Page 42 of Ryder

He doesn’t make a joke. His brow is furrowed. For once, he’s serious. He licks his lips. “You know, I could just as easily worry that you won’t like the kinds of things I want to do to you.”

My breath hitches, and I whisper, “What kinds of things do you want to do to me?”

I love how he licks his lips again as his gaze moves down a few inches. He reaches for the covers at my hip and gives a slow tug, exposing my T-shirt-covered torso. He smiles, ignores my question, and asks, “Is that mine?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

His smile grows. “I kind of pictured you sleeping in one of those tight tank tops with no bra.”

I shrug. “You would ordinarily be right. That’s what I wear to bed, but that was before I could pull one of your shirts out of the dresser I share with my, uh…boyfriend.” I wince. That word sounds idiotic for a forty-year-old man. He is probably about to laugh at me.

His hand finds mine at my hip, and he threads our fingers together. “Why do you hesitate?”

I scrunch my nose. “I’m sure you’re too mature for the word boyfriend.”

“Definitely not. What else are you going to call me between now and when I drag you to the church?”

My breath hitches. “It’s definitely too soon for you to say something like that.”

“Why? Should I hide my intentions? I’ve been blunt with you since you showed up at my weird grandfather’s eccentric estate yesterday morning. I want you, Claire. I want my ring on your finger. I’m too old to pretend this is no big deal and dance around how I feel.”

I swallow. “That’s the thing. I’m not. I’m too young to entertain marriage and babies. Neither has ever crossed my mind.”

“That’s because you hadn’t met the right man. Now you have.” He gives me his cocky grin.

Is he right? It sure feels like it. Then again, it also feels like I’m playing house in this mansion. “You need to give me some time to wrap my head around this. It’s hard to believe what you’re saying could possibly be true. I need time to catch up.”

He brings our combined hands to his mouth and kisses my fingers before flattening my palm against his chest and holding it here. His hand is so much larger than mine that I almost can’t see my fingers under his.

I can feel his heart, though, and the look in his eyes is serious. His chest is warm. It’s covered with a fine dusting of hair. His body is fit, but it’s clearly a man’s body, not a boy’s. Most men my age aren’t as developed as him, and many don’t have any chest hair at all.

I stroke his chest with my fingers. I find myself incredibly attracted to his more mature body. It’s hard not to compare him to Smith since I saw the weasel last night. Smith is tall, but he’s still lanky and looks younger than his twenty-five years. Maybe he will never fill out. Maybe he’s just going to stay rail thin. I hope so. He’ll never be half the man I’m lying in bed with.

I feel kind of cocky about it, and I scoot closer to Ryder.

“What’s that smile about,” he whispers.

I shrug. “I like that you’re a man.”

He chuckles. “I’m glad I’m not a woman right now, too, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Nope. I mean anactualman. Not a boy. You’re…bulky and solid, and it makes me feel dainty.” I shrug again. I’m rambling. That probably sounded weird.

He must not think so, though, because he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he leans his forehead against mine and says, “I like that, too, baby.”

“What if I don’t…please you?” I need to say these things, and he told me to be honest.

“You can’t not please me, Claire. It’s not a thing. You please me just by existing. Even lying next to you pleases me so much that my cock is hard.”

The covers are up to his waist, but I glance down anyway, wondering what he looks like under those briefs. The idea makes me shiver.

“Not tonight, Claire.”

I sigh. I’m givingmyselfwhiplash from going back and forth on what I want. I’m nervous, but I want him at the same time.

“Why do you have to be so…perfect?”

He chuckles. “I’m far from perfect, Claire. I have faults. You just haven’t seen them all yet.”

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