The elevator opens, and Ryder locks his aching navy eyes over mine. He’s in physical pain, hurting so blatantly, and I don’t know why I suddenly feel like everything that went wrong between the two of us was my fault. I’m not the one that left him naked in bed to help out a “friend.”
Ryder steps into the hall, but I hesitate.
“I won’t bite.” His brows narrow like maybe he will.
My feet don’t move.
“Maybe I want you to.” What the hell am I saying? “Maybe I don’t.” Sadly, tucked somewhere in the middle lies the truth.
He holds the elevator open and dips his chin. “Come with me.” It rumbles from him deep and sounds more like a sexual command than it ever does an invitation to see his apartment. “I promise, I’ll only bite if you ask nicely.”
“And if I don’t ask nicely?”
A dark smile curls into his cheek. “That’s when I ravage.”
“Careful, cowboy. These heels are classified weapons in twelve different countries, banned in three, and I’m not afraid to use them.” I take a breath and venture out onto the plush carpet that dampens the sound of my footsteps, making this feel even that much more of a bad dream.
“Duly noted.” He strides alongside me. “By the way, have I mentioned that I have a strict no-shoes policy in the penthouse?”
“And how long has this been in effect?”
“Approximately twelve seconds.”
“Lucky for me I have an affinity for breaking rules.” I glance down at his crotch. “Put the boys on notice, the heels are coming in.”
I revert my gaze to the ever-expanding walkway. The walls are covered with a creamy stone, while oversized wreaths decorate the long, narrow hall. The wreathes are white with bright red bows set in the center, and it looks festive in a sterile sort of way that only the filthy rich know how to pull off.
He holds out his hand, and I pause, eyeing it as if each finger were about to morph into a snake.
His dimples go off. “Again, I’ll only bite if you ask.”
“I’ll take your hand, but only if you lower your oral expectations for the evening. I have a strict no biting policy I implemented aboutfifteenseconds ago, unless of course you’ve morphed into a vampire.”
“Have I ever told you about that meaningful interview I had with Anne Rice several years back?”
“Very funny.”
His fingers clasp onto mine and a sigh chokes from my throat.
How the hell did this happen? How did I travel miles across town only to end up alone with Ryder at his penthouse? Crap. The sudden urge to test out his mattress springs hovers over my head like the skanky ghost of Christmas yet to come, and I think we both know the one really hoping to come is me. Why else would I have tagged along for the ride? To inspect his dinner dishes? God, I’m so stupid to have ever set foot in the car. This isn’t going to end well.
“Everything okay?” He tightens his grip over my hand, and my face deepens a severe shade of crimson. I get lost in the bionic pull of his eyes, and, for a brief moment, everything actually does feel okay.
I’m quick to snap out of my Ryder inspired stupor. “Let’s see, I was just auctioned off at a charity ball to my ex, I’m still bound and gagged in this seventeenth-century torture device once pawned off as fashion, and my phone, wallet, and dignity all went back to Whitney Briggs without me. My night, much like my life, just gave me the finger. But otherwise, yeah, everything’s A okay.”
Ryder pulls me in, raking his gaze over my features until my skin sizzles under his supervision.
“I’m not opposed to helping you out of that seventeenth-century torture device,” he growls it out with the hint of a devious smile. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll leave my dignity at the door. We can indulge in hours’ worth of undignified fun—comfortable, without our clothes on. If anything, I’m an accommodating host.”
Holy holly-laden sleigh bells, this has quickly turned into the nightmare before Christmas. If I’m lucky this will pan out to be exactly that—one long nightmare—and the next thing you know, I’ll be startled awake by my roommate gargling in the bathroom while I violently clutch at my choice weapon of mass destruction, my vibrator. Speaking of weapons, I probably should have one on me. Although, I think in this scenario, a revolver would be much more effective than packing a dildo. I don’t think for a minute it’s a coincidence that a penis is the shape of a .38 special—more like a Saturday night special. And considering this is Saturday night, I’d say his gun is about to be manhandled and fired and made to feel very, very special indeed because God only knows I’ve got a nice warm holster that I’d like to squeeze it into.
“Ibetyou’re in an accommodating mood,” it huffs from me incredulous. “I bet one very special part of you can’t wait to accommodate yourself into a mind-numbing delirium.”
His chest pumps once with a quiet laugh. “The only mind-numbing delirium I’d like to achieve is the one I hope to induce inyou. Oh wait”—his dimples dig in and out—“we’re back to oral fixations again, aren’t we?”
Crap. It’s like the walls are closing in on me with their spiny white wreathes, and I come to my senses. I pull free from his grasp, only Ryder doesn’t seem to notice because he happens to dig into his pocket for the key at the exact same moment.
“Here we are.” He swings open the door, and my eyes dart to the brass plated sign to his left that reads Penthouse 007.
