Chapter Three
Ryder was not at allsure what had gotten them to this point. He was hot, sweaty, and incredibly turned on. He had to stop moving and catch his breath; he was breathing too hard. And he was a man who worked out every day on the job, lifting lumber, hammering nails, climbing up and down ladders.
He was worn out, and they'd barely gotten started.
There was a moan from Morgan, and his stomach clenched. Ryder started moving again, pulling her with him. He tried to match his rhythm with hers, but she was still sluggish after all the vodka. Trying hard not to slip and tumble backwards, he moved up one more step. It took about ten more minutes, but he managed to struggle Morgan’s dead weight all the way up the stairs to his apartment door. If there was ever a next time—and he hoped there wasn't—he would pick the person up and pray for good balance. He leaned her against the door, and she opened her eyes, suddenly staring at him intently.
"Do I remember you?" she asked, her voice raspy and sexy as all hell.
"Ryder. The bartender." He unlocked the door and let it swing open.
Morgan stood upright and then stumbled into the tiny living room, making her way to the loveseat and falling onto it.
"Make yourself at home," he muttered, wondering as he closed the door where all that coherency was when he was fighting to get her up the stairs.
"I do know I think you're fuck-hot. I know you didn't serve me tonight." He stood silently by the door. "Why don't youserve menow, Ryder?"
Her pouty voice was like a purr, making him painfully hard. He stood motionless as she got up and sauntered over to him. Somehow, she swayed her hips without falling, and her hands went from her breasts to her hair, then to the hem of her blouse. She reached him, and he stilled her hands before she could yank her shirt off.
"I didn't bring you home on purpose. You were too drunk to confirm where you’re staying." He watched a little crease appear on her forehead as she pondered his words.
"You want me." It was a statement, not a question. Clearly, she knew what she did to men; what she was doing to him.
Ryder cleared his throat. God help him, he was throbbing. "That's not the point."
She grinned and reached between his legs, brushing his thigh before he could grab her hand and stop her progression. "Then what is the point?"
"You needed a place to crash. That's all. The guy at the bar was being a jerk, and the manager kicked him out. You were alone." He looked into her eyes, saw that the brown had darkened. He wasn't sure if it was drunkenness or desire that changed their color. She tried to rub up and down his shoulders, but Ryder stilled her hands.
She frowned again. "Why do you keep stopping me, Ryder? I know you want me."
She managed to dart a hand down and between his legs, proving that he did, in fact, want her. He groaned involuntarily, and couldn't recall at the moment why he was staying away from women. Then she was pressing her mouth to his, and his entire body went up in flames. She angled her mouth to meld with his, and he forgot he didn't want to break his rules, or even what those rules were. He forgot he didn't know her, that he didn't do this. She slipped her tongue between his unsuspecting lips, and suddenly his hands were on her, in her hair, then down her shoulders and to the small of her back. He pressed her closer to him, and that created friction in all the right places. They were both moaning and panting, and she was still groping him through his jeans.
She pulled away to catch her breath and ripped her shirt over her head. Ryder groaned when he saw her pale skin covered in dark tattoos, hidden by her shirt and swirling around the cups of her bra. Somehow they were moving, though he couldn't say who had initiated the movement. She was backing into the bedroom, toward the bed. She worked him through his jeans, and he panted into her mouth. His hands finally, finally touched her breasts, hesitantly stroking over the satin and lace. But then the bed was there, and his hands were gone. His mouth was gone.
She stared blankly at his molten eyes, frowning. He pushed her back on the bed gently, but moved to her feet to pull off her shoes, then pulled the comforter up to her chin.
As soon as she was horizontal, the alcohol in her system pulled her down into unconsciousness.
~~~
THE SUN SLANTED THROUGHthe blinds, blinding him as he shifted yet again on the loveseat. There was a strange woman sleeping in his bed, something that had never happened before. He knew her name, and that she was loaded, but nothing else. She knew less about him. He had almost let himself get carried away the night before because there was something about Morgan pulling at him, turning him on more than any woman ever had. He adjusted his pants again at the thought of how her breasts had felt before something had jerked him back to reality. It was really the pounding of her heart under his fingertips that had made him take a step back, settling her into the bed and tucking the covers around her. For one thing, she was drunk, and for another, he never brought women home.
Which meant he had not slept, trying his best to stretch out on his too-small couch. He was aware when she woke up, saw her through the open door as she lifted her head and looked at the ceiling before sitting up hesitantly. Her gaze shifted around the room, and he wondered if she saw him. She rolled off the bed, and he was just sitting up to see if she hurt herself when she stood. She found her blouse and slipped it on, then her shoes. He watched her pull a cellphone from her pants pocket before freezing and then suddenly staring straight at him.
"Uh . . ." She looked scared shitless.
Ryder smiled gently. "Speechless?"
"I don't think I recall you, or coming here." She glanced at the bed. "Or why I was half dressed, or anything that happened in that bed." Morgan looked back at Ryder.
"I'm Ryder. I bartend at Carter’s. You were in a bit of trouble last night."
"Ah, yes. Carter’s. Ryder," she repeated him, nodding her head.
"The, uh . . .gentlemanyou were planning to leave with became grabby, and the manager kicked him out. You weren't able to tell me your address when we walked out, so I brought you here."
"Oh. Well, were you at least well compensated for your efforts?" Her voice took on that raspiness again, and he had to remind himself to breathe.
