Page 35 of The Only Time

There was a depth in his expression, a quiet assurance that conveyed empathy without words. His eyes hold mine, making me feel seen and valued in ways I’ve never felt.

“That’s cool,” Ryder responds, clueless to the interaction I’m having with the man opposite me, “what do you do for a living?”

My eyes break away from Eric’s. “I own a wine distribution company with my brothers.”

“She’s being modest,” Layla says. “She owns an extremely successful wine distribution company.”

Ryder’s eyebrows raise. “I’m impressed. Beautiful and successful.”

I smile to myself, slightly embarrassed by the attention. “It’s no big deal. It’s a joint effort with me and my brothers.”

Sometime after dinner when we’re enjoying our drinks, Ryder’s arm rests on the back of my chair. He keeps it there the rest of the evening, leaning toward me when he talks. Eric has had a scowl on his face throughout most of the dinner, his eyes bouncing between me and Ryder.

I may have flirted back with Ryder a lot during dinner, knowing it was getting to Eric. He doesn’t get to push me away then be furious when I have another man’s attention.

At the end of the night, we’re saying goodbye to everyone and Ryder leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’d love to take you out sometime while you’re in town,” he says. “Can I get your number?”

“Oh, um, sure,” I hesitate. He’s a very nice guy, and definitely attractive. But I can’t lie and say I wasn’t thinking about the grump across the table all night. But I don’t want to hurt Ryder’s feelings or make this awkward by saying no in front of everybody. So, I rattle off my number and say goodbye.

The door closes and Eric disappears before I have a chance to say anything to him. I’m tired and don’t feel like chasing him around the house trying to gauge how pissed off he actually is.

I’m in my room stepping out of my jeans when my door opens. “What the hell, Eric?” I scream.

He doesn’t answer and strides further into my room until he is inches away from me. His presence is palpable, his breathing mingles with mine in the centimeters that now separates us.

“You have fun trying to make me jealous all night?” His fingers play with a strand of my hair, then quickly drops it.

I can’t believe he’s storming into my room without knocking and accusing me of this. He’s got some nerve.

“Why? Are you saying that youwerejealous tonight?”

“Be careful, Mia. I only have so much self-control,” he threatens before he walks away.

Damn him and his sexy words that should scare me off but only seem to turn me on. This is not what I need to feel right before I go to sleep. As soon as I throw on my t-shirt, I walk over to my bed, look down at it, then over to the window.

What’s the point of even trying tonight? I know I’m going to end up in his bed. I keep telling myself it’s only because I’m afraid. That there’s no other reason my body keeps pulling me in there every night.

I take small, quiet steps out of my bedroom into the hallway. Tonight he left his bedroom door wide open, like he knew I was coming. It feels like an open invitation even though he’s pissed at me right now. I follow the same path I have for the past couple of nights, then pull back the covers.

Once I’m under, I close my eyes, but his angry words have my body reeling, wanting more of them—wanting more of him.

He hasn’t said anything to me which is getting under my skin. Is he mad at me for flirting with Ryder? After several minutes of silence, I can’t take it anymore.

“Fine. You’re right,” I confess. “I was flirting with Ryder to make you jealous. Are you happy? I admit it. I’ve been so worked up lately. No release of mine seems to satisfy me. Youwalk around here like Jekyll and Hyde, making me feel all—ugh whatever—then storm away.”

I hear the shuffling of sheets and look over. Eric is now resting on his side looking over at me.

“How do I make you feel, Mia?” he asks, voice deep with gravel.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper.

I don’t know why he is focusing on that part when I’m admitting that I tried to make him jealous.

“Tell me how I make you feel,” he demands.

I swallow. He sounds angry and it just makes me feel more aroused. “You make me feel…,” I struggle to find the words, ‘“hot.”

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