“She’s fine.” Ryder glanced at the other man, recognizing the look on Bryan Goebel’s face. The longing, the tenderness... Bryan Goebel was sweet on his wife.
Chapter Twelve
Annabeth smoothed the wispy blond hair from Cody’s sleeping face. She was still wound up from the evening’s events. Yes, she was overreacting, but she was pregnant. Otherwise, seeing that horrible rat running at Cody w
ouldn’t have shaken her up so badly. It was silly. Ryder wouldn’t have let anything happen. Deep inside her, she knew that. He hadn’t let anything happen. Everyone was safe, because of him.
Ryder...
He’d reacted quickly, without thought. If he’d been rattled or uncertain, she hadn’t seen it. He’d had everything in control. Moving with a confidence, and speed, that ratcheted up the already raging attraction she had for her husband.
What really worried her was she knew it was more. She wasn’t ready to face what more meant. But she was afraid her heart had become intensely involved.
She turned off the hall light and walked into the kitchen, the telltale rumble of thunder outside reminding her of the various leaks in the roof. Lightning flashed in the small window over the kitchen sink. The sink, where Ryder stood. He didn’t seem bothered by the coming storm. He was elbows deep in a sink of soapy dishes, humming to whatever country tune was coming from the radio. It looked as though he was content, maybe even a little happy. How she wished that was true.
If she was smart, she’d go to bed. Standing here admiring how his tight gray T-shirt clung to each and every muscle was a bad idea. Her attention lingered on his mighty fine rear. She swallowed, aching with desperate want. If she went over there and wrapped her arms around him, what would happen?
She hesitated for a moment, then did exactly that.
He froze. But not for long. He wiped his hands on a dish towel, then covered hers with his. His hands were hot and damp—encompassing her. She kissed his shoulder, pressing her nose against his back and breathing deep. His head-to-toe shiver surprised her.
Ryder kept her arms in place, even as he turned to face her. He stared down at her, the heat in his gaze challenging the very real warning inside her head. She wanted him and, for whatever reason, right now he wanted her.
His hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her head. The touch of his thumb along her lower lip startled her lips apart. His kiss was fierce. Lips parted, breaths merged, and tongues stoking deep. She melted into him, welcoming the heat that inflamed her. He pressed soft kisses to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the hollow at the base of her neck. The slight scratch of stubble along her skin plus the sudden tenderness of his kisses had her aching for more. She slipped her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing her palms against his skin.
He pulled his shirt off and let it fall on the floor at their feet.
Her hands traced over his chest, dragging her fingers over each ridge and indentation. Muscles. Golden skin. Raw strength. He was mesmerizing.
“Mrs. Boone,” he murmured against her neck. “Option A. We’re breaking the rules.”
Option A. She blinked. Option A. The plan with no sex and a temporary marriage. The plan she’d dreamed up to keep things under control. To protect them both. She stared at the wall of muscle that was his stomach and chest, a soft sound of pure frustration escaping her lips.
“Annabeth?” His voice was a low growl.
She wanted him—too much. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “After today... I just... You...” She shook her head. “I crossed a line—” It was hard to meet his gaze.
He was staring down at her, shirtless, gorgeous and barely controlled. “Hell, Princess, cross it.” His words were colored with unfiltered hunger.
She sucked in a deep breath, her lungs shuddering at the force of it. The look in his eyes, the heat of his hands and strength of his arms around her. She wanted this. She wanted him. She stepped forward, slipping her hand to the base of his neck and pulling his head down to her.
As their lips met, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. With the heel of his boot, he nudged the door shut. He didn’t lay her on the bed, but set her on her feet instead. He knelt in front of her, unbuttoning each of the buttons along her pajama top. When it hung open, he kissed her stomach, along her ribs, under the swell of her breast...leaving a spark of fire in his wake. His hair brushed along her skin, heightening each sensation. And his big hands held her up, solid against her back. His mouth brushed over her nipple, stealing whatever breath she had left.
She shrugged out of her top. It wasn’t enough. She needed all of him.
His broken groan shook her where she stood. He wasn’t touching her. He didn’t have to—his desire was all the encouragement she needed. She started to kneel with him, desperate to feel him against her. But he tugged her pajama bottoms down and stood, the brush of his chest against her own heightening her senses even more.
His hands tangled in her hair as his mouth sealed hers. The touch and slide of his tongue was too much. Her hands fumbled with his belt buckle and jeans. Somehow he managed to get out of them.
They fell back onto the bed, but he rolled them, bringing her on top of him.
She stared down at him, at the beauty of his body, the angles and planes and rugged masculinity. His hands stroked up her arms, his gaze devouring every inch of her. He was just as hungry as she was. His fingers brushed along her neck, wrapping in her long hair to pull her face to his.
His kiss was deep, leaving her lungs empty and her body writhing. He rolled them again, holding her tightly against him. When she dared to look at his face, she was stunned by his expression. Possessiveness—he looked at her as if she was his.
She wanted that...wanted to be his.
He rested on one forearm, his hand cradling her face as he moved slowly into her. She closed her eyes, too overwhelmed by the raw friction, the exquisite pressure. He grew still, his gasping breath cooling her heated skin. She looked at him, at the control he fought for. She kissed his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Make love to me, Ryder.”