Page 84 of Resist

“Mm-hmm.” It’s all I say as he links his fingers through mine, and we head out the door.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Ryker

Who is this woman?

I stare at her as the lights of the subway play with shadows across her face. The quiet confidence she had earlier has given way to nerves. It’s in the way she keeps shifting her feet. The way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. In the soft smile she gives me on the off chance she looks my way and meets my eyes . . . which isn’t often right now.

And hell if I’m not more intrigued by and enamored with her because of it.

“You know I had a perfectly good driver who could have taken us back,” I say, and her lips turn up in a ghost of a smile. A perfectly good driver who could have driven you to your house instead of going back across the bridge into the city where I know you don’t live.

“True, but I’ve already given you shit for being a Sox fan, so it’s much more fun when others do it.”

“Traitor,” the guy across the aisle mumbles and then grins.

Vaughn smiles at him and then finally turns my way and quirks an eyebrow at me. “See?”

“We’ll see come playoff time who has the last laugh,” I say, glad to see whatever is bugging her lift for a moment before pulling her against me and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

And we sit there like that—stop after stop—silently watching the people come in and off the subway car. The glares angled my way at my Sox gear. The lovers who don’t really care who’s watching them kiss. The others obviously in the middle of a fight.

No matter who boards or leaves, it’s the woman leaning against me with the summery-smelling shampoo and warm body who keeps my attention.

I don’t ask her if it’s okay to take her home with me. And I sure as hell don’t think twice about the fact that this isn’t normal for me. This isn’t my usual MO. But there’s something about Vaughn Noname that makes me want to break the rules.

We get off at my stop.

What are you doing, Lockhart?

She doesn’t hesitate; she doesn’t question; she just tucks her arm in the crook of mine and follows silently.

Why are you taking her home when you agreed to no sex?

The doorman opens the door for us and nods a greeting.

Why are you going to put yourself through this torture of knowing the bed is so close but not available for use?

The elevator dings the beginning of its ascent to the penthouse.

Because I want her to want me too.

“Your place is lovely,” she murmurs when she walks beyond the foyer, as if she’s surveying the interior of a cozy brownstone in Brooklyn rather than the 180-degree view of Manhattan beyond.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink?”

“Wine, please,” she says as she steps into the great room, her shoes making the slightest of noises as they fall on the hardwood floors.

“Red or white?”

“Whatever you have will be fine,” she says as I take in the fifty bottles in my wine fridge and make a decision.

“The balcony is to the left,” I tell her as I make my selection. Rosé. I hate the shit, but it’s what she asked for in The Club, and maybe I want her to know that I noticed her preferences. Maybe I want her to know that I’m trying. “It’s a nice night. We can sit outside if you’d like. I’ll meet you out there in a moment.”

She murmurs in agreement as she takes in her surroundings, her hand running across the back of the dark leather of the couch.

“Ryker?”