Ricochet (Renegades #3)(21)
Author: Skye Jordan

The sight of the same boots she’d worn the night before made longing, lust, and loss knot in his chest. He closed his eyes and rubbed them a moment. Yeah, he was definitely going to lose all possibility of seeing her again after this.

He sighed, crossed his arms, leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, and tried to enjoy the sight of her tight little ass shaking to the music—even if he wouldn’t ever touch it again.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Troy asked.

“Because it’s hot,” she answered without turning from the file drawer.

Her voice touched something in his chest.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is to someone with a brain,” she said, her voice sugar sweet, which made Ryker grin.

Troy glanced at Ryker with a women shake of his head, then said, “Can’t you play something decent for a change?”

“Can’t you get decent taste in music for a change?”

Troy grinned, and Ryker bit the inside of his lip against a laugh.

He glanced around the trailer. Clean. New paint. New carpet. There were two nice faux wooden desks, a few shelves, sofa, lounge chairs, little kitchen area with a refrigerator. And only slightly cooler without the sun beating down.

The way Rachel’s hips rocked to the music made Ryker remember all her great moves the night before. How those moves had filled him with more pleasure in one night than any one man deserved. Especially him.

He shifted his weight and decided right then—if there were any way to experience her again before he left for sand city, he’d find it.

Rachel dropped her head back and sang along with the song, “Pa-pa-pa-pa-poker face.” She closed the file drawer with a bump of her hip and danced toward her desk. “I wanna roll with him, a hard pair we will be…”

“Hey, Rach, I want—” Troy started.

“You always want something, Troy.” She’d seen him darken her doorway but was trying her damnedest to stay busy and keep her mind off conflict. And Troy was the biggest conflict creator of all the Renegades. “Did you fill out a timecard this week? If you didn’t, do it now. I’m not stopping everything to input your hours at the last minute so you can get a check again.”

“You said you were doing payroll tomorrow,” he complained.

“I’d rather not work on Saturday if I don’t have to. And your lazy ass is not keeping me here. You should have had it in last week, and you’ve been here goddamned long enough to know it. I don’t know why Jax let you slide for so long. Or why I let you slide either.”

“Because you love me?” he asked with that little-boy hope in his voice.

“Pfffft. Right. I’m officially initiating tough love on your fine ass, Jacobs.”

Besides, she wanted to tear down the plaster covering her brick fireplace in the house she was renovating this weekend to keep her mind off Nathan. Off the most memorable, most pleasurable, most sexually liberating night of her life. Off the fact that she’d turned down his request for her number, and his attempt to give her his own, before she left the hotel room. Sitting in this steaming trailer paying bills would not help keep her mind off anything pleasurable.

“Did you ever hear from that Ryker guy? What the hell happened to him?” she asked, pulling the last of the time cards from the pile. “After I finish payroll, I’m going to start on the risk assessment—”

“I did hear from Ryker,” Troy said, his voice low with exaggerated patience. “He missed you at the airport and couldn’t get ahold of me or Jax because of the lousy reception in these mountains, so he stayed with another friend.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed with disinterest.

“And that’s why I’m here,” Troy continued. “Rachel this is Ryker. Ryker, Rachel.”

Rachel’s head popped up in surprise, and her gaze landed on a man standing in the doorway. In a mostly subconscious effort to beat the heat, she’d left the lights off in the trailer, and in the dusky, sunlit interior, she couldn’t make out details. Only saw he was big. But not just big; he was muscled. Muscled in a way that told her he was fit, not just built. Over the last six months working with actors and stuntmen, she’d learned the difference.

And her mind darted to the man she’d been trying to forget all morning: Nathan. Nathan and that to-die-for muscle-bound body she’d made sure to taste every inch of before she’d left the hotel. Because, well, chances of experiencing a body like that again were slim to none in her world.

“Oh, sorry about that,” she said, “I didn’t know—”

He shifted, only a little, but the sun hit him at a different angle, one that showed the outline of shaggy, chocolate-colored hair falling over his forehead and the tops of his ears. Showed the angle of his cheekbone and the square edge to his stubbled jaw.

Her gut tightened. Her mind hit a wall.

No. Not the same man.

But her gaze rolled over him again. He had Nathan’s height. Nathan’s build. Nathan’s lazy stance.

“Come in here, bro,” Troy said, gesturing to Ryker. “The sun’s at your back.”

He dropped his arms, stuffed his hands into his front pockets, and took a few steps forward.

And she knew. Knew by the way he moved even before his handsome face came into view. And when it did, she was looking at Nathan. Again.

Her heart jumped and pounded in her throat. Her mind scrambled. How? Why? She thought back to their conversation the night before…

He’d known. Known who she was well before they’d gone to the hotel. Known she’d been there for him, yet hadn’t said anything. Then taken her back to the hotel—his own damn hotel room—and fucked her blind?

She darted a look at Troy, searching for knowledge of her night with Nath—Ryker; that was going to be hard to get used to—in his eyes. But he only gave her a perplexed what’s-your-deal expression.

That was when she realized her mouth had fallen open and purposely closed it. Anger, embarrassment, shame, fear, they tangled at the base of her throat. She dragged herself together, looked at Troy, and straightened from her desk. “Excuse me?”

“My buddy,” he said with that hello-is-anybody-home? tone, “Ryker. You know, the one I told you about? The one you talked to over the phone last week about the explosion project?”

“Ryker,” she clarified, looking directly into his eyes. God, she hated that name for him.

A combination of guilt and indifference played on his face as he obviously straddled an uncomfortable fence. “Nathan Ryker.”