The ‘please’ catches me off guard.
I blink. “Did you say ‘please’? Quick, someone check if pigs are flying!”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Can you be serious for one minute?”
“I don’t know. Can you be less serious for one minute? Your frown is so deep I’m worried your face might get stuck that way.”
“Cora...”
“What aren’t you telling me? Did someone threaten to replace all my tea with decaf? Because that would be terrifying.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. “No new messages and no tea-related threats. But I’m working on figuring out where the message you got came from. Until then, I prefer you stay out of sight.”
I stop and stare at him. He won’t back down.
“Fine. But if I die of boredom, I’m coming back to haunt you. And trust me, ghostly tea parties are not as fun as they sound.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he says, cracking a small smile.
“Can I at least invite my friends over? I’m going stir-crazy being alone here.”
Ryder narrows his eyes. “You’re not alone.”
“You don’t talk to me. Grunts don’t count as conversation.”
“We’re talking now.”
“Really? Because every time I try to start a conversation, you pull away faster than I pull away from kale smoothies.”
“I don’t.”
I move closer to him, and he steps back.
“You’re doing it again. Are you afraid of me, Ryder?”
He stops, letting out a low growl of displeasure. “No.”
I approach him, running my finger over the crease between his eyes. “You need to be careful, or you’ll get a permanent wrinkle. Though I suppose it would add to that whole brooding bodyguard aesthetic you’ve got going on.”
His eyes lock onto mine, and he wraps his fingers around my wrist. “Little Trouble,” he whispers, his breath warm on my skin. “What are you doing?”
I’m not sure what I intended to do before, but I definitely know what I’m thinking now. My eyes dart from his eyes to his full lips. “Why are you running from me, Ryder?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.” I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart race beneath my palm. He’s doesn’t stop me.
“Ryder,” I whisper. My body ignites, burning with an all-consuming fire.
“I can’t give you what you want.”
I place my other hand on his solid chest, a small knot forming in my lower belly. He’s a few inches away from me, a few inches too many.
“I don’t want much.” I rise on my tiptoes, bringing my lips closer to his. His breath catches, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body. “Just you.”
He closes his eyes, every muscle in his body rigid with restraint. The pulse in his neck hammers, and for a moment—one glorious moment—I think he’ll give in. His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting not to reach forme.
“Fuck,” he curses, the word raw and rough. His hands find my shoulders and push me back. The loss of contact hits like an arctic wind, leaving me cold and aching. “We can’t.”
