Free Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1) by Lea Griffith Page B

soda. She wanted to groan as his tanned throat worked up and down, moving the liquid from mouth to belly. And again, pathetic .
    “You finished?” he asked as he cleared away their leftovers.
    “Yeah, but I’ll get it, stay here,” she admonished as she uncurled her legs from the plush lounger.
    His gaze followed her. She felt the heat from it as she picked up his plasticware and boxes of food. He leaned back against the couch, a predator at ease in the domain of her home. For some reason, it didn’t bother her. In the past, any man who used up that much oxygen and gave off that much alpha had given her the willies. Ryan blew all that to hell. He could own her so easy. It’d totally be no muss, no fuss.
    In the kitchen the phone rang. It was the hospital wanting to give her an update on her mother’s condition. Status unchanged. Her mother remained on a respirator and there were minimal signs of brain activity. Sophie ended the call with a promise to the night nurse to visit tomorrow and a request to be contacted immediately if anything changed.
    There was still hope, but not much of it. Too much longer without activity and she’d have no choice but to sign consent to pull the respirator. It was keeping her mother alive, giving her a chance to pull through, but hope was dim at this stage. A massive stroke had ripped through her brain, tearing away the foundations of who Andromeda Hanson had been.
    A movement at the kitchen doorway caught her attention. Ryan stood there, shoulder pressed against the arched door frame, a look of concern on his face. Well over six feet, she guessed about six-three or so, his broad shoulders took up almost the entire opening. He crossed his arms over his chest, and she sighed as his pectoral muscles rippled under his white cable-knit sweater. The man was compelling.
    “You okay?” he asked, his deep voice rich with concern and something else she couldn’t identify.
    She threw the dishrag beside the sink, her gaze skipping away from his intent stare. “I’m good. You want something to drink? Vodka, gin? I’ve got some beer, too.”
    “Nah, I’m good. I may have a beer later.” There was that note again.
    His words hit her, and she knew there was something she was missing but couldn’t find the brainpower to figure it out. She walked his way, with every intention of moving past him, but he didn’t budge.
    Her eyes lifted to his, and she inhaled sharply. His eyes burned, lit by an inner flame. He pulled her to his chest and tucked her head under his chin.
    She lost it.
    Every tear she’d held on to for the last fifteen years came rushing forth, pouring out of a seemingly endless vat of pain. She let it go because for the first time in a very long time, she felt safe.
    *
    Her body shook with the force of her sobs. Silent but all the more brutal because of that, his heart clenched, and he had to bite back a curse as he lifted her into his arms and headed back to the couch. He’d yet to question her too intently about the man she called her brother, but the bastard had pretty much signed himself enemy when Ryan had seen him shaking Sophie.
    He refused to second-guess his actions. She’d been in danger; he’d responded. He’d had no thought for the fact that it could’ve been a boyfriend or a lover. He’d reacted at the sight of the other man’s hands on her, shaking her as rage flowed from his words. She’d cried out, and the sound had been unbearable, full of fear and pain. It had carried outside to him as he’d made his way to her front door. His heart had stopped and then pounded to get to her.
    Fury threatened to choke him now, and he had to mentally corral his thoughts as his hands flexed on her back and legs. He sat with her carefully, his big body providing her cushion as he placed her gently in his lap. Her head remained on his chest.
    “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.” She needed the soothing words but having never