Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(87)

I sip my wine and stare at him, thinking about our hike earlier today. I felt brave back up on that mountaintop. I let myself think about terrifying possibilities with falls as precipitous as from that altitude. But our climb down was returning to reality—to what’s scary, to how delicate my heart feels.

Fear tunnels through my body, and yet I want to push back on it. I’m scared shitless, but I also can’t lie anymore. I can’t say I don’t want to try somehow to make sense of what this is between Ryder and me. How can I even begin to do that if I never take the first step on the path of possibility?

I need a solid first move. It can’t be small. It can’t be half-assed. This is me we’re dealing with. The only thing I can think to do is what we’ve always done, to see Ryder’s bet and raise him.

Standing, I set my wine on the counter and drag my hoodie off, over my head. Next my long-sleeve shirt. I’m wearing a white tank top and no bra. Ryder’s hand holding the knife slows, then comes to a stop.

“What are you doing?” he croaks.

I bend to remove my sweatpants, then toe off my fuzzy socks. Now I’m down to panties and a tank. “Well, if I’m going to freeze all night long, I might as well warm up in that hot tub first. Looks mighty toasty.”

Ryder makes a strangled noise.

Stepping away from the counter, I saunter toward the glass door and push it open. The hot tub’s a mere five feet away, the sky a black dome dappled with bright stars, so far from city lights. With my back to Ryder, I stare over my shoulder. I hold his eyes as I peel off my tank top and let it fall to the floor.

Ryder’s head drops. His hands brace themselves on the counter.

“I’ll take my dinner outside, Brawny. Thanks.”





27





Ryder





Playlist: “God is a Woman,” Jamie McDell





My hands shake as I set the chicken in the pan. The skin snaps and pops when it hits the heat. It sounds how I feel, watching Willa lean her head back in the Jacuzzi. Hot, agitated.

Dangerously close to bursting into flames.

She’s completely naked in there. I can see her panties and shirt puddled like spilled milk on the dark patio deck. Moonlight bathes her skin blue, and the curve of her breasts peeks above the tub’s bubbling water.

I’m so hard, my dick’s about to bust my zipper. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe so I don’t pass out into a pan of seared chicken and add third-degree burns to my head’s stunning repertoire.

I can’t stop imagining what she looks like, and I’m dying to touch her. She stripped, all right, but I didn’t see it happen, not fully. I averted my eyes when those thumbs hooked inside her panties. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let the first time I saw Willa naked be such an incomplete moment. When I see her, it’s going to be on even ground and she’s going to be just as goddamn hungry for me as I am for her. This is one game I won’t play under.

I’m nice enough to bring Willa her wine. She smiles up at me and shifts beneath the bubbles as she accepts the glass. She makes zero effort not to stare at the state of affairs in my jeans.

“Yikes, Lumberjack. That log looks uncomfortable.”

I scowl at her, then storm back inside, aggravation mounting when I hear her throaty laugh. I add finishing touches to the food and then plate it for both of us. Double-checking the burners are off, dishes in hand, I tuck my beer under my arm and walk out to join her. Willa’s staring at the stars, one arm stretched along the ledge of the tub, spinning her wine.

When her eyes meet mine, they’re softer. Warm, chocolate brown, with flecks of caramel. Her glass is almost empty. Wine makes her a little pliant, and by the look in her eyes, a lot horny. Wine leads to horny eyes. You bet your ass I file that away for future use.

As I hand Willa her plate, she smiles up at me. “Thanks.”

We eat in silence for a few bites, me on a neighboring Adirondack chair, Willa in the tub, her plate held over the bubbles. She uses her fingers to eat since she can’t use her lap and cut with a knife and fork. First the chicken, then she slides a few green beans between her teeth and chews. “Damn, you can cook, Ry.”

I make a noncommittal noise as I take a swig of my beer.

“Ryder.”

I glance over at her. “Hm?”

Her eyes soften further. Her irises shift to pale, golden candlelight. “Come in here.”

Our gaze holds for a long time. My finger taps my beer bottle.

“Why?” I finally manage.

Willa doesn’t blink away. She just takes one long breath and sighs. “Because I want you.”

I almost drop my beer. Setting down the bottle and my plate, I look at her once again. “I need more than that.”

Willa bites her lip, then blinks away, staring into the dark horizon. “I want Ryder Stellan Bergman. Flannel king and fearless mountain man. I want my Business Math buddy. I want the guy who ruins guacamole and who knows how to touch my hair. I want the asshole who whistles at my games and hugs me so hard my lungs feel like they’ll pop.” She swallows. “I love that feeling when you’re so close to pushing too hard, squeezing too tight, then you know exactly when to stop. You know when to battle and when to say sorry.”

My breath comes out jagged. My heart is smashed in a vise of emotions that Willa’s words only twist tighter.