Our gazes connected, and heat unfurled deep in my belly. I was Zoey Reynolds. I once talked my way out of a debate on global warming at the Model UN. I could certainly tell a grown-ass man my feelings while sober. “That wasn’t the alcohol.”
“And are you still under the influence of alcohol?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
“Then if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to try that out.”
Everything slowed down to the point where all I could focus on was keeping my breath even as every inch of my skin lit on fire. “Yes.”
…
Ryder
Zoey’s hair framed her face like a halo. She was a goddamn angel, staring up at me with hooded eyes. I’d traveled to the most exotic places in the world, visited awe-inspiring locations. This, right in front of me, Zoey underneath me, wanting me, was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. Sappy as hell, but the truth.
My hands worked over her skin, spreading her knees apart, and she mewled. This woman would be my undoing. Every shred of restraint was frayed beyond recognition.
I brushed my chin against her cheek and took the fleshy part of her earlobe into my mouth. She exposed the delicate curve of her neck, leaning into me, silently begging for more. I’d give her anything she wanted. Her happiness was my salvation.
I nipped at her skin again and was rewarded with a groan and her fingers digging into my back. She arched into me, her breasts brushing against my chest, and I pressed my forehead into hers, fighting to keep grounded.
Her body was so soft beneath mine, squirming, the bedsheets rustling beneath us.
For once, I didn’t feel the need to make an excuse to leave. For once, I wanted to offer something more than one night of pleasure, because Zoey was worth it. She was the real deal, and I’d do my best to give her everything she deserved.
“Please, Ryder.” Her hips bucked into me, grinding against my erection.
“Patience, Flash.” I smiled down at her. “I want to take my time with you.” I wanted to take her to the brink until she pleaded my name. I wanted every inch of her to be seared into my brain. I’d stripped her down to her underwear, and that alone was enough for me to come undone.
My tongue trailed down her neck, and I inhaled the sweet scent of lavender as I made my way toward her breast, taking a nipple in my mouth. I ran my tongue in a circle and she arched into me, letting out a tiny gasp. The noise went straight to my cock, and I throbbed for her. I’d physically ached for her for months. I pressed my lips into the flat of her palm. “You are mine.”
She nodded. “I’m yours.”
Her words obliterated my world. The trust in her eyes, the way she looked at me like I was worth a damn—I’d hit the jackpot. She writhed under my touch, pressed her body against mine, and the urge to connect with her, to be in her, almost broke my resolve.
Sex came second nature to me. But every move now was dedicated to earning Zoey’s maximum pleasure. I listened to her breathing, watched every sudden dip in her stomach. Her expressive body was the roadmap I’d travel until she begged me to be inside her.
I kissed along the freckles dotting her chest, to the muscles in her arm, to her delicate pink fingertips. No surface on Zoey’s body would go unexplored before we left this bed.
“Your mouth is so infuriating,” she whined, shifting restlessly beneath me.
I chuckled. “Usually you only say that when I’m talking.”
“Extenuating circumstances.” She raked a hand through my hair, and I leaned into her touch. “I might die before we get to the good part.”
“Such a whiner. I still have the left half of your body to explore.”
My mouth was on her neck, kissing down the flat of her stomach, to the curve of her hip.
“I’m not above retaliation when the time comes,” she ground out, her words strained.
I smiled against her skin. “Fine.” I rolled to the side and reached down for my jeans, grabbing a condom out of my wallet.
I shrugged off my boxers and sheathed myself, watching her track my every movement. I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed the way she looked at me, with a hunger that made every grueling day on the mountain and at the gym worth it. The bed dipped below my knees as I knelt in front of her. I slowly traced my way up her legs until I landed on the scrap of material at her hips and quickly removed it.
A sweep of my fingers was enough to find that she was ready. I took a deep breath. This was it. I’d imagined this so many times while I was alone, with only the use of my hand. Nothing would ever compare to Zoey. She wasn’t something that I could replicate; I could only savor every second and pray I didn’t screw up again. She lay there, spread before me, her hands clawing at the sheets.
“Please, Ryder.”
I positioned myself between her legs and lost all sense of reality when I slid into her. Better than the first time. A moan ripped out of her throat as I sunk in again. So. Fucking. Good. I could say Zoey was like a drug. That I’d had one taste, and now I’d be jonesing for my next fix forever. But that’d be a lie. Junkies sought out the next high, but it was never as good as the first. What Zoey was giving me was precious and pure and something that only got better with time.
I grabbed her legs and positioned them to fold over my shoulders, knowing that angle made her tick last time. She squeezed her eyes shut and clawed at my biceps, the sexiest moans spilling from her mouth. This woman. This beautiful woman who drove me absolutely nuts. Who managed to make me laugh at one of my lowest points. She’d given herself to me, and I’d worship her every breath.
I climbed toward my release, holding back to ensure she drifted first.
I thrust into her, still wondering how I ever got so lucky that she gave me another chance. She squeezed at my arm, and when I looked into her eyes, at the softness in her gaze, I lost it.
We spiraled together, and I knew I’d never get enough of Zoey Reynolds.
I covered her scream with my kiss, wringing out every last bit of pleasure from her body. When my mouth left hers, she smiled up at me with hooded eyes.
“Good morning,” I said, planting a kiss on her forehead before taking care of the condom.
She let out a low, shuddering breath. “I like waking up this way. I could wake up that way every day if I had to.”
I chuckled. “Same.”
I dipped back onto the bed and resumed committing her skin to memory, kissing touching, nipping along every surface. I wanted to remember this—her touch, the look in her eyes—because I didn’t know how long I’d have her.
The blissful state faded as I pulled her into my arms. “How is this going to work?”
Shit. Good question. I planted a kiss on her palm. “I think we are doing a pretty good job so far.”
She bristled, and her designer mode was taking over in full force. “I mean it. How are we supposed to act when we’re at the resort together?”
“Besides you giving me death glares from across the room?”
She shot me a look.
“See, you have that down to a science.”
She laughed and swatted at my chest. “I mean it. If my boss finds out about this, I’m toast.”
I’d never do anything to jeopardize her job. It meant too much to her. “He won’t. You and I are the only ones who know. And you don’t have to have a plan for everything, Zoey. How about we take this one day at a time?”
This was uncharted territory. There were no answers. One step at a time.
“The painters are coming on Monday. Are you going to join me?” She looked up at me with those eyes I could never say no to.
“You know I’d do anything you asked.”
And I meant it.
Chapter Fourteen
Zoey
Rule #17: Never break the five commandments of the office, especially in the workplace.
Working side by side with Ryder proved to be a larger distraction than I’d thought possible. Even though our paint job moved at a glacial pace d
ue to random barrages of kisses and ass swats, the remainder of the resort was well under way. Ryder and I had driven up together in his truck this morning. We holed ourselves up in one of the guest bedrooms while my team worked on the main area of the lodge. I’d chosen a pale blue for this room that would lend itself well to the four-poster bed and white-and-blue bedspread we’d settled on. All of that was scheduled to arrive by the end of next week.
I had exactly three more weeks to get this place in order before the production company sent someone to film. Lance and I had finalized dates this morning. It’d be a stretch, but I’d pulled bigger miracles than this one out of my ass.
“Mind if I play music while we work?” Ryder asked, pulling out his phone.
“Sure.” I hadn’t really thought about it, but it would probably make the time go faster.
He smiled over at me. “Good. I made a playlist.”
“Look at you. This place really does bring out your early two-thousands roots.”
“Hey, I didn’t burn you a CD.”
I shrugged. “Semantics, really.”
He didn’t bother with a response, just shook his head and started up the playlist.
The Queen track that had seemed to haunt me for the past few weeks blasted from the speaker on his phone. “Oh, you did not seriously put Flash on there.”
“I thought you might enjoy it,” he said, and then started humming along.
I put my hands on my hips, trying to smother my smile. “You do know that the song is actually about Flash Gordon and not the super hero, right?”
“What was that you said before? Semantics.” He dipped his roller into the paint pan and spread a thick coat of the blue onto the wall, this time belting out the lyrics.
“Don’t you use my words against me.”
“What was that? I can’t hear you over this awesome song.” He continued to paint, smirking.
And with that, I globbed paint onto my roller, and before Ryder could move away, I rolled it across his cheek. I managed to get his ear, lips, and nose before he backed away. “You’re just asking for it today. First in the bedroom and now with the painting. I’m beginning to think we have a problem.”
“You’re my only problem.” I managed to get him on his arm this time, the paint splattering over his tattoos. I laughed at how ridiculous he looked, like he’d had a bad run-in with a Smurf. I laughed until my stomach hurt and tears blurred my eyes.
Cold paint smooshed in my hair and down my back as Ryder used my moment of weakness to get retaliation. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”
A throat cleared behind us, and I swiveled around to find Jason sitting in the doorway, looking between the two of us, his forehead wrinkled.
I gasped. “Mr. Covington.” I set the roller down in the pan and made my way to Ryder’s brother. “I didn’t know you were coming to the site today.”
“I wanted to see how the renovations were going, so I had my driver take me up for the day.”
Shit. “So happy you could stop by.” This looked bad. So, so bad. We were covered in paint, and he’d just witnessed us flirting. My stomach bottomed out thinking about the consequences. What if he told Lance? Unlike Ryder, Jason was a stickler for rules, and I didn’t know how he would react to the scene in front of him.
He looked from me to Ryder again. “I like the color you picked,” he said hesitantly.
“Thank you. Ryder helped pick it out.” Silence spanned between us, the only noise being the stupid Queen song in the background. Awkward. So damn awkward.
“Yes, it looks like he’s been very helpful.” He gave his brother a knowing look. He wasn’t dumb—it had to be plain as day what was going on here. The evidence was literally on our bodies.
“J,” Ryder’s voice was a warning.
Jason nodded and started to back out of the room. “Next time, try to keep all of it on the walls. This is my money, you know.” But there was a hint of a smile.
I cleared my throat. “Right. Of course.” I didn’t know whether I should be relieved or terrified. Maybe both. This was my job, and the second time I’d put myself in a compromising position.
As soon as he left the room, the tightness in my chest eased up. How could I have been so careless? The crew wouldn’t care if they spotted a little flirting, but anyone could come on the site, including my boss. If he saw? Cue the sad trombone and the walk of shame as I carried my possessions out of my office in a cardboard box. Sex really had turned my brain to mush if I let all my personal rules fade away when Ryder was around.
He strode over to me, his expression serious. “I can tell what you’re thinking right now, and I know Jason won’t say anything.”
“That could have been Lance. If it was—” I shook my head, not able finish the sentence. This meant too much to me to botch it. “I think maybe we should work in separate rooms today. Or maybe you could take the day off and go enjoy the sun while I kill brain cells by inhaling paint fumes.” I tried to keep my voice light, but I was too shaken up to put on an act.
“You’re kicking me out of my own resort?”
“Yes.” I shoved him toward the door. “Because I won’t be able to concentrate if you’re here.”
We needed to be more careful. At least until this project was over. Forget being fired, I didn’t want to give him any reason to question my work, not when this job was going to propel my career.
I’d barely spoken to Ryder the rest of the day. Instead, I’d tasked him with helping a few of the crew members apply coats of white paint to the baseboards while I continued to work in the bedrooms. I still couldn’t shake his brother walking in on us, what it’d mean for my career if my boss found out. By the time Ryder dropped me off that evening, I could barely kiss him good-bye.
By nine, I’d bought another three pairs of leggings with two tops to match. Right as I was going in for a fourth, my phone buzzed.
Ryder: Would you rather lose your sense of smell for a year or only be able to smell pickles for a month?
I smiled. Leave it to him to come up with something completely random.
Zoey: You’re getting better at this game. And lose my sense of smell for a year. I hate pickles.
Ryder: Then ignore the pickle of the month club subscription I had sent to your house.
I sank back into my bed and inhaled. The smell of Ryder still clung to my pillow. I’d take a month of pickles if it meant he’d sleep in my bed again.
Zoey: Ha. Ha. Would you rather have round two of last night or have a flawless snowboarding career?
Ryder: Projecting on me? Round two for sure.
Ryder: You surviving over there?
Zoey: Barely
Ryder: How many pairs of leggings did you buy?
Zoey: One
Ryder: What’s that saying? Liar, liar….
I rolled my eyes. Dammit, why did he have to know me so well?
Zoey: Okay, fine you stopped me from purchase #4
Ryder: Would this cheer you up?
A picture popped up of Ryder’s smiling face, flecks of blue in his beard. My heart stuttered just looking at those ice-blue eyes. A color that should be chilly was so warm and inviting on him.
Zoey: Maybe a little.
Ryder: What about this?
Another pic came in, this time of his abs. Splattered paint managed to find its way onto his skin, even though he’d had a shirt on the entire time. Okay, now we were talking. No more need to impulse buy.
Zoey: My one-click finger has been safely stowed away.
Ryder: Oh good. Do I get to see my dirty work, too?
Psh. If I took a pic where some of the paint had embedded, I’d for sure be breaking state laws. Instead, I took a pic of the dirty dishes piled in my sink and captioned it: This dirty enough for you?
Ryder: It’s so dirty it needs a NC-17 rating.
Zoey: I thought you might like that.
Ryder: We good?
Zoey: Yeah, we’re good.
; Ryder: Good night, Flash.
Zoey: Night.
Chapter Fifteen
Ryder
“Princess or round cut?”
Brogan held two rings in front of me, sweat dotting his forehead. They all looked the same to me—shiny and expensive.
I’d support my buddy in his quest to find the perfect engagement ring, but he had to know this was way above my paygrade in terms of knowledge. “I don’t know, man. Which one do you think Lainey would pick for herself?”
There. A somewhat helpful answer. Always bring it back to the woman because she’ll be the one wearing it for the rest of her life.
His frown deepened, and he appeared to be a few short breaths away from needing a paper bag. “I don’t know. She likes simple, elegant stuff. She never wears any big jewelry.”
If I had to guess what Zoey liked, she’d be into unique, antique rings. Something that fit her personality. She liked to be different from everyone, had her own style, and I liked that about her. Then again, knowing her, she already had printouts and an itemized list of rings in her planner.
I looked back at Brogan’s selections. “Then I’d scrap the one in your right hand.” I jutted my chin to the three-carat rock set in a cluster of smaller diamonds.
His brows knit together. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He put the ring back on the black velvet cushion and reached for the next one in line, eyeing it so hard he was bound to burst a vessel before he made his pick. “Dammit, why does this have to be so hard?”
“I don’t know, man. You’ll find something.”
I did find it annoying that it was up to the guy to pick something so monumental. If it were me, I’d at least take the woman to scope out jewelry before I proposed. Not that I was anywhere near that stage.
“Have you thought about how you’re going to ask her?” I said, trying to keep him reasonably calm.
His shoulders relaxed a bit, and he studied the simple solitaire ring between his fingers. “I have something planned. We’re working on an employee manual together. I’m thinking about slipping in a few specific rules in her copy.”
“Nice.”
The Rule Maker (Rule Breakers) Page 16
