“007?” I ask, disbelieving. Ryder is the only person I know that has the luck to have something as innocuous as his street address proclaim him as a badass. Well, would-be badass. I can’t elevate him to that spectacular level after what he put me through.
He gives a cocky grin, and his dimples go off, rendering me and all of my hormonal girl parts defenseless.
“Capwell”—he gives the ghost of a smile—“Ryder, Capwell,” he rumbles in his deepest octave, and my stomach pinches tight. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” He smolders into me without even trying, and, good God almighty, I’m way past the point of being seduced. It’s obvious this night is going to end with a bang, and now I feel like an idiot for putting myself within shooting, or rather bedding, range. Face it. Those cobalt eyes of his have cast a spell over me, and now, I’m voluntarily striding into his penthouse just hoping for some perversion.
He comes in close, and I’m terrified he’s going to kiss me, and we’ll be tearing off one another’s clothes before I even get to berate myself properly for letting my vagina follow his happy trail right to his promiscuous penthouse.
“007!” I breeze past him before either of his heads can get within firing range. “That’s quite impressive.” I move into the living room at a lively pace as if I’ve got somewhere to go, as if I’ve been here before, then it hits me like a ton of cheating bricks—I betshe’sbeen here before. “Do you lure all the women you purchase for the evening to your penthouse?”
God, could I get any closer to the point? Why not just shout out her name? I’m surprised I don’t jump on his sofa and do a Tom Cruise in reverse, hopping up and down like a baboon shoutingI fucking hate Meg!I do, though. I don’t care how many charities she’s commandeering. I couldn’t care less if she’s single handedly winning the war on poverty. I hate her yellow guts, her forked-tongue, and unspoiled liver because God knows that girl wouldn’t have sucked down a fifth of whiskey before being auctioned off like a wench at some Disney theme-park attraction. But, then again, only in her wildest wet dreams would Ryder Capwell purchase her, let alone narrow his sexy gaze into her like he’s doing to me now. I can practically feel him ravaging me with his eyes.
“Roxy is the only other girl that’s been here.” He presses out a dull smile at the mention of his sister’s name. “She’s visited twice. Not even my mother has set foot in these haunted halls.” He brushes the hair from my face, and I can feel the flames fan from his fingertips. “Everything here, mybed, it’s all been hoping you might show up,” he whispers. “And here you are, Laney, just for me.”
The sweet spot between my legs clenches when he says it, and I can feel the temperature rising around the two of us like an invisible inferno.
“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed—optimistic and egocentric as hell. Is that all you think it’ll take to land me horizontal? A little purchasing power?”
“I don’t think that’s what brought you here. You’re here because you want to be.” He presses in an inch until his breath rakes over me. “And if I’m lucky, you’ll be in my bed for the same reason.”
I swallow hard and try to distract myself by taking in the place with its dark wood floors, the expensive Persian rugs in the dining and living room. The kitchen is a testament to stainless steel, and there’s an art deco flair going on with clean lines, minimal furnishings. The L-shaped leather couch looks cold and uncomfortable. The television is the size of the wall and looks more like a black hole waiting to suck us in one-by-one, and right about now I wouldn’t mind entering another dimension. Then the piece de resistance, a tall, blue Noble stands like a watchman in the corner.
“Ryder Capwell with a Christmas tree—fancy that.” I step in further to inspect it with its plain red ornaments, dangling heavy as pomegranates, ready to plummet from the droopy branches. “I like it.”
“Roxy’s doing.” He flips a switch, and the miniature lights go on in a rainbow seizure, blinking and winking, and, dear God, is that thing spinning? “She’s got it rigged to sing and dance. It spins for hours, and somehow the wires never get tangled.”
“That’s the nice thing about electronics. You throw in a few batteries, and they can satisfy you for hours—no wires, or feelings to get tangled up in.”
A tangible silence crops up between us as Ryder gets that deer-in-the-headlights look knowing that I’ve replaced him with a sex toy.
“People are complicated, Laney.” He steps in and sags, his face suddenly rife with grief. “And, I promise, there’s not an electronic device in the world that can love you like I could if given a second chance.”
“My broken heart would beg to differ. Besides, that’s the nice thing about electronic devices, they don’t need second chances—they get it right the first time.”
“Maybe you should do a little juxtaposition?” His tongue glosses his bottom lip. “Conduct a side-by-side comparison by taking me for a test drive.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Maybe you need a refresher.” He bears into me with an inescapable sorrow. I can feel his craving to have me, his carnal desperation—the eroticism pouring from his being as if he’s unleashed the floodgates.
My chest heaves, my breathing grows erratic. Damn it all to hell because I’m right there with him.
I take a breath, turning back to the tree.
Somehow the holiday display endears me to him even if it was his sister’s doing. And here I wanted to hate him. I wanted to relegate him to the cold, stainless, dark hardwood flooring, expensive Persian rug department where all the heartless bastards live and wipe the dust off my feet as I walked out the door. And now it’s just so damn festive in here a part of me wants to curl up on the couch and stay the night.
“So what now?” I take a breath in anticipation. “You want to watch a movie—play a board game?” I meant to say that last part teasing, but it came out hostile, more like a threat. The truth is, I feel dizzy just considering the not-so-platonic options.
“No,” he flat lines, somber. His eyes glaze over with his lust for me, and I can feel our bodies magnetizing toward one another like a coil that’s been aching to retract for one long year.
Here I am, in Ryder Capwell’s penthouse at the intersection of run-the-hell-away and lust-filled one-night stand.
“You want to give me the guided tour?” It’s becoming painfully obvious to me what I’m doing here. And now I’ve no choice but to carry on with my subconscious desire to get him out of my system by way of inviting him into my body. It seems only logical. One good night in his arms—with his body buried deep inside me—and I might finally cull that incessant ache out of my heart—hell, out of my G-spot that’s been weeping for him ever since he took his joystick and walked out of my dorm room all those lonely nights ago. This is my chance to have my way with him one last time. I can blame whiskey and every last dollar he donated to Whitney Briggs in my honor because God knows a whore like me wants to make sure he gets his money’s worth.
Tears come unexpected, and I blink them away.
“Kitchen, dining room.” He takes up my hand and speeds me down the hall. “Bathroom. Guest rooms.” He picks up his pace and leads me through a set of double doors at the end of the hall to a luscious, horrifically oversized bedroom that could easily make the commons room at Prescott Hall feel inadequate. According to this cavernous space—the scope of his overgrown furniture—size very much matters to Ryder Capwell. “My bedroom.” He locks his gaze over mine as the trace of a smile wafts on his lips. He’s vexingly handsome in a dangerous way, still in his business suit. His silver tie gleams like a sword over his chest. “It’s your move, Laney.” He comes in close until his breath sears over my cheek. “It’s a choose your own adventure kind of a night.” He touches his finger to my chin and pulls my face up until I’m looking right into those ocean deep eyes. “What comes next?”
My heart rattles like a rabid beast trying to break free from its cage. My throat dries out, and my fingers shake because I’ve fallen past the point of no return and a one-night stand with my ex is clearly on the sexual horizon.
