She turns back. “I’m okay, Ryder. I still don’t regret what just happened.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished dressing.”
I hesitate before heading into my room and closing the door.
Dahlia
As Ryder disappears, I rub my thighs together to try and find some relief from the fire he’s started. Not that it works. Nothing will work unless it’s Ryder touching me. It was hot, knowing I affect him so badly.
He’s a delicious man, and I long for the day when he gets me naked and under him. I certainly won’t want to leave him while he has me like that. Leaving him? Would I be able to if I need to? I thought about it all night, wondering about the kind of marriage he has. And now, why he only sees his wife on her birthday. That doesn’t make sense.
Then it hits me.
Is she in prison?
That would explain why she isn’t around, and why he only sees her one day a year. But that’s something I can’t get my head around, I mean, why are they still married? Surely he can’t have any strong feelings for her if I’m the one he wants.
I shuffle to the end of the table, and steadying myself on my one good foot, turn and drop into the chair Ryder had previously pulled out for me before our good morning make-out. Our first make-out session, and I hope, not the last.
Shaking my head, I reach out and pull the cup of coffee toward me before adding two spoons of sugar as well as some milk. While taking a sip of the steaming brew, I try to shut my over active imagination down. I wish Ryder would hurry before I combust.
I can hear the shower going in Ryder’s room and I spend the time sipping my coffee and looking around the kitchen. This is a predicament that I swore I’d never experience, but now, I’m right in the middle—doubting everything that I do. Should I move out or weather this storm? I meant every word I said about being the other woman. There isn’t any way I’ll ever put myself into that situation because I witnessed the heartbreak and anger that my mom experienced as the other woman. I’m just not built that way . . . I can’t be the other woman. I’m just not sure where that leaves me.
With the whole-wheat toast probably cold, I take a slice and coat it with butter before taking a hefty bite. It’s while I’m trying to get the piece down my throat that Ryder appears looking so damn sexy it’s all I can do not to drool.
The man knows how to wear a pair of worn jeans. They hang low on his hips, and cup his junk rather nicely. Not to mention what they do to his well-defined thighs.
“Dahlia?”
“Huh?”
“Up here, babe.”
My eyes shoot up to his, and I see the amusement on his face.
The pig!
My gaze travels back to his groin, only to feel a blush as it spreads from my neck up into my face when I realize the bulge behind his zipper has grown.
He coughs trying to hide his laughter, but it escapes as he yanks his tee shirt down to cover his aroused body.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to seeing that reaction on Ryder for me. With just one look, he wants me. And he affects me the same way. I only have to hear his voice and my panties are wet. I just never gave a thought to the fact he could react the same way to me. It’s kind of surreal.
“Your jeans fit well,” I comment, washing the toast down with a gulp of coffee as I hide my smirk.
“Hmm . . . I’ll have to wear them more often if that’s the kind of reaction I get.”
“I wouldn’t complain.”
I bring my gaze back to him and realize all the laughter has gone from his face.
A part of me feels bad that he’s being forced into telling me about his past, but we don’t have any chance if he continues to keep it to himself. I’m convinced he’ll feel better once he’s told me everything.
“Have you finished?” He waves toward the table with our breakfast laid out.
“Yeah. I’m not hungry.”
Before I have chance to move under my own steam, Ryder sweeps me into his arms and carries me into the living room. He helps me to get comfortable on the sofa, and takes the chair opposite. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he drops his head into his hands.
All I want to do is go over and wrap my arms around him. It hurts so much seeing him tormented, and not comforting him. It’s a physical ache keeping my butt on the sofa while he struggles.