And even in the worst-case scenario—if I know everything he’s going to do but can’t put a stop to it—at least I’ll have time to prepare.
“Well, just so you know, I’m only going to trust you as far as I can throw you.”
He grins. “Nice. I’m doing better than expected, then.”
“What did you expect?”
He shrugs. “I figured there was a non-zero chance that you booby-trapped your house and would keep me locked up in your basement feeding me nothing but sunflower petals until I eventually succumbed to the power of the flower.”
I bite my lip to tamp down the grin that image brings to my face. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
His eyes catch on mine. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
My face heats, and I turn away from him because the way he’slookingat me makes me think the version of that running through his mind sounds a lot more like play time than the hostage sort of situation I was imagining.
I place my wine on the coffee table and head for the front door, surreptitiously pressing my cold hands to each of my cheeks before throwing the door open. “Shall we?” I ask, turning back only long enough to watch him set his wine on the table next to mine and follow me out.
I shut the door behind him and lead the way down the dirt path that will eventually take us to his property.
After a few moments of silence, he knocks my elbow with his and leans down to speak right into my ear. “I take that as a yes.”
I fix him with my best glare as I stomp down the dirt road. “It’s a pity this house has no basement because something tells me the best way to manage you is by keeping you out of the way.”
I put one foot on the first stone to cross the stream and glance behind me to make sure he’s following my steps.
He grumbles as he focuses on his footing. “If you really want to know how to manage me, I’d try whiskey and my grandmother’s apple pie.”
I stop in my tracks, turning to look at him just as he attempts to step onto my stone.
I don’t know why that admission surprised me, but something about this big-shot developer being both out to get meanda sucker for his grandmother’s apple pie… does not compute.
Except as soon as I turn around to ask him wherethatcame from, we collide, his chest warm and hard against mine. I wrap my arms around him—despite my general disdain for him—in the hopes that I will not go face first into the stream.
And I don’t.
I go butt first.
Because although I’m more than willing to sacrificehimto the greedy water, he grabs onto my hands and holds on for dear life until not only is my butt fully in the water, but his foot is too.
He huffs as he pulls me to my feet. “Well, it wouldn’t be us if I left here without a soggy foot.”
I grimace as water drips from my jeans.
“Goddamnit, Ryder,” I say, the temperature of the water causing immediate shivers.
He grimaces as he watches me, then tugs me back the way we came. “Let’s get you back inside.”
He still has one foot in the stream and leans out of my way so I can step back onto the rock, one hand holding mine to keep me steady.
And the whole thing sends a little zip of heat down my spine that’s doing a damn good job of counteracting the freezing cold water of the stream.
I scurry ahead of him when we reach the bank and head toward home with a fury. The farm ismostlydead now that it’s dusk, but not quite dead enough that I can walk around fully soaked without the occasional head turning in my direction.
Ryder is right on my heels the whole way, reaching forward to push my door open as I get to it as if being soaked suddenly makes me incompetent.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter as I cross over the threshold and let out a long breath. I continue straight for the stairs, anxious to get out of my clothes. “Leave your shoes at the door,” I tell him, stomping up to the second floor and shutting the bathroom door behind me.
I take stock of the situation once I have a moment to breathe.
