Chapter 3
Ryder
“This place is unbelievable,” I mumble. I’m glad Tiago arrived first thing this morning. When I found out he was coming, I called him last night to verify his ETA. Exploring this monstrosity is not something I would want to do on my own. For one thing, who would I make snide remarks to if I were alone? For another, I might get lost, and no one would ever find me.
Maybe the girl I met yesterday afternoon would eventually show up and send in a search party. I almost chuckle at the thought of her. I have done little else besides think of her since I left her standing on the curb.
She was hell on wheels. A very sexy hell on wheels. She made my cock take notice, which is very bad because she’s twenty-two. Far too young for the likes of me. She called me old man. At forty, I probably seem like an old man to her.
Her age has not kept me from picturing her in my mind over and over. The way she stood there with her arms folded under her perfect breasts. The way she wasn’t afraid to lean into me. Spar with me. She didn’t even glance away when I needled her. It was the most fun I’ve had in months. I kind of hope she takes me up on my offer to come here and talk to me. I’d like to see her again. Fuck the age difference.
“You’re not kidding,” Tiago responds, jarring me out of my musing. “How many rooms have you been in?”
I glance at him. “You think I wandered around in here on my own before you got here?” I shudder. I’m not exactly a coward, but this mansion is freaky beyond words.
When I arrived last night, I found a note from the woman who has managed this estate for thirty years. Gretchen. Luckily, she gave me instructions on which rooms she had cleaned for guests on the second floor. I claimed one and barely left it until this morning.
Tiago and I are in what I assume is a library. Gretchen arrived early this morning, even before Tiago. She’s in the kitchen. I’m grateful she’s here because she’s apparently going to prepare our meals. The last thing I want to do is go into town and wander the aisles of the grocery store, especially now that I’m more certain the citizens of Wilde are feeling rather hostile.
Tiago glances toward the door to the library and speaks in a low voice, “How old do you suppose Gretchen is?”
I shrug. “Seventy?”
She told us the mansion used to be spic and span, but in recent years, it has gone into disrepair because our grandfather became more and more miserly in his old age. He didn’t think he needed the household of staff who had been employed here in past decades. This certainly matches with what Thomas told me.
At the time of Amos Wilde’s death, the estate had only two employees—Gretchen and Andre, who manages the exterior and looks to be about seventy as well. I met him briefly earlier, too.
I’m betting some of the books in this library are originals. They need to be dusted and cataloged. There are thousands of leather-bound volumes. It’s impressive.
I turn at the sound of someone clearing their throat at the entrance to the library. It’s Gretchen. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but you have a guest. Claire Kennett is here. Would you like me to show her in?”
Claire Kennett. I have no idea who that might be, but I’m secretly hoping it’s the girl from yesterday. I’d love to go toe-to-toe with her again. It seems unlikely, though. She probably didn’t take my invitation seriously.
Tiago looks at me.
I shrug. “Sure.” God, I hope she’s not another citizen here to grill us. Tiago and I have not had a chance to even begin to understand what the hell is going on in this town.
I stare at the entrance and suck in a breath when the girl I met late yesterday afternoon steps into the room. She’s exactly how I remember her—jeans, a different tank top from yesterday, long brown hair in a thick braid, and a fierce stance. I’m not at all sure it was a good idea to invite her here this morning, but my cock thinks it was. Damn, she calls to me. And damn, she’s young.
She’s twenty-two, I remind myself—hardly a kid. But I’ll just keep telling myself she’s way too young for me. It’s better if I have that constant reminder. Without it, I might decide to press her against the wall and put her smart mouth to a far different use than sparring with me.
Gretchen has disappeared.
I see Tiago glancing at me with curiosity in my peripheral vision. I’m not taking my gaze off Claire. I like the name. It suits her.
She holds up a box that looks like it came from a bakery. “I brought pastries. Peace offering.” She offers me a smile before glancing at my brother.
I set my hands on my hips and hold her gaze. “Did you spit on them?” I don’t know why I feel the need to goad her, but I can’t help it. I like keeping her on her toes.
She sighs. “No.”
Tiago’s breath hitches. He’s shocked by my behavior. So am I.
“Did you make them?” I challenge. I’m being such an ass, but I can’t help myself. Plus, it’s better if she doesn’t like me. Better for my cock.
“Yes. Not alone, but yes.”
“Did your mommy help?” Oh, yeah, I’m an asshole.
She draws in a slow breath, seemingly trying to control her reaction. “Okay, maybe I deserve your mistrust, but could you possibly treat me like an adult?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
Gretchen bustles back to the doorway. “Would you like to have tea or coffee in the kitchen?” she asks, looking between me and Tiago.
“Uhhh.” Tiago glances at me. “I need to make a few calls, actually. I’ll let Ryder handle this one.” My brother throws me under the bus before clasping my shoulder and darting from the room with barely a nod toward Claire.
Great .
I respond to Gretchen, “Coffee would be great. Thank you.” I wave a hand toward the hallway, hoping Gretchen will lead the way, especially since I hardly know which direction to turn to find the kitchen.
Claire matches my pace next to me, even though she has to take nearly two steps for every one of mine, and I do nothing to adjust my speed because, obviously, I’m incapable of being anything but a dick toward this girl. Woman .
Like yesterday, I’m way too close to her again. Like yesterday, she smells sweet as though…I mentally slap my forehead. “Do you own the bakery in town?”
“My family does, yes.”
That explains the pastries and the fact that she did not make them alone.
When we arrive at the kitchen, Gretchen takes the box from Claire and sets it on the table. She’s being a far better hostess than me. “Would you like coffee or tea, dear?”
I slide into a seat at the head of the table without pulling out a chair for Claire. I really am honing my dick-moves with this woman. I’ve never been so thoughtless in my life. I’m not ordinarily such an ass, which is making me beyond aware of my faux pas as she pulls out her own chair next to me. “Coffee is fine. Thank you, Gretchen.”
“Do you two know each other?” I ask as Claire sits, spine rigid, hands in her lap. She’s nervous but determined not to let me see it.
She stares at me for a moment before sighing. “Yes, old man, it’s a small town. I know most of the citizens by name. We all do.”
Gretchen spins around and gasps, her eyes wide. “Claire…” she admonishes.
I chuckle. “It’s okay, Gretchen. We met yesterday in town. I deserve to be called much worse than old man.”
Gretchen shoots another glare at Claire and purses her lips before turning back toward the coffee pot—the kind that brews an entire pot. I don’t see a Keurig anywhere in this kitchen.
We sit in silence for a few minutes while Gretchen bustles around, bringing us cups and saucers, cream and sugar, and finally, coffee, which she has poured into a carafe.
I’ve never had anyone serve me before. It’s uncomfortable. “Please, sit,” I tell her. “Join us.”
She looks at me like I have two heads. “Goodness no, sir. Enjoy your coffee.” She sets small dessert plates, forks, and knives in front of us before rushing out of the room.
Claire chuckles. “You’re not from money, are you?”
I somehow manage to find my manners and fill Claire’s cup with the steaming brew before my own. “No. I mean, I was raised upper middle class, and I make a decent living, but I was living in New York City until yesterday. The rent on a rundown one-bedroom was probably higher than most of the mortgages in this town combined.”
She lifts a brow as she pulls the sugar and creamer toward her. “Mortgages? You do realize there are no mortgages in Wilde, right?”
I frown as I pick up my cup and take a sip. “Everyone’s home is paid off?”
She chuckles sardonically. “You truly have no clue what you’ve gotten into here, old man. Your grandfather owned this entire town. Every single building. The citizens rent everything.”
“Seriously? Even their homes?” I’m stunned.
“Yes.”
I lean back in my chair and watch as she carefully adds the perfect amount of cream and sugar to her coffee. “Was there a town meeting last night? Is that why you’re here? Are you the town’s spokesperson?” I’m taunting her again. It’s too easy.
She rolls her pretty green eyes and ignores my question. “Is the other man one of your cousins?”
“Tiago. He’s my brother. Older. Not sure you want to call me old in front of him,” I warn, though I’m sure Tiago would find her snarky attitude hysterical.
“And your name? Maybe I would stop calling you ‘old man’ if you actually introduced yourself.”
“Ryder.”
“Ryder… Sounds like a pseudonym one might assume if they were a pretentious movie star.”
I laugh. “I’ll tell my mother you said that.”
She gasps, eyes going wide. “Don’t you dare.” She pulls the box of pastries between us and opens the top. “I didn’t spit on them. I promise.”
I lean forward and feast my eyes on a dozen different pastries. They look and smell delicious. “Wow. Pick one for me.” I hold up my plate.
She glances around before looking back at me. “I don’t have a serving utensil. You choose. I wouldn’t want to touch your food.” She’s so flustered and…cute. Gorgeous is the correct word, but I’m sticking with cute as I remind myself she’s far too young for me. Besides, she thinks I’m ancient.
I nod toward the box. “Just choose one, Claire. I’m not worried about your fingers touching my Danish.” I’m pushing her simply because I enjoy watching her all agitated and uncertain.
I’m so out of my element. Seriously. I’m not usually like this—a dick. But she makes it so easy. Maybe I’m trying to protect myself from the fact that I’m fucking attracted to her, more so than I have been to any woman in my life.
My cock got hard the moment I saw her next to my truck yesterday. There’s just something about her. I can’t put my finger on it. I liked that she stood there all puffed up and ready to take me on. Though I teased her about being a child, that had been out of self-preservation. I suspected she was at least twenty-one, and I’m relieved to find out she’s one year older than that.
She’s still too fucking young for me, and the fact that I’m even entertaining the thought is absurd.
She’s like a breath of fresh air in what I’m going to guess is a very chaotic world. Somehow, I don’t think anything about living in Wilde is going to be smooth sailing. Not just this decrepit property but the entire town.
Claire hesitates, staring into the box with her fingers lifted as though she thinks it’s sacrilegious to touch my pastry. When she bites into the corner of her bottom lip, I have to suppress a moan. I need her not to do that.
Her long, thick, brown braid is hanging over one shoulder, and I have the urge to pull the band off the end and run my fingers through it to see how it looks down. She’s wearing little or no makeup. She doesn’t need any.
I’ve been trying to keep my gaze above her shoulders, but I lose the battle as she hesitates, her gaze still on the pastries. I glance down at her pert tits. She’s wearing a black tank top, skinny jeans, and flip-flops.
Claire certainly didn’t get dressed up to pay me a visit. I suspect she came straight from the bakery, which is undoubtedly open at this hour and managing without her.
“Seriously?” she asks me, glancing in my direction. She lowers her hand and starts to scoot her chair back. “I’ll go find a serving utensil.”
I grab her wrist. What’s wrong with me? “I dare you.”
Her breath hitches. “You dare me to touch your Danish?”
I don’t release her wrist as I bring her hand closer to the open box. “Yep. It’s fun watching you squirm.”
“Ryder…” Her voice is breathy. She’s staring at where I’m holding her arm.
“Double-dare you,” I tease. “Live on the edge. Touch my pastry.”
She rolls her eyes, shakes free of my hand, and reaches into the box to pick up what looks like a cherry Danish. One of her fingers slips into the red swirl of jelly as she sets it on my plate.
Now she has a new problem, and watching her fidget over the fact that Gretchen didn’t leave us any napkins is even more fun than watching her try to decide to touch the pastry in the first place.
Claire is holding her hand up. Her thumb and pointer have red jelly on them.
I can’t resist continuing to taunt her. I wrap my fingers around her wrist again and lean in closer. “Are you rich?”
She frowns at me. “Of course not. The bakery is in the red. Same as every other business in this town. Why would you ask that?”
“If I weren’t here, would you lick your fingers?”
She swallows, staring at me.
“ Would you?” I push.
When her tongue slips out to lick her lips, I nearly groan. We may have a strange verbal-sparring thing happening between us, but at the same time, the sexual chemistry is sizzling. It’s undeniable, and she knows it as well as I do.
I lean even closer. My face is inches from hers. I’m still holding her sticky fingers between us. “Your heart is racing,” I murmur.
“You’re intense,” she whispers.
I smile. “I want to watch you lick your fingers, Claire.” I shouldn’t be sitting so close to her. I shouldn’t be touching her, breathing her air, or talking to her like I’m two seconds from dragging her to my bedroom. I know my tone is filled with desire.
When she licks her plump lips again, I do groan this time. “If you want my fingers licked so badly, you do it,” she says.
Oh, baby … I hold her gaze, not even blinking as I bring her pointer to my mouth and draw it in, sucking and swirling my tongue around the digit before releasing it with a pop and doing the same with her thumb.
She’s panting, eyes wide with shock.
My adrenaline is pumping, and I act instinctually when I release her hand and hold the flap of the box open again. “I’ll pick one for you. Do you have a preference?”
She slowly shakes her head.
I lift out a bear claw and set it on her plate before lifting my sticky fingers to her lips and teasing the bottom one back and forth until she opens for me and leans forward an inch to suck my pointer into her mouth.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. My cock is harder than it’s ever been from watching Claire suck my fingers clean, eyes wide, tongue driving me mad.