TITLE: The Dream Weavers
CHAPTER 8

"Kirsten..." Ryan strode into the Cohen kitchen without preamble and walked right up to his desire.

Kirsten, who'd been busy at the stove, whirled around with a spatula in hand, looking surprised to see him. "Ryan."

"Look, I want to apologize for earlier," he dove right in. No sense beating around the bush. "You're right -- whatever this is, whatever's happening or has been happening between us... we can't act on it."

"Uh-huh." Kirsten was looking at him, but to Ryan it seemed she was off in space. She was almost looking through him.

Then her eyes flicked over him briefly. And Ryan realized that though Kirsten had insisted they couldn't act on their feelings... she never once indicated that she didn't want to. Her exact words had been, "We can't act on it, Ryan." Not that she didn't look at him that way. Hell, she had the same kind of dream he'd had. As badly as he wanted her, she wanted him right back. That mere thought tripped him up for a moment. "Uh... so..."

"Right," she responded with one definitive nod.

They each grew silent... watched each other awkwardly. Ryan's eyes drifted to the spatula in Kirsten's hand. "What are you making?"

"Umm..." She turned over her shoulder as if she'd forgotten what it was she was doing, and glanced into the skillet on the stove. "I felt like having an omelette."

"Smells like it's burning."

"Oh, no..." She lifted up one corner of the omelette and immediately wrinkled her nose at the sight of dark brown on the bottom. She glanced back at Ryan disappointedly. "Ryan..."

He chuckled at her pout. "Fine, I'll make one for you." He turned off the burner and took the skillet over to the sink, dumping the burnt omelette in the garbage before washing off the pan. He felt Kirsten leaning on the counter beside him and he tried not to look up -- the tension between them was already somewhere in the stratosphere. His eyes snuck a glance at her anyway.

"Just show me how to do it so I'll know for next time."

"Okay," he agreed, and put the newly-washed pan back on the burner. "Butter, please." He smiled a thank you at Kirsten when he was handed the tray of butter, and let some start to melt in the pan. "You want to watch for it bubbling, and then--"

Kirsten rolled her eyes and cut him off. "I think I can handle melting butter, but thanks for the vote of confidence."

He winked. "No problem. Alright, now hand me the eggs."

His heart flipped at the flirtatious smile she sent him. "How many?"

"Two is fine."

She plucked two eggs from the carton and outstretched her hand, offering them to him. On the way from her hand to his, however, one of the eggs slipped -- hit the floor with a wet smacking sound. The second followed soon after. "Dammit!" Kirsten exclaimed, half-chuckling.

Ryan couldn't help but chuckle back at the sheer idiocy of their situation and grabbed the roll of paper towels. "Was that the last of the eggs?"

"Yes."

"Ah." He nodded and smirked down at her.

She gave him a look through her lashes, a facetious glare, and held out her hand for the paper towels. "Just get down here and help me clean this up."

Ryan grinned, but did as she bade and knelt down with her, assisting her with mopping up the mess. "Wow, I didn't think you were that clumsy."

Laughing, Kirsten playfully smacked his shoulder. "Oh stop it. My hands were shaking, I couldn't help it."

"Why were they shaking?"

"Why do you think?" she chuckled, and that was when their eyes met.

The laughter faded, as did everything else around them. Ryan was almost floored by her implication. Her hands were shaking because of him? Because of the proximity? The tension? Had he ever had the ability to do that to a woman? He knew he had talent when it came to things of a sexual nature -- it was one of the few things he was actually confident about. But to make a woman's hands shake without touching her, without kissing her...

Ryan opened his mouth, fighting for speech. What the hell could he say to that? If he told her she made him shake too that would just open up a bigger can of worms. There had to be something that could be said to ease the tension. Things wouldn't be like this forever, would they? Hardly being able to look at each other, talk to each other, be around each other without this overwhelming need to explore the forbidden?

When nothing came to him except the painfully-irresistible urge to kiss Kirsten, he stood up and disposed of the dirty paper towels. "Uh, do you think we got it all?"

He watched Kirsten swallow, hard, and nod, keeping her gaze from his. "Yeah, yes." She handed him her own paper towels and he tossed those out as well.

Then, he held out a hand to help her to her feet, which she took with a tiny (nervous?) smile. "Thanks."

"Sure." He grasped her hand tightly and hoisted her to her feet.

When Kirsten tried to brush past him, Ryan just barely caught her whisper about going to the store for more eggs before he gave a tug on her hand and pulled her close. Deftly, he swept his hand under her long blonde tresses and cupped the back of her neck.

Alarm lit Kirsten's eyes for just a moment before the feeling of being so close to her desire caught up with her. She felt her eyelids grow heavy, felt herself zeroing in on his lips. She gripped his shirt at his sides, knees practically buckling at the sensation of him cupping her face. His gruff whisper against her lips did her in.

"Let me kiss you, Kirsten. Just once."

"Yes," she whispered back desperately, and as their lips touched, their eyes met for one brief second before snapping shut. And from that split-second look they both knew... there wouldn't be just this one kiss.