Ryan pulled her into him and held her there for several sweet moments. She wrapped her arms around him, too, and let the steady beat of his heart against her cheek soothe—and strengthen—her. She knew him well enough, and had a good enough sense of the power he must wield via fame and fortune, to guess just how hard her friend was working to push back his need to take care of the whole messy situation for her.

“I don’t have to be at the stadium for a few more minutes, if you want to get out of here for a while.”

Vicki had never been a quitter, but she’d finally been pushed right to the edge of her bounce-back threshold. “I can’t let them win,” she said softly. “So that means I need to finish what I started here.”

Ryan stroked a hand over her hair. “That isn’t why you need to finish it, Vicki.”

Surprised, she looked up at him. “Sure it is.”

He pulled her over to the clay she’d been shaping with her hands in a rush of inspiration when he’d walked in thirty minutes ago. “This is why you need to finish.” He paused to give her time to study the beginning she’d been so excited about before James had come to crush her like a bug. “Because your project is amazing.”

Yet again, she wondered what she would have done without Ryan there.

“Are you going to be okay?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, I think so.” A quick shiver moved through her. “I still feel a little icky all over, but fine.” She tried to smile at him. “I’m glad you were here, though. But not just because of him.” She felt suddenly shy. “It was fun teaching you how to work the wheel again. Maybe we could try again sometime when we both have more time?”

“I had fun with it.” He pulled off the apron she’d given him and gave her forehead a kiss as he handed it back to her. “And with you.”

Vicki desperately wanted to read more into every word he said, into every brush of his skin against hers, even into the friendly kiss he’d brushed against her forehead. At the very least, James’s visit had been a good reminder that anything with Ryan beyond friendship was just a game they were playing.

“I don’t want you to be late to the stadium because of me.”

“If he comes back again, without the rest of the board—”

This time she was the one pressing a kiss to his cheek. Just as friendly a kiss as his had been. “Stop worrying. After what he just saw, he can’t possibly think we’re making our relationship up.”

She flushed as she realized, too late, what she’d just implied...that only two people who were dating would have been so close, so playful with each other at the potting wheel. She quickly moved to clean up the mess she and Ryan had made..

“How does goulash sound after you win the game? It’s a Prague specialty.”

“You don’t have to cook tonight, Vicki.”

“I want to. Cooking always settles me down when things go haywire.”

He gave her a look that asked without words just how many times she’d had to deal with haywire before now. “It sounds so good that I’ll keep my post-game meeting quick.”

He was clearly reluctant to leave, so she put her hands on his back and pushed him toward the door. “Go be a superstar. I’ll see you tonight.”

When he finally left, closing the door behind him, she wanted to collapse against it. Both from the fury and frustration at what James and Anthony were pulling, and from just how hard she was working to keep her feelings for Ryan hidden.

She looked more closely at her new sculpture. She knew what she’d felt when she was making it...and she knew what she felt now as she looked at it. Ryan had felt it too, she was certain of it. He might not be trained in art or sculpture, but she valued his opinion. And she’d believed him when he said he thought it was fantastic.

Of course, there were other things she’d felt during the past hour, in addition to the anger at her ex snooping in on her life and James trying to intimidate her.

Because when she’d looked up to find Ryan watching her from the doorway, she’d been hit with a level of silly-stupid giddy she’d never felt with anyone before. Not since she was a teenager, anyway, when she’d hear Ryan pulling his classic rebuilt car up to the curb outside her parents’ garage.

It had been so easy to go down memory lane with him and to reenact that night when she’d tried to teach him to make a pot. Only, she’d never have been bold enough at fifteen to get between his legs like that.

She’d known better today, hadn’t she? Being that close to him, with her hands on his while his heart beat strong and steady against her back, his breath on her bared neck, was borderline stupid when she was trying to keep it together around him.

But how could she resist?

A knock came at the door and then her new friend, Anne, popped her head in. The clothing designer was in her mid-twenties, with bright green and blue hair and a shocking number of piercings. She also happened to be a brilliant artist with extremely wise eyes.

“Did the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen find you?”

Vicki had to laugh at that far-too-accurate description of Ryan. She was glad to feel the laughter rush through her, replacing some of the anger and frustration, if not the lingering desire.

“He did.”

“And?” Anne held up her hand. “No, never mind. I don’t want to have to hate you even more than I currently do, so it’s probably better if you don’t give me any details. So,” she asked with a lightning-fast change of subjects, “are you ready for this afternoon?”

The board members—and James—would be here in less than four hours, along with someone to film the fellowship applicant’s progress to send to her ex in Italy.

Forcefully pushing away the sense of impending defeat that wanted to ride her, she said, “Hopefully. You?”

Anne shrugged. “Who knows. They’ll either love what I’m working on or hate it. But honestly, whether they do or don’t, I don’t much care.”

“Wait a minute.” Vicki was confused. “I thought you wanted the fellowship.”

“Oh, I do. Badly. The money would be fabulous, not to mention the contacts.” Anne shrugged. “None of that changes whether or not I like my project, though. So caring about their opinions is kind of beside the point, don’t you think?”

Vicki had to nod. Because Anne was right. Beyond right, actually. “How’d you get to be so smart so young?”

“Battle scars, baby. Once I realized that I beat myself up more than they ever could, I decided to start with kindness at home.” She made a funny face. “I’ve got to find a sexier way of saying that.”

“No, you don’t,” Vicki said softly. “Kindness is incredibly sexy.”

It was something Ryan had proved to her again and again.

“You want a coffee?” When Vicki shook her head, her friend grinned and said with uncanny precision, “In that case, I’ll leave you to get back to your dirty thoughts about Mr. Gorgeous.”

Oh God, was she that transparent?

Chapter Eight

That night, when Ryan walked through the door, his smile made her tingly in the kinds of places friends shouldn’t get tingly in when looking at each other. Still, she tried not to beat up on herself too much for being a normal woman with normal hormones. Of course she got tingly with him. Who wouldn’t?

It was one thing to feel those zings of desire for the gorgeous man walking toward her. It was another thing entirely to be stupid enough to actually do something about them.

Of course, he sure didn’t make it any easier for her to stuff down her perfectly normal and human female hormones when he drew her against him for a hug. Oh, what wouldn’t she give just to melt here against him...

“It smells amazing. Did you find everything you needed in the kitchen?”

“Are you kidding?” She made herself step out of his arms. “Professional chefs don’t have it this good. I didn’t know you were into cooking.”

He looked a little sheepish. “I’m not. One of the women I was dating for a while was taking cooking lessons, so...”

She turned back to the stove while trying to look like it didn’t bother her at all that some other woman had cooked for Ryan here, a woman who had probably been tall and slim, with perfect breasts and a small butt. Since Vicki couldn’t help her lack of inches in height—or the extra ones around her hips, either—she silently told herself to stop acting like an idiot.

Of course, it didn’t help that she remembered all too vividly his dating in high school, even without having seen some of the pictures of his beautiful companions these past years in the international press. It was the downside of knowing someone so well for so long. There wasn’t much that could stay hidden, even if you wished it would.

Wanting to push past the slightly awkward moment, she said brightly, “I caught the last few innings of your game. Congrats on the win.” Ryan hadn’t been pitching, but she’d enjoyed the glimpses of him in the dugout.

“It’s a good group this year.” He snagged a slice of bell pepper from her cutting board. “If everything keeps going well, I think we’ve got a pretty good chance of winning the World Series again.”

When he uncorked a bottle of red wine, she shot a glance at the bottle and then at him. “Can we agree in advance that if I fall asleep on you again tonight, we’ll both pretend it never happened and that I can totally hold my liquor?”

“Agreed,” he said with a grin. He handed her a glass before pouring his own and lifting it in a toast. “Here’s to finally making it past first base with the potting wheel today.”

She laughed as she clinked her glass against his. “And to ex-girlfriends who went absolutely crazy at Williams-Sonoma.” At his confused expression, she laughed again and said, “It’s a cookware store.”

She was about to take a sip when he leaned in as if he were sharing a secret. “She couldn’t cook worth a damn.”

Relief shouldn’t have bubbled up in her that she had something on the supermodel who had previously graced his kitchen. But she forgot all about being petty as she got her first sip of wine.

A moan escaped her lips. “My God. What is this?” After one incredibly smooth taste, she wouldn’t be surprised to find out it cost more than her monthly rent in Prague.

“One of Marcus’s special vintages.”

She took another sip and closed her eyes to really savor the taste. “Yet another reason why you have the best family ever. You don’t know how many times I wished I was a Sullivan.”

Her eyes flew open as she realized what she’d just—stupidly—blurted. Quickly putting her glass of wine down, she busied herself with turning down the burner, plating their salads, and bringing them over to the small table by the windows rather than into the big dining room on the other side of the kitchen.

Ryan followed her with their glasses of wine. As soon as they sat down, he told her, “I always loved it when you came over to our house. We all did.”

She jammed her fork into a cucumber and tried not to flush too brightly at his sweet words. It didn’t help that he was pure female fantasy in his dress shirt, tie, and dark slacks. Ryan in jeans and a T-shirt was yummy. In dress clothes he amped the yum way up. Especially when she thought about reaching over to help him off with his tie and then uncovering his tanned muscles one button at a time―

“How did your meeting with the fellowship board go? They must have loved your new idea.”

She thought about it for a minute before saying, “You can never really tell what they’re thinking when they put on their poker faces.”

It occurred to her how nice it was to be able to share these feelings with a true friend who had known her since those early years when she’d been working so hard just to capture laughter with clay. With almost anyone else, she would have felt she needed to make her answer shiny and snappy.