The sound of it hits somewhere deep and unwelcome.
Nikki Hope.
It suits her.
Too soft.
Too sweet.
Too damn easy to say.
I clear my throat. “Ryder Pierce.”
Her eyes lift, bright and curious. “Ryder,” she repeats, saying it like she is testing the shape of it in her mouth.
Something tightens in my gut.
Sharp. Hot. Immediate.
I look away before she sees too much. “Bed is yours,” I say. “Get some rest.”
She smiles, small and grateful and dangerous as sin.
And I know, right then, that hearing my name in her voice is going to ruin whatever peace I thought I had left.
Chapter 3
Nikki
Rydertoldmetosleep.
He meant it too, in that quiet commanding way of his that makes everything sound non-negotiable.
But the moment I sit on his bed, I know I am doomed.
The sheets smell likehim.
Not cologne. Not soap.
Something natural and warm. Pine. Cedar. Woodsmoke. Like he spends half his life wrestling the forest into submission.
It gets under my skin too fast.
I tell myself not to notice.
I tell myself to calm down.
I tell myself a man like him would never think twice about a girl like me.
Curvy. Soft.
A round little marshmallow in a cabin built for a bear.
Excellent motivational speech, brain.
I lie down for exactly four seconds before my pulse does a weird dizzy flip and I sit up again, heart pounding.
The bed feels wrong.
