Chapter 7
7
ISABEL
R yker had walked me to work. Huh.
My mind raced with every unspoken word, every flicker of something dangerous I’d seen in his eyes moments ago. He wasn’t just my brother’s best friend. He was a man who could tie me in knots without even trying. And I’d never been tied in knots like that before.
I took a slow breath as I stepped behind the front desk of The Palmetto Rose, shaking off the residual tension from our walk. The familiar rhythm of the hotel washed over me, grounding me. Crisp white linens. The rich scents wafting from the café. The soft sounds of guests passing through, their conversations blending into a gentle, cultured murmur.
This was my world. A world I’d built for myself—one of luxury and polished perfection. Everything about hospitality called to me, from the intricate ballet of staff moving seamlessly through their tasks to the quiet satisfaction of making someone’s stay unforgettable. My job was more than just checking people in and handing over keycards. It was about creating an experience, about offering a sliver of warmth and comfort to people who, for a few nights, called this place home.
I’d chosen this career because I loved it. Because I loved the rush of solving problems, the art of making things run smoothly even when chaos lurked beneath the surface. It was something I could control, something I was good at. And after years of feeling like my life had been dictated by circumstances beyond my control—losing Mom, then Dad, and now Will leaving again—having something that was mine felt necessary.
I pulled my shoulders back, forcing my mind away from Ryker and his impossible intensity. He didn’t belong in this part of my life. He belonged in the shadows, in places where people whispered about danger and power, where men like him dictated the rules instead of following them.
And yet …
I sighed, forcing my focus onto the monitor in front of me as I checked in a middle-aged couple from up North. They smiled warmly as I handed them their keys, their fingers brushing when they reached for them. The kind of simple, affectionate touch that spoke of years spent together, of a love so ingrained it didn’t need grand gestures.
A love I wasn’t sure I’d ever have.
I plastered on my best professional smile, ready to assist the next guest, when a voice—deep, smooth, interested —cut through the hum of the lobby.
“Tell me something, do they make the dress code at this hotel that good on purpose, or are you just the exception?”
I blinked up at the man leaning casually against the counter, and, okay—wow. Not Ryker .
He was young, maybe early twenties, with the kind of lean, athletic build that suggested he spent as much time running drills as he did studying. His short brown hair was neatly trimmed, his jaw strong and dusted with the faintest hint of stubble. But it was his smile that got me—easy, charming, the kind that made a girl feel noticed.
He couldn’t have been more than a couple of years younger than me.
I arched a brow, but my stomach did a tiny, traitorous flip at the way his eyes lingered.
The Palmetto Rose had a strict dress code for staff—polished, professional, elegant without being flashy. For the front desk, that meant a crisp white blouse and a matching pencil skirt that hugged just enough without being inappropriate. Classic black heels—nothing too high, just enough to add a touch of sophistication. My name tag was pinned neatly to my lapel, and my dark hair was swept into a sleek low bun, not a strand out of place.
I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms on the counter. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”
He grinned, unrepentant. “Only when they’re true.”
I let out a soft laugh despite myself. “Can I help you with something, Mr …?”
“Matt,” he supplied. “Matt Ralston. I’m a cadet at The Citadel. Just stopped in for coffee before class.”
That explained the crisp gray wool uniform, the high collar fastened neatly at his throat, the gleaming brass buttons marching down the front of his jacket in perfect symmetry. A polished black belt cinched around his waist, emphasizing the sharp lines of his posture, and his dark trousers, complete with a military crease, looked as if they’d been ironed that morning with a ruler. Even the silver insignia on his lapels reflected the light of the lobby chandeliers, a testament to the discipline The Citadel drilled into its cadets.
The military college was a Charleston staple, known for turning out some of the most disciplined men in the country. And yet, despite the rigid uniform and the air of precision that came with it, there was something distinctly easy about Matt. A confidence that wasn’t just rehearsed military bearing—it was playfulness, charm, the kind of energy that reminded me of the guys I’d dated before.
Safe. Fun. Predictable. The kind of guy I should be interested in. The kind of guy who would never look at me the way Ryker Dane did.
Matt’s eyes swept over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin warm under his gaze. “What about you? You always work the front desk, or do they keep you hidden away to prevent a riot?”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “I think you’ve had too much caffeine.”
“Not yet,” he said, his voice dipping slightly. “But I’m about to. Unless you want to be the reason I stay a little longer.”
He was testing the waters, waiting to see if I’d swim toward him or push away. I didn’t want to push away. Not after the way Ryker had looked at me this morning, like I was something he had already claimed. I was tired of men deciding things for me.
So, when Matt reached across the counter, letting his fingers skim lightly over my wrist, I didn’t pull away. I let the touch linger, let the warmth of his skin seep into mine.
I smiled, tilting my head slightly. “Enjoy your coffee, Matt. ”
His grin widened. “You made it a whole lot better.”
And then, just as he turned to leave, I felt it.
A shift in the air. A presence.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I didn’t have to look to know.
Ryker .
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm as my eyes flickered over the lobby, searching.
Then I found him.
He was leaning against one of the marble pillars near the lounge, his posture deceptively relaxed. But his eyes— God, his eyes —were locked onto me like a predator tracking its prey.
I felt it in my bones.
Possessiveness. Jealousy.
Mine.
My breath became shallow. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t moving. He just watched, like he was deciding whether or not to walk over here and remind me who I really belonged to.
Matt had already disappeared out the door, completely unaware of the storm brewing in the corner of the lobby.
But I knew. And worse? I liked it. I liked it too much.
Heat curled in my stomach, something dark and thrilling unfurling beneath my skin as Ryker pushed off the marble pillar and started toward me. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Every slow, measured step felt like a countdown, like he was letting me feel the inevitability of him closing the space between us.
Damn, that man was good looking. Not in the fresh, innocent way that Matt had been. Ryker was handsome in a rugged way that spoke to all that he’d seen and done .
I should have looked away. Should have busied myself with the monitor or pretended not to notice Ryker at all. But I did notice him. I always noticed him. My body noticed him, too. A gentle pressure began to form between my legs. I’d never admit it, but I swear, I could probably come if he looked at me hard enough.
Ryker reached the counter, his presence wrapping around me like a storm cloud—dense, inescapable, electric.
I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my hands steady on the desk, but my breath was already betraying me. Shallow, uneven. My skin felt too tight, heat licking up my spine, settling low in my belly.
God, I hated that he had this effect on me. I hated even more that I liked it.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I lifted my chin, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. “Should I not be?”
His gaze flicked to where Matt had stood minutes ago. He didn’t need to say anything—I could feel the judgment rolling off him, dark and thick.
“That kid had his hands on you,” he said, each word measured.
“So?” I shot back, matching his steady tone even though my pulse was anything but steady. “It was harmless.”
Ryker stepped closer. Not enough to be inappropriate—just enough to make it impossible to ignore him. His scent invaded my senses, clean and sharp, threaded with the faintest trace of whiskey.
“It wasn’t harmless,” he murmured.
My fingers curled against the counter. “You’re being dramatic.”
He let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw tightening. “You don’t even realize what you do, do you?”
I frowned, tilting my head. “What I do?”
His eyes dropped, flicking over me like he was cataloging every single inch of my body.
“You pull men in without trying.” His voice was darker now, heavier. “You look up at them like that—with those big, green, fuck-me eyes—and they think they have a shot.”
My stomach dropped.
I should have been offended. I should have been furious. But I wasn’t. I was on fire.
Ryker’s words felt like gasoline, and my body was already burning.
“I wasn’t looking at him like anything,” I managed, my voice softer than I wanted it to be.
His lips parted slightly, like he was about to argue, but then?—
His hand moved.
Slow. Deliberate.
He reached for my wrist—the same place Matt had touched—and when his fingers grazed my skin, everything inside me went taut.
Heat. Electricity. A slow, winding current that shot straight through me, settling deep where I had no business feeling it.
Matt’s touch had been warm. Playful. A passing moment.
Ryker’s touch was a brand.
A slow, searing claim that made my skin burn where his fingers pressed, like he’d always meant to put his hands on me—like it was only a matter of time.
I inhaled sharply, but I didn’t move.
I couldn’t move .
I’d known Ryker for years. He was Will’s best friend, a fixture in my life, always watching from the edges. But I had never touched him before. Not once.
Not a passing brush of fingers, not an accidental bump of shoulders.
Not this.
And now that I had? Something in me shifted. Something that could never shift back.
Ryker felt it, too.
His grip on my wrist tightened, just slightly. Not enough to hurt—just enough to hold. Just enough to make sure I felt him.
His thumb traced over my pulse, and I swore he noticed how it skipped.
I exhaled, my lips parting, my entire body going still beneath his touch. “Ryker …”
He didn’t let go.
Instead, his other hand lifted—slowly, like he was giving me the chance to stop him—and settled on my hip. His fingers pressed in, firm and sure, like he was testing the way I fit beneath his hands.
A quiet gasp slipped past my lips.
Holy shit.
I had no defenses against this. Against him.
The world shrank, the sounds of the lobby fading into nothing. All that existed was the weight of his hands, the tension pulling so tight between us I thought it might snap.
He leaned in, his lips ghosting near my ear. “If you’re gonna let a man touch you, Isabel,” he murmured, his voice deep and quiet and dangerous, “make sure it’s one who knows what to do with you.”
I shivered.
A sharp pulse of need shot straight to my core, and I clenched my thighs instinctively, mortified at how much I wanted this. How much I wanted him.
His grip stayed firm for a few seconds longer, his body so close I could feel the heat rolling off him.
Then, just as quickly as he touched me?—
He was gone.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my body swaying slightly, aching from the loss of contact.
Ryker’s face was unreadable, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp as he took a slow step back.
“That kid?” His voice was rough. “He wouldn’t have had a clue how to handle you.”
And then—without another word—he turned and walked away, disappearing into the flow of the lobby like he hadn’t just set my entire world on fire.
I gripped the counter, my chest rising and falling too fast, my skin still tingling from where he’d held me.
Jesus Christ.
What the hell had just happened? And what would Will think—if he knew I didn’t want it to stop?