She heard the woman talk about the Davenport Hall, and while Ryder’s mouth moved in response, his eyes stayed on Whitney. But she couldn’t stick around. Not after what she’d almost done. Not with all these weird emotions flying through her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to Penny, taking her up on her offer to clock out a bit early. She passed the bar and headed in the opposite direction of Ryder and out the back. Funny how this whole thing had started with Ryder wanting space, and now it was her running in the other direction.

That stubborn woman had just turned her back on him and taken off.

Ryder’s temper was boiling beneath the surface. He’d seen the look in Whitney’s eyes when she’d headed for him. He was shocked as hell that she’d appeared ready to jump into his arms—and even more shocked that he wanted her to, even if they were in the middle of the BBQ. Then that hope was stomped out when she looked like her feet had been glued to the floor, and Clara swooped in chatting about the event again.

He was only hearing every other word, because he was too busy watching where Whitney had just left. Out the back.

“…all the paint will be dry?” Clara asked. Ryder only heard the last part of her question.

“Yes, the painters are heading in tomorrow, and it all should be done for the weekend event.” It was coming up in less than a week. Come Saturday night, all his crew’s hard work would be on display, and one of the town’s most treasured buildings would be reopened.

“Excellent!” Clara said. “I’m just so happy you’re finished. Now you have time for more sociable encounters.”

She looked him over like a prize, one she’d had her sights on, and Ryder tried to find his good manners to get out of this conversation. Because yes, the last week had been a bear finishing that building, but he was finally done. He had an early meeting with Davenport the next day. Otherwise, all that was left to do was monitor the final touches. That was why tonight he’d come straight to the place, and woman, he’d been dying to see.

And she’d just run off.

He didn’t want to talk about the event. Didn’t want to think about the Hall. For months his life had revolved around it. Hell, his life revolved around the town on a regular basis. Tonight he just wanted Whitney. Wanted to be alone with her. Talk to her. Forget who he was in public and have a private moment between the two of them.

“Why don’t you join me for dinner and we can discuss the weekend?” Clara said.

Ryder’s eyes snapped to her. “I already have plans.”

He should have accompanied that with an apology, but he wasn’t sorry. He wanted to see Whitney, and he wouldn’t apologize or explain.

He let Clara pout and tossed a wave to his sister. Penny looked confused, but she waved back.

He marched out the door and to his truck in record time. Barreling toward the lodge, he realized quickly he didn’t know what room Whitney was in, but he’d start with the bar where he’d first met her.

The main entrance was empty, just like the entire lounge and bar area. Even the counter of the bar, near the billiards room, had a “Return in an hour” sign up. Dead. The entire place was dead. But through the corridor, he heard the faint sound of one pool ball hitting another and a side pocket shot sinking.

Adrenaline raced through him, but he reached for his coolest composure and entered the poolroom. There, like his blessed dreams, was Whitney, bending over and lining up her next shot.

Those shorts of hers were his favorite thing on the planet, and he took a long moment to appreciate then.

“Damn it,” she muttered, when she missed her shot.

“You know what I was thinking the first night I saw you in here?” he asked.

She turned to face him with a little jump.

“Do you have some sneak-up quota you have to fill every day or something?”

“Answer my question,” he asserted. He was not in a friendly mood. This was his show. He’d gone to the BBQ to see her, and he’d be damned if she twisted this game of theirs to her favor.

“Let’s see, the night you met me… Pretty sure you were thinking I was someone else.”

He walked toward her until he reached the pool table and stood before her. “I was actually thinking of what this”—he spun her around, bent her over the pool table, and ran his fingers along the back of her knee—“tasted like.” He knelt quickly to trace his tongue up along that soft skin and felt her shudder, and then he rose and whispered in her ear, “Just as I thought. Sweet.”

She turned to face him, and he grabbed the edge of the pool table on either side of her hips, caging her in.

“What are you doing here, Ryder?” she asked softly. Something in her eyes was pleading. Like she was half scared, half desperate for his answer.

“I came to see you.”

The edge of her lips tugged upward, like those five words were all she needed.

“You’ve been working hard, I hear,” she said.

“So have you.”

She nodded and looked over his face in a way no other woman ever had. Like she was studying him. Maybe even doing some of that learning she’d mentioned a time or two. Whatever it was, he felt seen. Like she could grasp the real him.

“See, I finally got a night off and came to call on this sexy, bright woman, and you know what she did?” he asked, leaning in a little so his face was in line with hers.

She swayed in between his straightened arms, but he wasn’t letting go of that table. She gave an innocent look, but Ryder knew she was playing with him. So he moved a bit closer, until his chin was a millimeter from hers.

“What did she do?” she whispered.

“She ran off on me.”

“The nerve,” she chastised, in her mocking way. The same tone that kicked his pulse into high gear. But he kept it simmering and went on with this little conversation.

“That’s what I thought,” he agreed. “Which made me think of how I’d retaliate against her when I finally caught her. You see, this woman likes being chased.”

“You sure?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I even happen to know that every now and again, she likes being caught.”

“Interesting,” Whitney said, playing along.

“Unless she really was running away because she can’t stand the sight of me,” he amended.

She laughed like he’d just told her the world was flat. “The sight of you is not the problem, big guy. My guess is she thoroughly enjoys the sight of you.” She glanced down, something she rarely did, but he was picking up on the notion that she had more to say. So he waited a moment and hoped she’d give voice to whatever silent thoughts she had.

Finally, his patience paid off.

“Maybe this woman also knows that you’re different in public than you are in private.”

That swatted his ribs like a rolled up newspaper. Of course he was different with Whitney in private than public. It had been a basis of their whole frustrating relationship. The truth was, though, he felt more himself—safer—alone with her than anywhere else.

“Do you think the woman in question likes me in private or public?”

Whitney looked at him. “She likes you in private, just wishes she knew the public side of you better.”

She reached up and ran a finger along the edge of his Stetson.

“I’m learning she has a thing for cowboys, too,” he whispered, his mouth hovering just over hers.

“But you’re not a cowboy,” she countered.

“No, ma’am, I’m not.”

She searched his face, those fingers dropping from his hat to his cheek, then down to his neck. “So maybe she just has a thing for you.”

“If that’s so, why would she run?”

She lifted a shoulder. “She’s bound to leave eventually.”

That made something twist in his stomach, but he did his best to ignore and move past it. “Maybe so. But she’s not leaving tonight.”

He leaned down and snagged the smallest sample of those full lips, tasting the sweetest drug he’d ever had. And damn he’d missed it. Not having a hit of her for a week had strung him out in a way that hurt. It left him jonesing for more, needing that fire to feel alive. With one taste, he turned on like a broken engine revved to life.