Page 20 of The Scout

A shift in the air. A presence.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I didn’t have to look to know.

Ryker.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm as my eyes flickered over the lobby, searching.

Then I found him.

He was leaning against one of the marble pillars near the lounge, his posture deceptively relaxed. But his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked onto me like a predator tracking its prey.

I felt it in my bones.

Possessiveness. Jealousy.

Mine.

My breath became shallow. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t moving. He just watched, like he was deciding whether or not to walk over here and remind me who I really belonged to.

Matt had already disappeared out the door, completely unaware of the storm brewing in the corner of the lobby.

But I knew. And worse? I liked it. I liked it too much.

Heat curled in my stomach, something dark and thrilling unfurling beneath my skin as Ryker pushed off the marble pillar and started toward me. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Every slow, measured step felt like a countdown, like he was letting me feel the inevitability of him closing the space between us.

Damn, that man was good looking. Not in the fresh, innocent way that Matt had been. Ryker was handsome in a rugged way that spoke to all that he’d seen and done.

I should have looked away. Should have busied myself with the monitor or pretended not to notice Ryker at all. But I did notice him. I always noticed him. My body noticed him, too. A gentle pressure began to form between my legs. I’d never admit it, but I swear, I could probably come if he looked at me hard enough.

Ryker reached the counter, his presence wrapping around me like a storm cloud—dense, inescapable, electric.

I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my hands steady on the desk, but my breath was already betraying me. Shallow, uneven. My skin felt too tight, heat licking up my spine, settling low in my belly.

God, I hated that he had this effect on me. I hated even more that I liked it.

“Enjoying yourself?”

I lifted my chin, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. “Should I not be?”

His gaze flicked to where Matt had stood minutes ago. He didn’t need to say anything—I could feel the judgment rolling off him, dark and thick.

“That kid had his hands on you,” he said, each word measured.

“So?” I shot back, matching his steady tone even though my pulse was anything but steady. “It was harmless.”

Ryker stepped closer. Not enough to be inappropriate—just enough to make it impossible to ignore him. His scent invaded my senses, clean and sharp, threaded with the faintest trace of whiskey.

“It wasn’t harmless,” he murmured.

My fingers curled against the counter. “You’re being dramatic.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, his jawtightening. “You don’t even realize what you do, do you?”

I frowned, tilting my head. “What I do?”

His eyes dropped, flicking over me like he was cataloging every single inch of my body.

“You pull men in without trying.” His voice was darker now, heavier. “You look up at them like that—with those big, green, fuck-me eyes—and they think they have a shot.”

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