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The walls are painted an off-white, with pictures of the ocean and coastlines hanging on the walls. A queen bed sits in the middle of the far wall with a wrought iron frame and a tan and white striped comforter. The tables on either side of the bed match the dresser that’s by the door, a blue and white swirled rug that resembles the ocean covers most of the wooden floor, and a small desk sits under the windows, looking out to the front yard.
“It’s pretty, thank you.”
“The bathroom is right down the hall. I’ll show you.”
Following him, he opens the last door on the left, and I step inside, noticing the white, tan, and blue color scheme flows into here as well. White walls and blue accents showcase the framed pictures of the ocean on the wall. They all remind me of his eyes.
“So, where’s your room?” I ask, deciding to take this tour up a notch.
He lifts his chin to the last door at the end of the hall. “Right there.”
Stepping past him, I grab the knob and turn it, pushing it open. And damn, I’m surprised.
Dark navy walls are highlighted by heavy, dark grey fabric curtains, and framed images of angry, storming seas. A huge–and I mean huge–bed, sits right in front of me, and takes up most of that the one wall. A navy comforter covers the bed, and white pillows rest against a dark grey leather headboard. Two dark wooden dressers sit against one wall, with a half-open closet door next to them.
“This room feels the most like you.” It’s very masculine, and I love it. It’s dark and sexy. A lot like him.
“It does?”
“Yes. It’s different from the rest of the house, but I can tell it’s all you. This is your space.” Turning towards him, I catch a little heated flare in his eyes before he turns away and looks out the window.
“Let’s go back downstairs. I’ll bring your bags in and make you coffee. Then I have to get to work.”
“Sure.” Walking out of his room, he closes the door behind us, and I lead the way back down the hall.
“What do you do when there’s a blizzard? You don’t just patrol around, do you?” I don’t know why, but that thought makes my heart beat a little faster. What if he got stuck and needed help? Who would save him when he’s the one always saving everyone?
“Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“No,” I say quickly. “I just think it’s a little dangerous if that’s what you intend to do.”
“I don’t,” he assures me as we descend the stairs.
“But it also seems like a waste of taxpayer money for you to be sitting and eating donuts behind a desk, doing nothing.”
His laugh behind me echoes in my ears–a deep, musical laugh that I want to hear more of. Closing the distance between us, Ryan places his hand on my lower back, and I can feel his touch through my clothes–searing me, branding me.
“Okay, I won’t do that, then. I’ll just have to think of another way to fill my time. Maybe I’ll just make a list of all the ways I want to take you when I get home later.”
My breath hitches, and a shiver runs down my spine at his words. Heat pools in my core, and my brain gets foggy with all the images of Ryan and I all over his house. The kitchen, the living room, the stairs, and finally, in that massive bed of his.
“Is that why I’m here?” I ask, breathless.
“You’re here because I want you here, Ashley,” he whispers in my ear.
Kissing me behind my ear, heat blooms from that spot, traveling down to my chest. The tight grip I have on my control around Ryan loosens just a fraction.
“Come on, sweetheart, let me make you coffee.” He walks ahead, but I stay planted where I am, trying to regain my composure.
“I said don’t call me that.” Stopping, he turns to look at me, a small smile on his lips. My voice gave away that I don’t really mean those words.
“Get used to it, sweetheart.” He smirks, continuing on into the kitchen, leaving me to stare after him.
Taking a deep breath, I let my feet carry me the rest of the way, and I take a seat in a chair at the small wooden table in the corner. Being in Ryan’s home, and in his space, makes me feel like I’m handing over a little more of my control. It’s like being thrown into the lion’s den, and Ryan is the big, bad lion that’s hunting down his lioness.
I don’t know what’s going on with me. I feel like I’m going crazy.
“Here you go,” he says, placing a mug of hot coffee in front of me, startling me out of my thoughts.
