Chapter 25 Louise
LOUISE
An hour later, I pulled myself out of the tub, my insides toasty warm, my limbs languid and relaxed. For the first half hour, I’d simply soaked, feeling like a princess in the castle on the hill, held captive by an evil beast. A very sexy beast.
I’d washed my hair, my body, and even shaved. Not surprisingly, there was no hair dryer, so I combed my hair and scrunched it, hoping for the beachy wave look. Instead, my bangs curled up like a question mark above my eyebrows.
No bangs, ever again.
My stomach grumbled loudly.
I smoothed on a dab of tinted moisturizer, more concealer, and more mascara. When I applied lipliner and lipstick, a little red flag flipped up in the back of my head. Yes, I was attracted to Ryder. No question about it. But I also wanted that reciprocation. Craved it, for some reason. From him.
With one more sweep of lip gloss for good measure, I took a step back and looked at myself in the copper-trimmed full-length mirror. A solid C-cup, a little sag. My backside? Generous. Definitely some jiggle.
I groaned. My body could use some work. A good twenty pounds less.
I took a deep breath. If you don’t like it, change it. I made a vow, right then and there, to lose the extra pounds.
I checked the mirror again.
It would have to do. Que sera sera.
After wiping down the counter, I ventured out of the bathroom. The sun had set, the white wonderland outside now dull and gray, soon to fade to blackness. I clicked on the floor lamp next to the leather chair, zeroing in on a stack of books.
I’d expected smart stuff like biographies and memoirs, maybe some historical fiction about World War Two.
Ryder seemed like one of those guys. But what I found was fiction—spies and espionage, thrillers, mysteries, and toward the bottom of the stack?
Romance. My brows popped and a grin spread across my face.
Ryder reads romance? Dark, brooding, manly Ryder reads romance? And not just any romance, but romantic suspense.
I stifled a laugh, flipping through a paperback with a shirtless man on the cover. I felt like I’d uncovered his deepest, darkest secret.
Seconds became minutes as I skimmed the book, stopping on a particularly steamy sex scene.
Holy hell.
I imagined Ryder reading it, sitting in the chair and sipping brandy.
Then I imagined him as the hero in the scene, me as the woman, as he spread my legs open and devoured me in front of a fire on a snowy night.
Warmth pooled in my gut—a rush of tingles below that.
Short of breath, I slammed the book closed, heat warming my cheeks.
Good Lord.
I quickly replaced the book into its perfect ninety-degree angle.
Fanning my face, I crossed the room and quietly opened the door, peeking into the hallway. No noise, no lights, no shirtless Ryder. My stomach growled again, for food or man, I wasn’t sure.
Best go with food.
I padded quickly down the hall.
Still no lights in the house. I peeked into each room as I passed, half expecting Ryder to jump out with a gun. I scowled at the front door, my previous sleeping spot, then paused and frowned at a missing tile.
The tile I’d slept on the night before was now missing. What?
That’s… strange.
Still frowning, I turned and slammed face-first into a rock-hard chest.