Chapter 17: JOSLIN

Chapter Seventeen

JOSLIN

R yder shows up just before sunrise. I won’t act like I was waiting at the door for him or anything. By then, Brinley Sinclair put me up on an air mattress in the gas station break room. It’s not exactly fancy, but I pass out with a DRIPPING SPRINGS fleece pulled over my shoulders. I wake up to Ryder’s hand on my shoulder. He startles me awake and instantly starts in with a gentle voice.

“It’s just me, church girl.”

I open my mouth to chastise him for calling me church girl again, but a loud and embarrassing yawn escapes instead, making Ryder laugh. I look away from him when he does. The last thing I want is to think about how handsome he is.

This break room already feels too small with him in it now. And he’s so close to me, standing right next to the air mattress with a tall, impressive frame. Muscles all over. One pulse of that weird heartbeat between my legs again and I quickly look away from him.

Ryder is dangerous – and he still smells like whiskey.

I stand up to give myself a little more substance and power against Ryder, but I still feel so small.

“Your husband is dead,” he says calmly and without a sliver of doubt in his voice. I feel the twist in my chest and know it’s true. I don’t know what to say and luckily, Ryder continues before I have to think of something to say. “The cops are looking into his connection to a gang of bikers… the Midnight SS.”

He gives me a look that borders on suspicious.

“Is that why I found you in the basement? Do you know about his business with them?”

“I don’t know anything about what my husband did outside of the house.”

“Then how did you end up in the desert?”

“It’s not that far away. I wanted to go to Denver and I got very unlucky. I wandered into the basement to escape the sun. That’s it.”

My instincts kick in and I give him an embarrassingly submissive look, expecting the back of his hand or more resistance. Ryder scowls instead and runs his thumb over my lower lip.

“The truth,” he says. “That’s almost as good as your sweet ass lips.”

His comment is immensely inappropriate, but before I say it, Ryder grabs both of my cheeks, running his thumbs slowly over my cheekbones and leaning down to kiss me on the lips. I’ve only kissed one man – the much older man who I was forced to marry. This is nothing like that.

This is like a movie kiss.

Ryder’s lips are soft, plump and so warm that a thrill of pleasure runs straight through my body and that throbbing between my legs grows more intense. I can’t get air in through my nose as I find the courage to part my lips and kiss him back. I don’t know why I’m kissing him. And I fight the dark thought that it’s because I think if my husband wasn’t dead… this man finished the job.

His grip on my cheeks are tight and possessive. Ryder presses his tongue into my mouth and it tastes like whiskey, and something more. I think it’s just the taste of Ryder. It’s warm. Almost woody. And then there’s the whiskey. Sweetened by his tongue. I push my tongue back into his mouth and my hands find his stomach.

The throbbing between my legs gets more intense when I touch Ryder’s incredibly firm stomach. Holy shit. His ab muscles have ridges. It’s like a guy you would see on a daytime soap opera. But he’s right in front of me, and very real. His body moves when I touch him and my throat tightens nervously. He just keeps kissing me for a few more seconds.

Then Ryder pulls away and looks at me with the most intense expression on his face.

“I know this isn’t what you want,” he whispers, considering me with that strange, serious look on his face. “But I can’t leave this damn Flying J without having some of your sweet ass.”

I run my tongue over my lips, bringing myself to meet Ryder’s gaze.

“Then no liquor.”

He laughs. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll go with you,” I say to him slowly. “But you can’t drink and drive anymore. That’s the deal.”

“I drive better when I’m drunk.”

“I wonder how many tombstones say that.”

“Fine,” he says, scrunching up his face again like he wants to say something else. But he doesn’t talk. He just wraps his fingers around my wrist and clamps down hard. “No more drinking and driving. But I still need a little alcohol. Now come with me, church girl. I need you…”

My heart races out of control, but I still follow him.

Bad.

We walk out into the bright fluorescent light. Brinley looks over at us with a big grin on her face and her blue eyes completely wide.

“Are y’all leaving?”

“No,” Ryder says. “You are.”

He tosses her the keys to her bike and a balled up wad of cash.

“Go get yourself some coffee somewhere.”

“There’s coffee here.”

Ryder glares at her and Brinley nods, saluting him and walking towards the door. She leaves quickly and we’re alone. He turns to me urgently, looking at me from head to toe. Again, he seems like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He just points to a door and says in a deep, low voice… “Go…”