When the server appeared with their dinners, Ryder waited for her to take the first bite, then eased back into conversation. “Grady had the hots for her in high school, but, as usual, he hesitated and she hooked up with another guy.”
“How long have they been seeing each other?”
“I have no idea. Grady and I don’t exactly sit and talk about relationships. But it’s Grady, he’s always got someone on the line.”
“Player, huh?” She chewed the mushroom ravioli until it degraded to a nauseating paste. Not daring to swallow, she kept chewing for fear she might choke on it.
“Makes me—before I met you—look like a saint. Seriously. Name a single woman in town, and he’s either slept with her or tried.”
“Oh.” Pressure welled behind her eyes. Was she getting Grave’s disease? Blinking, she tried to equalize before scheduling the thyroidectomy.
And she folded. Cat got her tongue. Ryder wasn’t so bad. At least she knew him.
Why had she let herself get so worked up about a guy she didn’t even know? One that, from the sounds of things, was adept at flashing a few winks and dampening some panties.
Holy shit, Claire, get a grip. Nerve lost, appetite toast, Claire couldn’t work up the courage to dump him tonight.
When they got back to the blue suite that night, they crawled quietly into bed. Ryder leaned in and kissed her goodnight. Lips soft against hers, he moved in to take it further.
Pulling away, still suffering from the world’s worst cases of cottonmouth and ocular pressure, Claire closed her eyes and forced a smile. “I’ve got a migraine.”
Confused, or so it felt from the stiff rollover, Ryder shut off the lamp. Voice crackling as he spoke under the brightening glow of the moon, he said, “Claire?”
“Yeah?”
After a long inhale, staring up at the ceiling on the opposite side of the bed, Ryder finally spoke. “I’m sorry things don’t seem to be getting any easier. Let’s just get through this trip and take some time when we get home. Now’s not the time to be making any big decisions.”
Hair tangling against the pillow as she nodded, Claire murmured, “You’re right. I can’t think straight right now.”
Hours later, eyes still wide open, Claire stared up at the ceiling. Ryder snored softly beside her, peacefully in dreamland. Midnight. One. Two.
Regret was a terrible sleep-depriver. She should have just ended it at dinner. Grady or no Grady in her future, known evil or not, Ryder wasn’t the one for her. When did she turn into such a fraidy cat?
Okay. That’s enough. Her stomach was growling anyway, having hardly touched her dinner.
Claire slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. A sharp hunk of icy metal jabbed into her foot. She grabbed her foot and hopped as she silenced her yelp. What the hell was that? Claire bent down and found Ryder’s belt on the floor. As he never left stuff on the floor, she knew he was as messed up as she was right now.
Despite her limp, she made it out of the bedroom, unscathed through the final stretch, and closed the door behind her. Looking down, she realized she wore nothing but tiny shorts and a paper-thin, spaghetti strap camisole, her nipples standing at attention in the cool air.
Nope, that would be downright slutty. If Bill or Patricia came down for a midnight snack? She shivered at the thought.
She didn’t dare risk waking Ryder, so she grabbed the chunky cardigan that she’d left on the arm of the couch and slipped it on. It covered enough so she would be safe if anyone walked in. Slutty, but waking Ryder was riskier.
The tile kitchen floor was freezing, and her toes immediately curled inward. Claire shuffled quickly toward the kitchen to grab her snack so she could escape back upstairs.
As she rounded the corner, she lurched, flooding with panic and lust and thrill and stupidity and...Dammit. Sexy-as-holy-fucking-hell. Like her waking dreams of him suddenly materialized in the kitchen, along details that she would never have had the creativity to conjure. Her jaw lost all strength and her eyes hazed with unbridled appreciation like when Captain Kirk laid eyes on a scantily dressed alien with big boobs.
Grady gulped from a crystal-clear glass of water, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the guzzle. The angle of his arm was... superb. As if he were posing to give her the absolute best view of how his deltoid and bicep and tricep all came together like a Platonian model. Not to mention those abs—sans shirt. Washboard, she believed, was the term. And those carefree jeans slung low on his hips, top button undone.Puh-hoo.
Gasping as he downed the last of his drink, he turned to see her standing and gawking. The corner of his mouth quirked up, a satisfied grin like she was exactly what he had ordered. “Hi,” he said.
Shivers ran straight up her spine. When did “Hi,” become the single most seductive word in the English language? Why again, had she lost her nerve and not ended things with Ryder? Player or not, she could at least have a quick rebound before going home...
“Hi,” she answered, hoping she didn’t look like the eager horn-dog she had become. “I, uh, couldn’t sleep.”
His grin widened. “You couldn’t seem to stay awake at Ahab’s. Sleep too much last night so you can’t sleep tonight?”
“Thanks again for taking me home last night. Or, well...” She glanced at the time. “Two nights ago, I suppose. I know you probably wanted to stay and hang out with your friends more.”
