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Chapter Ten
Laying out in a white string bikini had nothing to do with Ryder Moore.
It didn’t. All it had to do with was her hangover.
When she’d gotten home from breakfast with her friends, she’d tried for a total of five minutes to be productive before giving up. It was Sunday, and she started her job tomorrow. Everything could wait.
Today she’d relax.
For May, it was nice and hot, the sun bright, and she was tired. So she slathered on sunscreen, dragged out a lawn chair she’d found in the garage, grabbed a book, and there she was.
So see, her bikini was all about her and nothing about Ryder.
She wasn’t preoccupied with her neighbor.
She heard the roar of a motorcycle and her heart leapt into her throat. She clutched at her book and pretended to be thoroughly engrossed in the storyline.
As he pulled into the driveway she forced herself not to look up. She was reading. The book was so good she didn’t even notice him.
The engine died and the backyard fell silent.
She turned the page. See? Totally, completely engrossing.
She sucked in a breath.
She focused on the heroine’s name and realized her nipples were hard now at the thought of him watching her. Oh, good grief, this was ridiculous.
She turned another page.
A shadow fell over her, and excitement rushed Mach 10 through her veins. Without looking up she said, “Do you mind? You’re in my sun.”
“UV rays are bad for you.” Ryder’s voice was filled with amusement.
She turned another page. “I have sunscreen on.”
“Did you get your back?”
No, she hadn’t. She bit her lip, imagined his big hands roaming all over her skin. She knew what they felt like. Strong and slightly rough, but not too rough. Just rough enough to know you were touched by a man.
She turned another page. “I’m good.”
“I wouldn’t want you to burn. Or look like a pancake.” That voice, his low, honeyed voice.
Sophie couldn’t resist and finally peered up. His large frame blocked out the sun, casting him in a golden glow. “Pancake?”
He smiled. “Yeah, that’s what my sisters call it. When you’re burnt on one side and pale on the other. Like a pancake.”
She blinked up at him. “You have sisters?”
“I do.” He held up two fingers. “Younger sisters. I also have a mom and dad.”
How normal of him. She bit her lip. “Do they live in Revival?”
“They live a couple towns over.” He leaned back against the deck railing. “How about you?”
Should she be engaging in this kind of behavior? But wasn’t this what good neighbors did? She knew all about her neighbor in Chicago—a cute pixie princess who looked like a cross between Twiggy and Esmeralda. She was a graphic artist. She was the middle child of three girls, and her parents lived in Arlington Heights. See, this was what neighbors did. She cleared her throat. “I’m an only child.”
“And your parents?” he asked.
