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Thinking might be too formal a word.
I’m an idiot.
That bullshit aside, the asshole’s actively sabotaging this.
Fury, dark and sharp edged sweeps through me and I shove my notes into my bag, feet into the lime green running shoes I wear whenever I attempt such a thing, but usually just to jog down to the corner store in the middle of the night when I realize I need food, grab my coat, and head out the door.
I’m about to be that gorgeous, sexy, man whore’s reckoning.
It takes him a while to answer his door.
For a long moment, he stares at me and I stare back, unable to breathe.
I’m pretty sure we’re staring at each other for entirely different reasons.
He’s staring at me out of surprise and sleep and probably a nugget of guilt if he’s capable of such things.
And me?
Lust. Pure lust.
He’s clad only in a pair of boxer shorts in black and he looks better than I could have imagined. Better than I thought.
Those long, lean muscular legs, narrow hips—I’m not even going to let myself focus on the substantial bulge of his junk, because hey, maybe he’s a shower not a grower, but I doubt it—the washboard abs and broad chest. And on his arm is the tattoo that winds, a vine with thorns and intricate skeletons and flowers up his flesh from above the wrist to where it seems to disappear over his shoulder.
That’s all I see, because he pulls on a sweater that’s in his other hand and crosses his arms over his chest as the sleep disappears and annoyed curiosity remains.
“What are you doing here, and how did you find me?” he asks.
“I was here this morning, idiot,” I say, not bothering to hide the bite in my voice as I look about the vast foyer that I can see beyond him. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
I narrow my eyes and hit him with my stare. “I don’t have time for games, Ryder.”
“I don’t have time for banshees turning up at ungodly hours like some forgotten wife.”
“Where is she? The photos are everywhere.”
He doesn’t look surprised. Why would he? He was there.
Ryder sighs. “I’m alone.”
“That was fast.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll ignore the insult, Elliot. On account of the hour at hand. And no one other than you has been here, okay?”
“I’m meant to believe that?”
Ryder grabs my arm, and even through the coat I’m wearing, I can feel the heat of him, the bite of his touch, an awareness as he drags me in and kicks the heavy metal door shut. He lets me go and locks it. “No need to entertain half of New York.”
“Any more than you already have.”
He just looks at me and turns, striding off down the open space of the foyer before turning right into what must be his living room. I follow.
The old industrial space is open with cleverly placed half walls and glass to section it while keeping the openness. The metal and exposed beams are a nod to its previous life, but everything in here is beautifully thought out and placed.
He has the money for the best decorators around.
