Not Quite Married by Christine Rimmer

Author:Christine Rimmer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Man-Woman Relationships, Chick-Lit, Contemporary, Romance, Adult, Women's Fiction, Love Stories
ISBN: 9780373658831
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-04-20T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Ryan flew backward with a heavy grunt and staggered against the desk. He shook his head to clear it, and blood flew from his nose.

Then he jumped right up again and waded back in.

Dalton was ready for him with a left hook. Ryan blocked it and delivered another dizzying right.

They went at it for real then, knocking over both chairs, breaking the pot the sad plant was sitting in, ending up on the floor, where they grappled for dominance. Blood streamed from Ryan’s nose, more so when Dalton gained the top position and punched him in the face again. They rolled. Ryan was on top. He punched Dalton in the eye. They rolled some more, neither of them managing to stay on top for long, both of them grunting and breathing heavily by then, grinding pottery shards and loose potting soil into their clothes.

It ended when the door opened. A guy in a chef’s hat stuck his head in and shouted, “All right, enough!”

The whole thing was so damn stupid. Apparently, Ryan thought so, too. He started laughing again. He was a mess, blood all over his face, his nose and left eye swelling. Dalton didn’t kid himself that he looked any better.

They rolled apart and sat up, arms on their bent, spread knees, sucking in air hard and fast.

The chef asked, “Anybody need a doctor?”

Ryan sent Dalton a questioning glance. When Dalton shook his head, Ryan said, “Thanks, Roberto. We’re okay.”

The chef watched them with mixed resignation and disdain. Finally, he announced, “Tim from Diageo is waiting out front.”

“Have Benny deal with him.” Ryan prodded the cut under his left eye.

“If I leave, are you two gonna behave yourselves?” Roberto glared from Ryan to Dalton and back to Ryan again.

“Yeah,” Ryan said.

“We’re finished,” agreed Dalton.

The chef ducked out. Dalton got up and held down a hand. Ryan took it and Dalton helped him to his feet.

Dalton said, “Well, that didn’t solve a damn thing.”

Ryan shrugged. “Kind of satisfying, though.”

Dalton stared around at the general devastation. “Sorry about your office.”

“No big deal. That plant was half-dead anyway.”

Dalton looked down at his bloody, dirt-smeared shirt and slacks. “I need to clean up a little before I go.”

Ryan swiped drying blood from under his nose. “It’s not going to help. She’ll know exactly what you’ve been up to.”

Dalton only looked at him.

Finally, Ryan grunted. “Men’s room is back out past the kitchen, through the swinging doors. We walked right by it on our way in here.”

* * *

The scent of Mrs. Scrugg’s savory chicken and dumplings filled the air, and Clara was working on her laptop in the great room when she heard Dalton let himself in.

She expected him to come looking for her the way he always did when he entered the house. The baby kicked. She put her hand on the spot, knowing he would want to feel it, too. A smile of greeting rose to her lips—and faded when she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

He must have work he had deal with.

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