

This time, Ry didn't hesitate. Those gorgeous lips of his curled in a small smile. "I'd like that. It’s a date."

Isla’s heart beat a mile a minute. A date. She hadn’t meant it as such … had she? Who are you kidding? You want to spend more time with him.

"How badly is your shoulder hurt?"

"I should probably take it easy this week." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "But I’m up for it next week whenever you are.”

"I'm free next Sunday," she said. She didn’t open the tattoo studio on Sundays—which didn’t mean she didn’t usually spend the day inside, working. But she didn’t have to. Laura’s voice resonated in her mind. She could take a bit of time off.

Isla put down her half-eaten burger. As usual, her eyes had been bigger than her stomach.

“Next Sunday it is, then. I’ll make sure I’m off-duty that day.” One last large bite, and Ry’s burger disappeared. He pushed his plate away and leaned back cautiously. "Thank you for dinner."

"I think I should be the one thanking you. For dinner, and for bringing my car back."

Ry nodded, but gave a small wave that told her she’d have trouble getting him to accept money for the tires. God, he was good-looking. His cheeks seemed to have recovered some of their color, and he seemed one hundred percent more relaxed. A tad less … worried … yes, that was the right word. Less worried than he’d been when she’d opened the door. She liked knowing that she’d been able to help him in some way.

He stood up, staring at her intently with those bright green eyes of his. "I didn't just come to give you back your to give you your car keys. Or I did, but I also wanted to see you." He paused and inhaled sharply. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

It seemed like a moment of truth. She could stay silent and show him the door, or she could be honest and tell him she wanted to spend some time with him as well.

Isla took a deep breath. The relationship with Roland might have changed her, but she'd never been a coward. "I wanted to see you, too."

She stood up and walked over to where Ry was standing. Her hand came up to touch his chest, careful to avoid his shoulder. She could feel his strong, steady heartbeat.

“I should go …” he began, then trailed off.

“Stay. Stay the night.” Isla reached up on tiptoes, tilting her head up just as his came down. Their lips met halfway in a kiss that was as gentle and quiet as their last one had been explosive, the contrast between his soft lips and the rough skin around his mouth the biggest turn-on. Isla gave a small moan, pressing herself even closer to him.