Whitney shook her head. “I love him,” she muttered. “Somehow I fell in love with a guy who’s killing me with good manners. It’s not my fault, though. He tempted me with naughtiness until I gave in.”

“That sounds like Ryder.”

Yes, it did. Now it was her turn to retaliate.

Ryder was doing touch ups to the paint with a single light on. It was well past dark, and he was the only one at the Hall. He was trying to convince himself he was doing what he should be doing. Seeing to the small details. Proving to the client that he was on top of everything. He was the first one to the site and the last one to leave. Except for that one morning…

He continued the small brush strokes along the baseboard, making sure all the paint was even and no spatter was left behind. The event was in two days. This was the final stretch, and he would be ready. Ready to discuss the future with Davenport. Ready to face Whitney and really let her go.

His chest punched at the last part.

And like God himself had read his mind, Whitney appeared, standing in the doorway of the foyer, holding a small paper bag.

“Hi,” she said softly. There was a stark vulnerability in her eyes. He set the brush in the paint tin and rose from his hunkered down position.

She stepped toward him. Those toned leg muscles flexed beneath olive skin, and his mouth dried out with the need to drink down her sweet taste. Her shirt was tied at the side. He’d learned that she liked her wordy tees. The one she was wearing tonight read:

Welcome to the big apple. Bite me.

He grinned. He loved her sass. In was in every move, every breath, and every word.

Wild.

It was just her.

“I brought you dinner,” she said and held up the brown bag.

He took it. “Thank you.”

He opened it and struggled not to laugh when he saw what was inside: an assortment of candy. He raised a brow and looked at her. “I’ve never had candy for dinner.”

“Well, I’ve never asked a man on a date, so I figured candy was a starting point.”

Ryder’s blood stopped pumping, and his chest stilled like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Had he heard her right? Surely not. This was their game. The “I’ve Never” part of it was never meant to be serious. She’d said so herself from the beginning.

She took another step toward him, and her delicate throat worked on a hard swallow. She glanced down, her fingers fumbling in front of her. My God, the woman was…nervous.

The smart-mouthed, rise-to-the-challenge, no-dates-allowed woman was actually nervous.

“I was wondering if, ah, maybe you wanted to get coffee sometime?” she asked.

Ryder’s mouth slackened, and he stared at the small female before him. She was larger than life, her presence so much bigger than her actual frame, yet right now, she looked so innocent. Lost even. And she was coming to him to find herself?

“Coffee?” he asked.

She nodded. “I promise to be on my best behavior.” When she tossed him a little grin, his ribs almost split open from the racing rhythm of his heart beating like crazy.

“I kind of like it when you’re on your worst behavior though,” he rasped, then closed the distance between them. That fog was settling in his brain again. The one he should be fighting. The one he knew better than to be blind to. But she was changing the rules.

“I was thinking of maybe staying around Diamond for a while. And having you for a friend or…maybe more…could be nice.”

His brows sliced down. “Nice?”

That single word cut him faster and sharper than a blade. Whitney didn’t do “nice.” She didn’t do “more.” She didn’t do dates. And she knew neither of them did “public.”

He’d been on the other end of this conversation a few weeks ago. Just the idea of a date and friendship and nice had pissed Whitney off. Now she wanted that from him. Why now? How had the tables turned so drastically?

“Why?” he asked. “Why this change of heart?” His body went cold. He didn’t know what she was ultimately looking to gain by coming here, but he knew it would destroy him if she asked for something he had to deny. “Come out and say what it is you’re really after.”

She frowned at him. “I’m after you,” she admitted, and part of him shut down at the admission. She was the freest, wildest woman he’d ever met, and suddenly she was sticking around and wanted him.

He didn’t buy it. Couldn’t. Because it went against everything she was. So was her aim to set him up? String him along?

He dropped the candy bag and closed the last inches between them. He threaded a hand in her hair, maneuvered her against the wall, and pressed hard into her body.

“Where’s the mouthy woman I’ve come to know? Where is she?”

“I’m right here,” she said. Her thighs spread enough so Ryder could wedge himself farther between them. The woman had him instantly hard. All the damn time. Now she was pulling a one-eighty, and he was so lost. Had no idea what to think or how to react other than what he knew, which was to resist the impulse to throw caution to the wind and simply be with the woman his heart desired.

He’d been through this once before, and it had been too good to be true then.

He pulled her to him, hating that he couldn’t let her go without at least one more touch. His mouth against hers, he said, “You come in to my town, make me lose my mind since day one… Now you’re changing everything you said you wanted because you think there’s more to gain?”

She nodded. “I didn’t ask to feel this, but I can’t deny it if I do. I’ve never told a man I love him before. This is new for me.”

Ryder leaned away and looked her dead on. That was the heaviest “I’ve Never” he’d heard, and his mind spun out trying to piece her motives together. Trying to wrap his brain around what to do with her declaration of love. Trying to figure out what this tug in his stomach meant.

He needed space. Needed to gain control. Because Whitney once again was throwing him for a loop.

He backed away, his hands falling from her, and he put several feet between them.

“Ryder,” she whispered his name, and he frowned at the floor.

“Shit,” he said. The paint he’d just touched up on the trim was now smudged against the wall where he’d held Whitney.

She looked down, seeing the paint marks on the back of her sandals and the smudges on the wall.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to mess that up.”

Ryder just shook his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

It was paint, it could be fixed, but it was also more than that. It was his work and his mind suffering because he wasn’t fucking thinking. With her, he just acted. Just gave in to his instinct. And that had been to hold her. Challenge her.

He had to stay away from her. Despite his efforts to have it all—both Whitney and his control—it wasn’t working. He was losing. His will, his mind, everything he valued and worked hard to keep locked up was threatening to burst free and be consumed by chaos.

She just looked at him, those big chocolate eyes wide, waiting for him to say something.

Whitney tried to inhale, but her lungs somehow didn’t register that concept. She could only take short, quick breaths, and it was hurting her chest. Or maybe it was the silence passing between her and Ryder.

The look in his eyes was one she’d never seen. Confusion? Anger? Loss? She didn’t know what was rolling through his head. But she had a feeling she was on the brink of something bad. She’d just admitted she loved him, and he looked like she’d kicked him in the face.

“Knock, knock!” Clara’s voice rang out, and her heels clacked against the marble floors. “Oh, hello,” she said with surprise when she came across Ryder staring down Whitney.

“I was just finishing up,” Ryder said to Clara, then turned his gaze back on her. “Whitney was just leaving.”

Whitney’s mouth dropped at the harshness in his tone. That was all he had to say to her? After all these weeks, and all his manners, she got a brush off?