BANCROFT

Holy fuck. Ruby Scott is going to kill me. My dick is incredibly excited about what’s happening right now. He seems to be taking the wheel a lot these days, especially in relation to the woman currently stroking my pet ferret, who has picked a rather inconvenient location to have a nap.

For the past two days I’ve been second-guessing my decision to let Ruby move in here while I’m away. Reneging would make me an asshole, but the last time I had someone pet sit for me Francesca almost escaped. And all of Tiny’s crickets ended up getting free. They were all over the condo. It was disgusting.

Asking Amalie to take care of Tiny and Francesca hadn’t been ideal, but I needed someone reliable and trustworthy. With Francesca being a fugitive because of her illegal status, I like to have a friend look after her while I’m away, but it’s usually for much shorter time spans. Lex had a girlfriend a while back who would do it, but she’s out of the picture, so I can’t ask her anymore. Amalie was someone I knew personally, and she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. But stopping by every couple of days isn’t enough, not for five weeks. So out of desperation, and some guilt, and with some internal convincing that Ruby wasn’t going to lose my ferret in one of the heating vents, I stuck to the plan. So here she is, stroking my ferret.

As Ruby’s long, dark hair tickles my arm and her shirt gapes, giving me an excellent view of her cleavage, I can admit—to myself—that my dick is one-hundred percent in control of all decision making where Ruby is concerned at this moment, and that he was partially responsible for allowing her to move in here.

She’s still petting Francesca. Which would be fine, except her favorite place to curl up happens to be right on top of my decision-making cock. And his awareness of how close Ruby’s hand is causing an unfortunate reaction, because he would like the same treatment.

Which isn’t going to happen. Not tonight anyway. Not when I’m leaving her in my condo for the next five weeks. I barely know her. She could be one of those women who automatically assume sex equals a relationship. And since she’s taking care of my pets, I can’t have additional complications getting in the way of that. Maybe once I’m back and her living situation is taken care of it could be a possibility. Unfortunately, getting my head below the waist to acknowledge the downside of getting into her shorts tonight seems rather impossible.

Shit. I need to get my head under control. Both of them. Under any other circumstances I’d relocate Francesca, because I recognize her preferred napping location is a little odd. Usually there’s no one else here to witness it. Unfortunately, I’m starting to get hard, and she’s the only thing hiding what will definitely become a full-blown problem if Ruby keeps petting her.

I’d like to attribute the blame, in part, to the shorts Ruby is wearing. They barely cover her ass. In fact, they just cover her fine, sculpted ass. I’m currently fighting with my hands to stay tucked behind my neck rather than reaching out and copping a feel. As an athlete—or a former athlete—I can appreciate how much time and effort goes into an ass as tight as Ruby’s.

I’m not being a pig. Not intentionally. But she’s freshly showered and, based on her casual attire and her complete lack of makeup, she’s not concerned about impressing me. I like it. A lot. She’s different from the women I’m typically subjected to, especially with my mother’s recent interference in my dating life.

I drag my eyes up, away from the perfect globe of her ass, hugged by tiny shorts, to the curve of her waist, up over her cleavage, along her neck to the line of her jaw. I get caught at her mouth. Her tongue peeks out just a little, a tongue I’ve had in my mouth before. The memory is a little fuzzy thanks to the cold meds and scotch combo, but I still have it—and I’d like to see what else that smart, sassy mouth of her can get up to.

But not tonight.

This is my new mantra. I’m sure I can keep my hands and my mouth to myself long enough to get my ass on that plane tomorrow morning. Normally I’m pretty decent with self-control. For as many years as I spent playing professional rugby where female fans will happily shed their clothes with little more encouragement than a smile, I didn’t take advantage of opportunities for endless hookups. I mean, obviously, I took part in hookups, but I was discreet, and I didn’t leave a trail of fucked fans across the globe.

First and foremost, it wouldn’t have reflected well on my family. I’ve seen enough scandal to understand the ripple effect it can have. I’ve watched the way my parents are with each other, and while there may not be an overwhelming amount of affection, my father has enough respect for my mother to keep his wandering eye to a minimum. That’s not always the case in their circle. I don’t ever want to be the kind of person who believes that status or money absolves me of morality.

But there’s something about Ruby Scott that makes me want to behave badly. Very badly. Which is why I’m imagining yanking those shorts down and bending that sweet, tight ass over her ugly chair and fucking her until it breaks.

I check the clock. It’s only seven. I have ten hours to manage myself. I just have to make it to the morning when I’m on a plane with an ocean between us to make it easier to keep my dick in check. It really shouldn’t be as difficult as it seems.

Ruby gives Francesca a couple more strokes before she prances over to her chair—which I moved so she could sit in it if she wanted. She flops down, sprawling out over the ugly lounger. She’s a gorgeous picture. Her long, toned legs hang over the arm. Her toes are naked, not painted. She’s not manicured or primped at all. It’s refreshing. That’s what Ruby is: refreshing.

Pretension is almost ingrained in my family’s DNA. Although it seemed to pass me by, it’s what I’ve been raised to endure and expect. Ruby’s the same, at least based on her last name and who her father is, but like me, she seems to be missing that awful genetic component. The chair she’s sitting in tells me that. Where she was living tells me that as well. The whole shower fiasco tells me she’s been out of the circuit for a while, and I want to know exactly how she got where she is, and why she’s made the choices she has to get here.

Unfortunately I don’t have time for that tonight. My goal this evening is to make sure she’s going to take care of my pets and not ruin my condo while I’m gone. Based on what I’ve seen so far, I have a feeling I’m dealing with a bit of a live wire when it comes to the lovely Miss Ruby Scott. For now I’m trying to figure her out.

“I ordered Italian for dinner, I hope that’s okay.”

Her eyes go wide. “Pizza?”

“Um, no.”

Her face falls a bit.

“Authentic Italian. Spaghetti Bolognese, chicken Parmesan, bruschetta, meatballs, pasta primavera, that kind of thing. I didn’t want to disturb you once you were in the shower and not being attacked by the jets, so I just got a bit of everything.”

“Ha ha. All of that sounds amazing.” She pats her stomach. “I hope I can handle it.”

“How’re you feeling? Have you been able to eat?” The flu bug I’d had lasted for days. Enough days that I worried I wouldn’t be able to get on the plane tomorrow. But I’m fine now. Although I’m down a good ten pounds still. Ruby’s small. She’s compact and tight, all muscle and lean lines. I’d like to see how she feels under me. Or on top of me. Shit. This woman makes my imagination want to go on a detour to the land of perversion.

“I’m okay. A steady diet of Gatorade and saltines seems to have gotten me through the worst of it.”

“I’m sorry I did that to you.” I’m also sorry that I’m currently imagining all the things I’d like to do to you.

Ruby shrugs and motions to the condo and the chair she’s sitting in. “You’re more than making up for it now. I really appreciate this.”

“It benefits us both, right? You have a place to stay until you find a new apartment and I have someone to take care of Francesca and Tiny.”

Ruby smiles. She has a pretty smile, with white, straight teeth, except for one eyetooth, which is turned just a touch. I like the small imperfection. After years of playing professional rugby, I have a lot of those.

The buzzer goes off, signaling the food has arrived and someone will be on their way up shortly. “That must be the food.” I sit up and Francesca makes a snuffling noise as I lift her from my lap, turning away from Ruby so she can’t see the adjustments I make.

“I should probably learn all the codes and stuff, shouldn’t I?” Ruby leaps out of the chair, landing soundlessly on the hardwood. She’s incredibly graceful. I imagine that must translate nicely into bedroom activities.

I manage to pull my head out of the gutter long enough to give Ruby a rundown on the entry system. “Any deliveries are intercepted by front desk security.”

“Don’t you have to go down and get it?”

“Generally, whoever is working the security desk will bring deliveries to the door unless otherwise requested.”

“That’s so awesome. I used to have to wait for the stupid elevator or run down four flights of stairs if it was taking too long, or out of order, which was often.”

“I don’t think you’ll find that to be an issue here. Since we’re on the penthouse level we have a dedicated elevator, so waiting is rare.”

“You could totally be a hermit living here, couldn’t you?” she asks.

“If I didn’t like people, I suppose I could.”

Ruby cocks her head to the side, and her smile holds a hint of devious curiosity. “Do you like people?”

“It depends on the people.”

“But you like me.” She makes a face, as if she’s embarrassed by her own statement.

“What I know of you so far, yes.” I smile at the flush that creeps into her cheeks. “While I’m gone I’ll give you access to services I use so you’ll be able to get what you need.”

Her tone hardens a little, as if she’s offended by the courtesy. “You don’t have to do that.”

“You’re staying here, there will be things you require, both for yourself and Francesca and Tiny. I won’t have you spending your own money taking care of my animals.”

Her gaze drops to her feet. “I guess that makes sense when you put it that way.”

I have to wonder a little about her financial situation. She comes from money; however, that reveal at the restaurant is another reason I caved and offered her a place to stay. At least my family was supportive of my decision to pursue rugby as a career. It doesn’t seem as though she has even that.

“I have groceries delivered every Friday, although the order is tailored to my taste. I was going to cancel it, but since you’re here . . .” I trail off. “I’ll show you how to make changes after dinner.”

“Sure. Okay.” Ruby wears an unreadable expression. I’m unsure what to make of it, and I don’t get to ask because there’s a knock at the door.

Which reminds me that Francesca needs to go back in her cage. “Would you be able to put her in my room while I get this?”

“Of course.” Ruby flits over to the couch, scoops up Francesca, and carries her down the hall.

I wait until she slips into my bedroom before I open the door, accept the takeout, provide a generous tip, and lock up. If I’m being honest, I’m a little nervous about leaving Francesca. Especially since ferrets are illegal in New York, which is part of the reason I ended up with her in the first place. Someone brought her to one of my father’s hotels without fully understanding the implications. Or maybe they had, since they’d smuggled her in. She was improperly caged, so she got loose, chewed through wiring, caused all kinds of damage, and disappeared into a vent. Her owners just left her. She’s lucky she’s alive.

My father’s plan was to give her to Animal Control, which probably would have terminated her. I told him I’d take care of it. And I did. Just not the way he expected me to.

Within twenty-four hours I’d had a cage delivered to the condo and I’d set up a habitat for her. The few people who have access to my condo are aware of the delicate situation and are compensated for their silence. It sounds far more mafia than it is.

When I took her in as a refugee I hadn’t expected to be traveling. I’ve been fighting my dad on this trip for weeks now, but there’s no getting out of it. I know how he works. If I have a hope in hell of getting what I want in the future, I have to give him what he wants now, which is weeks of travel and research so I can learn the company ropes and be another cog in his machine.

I unpack all the containers. It’s the best Italian takeout in this city as far as I’m concerned. Their pizza is also amazing, but I thought it was safe to order something I knew Ruby would like, hence the pasta primavera.

I pull a bottle of white from my wine fridge and a bottle of red as well, in case she prefers one over the other. She mentioned liking martinis, but I’m not adept at making those, so wine will have to do. I’m also not sure how fully she’s recovered from her illness. I know it took me more than a week to recover.

I debate whether I want to set the table, or the island. The table is a bit too formal, I think. Casual is better. I pour sparkling water and set places for both of us. Then I wait for her to return. For some reason I’m nervous. As if this were a date, not two people reviewing pet care instructions.

A giggle filters down the hall. A very pretty, feminine giggle. I follow the sound, which gets louder the closer I get to my bedroom. What the hell is she doing in there? A million and one highly inappropriate scenarios blow through my mind.

I push the door open and what I find isn’t really all that far from what I was imagining. Just with more clothing. Not much more, though, considering Ruby’s outfit.

My suits have been moved from my bed to the dresser and my suitcase lies open on the floor. She’s in the middle of my bed—my unmade bed—on her knees. Her shorts have ridden up, one side higher than the other, exposing some cheek. A lump moves around under the sheet and she follows it around, giggling every time Francesca bolts in a new direction. It’s a game I play with her sometimes. It’s a game I’d like to play with Ruby. Naked.

“Dinner’s ready.” My voice comes out a little gravelly.

Ruby’s head snaps around mid-giggle. “She loves playing under—”

I wonder what my expression must be for the words to die on her tongue like that.

“The sheets.” I finish for her, my voice still too low. “I know.”

She looks around and then down, maybe realizing where she is. Her eyes go comically wide and she pulls the sheet back, scooping up Francesca and scrambling off the bed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t—” She gestures to my bed. “I didn’t mean to. I put her down so I could manage the cage latch and then we started playing.”

I let her ramble for a couple more seconds before I crack a smile. “It’s fine. You’re good. It’s one of her favorite places to hide.”

“Well it’s such a big bed, and there’s so much room to play.”

I’m not sure if she means it the way my brain interprets it. Ruby carries Francesca over to the cage, her shorts still riding high on one side. Half of her left ass cheek is on display. It’s a very nice ass cheek. I’d like to get my hands on it or sink my teeth into it. I really need to get a handle on myself. And I plan to. Later. When I’m alone in this room and she’s locked away in hers.

I follow Ruby to the cage and watch as she latches it to make sure it’s done properly. There have been a couple of occasions in which I’ve mistakenly thought I’d locked it, but hadn’t. Francesca likes warm, cozy places. Something else she and my dick have in common. The difference being, if she escapes from her cage, she’s likely to find a hiding place I can’t easily retrieve her from.

“There we go,” Ruby says softly as she lowers Francesca into the cage. “Do you ever let her sleep with you?”

“Not typically. Sometimes she’s hard to find in the morning, and I can’t have her roaming while I’m at work.” She’s ended up under the covers with me in the middle of the night because I’ve fallen asleep while watching TV. She has a few choice places she likes to sleep, and since I’m not a big fan of boxers, it was a bit of a shock the first time it happened. Since then, I’ve taken to wearing boxers if I let her sleep with me since she seems to have a bit of a fascination with things that dangle.

“I imagine that wouldn’t be very good.”

“It’s okay because of the ferret-proofing I’ve done, but I still don’t want to invite mischief if it’s unnecessary.”

“No one likes mischief.” Ruby gives me a wide smile that says exactly the opposite. “I’m starving. Let’s see if I can keep food down!”

And off she goes, practically dancing her way down the hall. She doesn’t wait for me to make it back to the kitchen—I check the latch one more time, just to be safe. When I get there, all the containers are open and she already has a fork in one. She twirls it, gathering noodles. It’s a massive amount. She tips her head back, opens wide, and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, making sounds that I would definitely not isolate to food enjoyment.

She groans and turns to me, puts her hand up in front of her mouth, and says, “Dis ib so gub.”

“So you like it then?” I grab a fork and load up a plate, handing her one so she doesn’t feel compelled to eat out of the box.

She takes it, her cheeks coloring pink as she continues to chew the huge mouthful. She loads her plate. I’m surprised by the amount of food she piles on, considering her size, but I don’t say anything. I like a woman with a healthy appetite.

Once we’re loaded up with food she slides into the chair beside me.

“Wine?” I gesture to the open bottles on the counter.

“Oh. Uh, white, maybe?” She looks uncertain.

“Don’t feel obligated.”

“I don’t.” When I raise a brow, she brings her fingers up, Girl Scout style. “Promise. No obligations. I just haven’t had any alcohol since I became the Vomitron last week.”

“Vomitron?”

“It’s my superhero name. Not very badass, but rather fitting, all things considered.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes. I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast, so I could probably plow through two or three entrees no problem, but I try to scale it back so I don’t come across as uncivilized.

Ruby makes an uncomfortable noise. “I think I took too much.”

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” I observe. She’s only managed to get through half the contents on her plate.

She pats her stomach. “It appears that way.”

When her shirt was sticking to her skin in the shower I noted the definition there. She’s in very, very good shape. I drag my eyes back up, which means I’m looking at her chest for a second before I meet her eyes. “Did you leave room for dessert?”

It comes out heavy sounding, and a little raspy.

Ruby’s eyes flare and then her lids lower, so does her voice. “Dessert?”

“I always order dessert when I get takeout from this place. It’s in the fridge.”

“Oh. Right. I might need a little time for my stomach to settle before I can put anything else in there.” She rubs it a few times for emphasis.

I try to keep my eyes in safe zones, away from her chest.

She clears her throat. “Now that we’re cleaned and fed should we go through the house rules?”

“Right. Of course. Hold on.” I push away from the table and cross the kitchen to retrieve the binder I put together. Since I’m away for such an extended period I wanted to make sure I cover all possible scenarios.

“Wow. You have a binder?” Ruby looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

“There are a lot of things that need to be covered.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your tone implies you think this is excessive.”

She takes the binder from me and opens it. “How many pages is this? More than a hundred?”

“It’s ninety-eight. Francesca and Tiny have very specific needs.”

“Ninety-eight pages of needs.” She leafs through it and mutters, “I wish someone was this in tune to my needs.”

I bite my tongue and say nothing about how I’m sure I could attend to every single damn one of them if she’d like to go back to my bedroom and play “hide and seek” in my sheets with me. “It’s not all about Tiny and Francesca. It also contains codes, passwords, fire safety, where to locate things, how to use various technological equipment, public transit information, areas to avoid, that kind of thing.”

“Is there a section on how to make the bed? Do you have a diagram for hospital corners?”

“I trust in your ability to make your bed however you see fit.”

She stops flipping, jabbing her finger at the page. “You have instructions on how to use the washer and dryer.”

“This is coming from someone who got stuck in the shower because she couldn’t figure out how to adjust the temperature or work the jets. Besides, they can be difficult to figure out.” It took me three loads to get what was going on at first.

“I’m more of a visual learner. Why don’t you show me all this stuff? Do you have a checklist? Maybe a star chart? I can have dessert when I earn five stars.” Her eyes light up with the same mischief I caught a glimpse of when she was playing with Francesca on my bed.

I spend the next hour going over everything in the house, from where to dispose of the garbage to how to use the TV remote, to where to find Francesca and Tiny’s food. Ruby appears as if she’s paying close attention. When she has a question she puts her hand on my arm and looks up at me with wide, inquisitive eyes.

I’m in the middle of showing her where to find the pots and pans should she want to cook when she walks away from me.

“Um, what is this?” She taps the table across from Tiny’s terrarium.

“It’s an answering machine.”

“What year is it from? Nineteen-eighty?”

She’s probably pretty close.

“It even has the mini-cassette tape!” She appears flabbergasted. “You have a cell phone, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then why do you have this?” Ruby picks it up and it takes everything in me not to freak out and tear it out of her hands.

Instead I gently pry the machine away from her and set it carefully back on the table, brushing away any dust or fingerprints. “It’s nostalgic.”

“Because you were born at the end of the decade?” She’s sort of poking fun, but her voice is soft, and she seems more curious now than anything.

“It was my grandmother’s. She’d had it forever. The tapes were so hard to find so I figured I would try to teach her how to use a cell phone. She kept saying no, and I kept trying to persuade her.”

“Did you?”

I nod. “I told her we could play poker against each other all the time and she was sold.”

Ruby laughs. “She’s a card shark?”

“She was.”

“It sounds like you’re close.”

“We were. She passed away last year.” I’d been away at the time and almost missed the funeral, much like I’d missed a lot of things relating to my family. That’s why I’m glad to be back in New York.

“I’m so sorry.” Ruby reaches out and puts her hand on my arm, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Me, too. She was a great woman. She was the mastermind behind the whole hotel empire, although my grandfather took all the glory for that. Anyway, when we were cleaning out her place I found the answering machine and took it. It was one of those things . . . I should probably get rid of it, but . . .”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Hardly anyone calls me on that line. My mother sometimes does. There’s a manual in here if you run into issues.” I tap her hip and she shifts to the side. I open the drawer and show her the dog-eared manual in the Ziploc bag.

Her nose crinkles. “Maybe I’ll just leave this one alone.”

I lean against the counter behind me. “That’s probably best, and if there are any real issues you can always call, text, or email.”

“It might be easier than going through this.” She pats the binder tucked under her arm. “Unless there’s an appendix and a quick reference guide.”

When I say nothing, she moves to stand beside me, her arm brushing mine as she sets the binder on the counter and flips to the back page, where there is, indeed, a quick reference guide, but only for the most major of potential issues, such as Francesca getting ill or the fire alarm going off in my condo, both of which I sincerely hope don’t happen.

“Wow. You’re uh . . . super organized, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “I just like to be prepared.”

She shifts, angling her body toward me. I’m quite a bit taller than she is, so I get a nice peek at her cleavage. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“I spent a few years in Cadets.”

“Ah. So you’re very disciplined, then?”

“I guess.” I suppose in some ways I am. As an athlete, I had to constantly push myself, especially when I was injured.

“Does that mean in addition to being organized, you’re a rule follower?”

“It depends, I suppose.”

“On what?”

“Whether I like the rule or not.”

She laughs. “So you just like to enforce them? Not follow?”

“Something like that.”

Ruby pinches the sleeve of my T-shirt between two fingers and lifts it until she reaches the edge of my tattoo. “This seems pretty anti-rule to me.”

“It’s hardly anti-rule anymore. Everyone has tattoos these days.”

“I don’t.”

“I bet you’ve thought about getting one, though.” I imagine it would be something small. Not like mine.

Ruby shrugs. “If I did it would have to be somewhere I could hide it.”

“Like your hip?” I tap the spot with a finger, then quickly retract my hand when she jumps a little.

“I guess, and then what’s the point of wearing art if no one else gets to see it?”

“You’d see it every day, and I’m sure someone would get to see it, eventually.”

“But only when I’m wearing a bikini, or maybe not even then.”

“Or when you’re naked,” I supply.

Ruby leans in a little closer, until her chest is an inch from mine. She has to tip her chin up in order to maintain eye contact. If I didn’t have a better handle on my hormones I might be tempted to lean down and kiss her. But my dick is not in control of my brain right now. Mostly.

Her voice comes out low and sultry. “You realize this is the second time you’ve referenced me being naked since I’ve been here.”

“Are you keeping track?”

She fingers the strap of her tank. “I’m just noting your apparent obsession with me being naked.”

“I’m just providing helpful suggestions; you’re the one making it about nudity.”

She scoffs and backs up a step, which is unfortunate, I could’ve sworn I felt her nipples brush my chest a second ago. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. It’s not as if I’m going to say no to her if she happens to make a move. I just don’t think I should be the one to make the move being that I assaulted her in a hallway and just moved her into my condo.

“You’re putting an awful lot of thought into a tattoo I’m never going to get.”

“Never say never.”

“I hate needles and I have no interest in letting someone I don’t know put their hands that close to my . . . my . . .”

“Your?” I prompt.

She ducks her head and mumbles, “My special place.”

I laugh. “Your special place?”

“Shut it.” She pushes on my chest and I grab her hand.

“You can do better than that.” I should really stop, because this is its own special brand of torment for my cock, but I really want to hear her say something dirty.

“You mean like my who-ha? Lady garden? Love tunnel, Precious flower? Or do you mean slit.” She drags out the s, then runs her tongue across her bottom lip. “No, not slit, you’re probably more of a pussy lover, aren’t you?”

“Fuckin’ right I am.” Maybe I don’t give a shit about complications. I’m still holding her wrist, and she’s not making a move to get away. I bow my head, inches away from that sexy, naughty mouth. Her eyes lift to mine and her lips part. She wants this. Fuck it.

I’m about to take it when my goddamn phone rings. It’s enough to break the tension. Ruby steps back, eyes darting away, head dropping, as I mutter a curse and check the contact. It’s my father. “I have to take this.”

“Of course.” Her hand flutters to her throat and she gives me a nervous smile. I answer the call and walk across the room, to the office, adjusting my hard-on, which has returned with a vengeance. I rubbed one out in the shower, but it looks like I’m going to have to do that again after I go to bed.

My conversation with my father is brief and unnecessary as far as I’m concerned. When I return to the living room I half expect her to have disappeared into her room for the night on account of my behavior. She hasn’t. Instead she’s reclining in her dilapidated lounger balancing a cup of Tiramisu on her stomach. A second dessert sits on the coffee table in front of the couch. I assume it’s for me.

“I figured I earned all my stars so I was allowed to have dessert. But I waited for you, just to make sure.”

I get another one of her impish grins, which is a relief. I could’ve made things awkward if I’d let my dick take control again. “You probably deserve both of these.” I drop my phone on the coffee table, beside my dessert and flop down on the couch. “Sorry about that. Last minute pre-trip conversations.”

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. My father likes to micromanage.”

“That seems to be a pretty common father trait,” Ruby says.

“Sounds like you’re familiar with that.”

“There’s a reason I’m here and he lives in Rhode Island. Well, one of the reasons, anyway.” She smiles and drops her gaze. “So you and Armstrong are pretty close?”

It’s an abrupt change of topic, clearly talking about her father is as unpleasant for her as is talking about mine right now. “We went to the same prep school. Our parents spent a lot of time with each other, so it sort of forced us together, if that makes sense.” Armstrong and I are close in some respects, but he does a lot of things that irk me. If I had to work with him I’d probably punch him in the face. Often. He’s an overbearing prick at the best of times.

Ruby cocks her head to the side, like she’s seeking the deeper meaning in my tone. “Are you in the wedding party?”

“I am. So are you, aren’t you?”

“I’m Amie’s maid of honor. I’m surprised I didn’t meet you at the engagement party, before the uh . . . bathroom run-in.”

“I was tucked away in a corner, not feeling all that well most of the evening. I guess we’ll be spending a lot of time together when the wedding plans get underway.”

“Mmm. That we will.”

Now it’s my turn to assess her tone. “You don’t seem all that excited.”

“About the wedding?” Ruby lifts one shoulder. “It’s just really fast. I mean, I guess when you know, you know, but Amie has never been one to jump into things, well not this kind of thing, so this feels a little . . . rushed.”

Armstrong is an intense person. When he sees something he wants, he goes after it, not always considering the rashness of his actions. In the past it’s created some conflict, particularly with my brother Lexington, as they often seem to have an affinity for the same type of women. My other brother, Griffin, is the only one of the three of us with a stable relationship history. But then he’s the oldest, so that makes sense, I suppose. “You’ve told Amalie this?”

Her expression becomes incredulous. “Of course not. I’m not going to rain on her parade. I’m probably just being overprotective. We’ve been friends for a long time. I just want her to be happy.”

“And you think she is?”

“She seems that way.”

“But—” I prompt.

“But nothing, I guess. I’ll support her no matter what, even if dealing with Armstrong’s mother is going to give me an ulcer.”

I laugh. “Gwendolyn can be challenging.”

“Any tips you might have would be greatly appreciated.”

“Don’t let her smell your fear.”

Ruby snorts. “Awesome. Thanks. So she’s exactly like a tarantula.”

She dips her spoon into her dessert and daintily brings it to her mouth, full lips parting. She moans her appreciation. “This is ridiculously delicious.”

“They have the best desserts.”

“I’d forgo the actual dinner part and just order six of these next time.” She digs her spoon in and takes a much larger, more decadent bite. Her head falls back and her eyes drift close. “Seriously, Bancroft. This is amazing.”

I’m a big fan of the way my name sounds coming out of her mouth. Apparently so is my dick, since he’s trying to give her a wave from inside my shorts. That reprieve didn’t last very long. “I’ll leave the takeout menu for you.”

“I may eat nothing else for the next five weeks if you do that.”

When she’s halfway through her dessert, she sighs and lifts her gaze.

I haven’t been eating my own, more than entertained watching her. “So you said no boyfriend, right? You’re not even casually dating anyone?”

She stops with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “What?”

Shit. That’s not a random question I can just throw out there without having a reason for asking it. I flounder for a second, trying to come up with something that makes sense. “Or friends you plan to entertain while you’re here?”

“Oh, uh . . . just Amie I guess. And of course the two hundred people I invited to the kegger tomorrow.” She wags her eyebrows.

I tap my spoon on the edge of my dessert and give her a rueful smile in return. “Right. Can’t forget that.”

She regards me speculatively. “Would you prefer it if I don’t have guests?”

If they’re male, yes, I definitely prefer she doesn’t have them here, but I’m not about to say that aloud. That makes me sounds like a territorial asshole, which I have no right to be. “No, no. It’s fine, but I’d prefer you don’t give out the entry code.”

“Of course not. I won’t leave any strays unattended.” Her grin is impish. “Is there anyone who has the code who might pop by, other than the cleaning lady?”

“Just my brothers and immediate family, but they don’t have a reason to stop by if I’m not here.”

She taps the arm of her chair and regards me for a few seconds. “So . . . that woman you were with at the engagement party, I’m guessing she’s not your girlfriend or anything? I don’t need to worry about her freaking out because another woman is living in your condo?”

“You mean Brittany? Uh, no. She’s definitely not my girlfriend.”

“Good to know.”

“With all the travel a girlfriend hasn’t been all that practical.”

She cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“When I played professional rugby I was on the road a lot. And now it seems like I’ll be on the road more than I anticipated. At least for a while. It makes it difficult to get involved.”

“Ah. I understand. Theater is challenging like that, too. The hours are odd since performances are typically in the evenings and on the weekends. Unless you’re dating another actor it’s not very practical.” She dips her spoon in her dessert again. “So that Brittany chick was just meant to be a hookup then?”

I’m sure Brittany would’ve been good with the hookup part, but I don’t mention that to Ruby. “I went out with her as a favor.”

She grimaces. “Wow, that’s some favor.”

“She’s not that bad.” I’m not sure why I’m defending Brittany, other than it seems to irritate Ruby.

“She called me a slut!”

“Well, you were kissing me, so . . .” I have to bite back the smile at her incredulity.

She points her spoon at me, her annoyance clear. “You kissed me.”

I shift an arm behind my head. “You didn’t put up much of a fight.”

Her mouth drops open and snaps shut just as quickly. It’s the same reaction I got out of her the other day when I brought the same thing up at the restaurant.

Her eyes narrow into slits. I bet she’s a real firecracker when she’s angry. I sort of want to push her buttons just to see what happens when she goes off. I bet angry fucking with her would be incredible. I wonder if she’s a hair puller, or a biter, or a scratcher. Wow. That got dirty fast.

She narrows her eyes. “We are not talking about this.”

“About you kissing me back? I wasn’t going to bring it up, but now that we’re on the subject—”

“Consider it un-brought-up.” Her cheeks flush.

I can’t help myself. I keep pushing. “No way. You as much as admitted that you kissed me back, right there. You opened the door. I’m walking through it. Why would you kiss a complete stranger?”

“I said I wasn’t talking about this.” The pink in her cheeks rises to the tips of her ears.

This is way too much fun. She’s got one hell of an angry glare going on. “I’m leaving you in my house for more than a month, alone. I need to be certain you have sound judgment.”

“I’ll have you know my judgment is usually very sound. However, when an incredibly attractive man surprises me with his tongue in my mouth, the most logical response is to kiss back.”

“You think I’m incredibly attractive?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course that’s the part you choose to focus on. You see yourself in the mirror every day. You can’t tell me you don’t know you’re nice to look at. I’m just stating a fact.”

My ego inflates a little at this. I know I’m not unattractive, but my nose has been broken a couple of times, and there’s a bump I can’t ever get rid of without plastic surgery. I’ve had knee surgery and I’m not great under anesthetic, so I’d prefer to avoid that scenario. I also have a few small facial scars from playing rugby all those years, which, in the environment I grew up in, takes me down a few points on the desirability scale. Not that I give a fuck. It’s my mother who seems to be worried about it, as she does about every line and gray hair. It’s a blessing I don’t have any sisters.

“I see. So you’re telling me if any incredibly attractive man did what I did, you’d respond the exact same way.”

“Now you’re generalizing. It’s circumstantial.”

“What do you mean by circumstantial?”

“Well, I guess I assumed you had to be a guest at the engagement party.”

“So that made it okay to kiss a stranger? Because we were attending the same event?”

She pauses with her spoon at her lips. “That’s not what I said.”

“It sounds like that’s what you’re implying.” That spoons slips into her mouth and she licks it clean before she responds. The entire time I’m thinking increasingly dirty thoughts about that tongue of hers.

She flounders a little. “It’s not like I was at some seedy bar with seedy douches. It was an engagement party.”

“So that makes me better somehow?”

“Are you always this antagonistic?” She throws up her hands. “You kissed me. You smelled good and you’re good with your tongue so I went with it. Stop judging me.”

“I’m not judging, I’m just asking. So on top of being incredibly attractive and smelling good I’m also an excellent kisser.”

“I never said excellent, you added your own adjective. And if you keep talking about how attractive you are you’ll go from a ten to a nine pretty fast.”

“Oh? So I’m a ten?”

“You were an eleven before you started pushing this angle. That last question puts you at an eight-point-five.”

“I guess I should change the subject before I’m in the negative.”

“You just earned back half a point.”

“Maybe I should stop while I’m ahead, or less behind, anyway.”

“Good plan.” She leans over and grabs the remote to turn on the TV. I guess that conversation is over. For now.

We finish our dessert in silence. Not uncomfortable silence, but there’s weight in it. Every so often I look over at Ruby, thinking I feel her looking at me, but maybe it’s just in my head. Or maybe I’m looking for a reason to keep baiting her.

The next time I look over her eyes are closed. Her legs are still hanging off the edge of the chair, but she’s slouched down and her head looks like it’s at an uncomfortable angle. If she stays like that too long her neck is going to be sore. The tiramisu container is empty and resting against her thighs, right over a different kind of dessert I’d like to try. She’s still holding the spoon and there’s a smear on her tank. She must be exhausted and still recovering from that flu bug I passed on to her.

“Ruby.”

She makes a little noise and shifts around, her brow furrowing as she tries to get comfortable, but can’t because of the limited amount of room she has to maneuver.

I turn off the TV aware I need to go to bed, so I can manage my early morning flight. I have hours of work to accomplish on the plane.

I push up from the couch, pluck the empty container from her lap, and slip the spoon out from her fist.

Her hands immediately smooth down her stomach and nestle between her legs as she tries to roll to the side. I’d like to get my hands between her legs, among other parts of my body. Not while she’s sleeping, obviously. That would just make me a creepy douche.

I shake her shoulder. “Ruby.”

Her eyes pop open and she blinks blearily, confusion knitting her brows together as she looks at me and then at her surroundings.

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh.” She glances down at her hands, tucked between her legs, and pulls them free.

It takes her a moment to get her bearings. She stretches, arms going over her head, chest pushing out as she stands. Her tank rides up, exposing toned abs, and wait . . . is that a belly ring? How did I miss that before now? There’s definitely a streak of rebellion in this one.

She shuffles across the floor, a shiver running up her spine and goose bumps break across her arms. Her shorts are askew, half of one butt cheek on display again. She has a tiny mole on the right one, not that I’m looking that closely or anything.

I toss the empty containers in the trash and drop the spoons in the sink. Ruby stands half in, half out of her temporary room. “What time do you leave in the morning?” Her voice is raspy with sleep.

“Early. Before six.”

Her nose scrunches up. “Yuck. That’s an awful time to be awake.”

“It’s pretty typical for me.”

“Sometimes that’s when I go to bed.”

“Partying hard?”

“Just a nighthawk. Productions tend to be in the evening, it makes my schedule a little unconventional, when I have a role.” She leans her head against the doorjamb. “I don’t think sleeping is going to be a problem tonight, though.” She stifles a yawn. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in five weeks.”

“I’ll check in once I’m settled.”

“Great.”

We stare at each other for a few long seconds and then she takes a tentative step forward. “Thanks again for trusting me to take care of your babies.” Suddenly her body is flush against mine as her arms come around my waist.

I barely have enough time to return the hug before she releases me and steps away, eyes darting down as her cheeks flush pink.

“I’m glad it worked out for both of us.”

“Me, too.” She bites her lip, her gaze shifting to me. “Have a safe trip, Bancroft. G’night.”

“Night.”

She gives me a small smile, slips into her room and closes the door. I head to mine so I can take care of the issue that’s been plaguing me all night before I catch a few hours of sleep. And then leave this woman in my home for five weeks while I learn how to manage hotel properties.