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“Because I’m already having enough trouble keeping my hands off you.”

Her cheeks turn pink. I step away before I forget every good intention I’ve had since meeting her again.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“I need to call a transport company about the bike.”

She follows me toward the garage door. “And then?”

I glance back. “Then I feed you.”

“Romantic.”

“Don’t get excited.”

“Too late. I have very low standards now.”

I laugh. But when she walks past me, I catch her hand again. She looks down and I don’t let go.

That’s when I know I’m fucked.

Not because I kissed Clara Bennett.

Not because I want her in my bed.

Not even because I’m starting to imagine what she’d sound like saying my name without that careful little wall around her.

I’m fucked because she looked at the worst thing I’ve ever believed about myself and didn’t try to argue me out of it.

She just told me what she believed.

And somehow, somewhere between Devil’s Peak and this dusty garage, what Clara Bennett thinks of me has started to matter.

Way too fucking much.

Chapter 7

Clara

Ryder Hale is alarmingly good at being my boyfriend.

That’s the first problem.

The second is his hand on my thigh.

“You’re breaking a rule,” I whisper.

We’re halfway through the welcome dinner at Phantom River Resort, surrounded by eighty wedding guests and approximately half of Devil’s Peak.

Ryder doesn’t even look at me. “Hip.”

“That’s my thigh.”

“Debatable.”

“Move it.”