Page 7 of Hungry Hearts

I push away the disappointment at missing out on this once-in-a-lifetime experience—because I’ll never do something like this again—and reach for my suitcase. There’s a light tapping on my door, and I freeze.

Whoever is on the other side doesn’t say anything, then knocks a little louder. It can’t be my bartender. He has a key. There’s no need to knock. My heart settles down again and I open the door.

Crap. There’s a peephole for a reason. Why didn’t I use it?

Ryder leans against the doorframe, and a quiet grin and sparkling eyes greet me. “Hey.”

“Oh. Hi. It’s you.”

He raises a brow. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“You knocked.”Stupid. Duh.“I gave you a key. Did you get it? Maybe it fell out. Oh, God, does that mean someone else could have a key to my room. If so, I should—”

“This is where knowing your name would come in handy.”

I’m not opposed to giving him my name—first only—but it turned into a fun, flirty game so I’ve intentionally withheld it.

“I have the key.” He holds it up. “And even if I did misplace it, your room number isn’t printed on it.

“Oh. Right. True. Yeah.” God, I sound pathetic. Not sexy, not the pretend confident woman at the bar who flirted back with Ryder.

His smile falls, obviously reading my discomfort. “Would you like to go somewhere for a drink? Coffee?”

He’s offering me a way out, which has the exact opposite effect it should. Instead of taking the olive branch and moving our late-night date to a safe no-sex zone, my lust-filled body backs up and invites him into my room.

“You sure?”

No. No, I’m not sure at all. Will I regret this in the morning? Hell, yeah. Will this make me a slut? What if I get pregnant? I have an IUD, but he could have a disease, especially if he does this regularly.

I’ll also regret turning him away wondering what sex with a stranger—although he’s not entirely a stranger now—is like. I know his name, where he works, his phone number, and social security number that he blurted out—not that I remember it—his favorite steak, ice cream, movies, and day of the week.

I’ll regret missing out on an opportunity to be touched by someone who doesn’t know my past, or my present. I don’t have to wonder at his intentions other than wanting to get into my pants. My very, very wet underpants.

“I’m sure.”

Ryder steps inside and closes the door quietly behind him. “You seem nervous.”

I let out a laugh. A nervous laugh. “I’ve never had sex with a stranger before.”

He shakes his head. “And here I thought we were friends. You know all the important details about me.”

“Do I?” I cross my arms and the flirty grin escapes me before I can hold it back.

“More than most.”

“Which secret did you share with me that most women don’t know?”

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his knuckles gently graze across my cheek. “My social security number.”

I giggle. “Do you really think I memorized it? You rattled it off rather quickly.”

“My phone number.”

“You don’t give out your number? And same there. I don’t remember it.”

He moves closer, our toes nearly touching, and reaches out his other hand, gliding it down my arm in a gentle caress while his baby blues stay focused on my face.

“Give me your phone and I’ll enter my number in it.”

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