Chapter 20
Ryder pushed through the kitchen door, braced for damage control. He pictured Sarah leaning across the counter, grilling Ivy about birthright titles and offshore contracts.
Sarah’s voice washed over him. “You just smoosh the mustard rub onto the beef—”
The door banged shut behind him, and they both pivoted to look.
Ivy was at the sink, sleeves pushed back, rinsing plates under the tap. Sarah was beside her with a towel in hand, sliding a dish into the cupboard. She arched an eyebrow. “You okay, little brother? You’ve got that rescue-face on.”
“Uh…” His mouth went dry. “Roast beef, huh?”
Ivy tilted her head, a curve of amusement tugging at her lips. “Apparently, it’s your mother’s secret recipe.”
“…Right.” God, he was an idiot, and Sarah knew it too.
Sarah passed him the dishtowel with a grin. “Well. I’d better check Caleb and Wyatt haven’t turned the living room into a wrestling ring. They’re like twelve-year-olds when they’re not supervised.”
Before he could argue, she was gone. He was left with Ivy, the hiss of water, and the clink of dishes in a room that suddenly felt too small.
Ivy’s eyebrows lifted. “You planning to dry?”
“What? Uh—yeah.” He reached for a plate from the rack, trying not to notice the faint trace of her perfume cutting through the soap. “So, no interrogation from my sister?”
“Not unless seasoning tips count as classified intel.” Ivy slid another plate into the rack, then glanced up.
Her eyes caught his.
He should’ve looked away.
Didn’t.
She rinsed the suds from her hands and shut off the tap. He set the dry plate down and passed her the towel, their fingers brushing. The contact was brief, but an exquisite awareness fired up his arm.
“Your family is lovely.”
“Yeah, they’re all right. When they’re not being pains in the ass.” His tone was deliberately casual.
Ivy smiled. “I love George dearly, but there’s just the two of us. We don’t have this.” She nodded toward the dining room, where muffled laughter drifted through the door. “The teasing, the easy affection. I’m a little envious.”
He almost said something, but Ivy was speaking too, their voices colliding.
“Sorry—”
“I was just—”
“You go first,” she said quickly, color rising in her cheeks.
Ryder cleared his throat, feeling sixteen again. “I was wondering how the negotiations are going. With your brother.”
“Slow. The amount of information I’m reviewing is immense.” She blew out a breath. “I keep wondering if I should look at alternatives—wave power, tidal systems. It’s complicated.”
“How so?” He leaned a hip against the counter, trying not to get caught staring at the fine down along her cheek.
She glanced at the door, then back at him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Jack gave me something.”
Every muscle in him locked tight at the tone of her voice. “What kind of something?”
“A memory stick. Reports.” Her voice lowered further. “She thinks Sinclair smoothed over the rig’s readings—methane pockets, unstable ground. I don’t even know what I’m looking at. We need help.”
He stilled. We. Like they were a team. Against the world.
“It has to be discreet. I don’t want to upset anyone. Or put Jack at risk.” She pushed a hand through her hair, baring the pale column of her neck. A damp curl clung to the hollow at its base.
His gaze snagged there and held, heat spiking low in his gut. Christ. He wanted to taste the salt of her skin, follow the delicate line up her neck until she arched against him.
The wanting hit hard—too much, too fast—and he forgot why he shouldn’t touch her.
One step, barely a shift of weight, and he was closer than he meant to be.
Ivy retreated, her back brushing the counter with a faint thud. “Ryder…”
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said, voice gruff.
Her head lifted, despite the flush rising in her throat. “Like what?”
“Like you trust me. Like you…” He broke off, the words too dangerous.
“Maybe I do,” she whispered.
The world narrowed to her breath and the slow drip of water from the tap.
The thread snapped.
He lifted his hand, cradled her jaw, thumb dragging across her cheekbone. The first kiss landed hard—relief, frustration, days of pent-up want poured into one reckless crash of mouths.
Her gasp let him in, and the taste of her wrecked him.
Ryder meant to ease back, to keep it controlled, but she rose into him instead, lips parting under his, and restraint shattered.
The second kiss wasn’t careful. It was teeth and heat, her fingers fisting in his shirt, yanking him closer until his body pinned hers to the counter. He groaned into her mouth, one hand sliding into her hair, tilting her head so he could take her deeper, slower, until she whimpered.
The sound went straight through him, tightening every muscle, making his body throb with the need to pull her tighter and lose himself in her.
Her hips moved, arching toward him—matching his hungry recklessness. He slid his palm down to her waist, gripping hard, thumb brushing under the line of her blouse as if he had the right to touch more.
His world shrank to the slide of her mouth, the desperate clutch of her fingers, the rush of their breath colliding.
A laugh carried faintly from the dining room. Family. Just a door away. Instead of cooling him, the risk spiked the heat higher, danger thrumming in his blood as his mouth dragged across hers, slower, rougher, savoring every second he claimed.
A chair scraped loud in the next room.
Ivy broke free with a sharp inhale, her pulse visible in the sweep of her throat. Her hands spread wide on his chest. Her eyes shone, wide and blown, her lips swollen from his. “Ryder…”
He traced her lower lip with his thumb. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”
Her breath shook. “It’s not fair on you.” Her voice was raw, the words torn from somewhere deep as if her barriers were finally breaking.
Before he could answer, she caught his hand, brought it to her mouth, pressed her lips to his knuckles.
“Ivy…” His voice broke on her name. He couldn’t reconcile this—the way she kissed him back, the way she wanted him—with the way she was already pulling away.
She shook her head, eyes shining. “This can’t work, can it? I can’t do this to you.”
She pushed against him, breaking free, heading for the hall. The door slammed shut behind her with a bang.
Ryder stood frozen, his body still humming with the taste of her, the velvet of her skin. The abrupt shift from desperate heat to cold emptiness left him reeling. What the hell just happened? One moment she was kissing him back like her life depended on it, the next she was running.
The sound of the front door closing echoed through the house. Outside, the snowfall had become heavier. The roads would be slick, visibility poor.
She shouldn’t be driving alone in this weather, not when she was clearly upset.
Looking out the window, he glimpsed taillights disappearing into the swirling white. Fuck. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
The kitchen door swung open. Sarah scanned the room. “Everything okay in here? Sounded like—” She stopped short. “Where’s Ivy?”