Epilogue #3
I turn back to the board and toss another dart. This one misses. Damn it.
“You know,” he says, stepping beside me, “we could make this interesting. Loser buys the winner a drink.”
“I’ve had enough drinks for one night. ”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “Then how about a bet?”
There it is. That Paradise grin.
And despite every reason not to, despite the warning bells clanging in my head louder than the bar’s jukebox, I feel my mouth move.
“You’re on.”
He grins like he’s already won. “All right then. Closest to the bullseye.”
I hand him a dart. “Try not to embarrass yourself. You Paradise boys already do that enough.”
He laughs again, but there’s a flicker of heat behind it. I’ve poked the bear.
Ryker takes his time. Lines up. Throws. It lands just outside the center.
“Not bad,” I say, ignoring the flip in my stomach. “But not great either.”
He shrugs. “Mediocrity looks good on me.”
I step up and throw without overthinking. The dart lands—just outside his mark.
“Damn.”
He raises a brow. “Looks like you’re buying the first round of whatever we’re betting.”
“I thought it wasn’t a drink wager.”
“It wasn’t.” He steps closer. “But I’m open to suggestions.”
The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine. Not dirty. Not innocent either.
“Are you always this cocky?”
He grins. “Only when I know I’m right.”
“Right about what?”
His eyes flick to mine, steady and smug. “That you’ve been watching me since the moment I walked in.”
I scoff, but the heat crawling up my neck betrays me.
“It’s okay,” he says, softer now. “I’ve been watching you too.”My laugh comes out sharper than I intend. “You think very highly of yourself.”
“No,” he says, quieter. “I just pay attention.”
Something about the way he says it pulls me in. I’ve spent so long brushing off attention that feels performative or possessive. But this? This feels different. Like he’s seeing me—really seeing me.
I hate it.
I love it.
“You’re not my type,” I blurt. He’s the kind of guy I’ve spent years avoiding. The kind that burns bright, then burns out. I’ve had enough ashes in my life. But damn it, there’s something about him that makes me want to throw logic out the window and chase the fire anyway.
His mouth tips into a smirk. “What is your type?”
“Safe. Boring. Uncomplicated.”
He steps closer. “Good thing I’m none of those things.”
I exhale, low and shaky. I should walk away. Call my ride. Go home and eat a cold grilled cheese sandwich and forget any of this ever happened.
But I don’t.
Because Ryker is heat and pressure and chaos. And maybe I need a little chaos tonight.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I say, even though part of me already knows I’m lying.
His eyes darken just a little. “Then let’s play another round.”
“Darts?”
He leans in, close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek. “Flirting.”
I should stop this. I should care that he’s a Paradise, and I’m a Dempsey, and this whole thing has “town scandal” written all over it.
But I toss the dart anyway. It lands a fraction closer to the bullseye than last time. I smile, but I don’t turn around. I know he’s still behind me—I can feel him.
“Not bad,” Ryker murmurs. His voice is low, like he’s impres sed. Or turned on. Maybe both.
I straighten, my skin tight with awareness. “Are we still playing, or just pretending it’s about darts?”
His chuckle is warm. Dangerous. “That depends. Are we still pretending you’re not interested?”
I finally face him. “You want honesty?”
“Always.”
I take a step closer. So does he.
“I think you’re insanely attractive,” I say, watching his pupils dilate just enough to catch it. “But you’re also trouble. You’ve probably slept with half the single women in this bar.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Exaggeration. Maybe a third.”
That earns him a snort. “See? Trouble.”
“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping. “But the good kind.”
He’s close now. Too close. And the part of me that usually pulls away isn’t moving.
“You’re not what I need,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees, eyes fixed on mine. “But maybe I’m what you want.”
God help me, he’s not wrong.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts again. He doesn’t move, doesn’t touch me. He’s waiting—for permission or for me to run.
I do neither.
“I don’t do messy,” I say.
He nods. “Then we’ll keep it clean.”
I arch a brow. “Doubt it.”
“Dirty can be fun too,” he says with a grin that should be illegal. “If you trust the person you’re getting dirty with.”
The air between us snaps taut. My pulse hammers. My mouth is dry.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
“Say what?”
“That you want me.”
I should walk away. I want to walk away. But his voice is gravel and heat, and my body’s not listening to my brain .
I lean in, close enough that our noses nearly touch. “What happens if I do?”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. “Then I stop waiting.”
Ryker’s stands before me hiding me from the crowd at the bar. His hand slides up my thigh. “Are you wearing panties?”
I laugh, tossing my head back. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His hand slides under my skirt, fingers finding the heat through my panties. “You’re so wet for me.”
I shut my eyes for a minute and let him take me away and his fingers are like magic.
“What do you want?”
“You,” I whisper.
He pulls back from me and reaches for my hand. I look around and no one is watch us. He drags me back to the private party room that has a pool table.
The door shuts behind us, and he locks it. I don’t want to think about how he knows this, instead I want to see if he’s half the man I’ve made him out to be.
He leans down and his lips touch mine and it’s fire.
The kiss ignites something deep within me, an urgency that pulses in time with the rhythm of my racing heart.
His hands frame my face, firm and possessive, as if he’s claiming me in this dimly lit haven away from prying eyes.
I melt against him, surrendering to the heat that envelops us.
My brain tells me this is a giant mistake but my body can’t get enough.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against my lips, his voice low and electric.
“I want…” My words falter as his thumb grazes my cheek, a simple yet intimate touch that sends shivers down my spine. “I want you to fuck me. I don’t want a relationship with you. I don’t want a repeat.”
His smile is feral, predatory. “Then let’s make it unforgettable.”
With that, he spins me around, pressing me against the cool felt of the pool table. It’s a stark contrast against the warmth radiat ing from his body as he steps closer, trapping me between him and the table. I can feel his breath on my neck, each exhale a promise of what’s to come.
He’s standing too close. His voice too soft, too sure. Everything about him is temptation wrapped in trouble, and I should walk away.
But I don’t.
I look up at him, eyes locked. “You’re not what I need.”
“No,” he says, his voice like smoke and slow jazz. “But I might be what you want.”
His confidence makes me want to push him away—and pull him closer. I’ve made rules for myself, drawn lines I swore I wouldn’t cross.
But something about Ryker makes me want to break every single one.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, fingers lingering just long enough to make my skin buzz. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “And I will.”
I swallow hard. My brain screams yes. My body says nothing at all.
Instead, I step in—into his space, into this moment, into everything I should avoid.
“Don’t stop.”
His mouth crashes into mine, and everything after that is heat and chaos.
“Do you like playing games?” he asks, his voice thick with anticipation.
“Only when I know I’m going to win,” I reply, casting him a challenging glance over my shoulder.
He laughs softly, a sound that reverberates through the air like a promise. “Oh, I intend to ensure you enjoy every second of this one.”
His hands roam along my sides, exploring every curve as if he’s mapping out territory. I arch into his touch, craving more of that delicious friction. Just as I think I have him figured out, he pulls back slightly .
“Are you ready?” he asks, eyes focused intensely on mine, daring me to say no.
I nod, a heady mix of nerves and thrill coursing through me. “More than ready.” The words tumble out, laced with a challenge that echoes in the charged air between us.
In an instant, he’s on me again, lips crashing onto mine, urgency transforming every kiss into something raw and primal.
His hands find the hem of my skirt, fingers inching up my thigh with teasing deliberation, and I gasp, heat pooling low in my belly.
He pulls away just long enough to lock eyes with me, the intensity of his gaze sending sparks dancing along my skin.
In one hard snap, he pulls my thong off and puts it in his pocket. He pushes me back on the pool table as his fingers dive into my sweat heat.
I gasp, the sensation electrifying as he explores with deliberate precision. The room fades away—the music, laughter, everything blurs into the background until it’s just him and me, lost in this moment of raw desire.
“Is this what you wanted?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough against my ear, as if he knows exactly how to unravel me. My fingers scramble for purchase on the edge of the pool table, grounding myself amidst the spiraling pleasure that threatens to consume me.
“Yes,” I manage to breathe out, the word a desperate plea woven with longing. “Don’t stop.”
He smirks, a devilish glint in his eyes. “Oh, I won’t.” And with that promise hanging heavy in the air, he plunges deeper, creating sensations that make my head spin.
I can feel the tension building inside me like a coiled spring, ready to snap. Every brush of his fingertips is a challenge to my resolve, a reminder that I had said no attachments—only this wild escape.
“Look at you,” he whispers as if reading my thoughts. “So ready to let go.”