Chapter 7
Chapter Seven: Bella
Ryder drives us to a nearby town, and it’s like stepping into an Alpine fairytale.
The colorful buildings and cobblestone streets are cozy and welcoming.
He parks the car and we stroll around. He seems to know exactly where he’s going, which surprises me.
There was no sign of recognition or familiarity in his expression when I told him where we were going. Yet…
“Have you been here before?” I ask when he points out a particular restaurant and suggests we eat there.
“Several times.”
So vague. I look over at him, waiting for him to share more. “Care to expand?”
“My dad and stepmom sent me to school in Austria for a year.” He shrugs. “I hopped on the train and explored. I’ve also visited a few times since.”
“Like a boarding school?” He nods. “Why only a year? Did you get kicked out?” I tease, elbowing his arm.
“Sure did.”
I abruptly stop, more curious than surprised. “What did you do?”
“Set the school on fire.”
My eyes go wide, and he chuckles. Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe a prank gone wrong, sure. But arson?
“It was an accident,” he explains. “I snuck onto the roof and was testing a drone I built. It may have gone a little haywire and got caught in a vent.”
“How did the fire start?”
“My friend and I had attached fireworks to it and, well, you can imagine what happened.” He makes an explosive gesture with his hands and mouths the word, “Boom!”
“Why would you do that?” I can’t help but laugh.
“I was a bit of a rebel.”
“I’d say so.”
“In my defense, it’s only because I wanted attention.
My parents were always too busy fighting with each other, so I had to resort to devious measures.
” He shrugs. “It was easier to send their only child away to boarding schools in Europe than manage the day-to-day needs of a family. After they divorced, Judith became a cougar—FYI, she’s still going through an endless stream of poolboys and baristas—and Arthur married Wanda, my stepwitch.
I’ve got two stepbrothers who hate me, but it’s mutual.
Can you say dysfunctional with a capital D? ”
A wave of sympathy washes over me. I can’t imagine growing up like that. “I don’t have any siblings, half or whole.”
“Consider yourself lucky.”
I have no idea what possesses me to confide in him but in a very soft voice, I add, “My dad was my only family. My best friend.”
We pause outside of the quaint-looking restaurant, and I turn my head, looking away as tears threaten.
Even after all this time, I can’t help but feel their burn when I think of the wonderful man my father was, how much he loved me and how I lost him too early.
There’s always that tiny part of me that wonders what he would think of my current lifestyle and who I’ve become.
I don’t think he’d judge me too harshly for doing what I had to do early on.
But now? I’m not so sure. And the idea of disappointing him is part of the sting in my eyes.
“Was?” Ryder echoes.
I sniffle, silently berating myself for getting emotional in front of him. Emotions make you easier to manipulate, and I really need to keep the upper hand here. But it’s either sniff or let snot run down my face, and I’m already embarrassed enough.
When I don’t say anything, he reaches out and gently turns my face back toward him. Maybe I’m imagining it, but genuine empathy seems to fill his dark brown eyes.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” he murmurs.
Delaney, I want to say. Please, call me by my real name.
But I don’t dare. Instead, I simply lean into his touch, quite aware that Ryder is the first person since I became Bella who I’ve wanted to call me by my given name.
I can’t allow anyone to get that close, though.
At the same time, it’s been so long since someone comforted me.
Touched me. And, God, it feels good. “He passed away six years ago,” I reveal. “But I miss him every day.”
“And your mom?” His thumb brushes light, feathery strokes along my jaw.
“I never knew her. She died during childbirth.”
“I’m sure she was just as lovely as you.”
When his thumb moves to slide over my lower lip, my gaze jerks up and my mouth opens. I’m breathing harder, and I don’t know if it’s from the elevation and being in the mountains or his touch.
Oh, hell, you live in the Mile High City. Denver is situated at a higher elevation than here.
Okay, so my reaction has everything to do with the man standing in front of me. The way he’s looking at me so intently. And I’m very close to falling into the espresso depths of his eyes.
Too dangerous.
I take a wobbly step back, breaking the connection.
Being vulnerable never looked good on me.
But Ryder doesn’t push. He merely takes my hand in his much larger one and guides me into the restaurant.
Something strangely comfortable passes between us.
If I was a mere bystander who didn’t know better, I’d say we were on a date.
Warning lights go off in my head, but I decide to ignore them.
At least, for the next couple of hours. My only goal right now is to relax and enjoy Ryder’s company.
I’ve been wound so tight lately, taking one job after another. Even if we are here, planning the biggest heist of my career, I deserve a night off. An evening to unwind with a glass of wine and an entertaining companion. God knows, I’ve earned it.
A server takes us to a corner table beside the fireplace where it’s a little more private. The moment Ryder releases my hand, I miss its warm and reassuring strength. Sitting down, I distract myself from the loss by checking out the decor and the low fire crackling in the hearth.
“Do you trust me to order for us?” Ryder asks.
In my line of work, I’ve become a control freak.
It’s no surprise. Thieving is dangerous work, and I refuse to put my safety into just anyone’s hands.
Especially with so much competition and the way everyone is out for himself.
I suppose it’s trickled over into my personal life, too. I rely on myself. No one else.
Despite my inability to hand over control easily, I nod. I mean, it’s only dinner. Not exactly a life-or-death situation, and I know the man has good taste. He orders a fancy-sounding bottle of wine and, of course, Wiener schnitzel.
“Okay, so tell me what I’m about to eat. It’s like a hotdog, right?”
He laughs. “No, you’re thinking of the fast-food place in the States. True Wiener schnitzel is an Austrian national dish. It’s traditionally made with veal and coated in a crisp breadcrumb crust, served with lemon and butterhead lettuce. Oh, and a side of the best potato salad you’ll ever have.”
The server returns, opens the bottle of red wine and pours each of us a glass. Ryder picks his glass up, expertly swirls it around then sniffs it.
“Are you a wine connoisseur?” He seems so cultured, so in-the-know about all high-end things.
I may like luxurious items and have the ability to surround myself with them now, but I don’t have nearly the experience he has.
I grew up playing in the dirt on digs, not eating in fancy restaurants or attending expensive European boarding schools. Ryder McKay is the real deal—Old Money.
“I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but I do enjoy a good wine.” He takes a sip and gives a little groan. “Exquisite.”
My stomach somersaults at the sexy sound, and I quickly take a drink.
It’s absolutely delicious—the wine and his groan.
Pressing my lips together, I’m suddenly at a loss for words.
I also realize I’m sitting ramrod straight like there’s a pole up my ass.
Fuck. Am I nervous? It’s been so long since I’ve been out with a man, and I need to remind myself this isn’t really a date.
Ryder is simply my partner in crime. Nothing more.
“Bella…” He reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. “What’s wrong? You don’t like the wine? I can get you something else.”
“No.” I pull my hand away and force a smile. “It’s very good. Sorry, my mind is on the castle. I’m hoping we didn’t come all this way for nothing.” A little white lie. Sort of. The truth is, this man has my insides spinning, and my stomach feels like it’s in a washing machine.
“This might sound a little strange, but I’m glad you kidnapped me.” He clinks his glass against mine. “You’re a breath of much-needed fresh air.”
“Thanks?”
He smirks, and we both take a drink. I study him over the rim of my glass and try not to bite my lip.
He looks insanely handsome tonight, and I have the ridiculous urge to run my fingers through those thick waves on his head.
Brush that wayward lock off his forehead and maybe press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.
It’s the alcohol talking. Nothing more. Except I’ve only had a sip. I gulp down more, finishing my glass of wine faster than I should, but needing the liquid courage.
As Ryder pours me more, the server brings our food.
“Oh, this smells delicious,” I gush, reaching for my knife and fork.
Ryder waits for me to take a bite, and this time I’m the one moaning.
The blend of flavors is delicious and it practically melts in my mouth.
It could quite possibly be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
“Well?”
I make the chef’s kiss motion as I chew. “Excellent choice, Mr. McKay.”
“I’m glad you approve, Miss Diamond.”
I take another gulp of wine, allowing my inhibitions to wash away.
The rest of our dinner passes in a flurry of flirty banter and conversation.
Ryder is a rare, very intriguing combination of tech genius and sex god.
He’s so smart and knowledgeable about everything, but he doesn’t come off like a know-it-all nerd who can’t talk to girls.
Quite to the contrary, he’s very smooth and knows all the right things to say.
But it seems genuine, not just like a douchebag trying to get into my pants.
I love how sincere he is, how he makes me laugh so easily.
By the time we’re finished and leaving the restaurant, the moon hangs high in the sky, the fresh air feels wonderful and I’m feeling damn good, thanks to my very charming date and too much wine. This is truly the best night I’ve had in a very long time.
“Want to go for a walk?” he asks, offering his arm.
“Sure.” I slide my arm through his and we stroll down the cobblestone street, passing closed shops and other restaurants. I’m a little tipsy and lean against him. His cologne teases my nose, and I breathe it in deeply. “You always smell so good,” I murmur. “Like citrus and amber.”
He chuckles. “You can thank Tom Ford. It’s his Neroli Portofino.”
“Thank you, Tom Ford,” I declare, snuggling closer.
“You always smell like jasmine.” He leans closer, his nose brushing against my hair, sending goosebumps racing down my spine.
“Le Labo Jasmin 17. It’s my favorite.”
“It suits you.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow. “How so?”
“It’s sensual and a little mysterious. Definitely your signature scent.”
My pulse kicks up and, without thinking about it, I lay my head against his shoulder. “You know, I think you’d make a really good boyfriend,” I confess.
“You think so, huh?”
Oh, crap. Did I say that out loud? “Don’t mind me, I’m just a little pissed.”
“You know what they say—a drunk woman’s words are a sober woman’s thoughts.”
“Okay, so I’m not completely pissed,” I admit. “Just pleasantly tipsy.”
He laughs, and we turn the corner, heading down a quiet side street. “You’re so very British.”
“I am British. And proud of it, despite my tendency to cover my accent. But self-preservation and all. It’s just part of the act, you know?”
He stops, turning to face me. We’re so close, and suddenly I’m surrounded by him—his warm citrus and amber scent, the heat coming off his much bigger body. I take a step back and bump into a building’s stone wall.
“I like the real you,” he murmurs, caging me in. “The raw, unfiltered you.”
“You don’t know the real me,” I counter.
He lifts a hand, sliding it through my hair and around to cup the back of my neck while his other hand grips my hip. “I’d like to.” His voice drops even lower, slightly raspy. “You’re the most fascinating, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
His admission makes my heart skip a beat. Truth or lie, it’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a very long time.
I’ve never been lost in anyone’s eyes before, but I fall willingly into Ryder’s. His head lowers and my lips part in invitation. Just one kiss. What can it hurt?
The moment his mouth captures mine, I let out a whimper and sag against him.
He tastes just as good as he smells, a heady combination of fruity wine and sparkling citrus.
What began as a light exploration quickly turns into something deeper and more passionate.
His hands lock around my wrists, lifting them up and pinning them against the wall on either side of my head.
His tongue slides into my mouth and I meet its warm glide. Exploring. Craving more.
Arching against him, wanting desperately to touch him, but unable to move my hands, I kiss him back with a wild enthusiasm I normally keep leashed. But he makes me want to let loose and, for once in my life, give in to sensation. To him.
I am in so much trouble. Lines are blurring, and I need to keep a straight head on my shoulders. Yet here I am, canoodling in a dark corner with Ryder after drinking too much alcohol.
Way to be professional. I’m going to stop this, and we’re going to go back to the cottage and retreat to our separate bedrooms.
But first, just one more kiss.