Page 72 of The Last Promise You Made

I hadn’t done the math on his parents’ marriage and his birth. It surprised me that he’d been an unplanned baby. Maybe it was why he worked so hard to lift the burdens from their shoulders, feeling responsible for things he obviously couldn’t have controlled.

He sank onto the couch, sliding until his head hit the back, eyes closing. He looked as exhausted as I felt. I joined him, careful to keep distance between us, even though the all-too-familiar awareness was flowing like an ocean wave around us.

He turned his head, blue eyes turning dark and moody in the dim lighting. “Don’t get me wrong. My parents have loved each other for as long as they can remember. They would have gotten married no matter what. I just rushed it along for them.”

It was strange hearing a man like Ryder talk about soulmates and love. He was so gruff, so unforgiving, it was hard to imagine him believing in any of it, even when I knew he’d felt strongly for Ravyn. Strong enough for her to have all but destroyed him.

I had a thousand questions to ask, but instead, I bit the inside of my cheek, waiting to see what else he’d offer up. It was a solid interrogation technique, and yet I wasn’t stupid enough to think my interest in what he had to say was work related. No. There was something deep inside me yearning to uncover all the nooks and crannies of Ryder’s soul. Things I’d never wanted to know about another person. The stories Eva had told Addy and me while sifting through old albums hadn’t been nearly enough. Those had been her version of him. They hadn’t been what was going on inside his heart and mind while he’d grown up. Hadn’t been his hopes and dreams and the future he’d seen when he’d proposed to Ravyn.

“Mama was determined to break the cycle with us kids, so when Ravyn got pregnant without us being married, I knew it was a blow. But she never once made Ravyn or me feel that way. She was happy as a raccoon before trash day to be a grandma. Just like I was happy to be a father.”

I swallowed hard. “You wanted children?”

“I wanted a dozen, but Ravyn laughed me off.” His jaw worked as he said her name, throat bobbing, and I felt a spike of jealousy for a dead woman.

“I’m sorry she hurt you,” I said softly.

He sat up, hands clenching. “Hurt? Hurt doesn’t even come close to what she did to me. She took my soul and ripped it to shreds, ensuring I’d never be able to fix it. Never be able to give it to someone else.”

Those words knifed through me—the fact that he thought he no longer had a soul to share. I hated it more than I’d hated anything in a long time, because I knew with a certainty I couldn’t shake that Ryder Hatley had more than enough love left inside him. He had so much it would surround the person he chose like a fuzzy blanket, full of comfort and safety and home. A place you’d want to stay tucked forever—which was dangerous to a nomad like me.

I hadn’t responded—couldn’t—but I wasn’t sure he’d even realized. He stood, pacing in front of the coffee table, his eyes distant, as if he were back in the past instead of in the room with me, and heartache dripped from him. “She stole from us. From the people who’d loved on her and made her feel safe when she’d told me she never felt that way growing up. She said her dad was abusive—corporal punishment he liked to mete out to her and her brother for minor offenses. She said it had gotten worse after their mother died. I suspected he might have done more to her, but she never said. I’d thought maybe she’d blocked it out, but now, I think she had more secrets than she’d ever planned on sharing with me.”

Those truths caused my wheels to turn, puzzle pieces sliding together. It was clear Ravyn Clark wasn’t her real name any more than Anna Smith was, which also made it clear that she’d already been on the run when she’d shown up at the Hatley ranch. She’d said as much in her letter. She’d said that “they” had found her. Maybe it wasn’t just the Lovatos chasing after her for her technical skills. Maybe she was a Lovato, and her father had come to drag his runaway daughter home.

When I said as much, Ryder stopped his pacing and stared at me, eyes flashing again.

“You think… That means… Addy might be related to…” His eyes went to the ceiling. “Fuck.”

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He held himself stiff at first, and then after a deep inhale and exhale, he let his arms slide around me too.

“I don’t have any proof. It’s just supposition.”

My cheek was pressed against his chest, and the smell of him flooded my senses—hay and grass and masculinity—sending my endorphins into a tailspin. He rested his chin on the top of my head. It was a tender move that squeezed my already squished heart until I thought it was going to turn to liquid and slide out of my body. I would no longer own it. It would belong somewhere else…to someone else…to him.

That scared the shit out of me.

And yet, I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay encased in that warm blanket I’d imagined, the beat of attraction hammering like a conga drum through my veins. The rhythm strong and heady. Intoxicating.

His large hands slid up my back, the heat of them burning through my flannel shirt. His palms were spread wide in a way that allowed his thumbs to caress my sides, coming desperately close to my breasts. He hesitated there for a second then grazed two long, gentle strokes before his hands moved to my back so he was pressing me into him ever so slightly more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About what I said earlier. About your brother and you. You brought me Addy… You’re here trying to help us… I was angry and cruel.”

I twisted my head so my gaze met his.

The burning there—the desire—it was like stepping into a full-fledged fire. A furnace that would melt skin and bone and leave me as nothing but ash to be spread over the earth.

He’d removed his flannel overshirt almost as soon as we’d walked through the door this afternoon, leaving him in only his Henley. I slipped my hands underneath it. When my fingers hit bare skin, he sucked in a breath, as if the touch hurt him. But his eyes never wavered. Instead, a question rang through them. A question about how far I’d let this go. Or maybe he was asking himself that question. Maybe we both were.

His head lowered, and my toes automatically responded, raising so our mouths met in the middle. Both our previous kisses had been punishing, merciless. This was so soft and tender and light it felt like the whisper of a breeze on a hot day. A hint of relief. A hint of soothing. But it wasn’t nearly enough.

Neither of us had closed our eyes. Our shared gaze was as sensual as the kiss, as if we were learning not only the contours of our mouths but the shape of our souls.

I glided the tip of my tongue along the seam of his lips, and he groaned, but he refused me access. Instead, he pulled back from the kiss, fisting my braid and dragging it backward so I was forced to expose my neck where my pulse beat as frantically as a hummingbird’s wings. With hooded eyes, he lowered his mouth until it landed on that erratic rhythm, sucking gently.

My core ignited. My legs wobbled. Hunger consumed me.

I squeezed his sides, fingernails digging into flesh, and my hips slammed into his.

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