“We can take turns screwing things up, okay? But it won't be because we’re terrible people. It’ll be life happening. It’s normal.”
“I understand what you’re saying. I think.”
“How about a beer on my crappy back deck?”
Smiling, she accepted the offer. They watched the sunset and talked more about what they both hoped would happen in their new relationship. As the evening wore on, Morgan’s body language became more relaxed, and she stopped drinking after the first beer. He was seeing the real Morgan, not the persona she put on with the men she met in bars. Ryder could tell she was trying to be herself with him.
“Are you ready for bed?” he asked casually, though he felt anything but. They’d agreed not to get carried away, and she wanted to help him keep his promise of not having sex yet.
But he was pretty much dying to feel himself encased in her heat.
“Sure.”
Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs to the second floor. It was mostly a mess of prepped and unpainted walls, drop cloths, and paint cans. But Ryder had completed his bedroom, and Morgan’s gasp pleased him to no end.
“Oh, wow.”
She walked around the perimeter of the room, touching things. The walls were a muted gray with white trim, and the bedspread was navy, white, and gray. The four-poster bed was something he was proud he’d been able to afford. A black dresser sat against one wall, with a matching highboy on the other. His connected bathroom was navy, gray, and red. Morgan kept gasping the farther into the room she roamed until stopping in the middle of the bathroom.
Ryder followed her everywhere she went, pride swelling in his heart. He’d done it. He’d created a liveable house from scrap. Well, it was mostly finished, but he knew he could get to the spare rooms and the living room walls in the coming months. Having a place to invite Morgan and make her feel at home was important.
“It’s so well-done, Ryder. I love this bathroom.”
“Thank you.”
She turned to face him, her grin matching his. “You have talent in many areas.”
“I learned from Ethan.”
“Maybe he taught you the basics, but he didn't teach you how to design this space so nicely.”
“Thank you again. It’s all I’ve dreamed of since my parents died. I wanted to make a place that was exactly what I wanted it to be.”
“To have control.”
“Yeah.” Staring at her without kissing her became unbearable, so he walked into the bedroom, fishing in the dresser drawer for a shirt. He handed it to her. “You can wear this if you want.”
“Wear your shirt? Yes, I want.”
The way she bit her lip as she looked up at him was about to undo all his self-control. “Well, I’ll wait out here while you use the bathroom.”
While Morgan was behind the closed door, Ryder quickly stripped out of what he was wearing and threw on a pair of pajama pants. He debated putting on a shirt, but decided against it in the end. She’d already seen his full sleeves of tattoos and some of the ink on his chest.
The door opened, and Morgan stood there in the doorway with nothing on but his shirt. It hit her mid-thigh, and the way her hair swirled loose around her shoulders made him swallow around the lump in his throat.
“I can’t even believe you’ve agreed to be mine.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “God, you really are too sweet to be true.”
“No.”
“Yeah, I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“C’mere.”
Morgan crossed the room, her milky thighs exposed. Ryder spotted a few tattoos peeking out from under the edge of the shirt. She’d told him they were mostly on her breasts, her belly, and her back. One day, hopefully very soon, he’d have the chance to see them all.
When she was situated next to him on the bed, he pulled her close. She rested her head on his chest, sighing.
