Free Ricochet by Skye Jordan

Always. Even great pussy, like Rachel. Ryker would have to find some way to confirm or disprove the fact that she wasn’t seeing Troy without tipping her off to his own identity. Because, realistically, in her role as a secretary and his role as a temporary consultant in the field, they’d probably never meet up again. Which would make his identity a nonissue. No point in making it one.
    Hell, it had been a long time since a woman made him toss logic out the window for sex. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been getting any either. But he didn’t want to think about why this woman was different. He needed to get this whole Troy thing straightened out first.
    He exited the bathroom with his body amped for a literal fucking marathon. Great sex always hyped him. But he usually took that energy to the gym for a workout or the ocean for a swim. Tonight, he wanted to put all his energy right back into Rachel.
    He passed the bedroom, a massive suite with a king bed, dresser, armoire, fifty-two-inch flat-screen TV, and adjoining bathroom, moved through the dining room with a full-size table, and turned past a marble-topped side buffet into the living room.
    “What are your thoughts on fondue?” were the first words out of her mouth.
    She was curled in the corner of the gray sofa, wearing his blue T-shirt, looking at something open in front of her, her bare feet curled beneath her. He glanced across the sofa and found her dress folded on an ottoman, her fancy cowboy boots sitting on top.
    “That’s…a random question,” he said.
    “Do you have any allergies?”
    Her second question drew his gaze back. He took another look at her in his T-shirt. She had her thumbnail between her teeth, her head tilted down toward something open in her other hand, but her eyes were up and on him. And…damn…she was wearing his T-shirt.
    “Oooo.” The word sounded more like a purr and skittered over Ryker’s skin. “Another tattoo.” She patted the sofa beside her. “If you let me touch, I’ll let you choose dinner.”
    His cock thickened. It liked that idea way too much. “You read my mind.” He sauntered toward the sofa, unable to shake the strange sensation tumbling through his belly. “You’re also wearing my shirt.”
    She lowered the menu and smiled. A knowing, sexy, teasing smile that made Ryker’s stomach fold. “I didn’t see a point in getting dressed.” She hesitated, raised her brows. “I’ll give it back if we can order fondue.”
    He didn’t want it back. He wanted to look at her in it. Maybe even wanted to leave it with her. And wasn’t that the strangest fucking idea ever?
    “Baby, you made me a hell of a lot hungrier than a few pieces of bread and a little cheese is going to fix.”
    “No.” She pushed the menu toward him, her eyes bright. “They serve it with chicken, steak, roasted vegetables, potatoes, pasta, and bread. And,” she added, her tone and her gaze turning sexy again, “it comes with chocolate fondue for dessert.”
    He did love chocolate. And he could think of all kinds of ways to use liquid chocolate.
    He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “I don’t know. I’m a growing boy.” He lifted his chin. “Talk more about my shirt.”
    She pursed her lips, let her eyes drift up toward the ceiling. “Okay, how about…” She focused on him again. “I give you the shirt as soon as dinner arrives and won’t put my dress back on.”
    Ho-ly hell. Ryker couldn’t keep the smile from crossing his face. But he did send up a prayer that she wasn’t messing around with Troy. “I guess I could make that deal.”
    She smirked. “But it’s a hardship, huh?”
    “That’s one of my favorite shirts.”
    “I can understand.” She closed the menu, tossed it aside, and rubbed her hands down her chest, over her breasts, and across her stomach with a decadent hum. “It’s super soft.”
    “Sweetheart.” He lowered his voice in warning. “Do that again, and you will be my dinner.” He