Chasing Mr. Wrong (Chasing Love 4)

She heard the woman talk about the Davenport Hall, and while Ryder’s mouth moved in response, his eyes stayed on Whitney. But she couldn’t stick around. Not after what she’d almost done. Not with all these weird emotions flying through her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to Penny, taking her up on her offer to clock out a bit early. She passed the bar and headed in the opposite direction of Ryder and out the back. Funny how this whole thing had started with Ryder wanting space, and now it was her running in the other direction.

That stubborn woman had just turned her back on him and taken off.

Ryder’s temper was boiling beneath the surface. He’d seen the look in Whitney’s eyes when she’d headed for him. He was shocked as hell that she’d appeared ready to jump into his arms—and even more shocked that he wanted her to, even if they were in the middle of the BBQ. Then that hope was stomped out when she looked like her feet had been glued to the floor, and Clara swooped in chatting about the event again.

He was only hearing every other word, because he was too busy watching where Whitney had just left. Out the back.

“…all the paint will be dry?” Clara asked. Ryder only heard the last part of her question.

“Yes, the painters are heading in tomorrow, and it all should be done for the weekend event.” It was coming up in less than a week. Come Saturday night, all his crew’s hard work would be on display, and one of the town’s most treasured buildings would be reopened.

“Excellent!” Clara said. “I’m just so happy you’re finished. Now you have time for more sociable encounters.”

She looked him over like a prize, one she’d had her sights on, and Ryder tried to find his good manners to get out of this conversation. Because yes, the last week had been a bear finishing that building, but he was finally done. He had an early meeting with Davenport the next day. Otherwise, all that was left to do was monitor the final touches. That was why tonight he’d come straight to the place, and woman, he’d been dying to see.

And she’d just run off.

He didn’t want to talk about the event. Didn’t want to think about the Hall. For months his life had revolved around it. Hell, his life revolved around the town on a regular basis. Tonight he just wanted Whitney. Wanted to be alone with her. Talk to her. Forget who he was in public and have a private moment between the two of them.

“Why don’t you join me for dinner and we can discuss the weekend?” Clara said.

Ryder’s eyes snapped to her. “I already have plans.”

He should have accompanied that with an apology, but he wasn’t sorry. He wanted to see Whitney, and he wouldn’t apologize or explain.

He let Clara pout and tossed a wave to his sister. Penny looked confused, but she waved back.

He marched out the door and to his truck in record time. Barreling toward the lodge, he realized quickly he didn’t know what room Whitney was in, but he’d start with the bar where he’d first met her.

The main entrance was empty, just like the entire lounge and bar area. Even the counter of the bar, near the billiards room, had a “Return in an hour” sign up. Dead. The entire place was dead. But through the corridor, he heard the faint sound of one pool ball hitting another and a side pocket shot sinking.

Adrenaline raced through him, but he reached for his coolest composure and entered the poolroom. There, like his blessed dreams, was Whitney, bending over and lining up her next shot.

Those shorts of hers were his favorite thing on the planet, and he took a long moment to appreciate then.

“Damn it,” she muttered, when she missed her shot.

“You know what I was thinking the first night I saw you in here?” he asked.

She turned to face him with a little jump.

“Do you have some sneak-up quota you have to fill every day or something?”

“Answer my question,” he asserted. He was not in a friendly mood. This was his show. He’d gone to the BBQ to see her, and he’d be damned if she twisted this game of theirs to her favor.

“Let’s see, the night you met me… Pretty sure you were thinking I was someone else.”

He walked toward her until he reached the pool table and stood before her. “I was actually thinking of what this?

??—he spun her around, bent her over the pool table, and ran his fingers along the back of her knee—“tasted like.” He knelt quickly to trace his tongue up along that soft skin and felt her shudder, and then he rose and whispered in her ear, “Just as I thought. Sweet.”

She turned to face him, and he grabbed the edge of the pool table on either side of her hips, caging her in.

“What are you doing here, Ryder?” she asked softly. Something in her eyes was pleading. Like she was half scared, half desperate for his answer.

“I came to see you.”