CHAPTER SEVEN

Ryder woke with a throbbing head and eyes that hurt too much to keep open, to the ringing of his phone.

He reached blindly for the annoying device, sliding his fingers across the across the screen to accept the call and shut it the fuck up.

"Ryder."

He barked into the phone, his tone commanding and demanding immediate response.

"Hi, this is Roger Daniel, your father's lawyer. Didn't hear back from you concerning his will so I'm calling to check up with you."

Ryder would have rather he didn't call and not so early too.

Who the fuck calls someone this early in the morning.

"My house, 12pm." he said, his voice more threatening than informing.

There were mumbles of disagreement that he didn't give a fuck about from the other end of the line just as he ended the call.

He dumped the phone on his nightstand trying not to give in to the temptation of calling back at his office back at New York.

He'd promised his team he'd take this break and keep out of their business until he gets back.

They trust him to and in turn he's learning to trust them not to fuck things up in his absence.

They'd promised to call if anything they can't handle comes up too.

No such call yet so why go hound them like an overprotective mum.

Ryder Tech isn't going to burn down because he's learning to delegate.

He got out of bed, groaning.

His muscles were sore and protesting being stretched and his head wouldn't stop throbbing.

Fucking hangover, it's the only thing that can make him feel so sick in the morning and he couldn't even remember drinking.

Okay, yeah he did. Yesterday was coming back to him in a flood and he hated that he'd slipped and let his emotions get the best of him.

The anger, hatred and avid resentment, he'd let it fuel him until he'd needed a bottle to numb it and he'd indulged.

He remembered being in that hallway, swamped by the ugliest of the memories and wishing he could haul Paul back from the dead so he can do the fucking honors of sending him back there worse.

The emotions he'd worked so hard to bury were surging to the surface, begging to be freed and he hated it.

It made him feel weak, like less the man he knows he's become.

The man he is now shouldn't need to drown in alcohol to numb the pain of his past.

He's worked to get past it all, there should have been no relapse.

But the memories of yesterday only came so far.

He didn't remember coming up the stairs to this room and he didn't remember getting out of his clothes and into bed.

Vaguely though, and somewhere at the back of his mind, he thought he remembered her coming back for him.

It was ironic that he entertained such thought anymore, because all his no one has ever come back for him.

It'd take an angel to, not her, the chick whose life he'd decided he's about to fuck with.

-

Bree stood at the bottom of the stairs, confused on what to do.

She'd have to call for help if she goes up there one more time and that grumpy, handsome devil is still out.

She's gone to his room to check up on him thrice now and in those three times, he was as dead to the world as a log of wood.

It scared her to think that something could actually be wrong with him, well, other than the insane amount of alcohol he seemed to have invested while she was out.

There should be a log book around here somewhere with a number she can call for help or something.

A doctor maybe.

The only question holding her back was, how the fuck would she explain her presence in the house of a man whose name she didn't even know.

She'd be taken before she can spell her name right, and if he doesn't wake, she can kiss ever seeing the light of day again good bye.

She shouldn't have left in the first place and she should have made him draw up a valid contact with his name on it.

Everything inside her screamed for her to cut her loses now and run while she still could, and for the love of all that is holy, she couldn't tell why she was doing the exact opposite.

Maybe it was because he hadn't left her ass the day she'd drank herself close to death or a kind of savior complex going on for her, but either way, she found herself right outside his door.

Without giving herself time to overthink and bail, she gripped the door knob and turned, pushing the door open.

Wrong move, because instead of lying in bed, out as like a log, he stood in the middle of the room in all his masculine glory, covered only by the briefs that was doing a good job of cupping his impressive package to perfection.

She gulped and turned away from him, silently counting to ten and reminding her body beyond reason that it has no business wanting this man.

But boy, did he look good with bed tousled hair and morning looks, with that ripped body on display.

She heard him chuckle at her reaction before his sexy drawl reached her ears in his usual accusation.

"Puritan." he called her.

"If I didn't know you've had a boyfriend, I'd have thought you a virgin too. Ever seen your man naked or do you make him fuck you in the dark, hmm?"

Her face flushed red at his words and she turned to glare at him.

"I'm not a puritan and my sex life with Cole or what it had been is absolutely none of your fucking business."

He stared at her like she was amusing and then that forbidden smirk that causes a strange weakness in her knees appeared.

"Not a puritan, huh." he asked as he took steps in her direction.

There was no break in his stride, until he had her pressed against his door, her body trapped between the door and his mass of solid muscles.

His hand reached down to take hers, his eyes holding hers captive.

Her hand was so small compared to his, so dainty and he held it like he was scared he'd break it.

He lifted it with intent, his eyes trained on her the whole time.

She felt the warm contact of his skin even before she had the courage to look.

"Prove it, princess. Touch me."

There was something in the way he said it, in the way he looked at her.

His hand left hers on his chest as he waited for her to do something, anything.

She wasn't a puritan like he keeps accusing her, but for the life of her she couldn't move her hands on his body.

If she does, she wouldn't know how to stop, she wouldn't want to and in some way, she'd be betraying her memories with Cole.

It was stupid but still what it was.

It might be the beginning of something she'd regret later, so why try.

She pulled her hand away like his skin and the muscles beneath it suddenly scalded her.

"Please put some clothes on."

She said in a small, breathless voice, her eyes avoiding his.

She heard rather than saw the smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Told you, puritan." he whispered into her ear, his lips brushing the sensitive love.

She's always thought it impossible, but his deep and lazy drawl had moisture pooling between her thighs.

He was a man out of her dark fantasies and that will only make their bargain harder than she'd expected.

That is if they still have one.

Oh God!