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His smile was like looking at the sun—all sparkle and blinding brilliance.
Bryce was mesmerized. Until her toe caught the crack of the sidewalk.
A yelp of surprise burst from her lips, and her feetsmack-smack-smacked against the pavement, trying to recover from her trip-up. Her belly lurched as she realized she was going down.
She scrunched her eyes closed, yanking her hands into fists in front of her face a millisecond before impact…
But she never hit anything.
Instead of face-planting, she was snatched up by the back of her tank top and bra like a plush toy in a kids’ claw machine. Her lids flew open to see the dark sidewalk receding as she was yanked back, giving her a close-up view of the metallic aspect of Ryker’s prosthesis. The curved, spring-like metal crunched on the sidewalk once before his right sneaker came down to bring them to an abrupt, skidding stop.
He helped her stand, and she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. Her face was inches from his as she gasped, breathless with adrenaline.
“You okay?” he asked.
She heard the genuine concern in his voice. His eyebrows were drawn together and he squeezed her forearms gently, as if probing for injury. Suddenly, something inside her shifted. She became hyper-aware of the corded muscles under her palms, the heat of his hands on her arms, the minty smell of his breath. His hand came up to brush away hair that had fallen into her face. She stared, mesmerized, at his full lips. They pursed slightly as he gazed at her. Giddily, she wondered if he was going to kiss her…
“Bryce, are you hurt?” he asked, instead. “Talk to me.”
It was like shaking herself out of a really hot fantasy, and she shivered, finally mustering the strength to take a step back.
“Holy shit. You have super-fast reflexes,” she said with a shaky laugh. She dropped her arms from his shoulders, her heart at last settling into a more normal pattern. “The girls call you the supermarket superhero, and I think they’re right. Seriously, you need a cape.”
His lips quirked up at the edges. “Supermarket superhero? Those are big shoes to fill. Plus, I don’t like wearing costumes.” Ryker’s eyes flicked down her body, then to her face, and his almost-smile grew tight. “Speaking of costumes, I think you might be having…an equipment failure?”
Bryce looked down.
Her mouth dropped open as she realized she looked like a bad actress in a porn movie. Her boobs had spilled over the top of the DD jog bra she’d worn under her tank. The top, thankfully, hadn’t ripped, but her nipples jutted out against the thin fabric, as if celebrating release from their former jail.
“Whoops. Can you, uh, turn around while I harness these puppies?”
He pivoted, his expression still intense, except the corners of his mouth had lifted to what might be called a restrained grin. He faced the empty street, blocking her from view of any potential traffic. Amusement flavored his voice when he spoke.
“I’m sorry. Did I rip your shirt?”
“Nope.” She hefted each breast and stuffed it back into her bra, which was considerably looser now since he’d grabbed it to save her from falling. “Okay, you can turn around. Turns out you may be a pirate, but you are officiallynota bodice ripper. But unfortunately, this ‘jog’ bra has been downgraded to a ‘peacefully strolling’ bra.”
A low chuckle rippled the air between them as they walked. Ryker’s full-wattage smile had been replaced by a subdued grin. Bryce was surprised by the desire to do or say something funny to provoke that full-on joyous expression once more.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he spoke as they entered the dance studio’s parking lot. “What’s the soup tomorrow? Maybe I’ll swing by PattyCakes. I mean, since you’re sure it beats my canned stuff.”
“Creamy potato and Italian wedding soup are tomorrow’s specials, but I always have homemade chicken noodle and tomato. And every soup I makeownsyour canned crap—like ‘slaps it on the ass and pulls its hair’ owns it.” The words had barely left her mouth when she realized she’d released her inner trucker, the dirty-mouthed vocabulary that she got away with in the all-male kitchen but wasn’t appropriate in regular society. She cleared her throat, wishing she could suck the words back into her lungs. “I mean, yes. My soups are good.”
“You had me at ‘slaps it on the ass’ good. I’ll be there.” He stopped short of the dance studio’s front doors, and for the second time that night she found herself bathed in the full power of his smile. It lifted his cheeks and, like rolling back the sands of time, made him look boyish and playful. And wickedly hot.
“Ohkmph,” she garbled out some sort of word, her brain still in smile-shock. When had making a man smile ever been this…erotic?
He held the studio door open, and she ducked under his arm to enter, noting that the guy smelled amazing, even though he had a light sheen of sweat on his skin from their run. How was that possible? She was pretty sure that in addition to her boobs looking odd in the newly deformed workout tank and bra, she smelled like garlic and onions from today’s fantastic, if aromatic, French onion soup. Yet when she glanced up at him, his gaze tracked her with the same blue-eyed intensity he’d had last week in the grocery store—as if each time she’d been dressed to the nines, freshly showered, and in full Instagram-worthy hair and dress.
It was weird.
But hot damn, it was so freaking nice she wanted to put her hands once more on those bulging biceps of his and give him a kiss. On the cheek. She didn’t know him well enough for a full lip-lock, after all, and besides—
“Where in the blue blazes have you been?”
Hearing the unmistakable nasal tone of Adele Payne was like being dunked in an ice bath. Bryce’s brain spun off the quasi-naughty thoughts of Ryker to face her nieces’ grandparents. The ones contesting her guardianship of the girls, despite what Bentley and Heather’s will had stipulated. The duo blocked the dance studio’s entryway, hands on their hips. Behind them stood Imani, looking worried.
“I tried to call you,” Imani began, gliding forward on silent ballet slippers to usher Bryce inside, away from Adele and Harvey and into the relative seclusion of the shoe and coat cubby. “June’s in the bathroom. Crying. I think she got her period and she won’t come out. Then Cecily and Addison started crying, blocking anyone from coming near the bathroom door, and I had to stop class to call you. After you didn’t pick up the third time I tried your cell, I got worried. So I called the emergency contact on the girls’ registration forms…”
