Slipping from the bed, her toes curling against the plush rug, Nadia quietly gathered her clothes and got dressed. She nearly gave up on finding her strappy high heels before she saw them peeking out from under Ryder’s side of the bed; by request they’d been the last item left on.
With the straps hooked over one finger, she took one last look at the big man sleeping in the big bed; his lips softly parted, dark hair falling over his forehead, the shadow of stubble already covering his cheeks and chin. When all that masculine warmth made her start to ache, she resolutely turned her back and walked away.
She texted for a cab as she padded down the circular staircase to the main floor of Ryder’s amazing home. He’d designed the space himself—and for himself alone; that much was clear. All hardwood floors, and raw slate tiles, dark grey walls and sleek modern furniture. Downstairs was entirely open-plan with a sophisticated kitchen and a gigantic lounge that made the most of the beach views, with a cool art-deco bar and a TV you could see from space. Ryder had alluded to a garage, gym, and laundry in the subterranean floor below.
The only thing in the place that wasn’t uber-masculine was a truly lovely antique-looking drafting table in the far corner. A more modern chair was skewed beneath and the wall beside it housed a wall of built-in blond bookshelves filled with rolled-up plans and books galore—all the accoutrements she assumed an architect must need.
And yet for all the modern, manly minimalism—the reclaimed wood, re-imagined steel, the huge artworks on the mood-lit walls that all seemed to be made from industrial cast-offs—the place was truly stunning.
He’d mentioned that his mother had been creative, a sculptor of some renown. No wonder Ryder Fitzgerald had talent; he had the heart of an artist.
Nadia snorted softly at her wayward thoughts, figuring she must be more tired than she thought. She dragged her hair into a ponytail, tugging her hair a little harder than necessary in order to wake herself up. Last stop, she ducked to the fridge, found an apple to appease her empty stomach—since they’d somehow forgotten to eat.
Padding towards the door, she sank her teeth into the skin, and a resounding snap of apple flesh split the air.
She stilled and heard the distinct rustle of sheets over man.
Swearing beneath her breath, she gathered her satchel from its place hooked over the back of a bar stool, then clamped the apple between her teeth and made a barefoot run for the door.
She’d almost made it when the floorboards creaked ominously. Heart thundering in her chest, she took the apple from her mouth and glanced back to find Ryder ambling down the stairs; his hair dishevelled, his face soft with sleep. Previously discarded suit trousers covered his long legs, the clasp undone revealing the tantalising arrow of dark hair.
He stopped when he spotted her hand on the doorknob. “I thought I heard you decamping,” he said, his voice deep and soft on the night air.
“You heard right. I also stole an apple.”
He crossed his arms and leant a hip against the railing. “Consider it yours.”
Nadia’s pulse thudded at her wrists, behind her ears. All over. As even while he looked perfectly relaxed, she could feel the slumberous desire rolling from him in waves. And even while the muscle memory in her body begged her to make good on all that promise, she needed to be sure that when the time came, she could say no.
“See you Tuesday night?” she asked.
A beat throbbed between them before he said, “I’ll be there.”
He shifted, and her skin thrummed with the thought there might be one last kiss; a deep, sweet, lasting parting meeting of mouths that took her breath away. But one dark look later, he gave her a short nod and headed back up the stairs.
The tension drained from her until she drooped like a wilting flower. She let herself out, the cool darkness and soft salty tang of the sea air enveloping her. And then she began to laugh. It was either that or sob with relief. Or would that be disappointment? Argh!
And when her cab swished to a halt at the kerb, she hopped inside, settled against the seat and closed her eyes, smiling until her cheeks began to ache.
* * *
As Ryder hit the stairs leading up to the studio the next Tuesday night, he heard Nadia’s laughter echoing down the stairwell.
He was smiling by the time he pushed open the door, but at the creak of the hinges she spun on her heel, her hand flying to her chest, her cheeks glowing pink, her phone pressed to her ear. A couple of beats later she held up a finger, mouthing she’d only be a minute, then turned her back, talked in a low hum he couldn’t make out.
Ryder dumped his bags on the couch and headed her way. He slid his arms around her waist, and ducked his face into her neck.