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Chapter Four
Ryder had intended on staying away from Sophie Kincaid for at least the next couple days because despite their antagonistic sparring, he hadn’t missed the chemistry between them. She liked arguing with him, and he sure as hell liked arguing with her. When it had been just the two of them standing in the living room, the sexual tension had buzzed like a live electrical wire.
The old him would have backed her against a wall and put all that heat to good use, but he’d turned over a new leaf, and acting rashly wasn’t part of the package. Besides, with that fiery temper of hers, she’d probably kill him. Although he suspected it would be worth it.
But the way he figured it, putting his new tenant on her back less than twenty-four hours after he’d said hello probably wasn’t a smart move. He had to live next door to her, and this was a small town. Used to a big city like Chicago, she might think she could avoid him, but he knew that was impossible.
There’d be no escaping the little blond firecracker, and being attracted to her wasn’t a good enough reason to have sex with her and make things awkward. After the fiasco back home, he’d stopped making mistakes like Sophie.
So after he’d left her house, as he’d lain in bed, waiting for the adrenaline from the night to wash away and for sleep to claim him, he’d decided to stop whatever game they were playing. It was best to treat her like a proper neighbor and stay away from her as much as possible.
That plan went straight to hell about thirty seconds after he woke up to her cursing in the backyard.
He blinked his eyes open, glanced at the clock. It was nine a.m. He’d slept straight through the day and into the next morning, which didn’t surprise him considering the last couple of days he’d had.
He heard a loud bang, followed by an exasperated female mutter. His bedroom was in the back corner of his house, closest to Sophie’s yard. He reached over and lifted up the corner of his blackout shades to see her. Blond hair pulled back in a ponytail again, she wore tiny gray cotton shorts and a white tank top that made her look like a sexy, wholesome girl fantasy come to life.
She was trying to get the garage door open.
He smiled as she shoved against the side entrance. She was doing it all wrong. The harder she tried to force it, the more stuck it would become. He flipped the shade back down and put his hands behind his head.
The last thing he should do was go out there. And if he did go out there, it should be to help her, not taunt her.
“Goddamn it to hell!” she yelled, making him laugh.
Yeah, screw that.
He got out of bed. After putting on some coffee, he went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, ran a hand through his hair, and threw on some gym shorts. He grabbed his cup and went out to the back.
At the sound of the screen door slamming shut, her head shot up and she whirled to face him. She planted her hands on her small hips, her chest a rapid rise and fall from exertion.
Christ, she was a hot little thing.
He raised his mug to her. “Morning, Sophie.”
“I am not asking you for help.” Her voice was loud and indignant.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he settled himself on top of his picnic table to enjoy the show, taking a sip of coffee and letting the caffeine work its way through his system.
She stared at him.
He stared right back.
Next spring he planned on tearing down the house where Sophie stayed and building one big house that covered both lots so there was no fence between the two yards. When the lease ran out on his last tenants he’d told them he wasn’t going to let them renew, and since nobody wanted a seven-month lease he’d planned on letting the house sit empty. Sophie had fallen right into his lap, and as they faced off Ryder couldn’t figure out if that was a blessing or a curse.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “I knew you’d be ridiculous.”
“I’m afraid you lost me.”
She waved a hand over him. “Look at you with your abs and tats. You shouldn’t be allowed out of the house.”
He chuckled. “You don’t like it, darlin’, don’t look.”
She shook her head. “You’re the absolute worst.”
He put the cup down on the table and sat back, resting on his palms. The early May air was warm, the sun bright. Her eyes traveled the length of his bare chest, and she scowled at the tattoo on his shoulder and the one on his rib cage before shooting daggers at his stomach.
The corners of his mouth tilted as he repressed his grin. He kept in shape; he wasn’t going to apologize.
