The Duke of Waylon enters my dressing room at the church, and I flip around to face him.
My eyes take in the thickness of his thighs in his beige breeches, the white
linen shirt that’s wet from the storm that rages outside. He stands with his feet apart. “You’re not marrying him.”
“Go to hell,” I say.
He pops off his shirt with a swift movement and I gasp. He’s built like a Greek god, rippling with power, an alpha male to the core. Droplets of water run in small rivulets across his muscles, tracing over his pecs and soft curls, dancing across his abdomen then disappearing inside his tight pants.
He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re looking at me like you want me, Lady Penelope.”
“The sentiment seems to be returned, my lord.” I flick my eyes to the bulging tent in his crotch.
With two steps he’s at my side and his hand tangles in my auburn tresses, tilting my chin back until our gazes are locked. He trails a finger down the curve of my face, and a flood of heat washes over me.
“Of course it is. You’re mine and no one else’s.” He kisses me deeply, his lips like wine, dark and intoxicating.
My arms curl around his neck.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he shoves my bodice down, freeing my heavy breasts.
“We can’t do this,” I breathe. But there’s no truth in my words.
His glittering gaze spears me. “Indeed, my lady, we can. I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about your fiancé, Viscount Connor.”
I slam my notebook shut, my chest heaving just like the heroine’s. Why do I keep writing these ridiculous fantasies about him?
I flip on the TV where I find Twilight on Netflix and hit play. If I can’t write fiction without Ryker as the hero, then I’ll just veg out. I send a glare at my notebook. “You will not be opened again tonight,” I announce.
“Shit!” Vampire Bill squawks.
I head to the kitchen, blaming my lapse in writing judgment on the fact that the handsome quarterback has been in my dreams at night more times than I care to count.
The doorbell rings as I’m popping popcorn in the kitchen. With a brief look at my clock—it’s after ten—I clutch my around-the-house cardigan at the neck and grab my pepper spray. I will not be taken unaware again like last night with Archer.
I walk into the den and approach the door. “Who is it?” I call out. “Ryker.”
“Ryker?” I say back.
“Ryker!” Vampire Bill squawks, and I turn around to hush him. “Yes,” replies the deep male voice.
I stare at the door.
“You gonna let me in, Red?”
I frown at the door. “It’s late. And stop calling me that. My hair is
auburn.”
I hear him laugh. “Late? It’s the weekend, plus your lights were on when I drove past. And Auburn doesn’t make a good nickname.”
I cock my hip, already feeling rebellious. I’m not afraid to open my door
—because Ryker—but I do want to mess with him. “Is this a booty call? It’s past seven.”
“No.”
“Why are you driving past my house?”
I detect a long exhale through the door, and I picture him pushing his hand through his hair or just shaking his head at me. “Okay, that’s fine. If you don’t want my help in figuring out how to actually play pool before your date with Connor—”
“Wait!” I call out. “Don’t leave! Give me a minute.” I need Ryker to help me.
I scan the room—it’s a disaster—and like a Tasmanian devil, I tear through the den, straightening pillows and wiping crumbs off the end tables. I pause Twilight and warn Vampire Bill to watch his language. Perched inside his cage, he glares and gives me an Are you kidding? look.
He does and says what he wants.
“Are you going to let me in any time tonight?” comes Ryker’s amused reply. “I don’t care if you don’t have any lipstick on…” His voice trails off, and when he speaks again, it’s deeper. Huskier. “You are dressed, right?”
Dressed! Crap. I look down at my skimpy booty shorts and tank top under my sweater. Well, I am clothed, just not decent. I button the cardigan up from top to bottom, but when I look down, it looks as if all I’m wearing is the sweater.
“Okay, later then.” I hear him scuffling on the porch and his voice is more distant, as if he’s moving away.
Forget changing clothes. I fling the door open. “Wait! I’m here.”
He turns back around and his eyes flare as they take me in, his electric
blue gaze lingering on my legs before flying back to my face. He seems to get caught up on my hair and I touch it, knowing it’s a mess, the curls everywhere.
“I take it you aren’t going out?”
I shake my head. “Where would I go?”
He leans against my doorjamb and gives me a cocky grin. “I thought you might be headed to the Tau party. We won our game tonight.”
“I heard.”
He tosses an eyebrow up. “You weren’t there?” “Charisma told me before she left. She went to the party.”
“Ah,” he says, his eyes steady on my face. “So you’re alone? No hot date?”
Only with my notebook.
“Nope. Just doing some writing. How was the game?”
A boyish grin crosses his face, a brightness in his eyes that makes me take in a sharp breath. He’s so hot I can’t breathe. “We beat Ole Miss 23 to 3. Twelve of those points were passes I threw straight to Blaze in the end zone.”
“Nice.”
He shakes his head at me. “We beat one of the best teams in the conference and you say nice.”
I shrug.
“You probably prefer playing pool?” He smirks.
I roll my eyes. “Why on earth did I lie to him? It was like my mouth was saying stuff, and I couldn’t stop it.”
He straightens up from his nonchalant pose and shrugs. “You wanted to impress him—because you like him.”
There’s a brisk quality to his voice. “Yeah.”
He gives me a short nod, his gaze moving inside the house. “May I come in?”
I open the door wider. “Please.”
He eases past me, and I catch a whiff of freshly showered man, spicy and dark.
“You gonna spray me with that?” His eyes are on my hand, and I follow them to the pepper spray.
Oh! I forgot I was holding it.
I set it on the foyer table. “Sorry. You can never be too sure these days.” I consider telling him about Archer, but I don’t want to cause trouble between Ryker and his teammate.
“What were you writing?” he says nonchalantly as he stalks into my den, and while his back is to me, my eyes run over him, taking in the broad shoulders that taper to his trim waist. I picture the six-pack that is probably
under that shirt. I briefly wonder if I’ll ever see his abs. Probably not unless I sneak into the locker room someday. Tonight he’s wearing a fitted black T- shirt and a pair of low-slung jeans that fit his ass like a glove. I smile to myself. I almost miss his button-down, but this isn’t a bad look on him.
His well-toned athletic butt really is a thing of magnificence, the taut muscles shaped by good genes and working out constantly. I imagine him in shorts and a muscle tank, lifting weights in a gym, sweat dripping as he lifts, curling his bicep—
“Penelope. Are you listening?”
I start, realizing he’s facing me and asked a question. I blink rapidly.
What did he ask me? Writing! “Uh, nothing. Just toying with some creative writing ideas.”
His gaze is intense and I think I see a glimmer of…heat in his eyes as he considers me. He sees my notebook on the coffee table and picks it up, thumbs through it. I can’t tell if he’s actually reading the pages, but my life flashes before me.
In an instant, I’m pressed against him, my hands tugging my journal out of his hands. I hug it to my chest like it’s the Holy Grail.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Personal?”
I huff and show him the cover. “Did you not see where it plainly says DO NOT OPEN?”
He looks at me. “What?” I snap.
He shrugs. “I’m just wondering what kind of things you write about. Is there sexy stuff in there, Red?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You sure? Your face is flushed and you’re breathing pretty fast. I might have to defibrillate you if you pass out.”
I suck in a cleansing breath as I clutch my notebook. “You didn’t read anything, did you?”
“I didn’t read anything tonight,” he says softly.
I harrumph and tuck my notebook into the desk that sits next to the media cabinet.
“So why aren’t you at the Tau party?” I ask, straightening up to face him, determined to change the subject. “You should be in the middle of a fan-girl sandwich by now, Ryker. You should at least be ‘doing laundry’ with someone.”
He shrugs. “I was on my way home from getting dinner when I saw your lights on.”
Technically, my house is not on the main drag. He’d have to purposely make a few turns to get here, and I’m about to comment on this point—
“Shit! Ryker! Shit!” It’s Vampire Bill, and I send him a be quiet look, but he just blinks back at me, his yellow eyes bouncing from me to the football player.
Ryker appears startled until he sees Vampire Bill, who is perched inside his cage on a narrow table in the den. Ryker glances back at me, a quizzical expression on his face. “I never took you for a bird girl. Maybe a cat or a small dog.”
I huff out a laugh. “I inherited him when my neighbors moved.” “Oh?”
I nod. “Yeah, on moving day, they were going to leave him and let him live in the wild, but he can barely fly, and when he does get off the ground, it’s just for short spurts.” My lips tighten, and I’m feeling indignant all over again remembering the renters next door, a pair of young college girls who graduated two years ago. I came outside when they were debating about which side of the street to leave him on. Of course, I was horrified. I immediately took him in and did my best to be a good bird owner. I even took a class at the humane shelter, which I figure had to be better than what they did for him. I walk over to his cage and give Vampire Bill’s head a little scratch, and he allows it for half a second—until he hops away and glares death daggers at me. “He’s an African Grey and supposedly has the intelligence of a four-year-old. Sadly, he has a personality disorder. He hates everyone.”
“Jock! Shit! Ryker!” Vampire Bill squawks, and I stifle down my giggle. “But he is funny.” I look back at Ryker, who’s now standing next to me at
the cage.
“Did you teach him that?”
I blink innocently. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh. You talk about me to your bird. Fascinating.”
“Not really. We do a word of the day sometimes,” I say as he stalks around my den, his eyes checking out my small but well-built house. His gaze takes in the decor in shades of gray and soft ecru. An elegant but rustic farmhouse-style chandelier illuminates the beige leather sofa and two baby blue plaid chairs across from it. The baseboard trim is thick and was recently painted a vanilla color by me this summer when I needed something to keep my mind busy and writing wasn’t cutting it.
“Oh, what was today’s word?” I pause.
“Red?” “Quarterback.” He grins.
And we do that staring thing.
“Nice place,” he says, breaking our gaze as his eyes drift over the
furnishings. “Homey. I like it.”
“I grew up here,” I tell him, my fingers touching one of the lime green pillows on the chairs. “My mom decorated. She was…pretty awesome.” I pause. “I guess you don’t get back to Austin much?”
“Nah, it’s just me and my dad, and he’s always busy with work. Hey, I’m sorry about your mom.” He pauses. “You mentioned it in the bookstore…”
I nod.
“What happened?”
I rarely tell anyone the details of my mother’s death. “She…she had a pulmonary embolism, a blood clot in her lungs. It was completely out of the blue and happened while she was riding her bicycle to work.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
Since her death, I’ve learned to harden myself to the events, but the sincerity in his voice gets to me. Tears tug at my eyes, and I push them down, adjusting my glasses. “It was a shock. What about your family? You said your mom left when you were three?”
“I rarely see her,” he says. “My dad works all the time. He runs a small real estate company in Austin.” His eyes land on the TV. “So, is this the movie you love so much?”
My gaze follows his. “Wanna watch with me? I just made some popcorn.” “I’m more of an action and adventure guy.”
I sniff, feeling offended. “I bet if you watch the rest of this with me, you’ll like it.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “You’re making a bet with me?” He shakes his head. “Oh, Red. You’re on dangerous ground.”
I nod, feeling confident. “There’s some action in this one—scary killer dude.”
“What are the stakes?”
“If you like my sparkly vampires, you’ll have to make me spaghetti tonight.” I’m giddy at the thought of watching him cook.
He considers me, his gaze thoughtful. “Done. And if I think Twilight is stupid, I get to read your notebook.”
Oh…shit.
I lick my lips, and his gaze traces the movement. “How will I know if you’re being honest when you say if you liked it or not?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.” His sea-green gaze glitters. “Why do you like it so much anyway? The way I understand it, Edward’s not even a badass. He’s more of a touchy-feely bloodsucker.”
I huff. “How do you know so much about it?” I put my hands on my hips as he plops down on my couch and proceeds to make himself comfortable by arranging pillows and propping his feet up on the ottoman next to him.
“I may have googled it after you mentioned he was on your pillow. Can I
see the pillow?”
“Nope. You’re getting nowhere near my bed.” He laughs.
As I watch, he leans back and raises his arms to stretch before grabbing the remote and starting the movie back up.
I’m still staring down at him, trying to wrap my head around the fact that Ryker Voss is sitting on my couch, acting casual—and is going to watch a movie with me.
He pats the spot next to him. “Come on, Red. We’ve got a vampire to ogle.”
