Bound

Ryke

Ryke

I took a final glance in the mirror, as nervous as a high school kid on prom night. My tux had been altered to fit my shoulders, which had gotten wider from my summer workout routine. I'd shaved and gotten my hair trimmed. This was about as good as it got. But still I wanted to make sure I looked just right.

Kate wasn't like the women I screwed in my hotel room after games. Even though she was my assistant and I didn't want to get into a relationship, I wanted to show her a good time tonight. She was like me: too wounded to be blindly optimistic anymore. But I'd seen a spark in her a couple of times and I wanted to see it again.

The elevator took me down to the garage and I tossed my jacket onto the passenger seat of my Mustang. My satellite radio was already set to the sports talk station, and I listened to a show about the upcoming hockey season as I drove.

The neighborhood Kate lived in reminded me of the one I'd grown up in. Lots of ranches and two stories, and kids riding their bikes or playing catch in yards. After I pulled into the driveway, I parked and walked to the front step, where I could see her through the screen door. She was trying to shove something into a tiny purse.

She looked up, saw me and approached the door. I really was a high school kid on prom night; my palms broke out in a sweat at the sight of her. She wore a simple, sleeveless dark burgundy dress that fell to the floor and covered her all the way up to her collarbones. Even if I couldn't see lots of skin, the way the dress molded around her tiny curves got my blood flowing.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi. You look great."

She gave me a bright, warm smile that made my palms even sweatier. "Thanks. I'm trying to fit everything into this tiny bag, and it's not working."

"I can carry something for you."

She raised her brows with amusement. "You want to carry tampons and lipstick?"

"Uh . . . if you need me to, sure."

"Ryke!" Another voice made me look to a doorway, where a woman a little taller than Kate with chin-length blonde hair stood smiling. "I'm Kate's mom, Lynn."

"Great to meet you," I said, reaching out to shake her hand.

"If you'll just take my wallet, I can get everything else," Kate said, turning to walk back to the chair where she'd left her bag.

"Oooh." The guttural sound of appreciation escaped my lips before I had time to think about it. The open back of Kate's dress had surprised me. The creamy skin of her delicate, beautiful back was bare nearly all the way to her tailbone. She turned and I felt my cheeks warming.

"Sorry," I muttered, scrubbing a hand down my face. "That dress . . ."

"Is it okay?" Her brows furrowed with worry and she stopped walking.

"It's perfect," I said. "You look perfect."

Her shoulders dropped with relief as she reached for her bag. When she met me at the door, she handed over a shiny turquoise wallet that was worn through in spots and hung open because the strap was broken.

"Can you carry that?"

"Sure." I slipped it into my pocket and she headed for the door.

"Have fun," her mom said, a wistful expression on her face.

"I'll take good care of her," I said, kicking myself inside as soon as the words were out. She was a 22-year-old woman, not a kid.

"Wow, nice car," Kate said, admiring my black Mustang.