Chapter 7 NOIA #2
I hate how good he looks, all bruised up—like he could tear the world apart with his bare hands, then laugh in its face when all is said and done as we ride into the sunset.
“You didn’t have to hit that guy so hard,” I mutter, knowing damn well he absolutely did.
Ryder snorts. “You’re welcome for saving your pretty ass. Again.”
“I had it under control,” I pout primly.
“Sure you did,” he drawls. “Right before you smashed a glass over that guy’s head like a feral little hellcat.”
I open my mouth, then close it and lift my chin. The last thing I would ever admit is that I did it for him. Nobody touches my man, fictional or not—not that he is my man.
Gah! You know what I mean.
“Just trying to pull my own weight.”
“It was fucking hot,” he says without missing a beat.
I turn in my seat, ready to bite back with something clever. But the words die a quick death on my tongue, because he’s not looking at me like he’s teasing anymore—he’s smoldering like he wants to gobble me up.
My heart skids sideways.
Fuck.
After we pull into my driveway and park, neither of us moves a muscle as the engine hums, the sound of my labored breathing too loud in the small cab.
Finally, Ryder turns off the engine. Tossing the keys into the cupholder, he shifts in his seat, knee brushing mine. “You still owe me.”
“Owe you what?” I rasp.
He leans in, close enough the scent of leather and sandalwood swirls around my head, making it hard to think.
His smile is slow and wicked. “The story. Remember?”
Right. The story. The reason he’s here. The reason I’m not alone anymore.
Jesus, my throat is dry. “You’re not gonna let me forget, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
He brushes a knuckle lightly along my jaw.
“You want to finish it?” he murmurs. “Find out how it ends?”
Before I can stop myself, I nod.
His wolfish grin widens. “Good.”
Popping the door open, he hops out.
Every sane thought I thought I had is completely obliterated and I sit for a second, gripping the seatbelt, struggling to breathe.
What the hell am I doing?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grab the keys, kick the door open and follow him up the steps.
Lips quirked, he waits for me on the porch, hands stuffed in his pockets.
Brushing past him, I unlock the door, and step into the dark, quiet house. Suddenly, it hits me with terrifying clarity—whatever story this is we’re acting out—it feels nothing even close to fiction.
It feels real. It feels sexy and dangerous.
The door clicks shut, and I throw the lock.
Dropping my keys on the console table, they hit the wood with a clatter much too loud for my rattled nerves.
Ryder’s heavy boots thud behind me, and I spin, heart jack hammering against my ribs. “Don’t you have an ice pack you need to shove against your face or something?”
He grins, swiping at a smear of blood on his lip again before slowly licking it off his thumb. “I’d be grateful if you helped me out with that, kitten.”
My pussy pulses as I track the way his tongue slides over his thumb. With a scowl, I shove past him and head into the kitchen. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re homicidal. Guess we’re both winning tonight.”
I flip him off and rummage through the freezer until I find a frozen bag of peas and toss it over my shoulder.
Without so much as a flinch, he catches it one-handed.
Show-off.
“You’re lucky I didn’t smash that glass over your head,” I mutter.
“Sweetheart, you could punch me in the nuts, and I’d still say thank you.”
I whirl to glare at him and suck in a breath.
Shirtless and sprawled out on the couch, Ryder has his head tipped back, bag of frozen peas pressed against his jaw.
Dark bruises bloom across his ribs under tattoos twisting over muscle.
Rolling his head to the side, he gives me a once-over before locking eyes with mine.
Heat licks down my spine, and my mouth goes dry.
“You’re staring,” he rumbles, smug smirk breaking across his face.
“No, I am not.”
“Yup. You are.”
“Your face looks like it got stomped on by a horse,” I growl.
His laugh is rough and stupidly sexy as he stretches his arms over the back of the couch, flexing his abs.
Fuck me sideways.
Cheeks burning, I look away, pretending to be very interested in organizing the mail on the counter.
His voice drifts across the room as a lazy tease. “You realize you picked your first bar fight tonight, right?”
“I didn’t pick anything,” I mumble, tossing an envelope to the side.
“You smashed a glass over a guy’s head. That’s pretty badass.”
I glance up at him from beneath my lashes. “You’re impressed by that? Seriously?”
He grins. “Kitten, I’m half in love.”
I snort, shaking my head. “And I’m sure you’re half brain-dead from all those hits you took to the head.”
“Meh.” He drops his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. “Only the good half.”
Unable to stop myself, I laugh.
It’s the kind of laugh that sneaks up on you, yanking a real smile right out from under me, cracking something loose in my chest that has been stuck there for months.
And, God help me, it feels good. And terrifying. And addictive.
I shove a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling restless. Like I need to move or scream or do something.
“You’re staring again,” he says, not even bothering to open his eyes.
“Shut up.”
The quirk of his lips is slow and relaxed. “Why don’t you come over here and make me.”
My pulse skitters, right before I grab a throw pillow and whip it at his head.
He catches it midair, laughing as he tosses it aside.
“You fight dirty, kitten.”
“You have no idea,” I grumble, spinning away before I do something stupid.
Like crawl into his lap and shove my tongue in his mouth. Or gently run my fingers over his abs, before leaning in to kiss the dark bruises marring his ribs while I dry hump him till we both come in our pants.
Clearing my throat, I force some air into my lungs. “You should, uh... probably clean yourself up.”
Peeling one eye open, he grins. “You worried about me?”
“More worried about you getting bloodstains on my couch,” I retort as I move to hover above him.
His laugh is deeper this time as he stands in one smooth move to tower over me. So close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin—again.
I stumble back a few steps and bump into the counter.
Moving in close, he dips his head and braces his hands against the marble, caging me in.
“You’re gonna have to stop looking at me like that, kitten,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, hating how my body reacts. How my skin prickles in response to his proximity. How my pulse flutters like a frightened bird against the side of my neck.
“Like what?” I rasp.
“Like you want to run your hands all over my body.”
I lift my chin in defiance. “In your dreams.”
Tilting his head, he leans in another inch and narrows his eyes. “All. Damn. Night.”
We stare at each other, breathing the same air, hearts hammering out two chaotic, reckless beats.
And then—mercifully—he pushes off the counter and steps away, breaking the spell.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he growls, slowly sweeping his gaze from my toes to my tits, before locking his eyes with mine. “You’re welcome to join me.”
Scandalized, my mouth drops open.
With a wink, he saunters down the hall and into the guest bedroom without another word, leaving me standing alone, vibrating with adrenaline and need.
“Arrogant, cocky, gorgeous jackass. Why couldn’t I have written you with a smaller ego?”
My head falls back, and I groan.
What the hell was I thinking when I imagined him?
Okay, yeah. I’d needed an outlet after my heart was broken. So I created Ryder, hoping it would take my mind off of how fucked up my life really is.
My intention had been to write about what I believed my fantasy man should be, all while weaving pieces of myself into the story as a way to fill the void of my own fucked up life.
I can lie to myself all I want, but deep down, I know the truth—whether I want him to or not—Ryder Blackwood has picked his girl.
And that girl is me.
I sigh as I walk down the hall to the guest room and fling open the door. Ignoring the sound of running water coming from the adjoining bathroom, I rummage through the closet and pull out a pair of my dad’s old sweats and a T-shirt and throw them on the bed.
There is no way I’m going to let Ryder Blackwood get under my skin, or in my pants.
No matter how much I want him too.