Chapter Twenty-Five - Ryder
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ryder
Present
I reach out in my half-asleep state and jolt to a sitting position when I find the spot beside me empty and cold.
My plans to bring to life the vivid and downright deviant dreams that filled my sleep are ruined. I wish that were an exaggeration, but it isn’t. Every time I close my eyes, I’m holding Rachel in the pool again.
It was perfection.
It wasn’t even that I got to have her again—though, again, because I cannot stress this enough, it was incredible—but everything that happened afterward, too.
Instead of shutting down or closing off like I feared, Rachel didn’t voice a single protest when I carried her out of the pool and to her room.
She didn’t even argue when I handed her my shirt to sleep in.
Her own clothing would’ve made more sense—considering that we spent the night in her room—but the idea of seeing her in my clothes again was too good to pass on.
I climbed into bed behind her, and she let me pull her fully into me. Maybe she was asleep, unaware of what she was doing, but I like to think her curling into me and holding my arm with both hands was more than just a subconscious reaction to my being there.
After all, that’s exactly how she used to sleep by my side.
I go through my morning routine, unable to do anything but replay last night on a loop. If I thought I exaggerated how good Rachel and I are together, I was only kidding myself. If anything, it was so much better than I imagined.
And I imagined a lot.
Now that I’ve had a taste of her, I’m addicted all over again, and there is no chance of rehabilitation. Rachel might think she has a choice in how things will play out between us, but she doesn’t.
Her overactive mind will spin itself into believing that last night was wrong—but her body knows better. She can deny it all she wants, but deep down, Rachel knows how right this is.
How right we are.
Once I’ve done the bare minimum tasks of getting ready, I leave to hunt Rachel down.
When I open the bedroom door, there’s sizzling and popping coming from the kitchen, and the scent of bacon fills the entire house. I don’t hear the kids, but it’s still early, and they had a late night, so that doesn’t surprise me.
When I enter the kitchen, Rachel stands beside the stove, which is alive with bacon and eggs cooking, but she’s staring absently at the ground, fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee.
“Morning,” I greet, and I can’t help smiling when she jumps, splashing coffee onto the floor.
“Oh my—you scared me,” she says, setting down her mug and reaching for a rag, but I’m faster.
I grab it before she can and kneel to wipe up the mess as she stares down at me with a mix of emotions.
Fear. Anxiety. Excitement.
I wipe up the coffee with a few strokes and toss the rag into the sink from my kneeling position. Once my hands are free, I skate gentle fingers up Rachel’s legs.
“What are you doing?” she asks in that breathy voice that drives me crazy.
“You snuck out.”
“I’d hardly call coming to the kitchen sneaking out.”
“So, you weren’t trying to avoid me?” I flatten my palm over her leg and continue feeling her smooth skin.
Her hand grabs mine. “Ryder, stop.”
I do, but I don’t release my hold on her thigh. “Answer the question.”
Her eyes give her away before she opens her mouth. Doubt practically pours from her gaze, and I’m sure it’s making her mind race with all the reasons why we’re wrong for each other.
“I don’t think—”
I lift Rachel and carry her across the kitchen in one swooping motion, setting her down on the counter. Her legs are on either side of my torso, and my arms cage her in. Rachel’s eyes are wide with surprise, and her hands have an ironclad grip on my arms.
We’re close enough to share breath, and I gently nudge her nose with mine.
“Good,” I say with an easy smile. “You shouldn’t think too much.”
“It’s a red flag when a man tells you not to think,” she says with an unmoving glare. She makes a show of releasing her hold on me and folding her arms over her chest.
“If that’s my biggest red flag, then I’d say we’re doing great. Now, tell me you don’t regret last night.”
Her glare flashes over my shoulder to the stove. “Let me go, Ryder. The food is going to burn.”
“Then you’d better answer quick.”
She shoves at my chest. “I’m serious. There could be a grease fire.”
“And you’d let that happen before admitting you don’t regret last night.” I take a dramatized breath and clutch my chest. “You wound me, Rebel.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Let me go.”
“Gladly. Just as soon as you tell me what I need to hear.”
“Is your ego so fragile you need my affirmation?”
“My ego isn’t half as fragile as the intrusive thoughts you let control your life.”
She shoves me again, harder this time. “I’m going to kill you.”
I nod to the stove. “You’re about to kill all of us.”
“You’re putting the kids in danger for a power trip.” She shakes my shoulders in a fruitless attempt to move me.
“Say the words, Rebel.”
“Let me go.”
“Wrong words.”
Smoke starts to unfurl from the stove, filling the kitchen with the scent of burning bacon.
“Ryder, I—”
“Tell me last night wasn’t a mistake.”
“But it was!” she snaps.
It’s not what I hoped to hear, but it’s not surprising, either.
I step back, turning off the stove and moving the pans off the burners. There’s no salvaging the eggs and bacon—but there is still hope for me.
Rachel doesn’t move from the countertop. She stares down at the floor, wearing a blank expression, and gripping the counter’s edge with both hands.
She doesn’t see me coming until I’ve scooped her into my arms and crushed my lips to hers. Her arms instinctively wrap around my neck in a tight hold that I revel in.
I could explore more of her if I were to press her against the wall, but I refuse to relinquish the feel of her entire body clinging to me. Right now, hanging onto me is her only option, and I’m not keen on giving her an alternative.
I hold Rachel like she is my lifeline. I kiss her like my life depends on it because when she acts like this—like what we have is so easy to dismiss—it feels like it does.
She doesn’t get to have me under the cover of darkness and then act like it’s wrong when the sun comes up. She doesn’t get to pick and choose when she’s willing to be mine. She doesn’t get to leave me.
Not again.
It’s only when her arms twitch from the exertion that I set her down. I don’t remove my arms from around her and she doesn’t try to put distance between us.
“That wasn’t a mistake,” I tell her. “Neither was last night, and neither was any other time we’ve ever been together.”
She tries to avoid my gaze, but I grip her neck and gently force her eyes to lock with mine.
“This isn’t good for Lyla,” she whispers.
“How so?”
“She’ll be able to sense that things are weird between us.”
“Then things won’t be weird between us.”
“Little late for that.”
“Says who?”
Her expression is a mix of wariness and defeat. “What are we, Ryder? What is this?”
“Two people who enjoy being together. Can’t it be that simple?”
Her body molds to mine, seeming to agree wholeheartedly, but that reeling mind seems so intent on fighting this.
“Things with us have never been simple.”
“Then let’s make them simple,” I insist. “Let’s be together however we want until I move out. No titles, no rules, no drama. Just being together.”
“Just being together,” she repeats, not sounding too convinced by the prospect.
Then, the padding of footsteps comes down the stairs, and I turn just in time to see two sleepy toddlers walk into the room.
Dominic looks the grumpiest I’ve ever seen, with a frown that pairs comically with his wicked case of bedhead. On the other hand, Lyla looks perfectly rested and happy to be up for the day.
I’d bet she dragged him out of bed before coming down here.
Lyla’s tiny face scrunches as she points to the stove. “Do we have to eat that?”
“It smells gross,” Dominic agrees.
I step away from Rachel to scoop Lyla into my arms. “No, Tiger. We’re all going out for breakfast.”
When I look at Rachel, she’s staring at us with affection and concern. I know the latter is for herself, but there’s no need for it.
For now, I’ll let her cling to the notion of a simple hook-up until I’m gone—since the truth would send her running.
Because when I do move out, I’m taking her with me.
It’s mid-afternoon when Rachel and I finally convince Lyla to go down for a nap, and even then, she only agrees once Meredith comes to get Dominic, and she no longer has a playmate.
Once she’s down, Rachel and I go outside to train despite the merciless late-August sun beating down on us. The heat drains both our energy, so the workout portion is shorter than normal, and we get into the strikes and defense drills we’ve been reviewing with each session.
Rachel’s progress is admirable. She’s more comfortable with each drill, and it shows in how naturally she demonstrates them. It’s hard to believe that just a few short weeks ago, she’d been adamantly against the idea of training with me.
And today, I’ll be taking it a step further.
Since easing her fear of knives in our second session, we’ve only worked on learning how to defend against them, but now that the drills come easily to her, she’s ready for the next level.
After we go through the usual defenses with the fake knife, I place a real—though mostly dull—one in her hand.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking at the object warily.
“Today, you’re going to learn how to use a knife.”
“What? Why?”
I reach out to close her hand around the handle. “Because defense is only half the fight.”
She weighs the weapon in her hand. “But this is a real knife. Shouldn’t we start with the fake one?”
“You can handle it.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll cut you?”
“I can handle it.” My smile widens as her eyes narrow.
She doesn’t look convinced, but she rolls her shoulders back anyway. “So, what do I do first?”
“Same as defense, it’s important to accept the possibility of getting cut.
If you let it surprise you, your opponent will take advantage of the distraction,” I tell her as she inspects the weapon in her hand like it wields her and not the other way around.
“The key is making sure you’re not cut anywhere that could cause significant damage. The more control you have, the better.”
“Try not to get stabbed,” she says with a nod. “Got it.”
An hour later, you would never know Rachel was repulsed by the blade she swings.
She hasn’t mastered the weapon by any means, but she no longer looks at the knife like it came from the pits of hell.
In fact, I’m starting to think that if she hadn’t had trauma associated with the weapon, she’d be fond of it.
We get into our fighting stances, and she moves first, slashing the knife upward, but I only have to lean to avoid it.
Her frustrated groan would make me laugh if I wasn’t so focused on how her body twists, sending her free hand toward my stomach.
I catch the punch right before it makes contact and twist her arm so her back is to me.
I begin to release my hold as she slackens—since that usually means we’re going to start over—but she surprises me when her elbow swings back to connect with my ribs. I breathe out a hiss, which she uses to wrench out of my hold.
Next time, I’m making her tap out.
She swings downward, knife in line with my shoulder, and I wait until the last second to block it, but it doesn’t get that far. Rachel pauses before the blade is even a foot away from my body.
I strike my hand against her wrist in a motion that knocks the knife from her grasp, then swing my leg behind hers, using her shoulders as leverage so I can take her down with ease.
The second her back hits the ground, I use one hand to pin her wrists above her head and use the other to gently stroke her face.
“That was nicely done, Rebel.”
“Oh, shut up. I haven’t even managed to take you down once.”
“I happen to like getting you on your back.”
Her breathes heave from the exertion, and her skin glows against the sun, drawing my eyes to her chest, which is only covered by a thin sports bra. My free hand settles on her hip.
“Ryder,” she whispers, eyes wide and gleaming. “Will you kiss me?”
Well, how could I possibly deny her when she asks so nicely?
With one hand still on her hip, my other releases her wrists to cup her cheek. I’m lowering my lips to hers when the tip of the dull blade presses into my stomach, just below my belly button.
When my eyes find Rachel’s, they’re alive with wild excitement. The look of pure pride on her flawless features is breathtaking, and all I can do is stare in awe.
“Damn, Rebel.”
A broad smile spreads across her face, and she goes to drop the blade, but I wrap my hand around hers and lift the tip of the knife over my heart.
“Aim higher next time. Heart, stomach, lungs, even the throat makes a great target.” I bring the point back to where she’d had it below my belly button. “This won’t do as much damage.”
Rachel nods, still wearing that sultry gaze that drives me insane, but her narrowed eyes and curled lips assure me that she’s taking all of my notes seriously.
She gives the knife a light toss to the grass beside us. “So, are you going to do it or not?”
I lower myself to my elbows over her. “Do what?”
She gives me a knowing look.
I dip down, just barely brushing her lips with mine. “You’ll have to remind me. What was it you wanted?”
Her eyes flare with the rebellious nature that’s reserved for me alone, but instead of fighting me, she speaks in a compelling voice that could bring armies to their knees.
The only sound I care to hear for the rest of my life.
“Kiss me, Ryder.”
I take her lips, swallowing her gasp of delight as I do. It’s the first gentle kiss we’ve shared since I moved here, and it’s just as breathtaking as the furious, frenzied ones. It’s intimate—like we’re no longer two people but a single entity created to be together.
I’m about to take it even further, but my phone beeps. I wouldn’t bother moving from my current position for just any tone, but this particular one is important.
I move off Rachel and grab the phone, reading the notification.
“Is that what I think it is?” Rachel asks, climbing to her feet to stand beside me.
I nod. “Someone edited a submitted record, and we can track it.”