He knew the damn rules.
He had a clean house, pretty much. He had wine and decent glasses for it. He had a couple of steaks. He didn’t cook. He grilled and he nuked. So he’d grill the steak, nuke the potatoes, and dump the salad mix he’d picked up into a bowl.
If she didn’t like it, she should go to some other guy’s house for dinner.
Why was he acting nervous? He wasn’t nervous. That was ridiculous. He’d had women in his place before. Usually it was after they’d gone out somewhere, but he’d done the grill-and-nuke for women before.
They were fine with it. She’d be fine with it.
He dumped the bag of salad in a bowl and considered it a job well done. He scrubbed a couple of potatoes, opened the wine. He caught himself fiddling—turning on music, letting the dog out, letting the dog in.
Relief flooded when he heard the knock on the front door. He was better at doing than thinking about doing.
She looked amazing. Every time he saw her was another kick in the gut. “You cut your hair.”
“Yeah.” She lifted her hand to the short cap with long, spiky bangs. “I had some time, and it was driving me crazy. What do you think?”
“It looks good on you.” Everything did. It set off those smoky eyes that matched the smoky voice. She wore a dress, the kind that made him wish summer would never end. It bared her shoulders, and a lot of leg, and when she stepped in, he noted it bared a lot of back.
“Here you go.”
He hadn’t even noticed the flowers in her hand, and now just frowned down at them.
“Hasn’t anyone ever brought you flowers?”
“Can’t say they have.”
“Let me be the first. And I picked this up at the bakery. Have you had their brookies?”
“No. What are they?”
“Orgasmic.”
“I figured we’d be taking care of that ourselves.”
“Why stop there? Believe me, you’re in for a treat. I’ll put the flowers in water for you. Do you have a vase?”
“Ah … I don’t think so.”
“I’ll find something. And I didn’t forget you,” she said to D.A. while he rubbed against her legs. She opened her purse, produced a massive rawhide bone.
“What, did you take down a mastodon?”
Laughing, she pointed until D.A. managed to sit on his wagging tail. “It was a bitter battle, but I won.”
D.A. clamped it in his teeth, pranced over into the living room to collapse and gnaw.
Hope smiled up at Ryder. “So?”
“I’ve got some wine in the kitchen.”
“Just what I need after defeating a mastodon.”
She glanced around—discreetly—as she went back to the kitchen with him. She’d been in his home once, but hadn’t seen much more than the bedroom.
She liked his space, his use of color and comfort, and the detailing of the wood. She knew he and his brothers had built it, as they’d built Owen’s and Beckett’s.
If she ever found herself in the market for a house, she’d make sure it was a Montgomery Family Contractors project.
She loved his kitchen, the easy efficiency, the clean lines—dark woods, open shelving, glass-fronted cabinets.
“Is it all right if I look for something to put the flowers in?”
“Sure. I’ve probably got a jug or something.”
He poured the wine while she hunted. “I heard there was a glitch with the inspector at MacT’s.”
“Picking nits is all. We’ll deal with it.”
“I saw it the other day. God, it’s going to be fabulous.”
She found a clear pitcher, filled it with water.
“First round’s on Red Hots.”
“You can count on it,” Hope said as she arranged the flowers. “I love your house. It’s very you—and your brothers. Your mother, too, I’m betting with the landscaping. All the Montgomery family touches.”
“Nothing gets done that everybody doesn’t have a hand in.”
“It’s nice. We’re not very handy, my family. With the practical things, I mean. My mother’s creative and artistic, and my father can discuss any book or movie ever written or made, but neither of them can handle anything more complex than a screwdriver.”
“It’s people like that who keep us in business.”
“They have their repair people on speed dial. Personally, I like being able to do minor repairs myself.” She caught the smirk, narrowed her eyes. “I can and do make minor repairs. Do you think I call you or your brothers over every time something needs a hammer or screwdriver? I have my own tools.”
“Are they those pretty ones with flower handles?”
Now she drilled a hand into his stomach. “They are not.” She picked up her wine, touched to see it was her usual brand. “What can I do?”
“About what?”
“Dinner. How can I help?”
“Nothing much to do. We can go outside, and I’ll start the grill.”
He led the way through a dining room he currently used as an office. Here Hope’s innate organizational soul shivered. Papers unfiled, supplies jumbled, a desk all but trembling under the weight of undone tasks.
“Don’t start,” he said, seeing her look.
“Some of us handle tools, others handle office space. I can say, proudly, I’m reasonably adept with the first and a genius with the second. I could help you with this.”
“I—”
“Know where everything is,” she finished. “That’s what they all say.”
She stepped out onto a wide deck, breathed deep. His mother, she had no doubt, had spearheaded the charming country-cheer garden, the planters spilling with color. It all flowed into the green spread of woods and the rise of hill.
“This is wonderful. I’d want my coffee out here every morning.”
“There’s never much time for that in the morning.” He opened an enormous, shiny silver grill that struck her as intimidating. “I wouldn’t think the house in the woods would be your style.”
“I don’t know, maybe I’ve never had a chance to find out. From the ’burbs to the city, from the city to small town. I’ve liked all of it. I think I’d like the house in the woods, too. Which way is Clare? And which way is Avery?”
After he’d switched on the grill, he walked to her, stepped behind her. Lifting her arm with his, he pointed in one direction. “Avery.” Then angled her arm again. “Clare. And.” He turned her, pointed again. “My mother.”
“It’s nice to be close. But not too close.”
“I can see their house lights when the leaves fall. It’s close enough.”
She looked over her shoulder to smile, and found herself turned into him, pressed again him. His mouth took hers, hot and urgent. A surprise, as he’d seemed so casual. A wonderful surprise, she thought, as his need stirred her own.
He took her wine, set it aside. “We’ll eat after.” And grabbing her hand pulled her back into the house.
She scrambled to keep up. “All right.”
He made it to the stairs before he pushed her against the wall, tortured himself with her lips, her body. “Just let me …”
He found the short zipper that started halfway down her back, yanked it down. She barely had time to gasp before she was naked but for a thong, her heels, and a pair of dangling earrings.
“Christ. Damn it.” He’d sworn he’d keep his hands off her until after dinner—until after the movie, or at least until during. But the way she looked, smelled, sounded … It was too much. Just too much.
