“Don’t argue.” Wes dried his hand on a paper towel, leaving blood splotches on the crisp white surface. “My mother would bean me if I didn’t walk my girl home.”

He expected her to bitch about the “my girl” slip, but she just rolled her eyes and started for the door leading to the upper deck and the stairs to the beach. Wes caught up with her as soon as she touched the patio and rested a hand on her shoulder. He pulled her into him and wrapped her close. Sighing, he lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed her.

“In my world,” he said, his voice low and soft, “an argument doesn’t end anything. An argument is just that, an argument. We’ve had them before. We’ll have them again.” She didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away either. “Stay, Rubi. Let me hold you tonight.”

“I don’t understand you.” Her head relaxed against his shoulder, and her body softened. “I don’t understand me with you.”

“Give it time.”

“Do you understand us?”

He closed his eyes, tightened his hold, and absorbed the feel of her against him. Yes, his body understood. Yes, his heart understood. But his mind…and all that had happened tonight—seeing the interaction between her and a father she’d grown up hating, hearing her beliefs about money, about how Wes should view money—he ended up offering, “I understand this.”

She pulled out of his grasp on a sigh of disappointment and started toward the beach. “You’re right. I need time to work it all out.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. That sounded a lot like the old We need some time apart.

“I think we need time to work it out together.” They walked down to the wet sand, and Wes tossed the Frisbee ahead of them for Rodie. More than ever, he wanted her to see how a real family worked. How people could argue and still love each other. How people who loved each other acted. And he asked again, “Why don’t you come to Missouri with me?”

She laughed, the sound a mixture of what-the-fuck and no-way-in-hell. “Not.”

“Why?”

“I’ve already told you. I’m behind on my NSA deadline. And I have Rodie. And now I have to find another goddamned place to live.”

“Rodie can come with us. My family loves animals. And you’re not going to get any peace with buyers coming in and out of your house at all hours. It would be good for you to get away from here.”

“Listen to yourself,” she said. “You’re suggesting I stuff Rodie in the cargo hold? Not going to happen. And I need to work, Wes. I can’t write programming code without quiet.”

He fell into step with her as she started walking again. “Exactly. Your house is on the market. You won’t have any peace. At least with me you could have a cozy room in some bed-and-breakfast. Then you’ll be there when I need updates to the rig.”

“I’ll make them from here. On my server. All you have to do is make sure the rig is within range of any Wi-Fi, and it will sync up and update.”

Wes’s mouth dropped open. “When did that happen?”

“I programmed it that way.”

Her intelligence boggled him. “You should be the one looking to sell this thing. All I created was the frame. You’re giving it all the brains. Don’t you want to see how your programming makes a difference firsthand? Don’t you want control over the fine points of how we use it?”

They were at the steps to her house now. Rodie ran back to Wes and sat at his feet, the Frisbee in his mouth.

Rubi turned to Wes, the night lit by moonlight and the distant glow from her porch. “No, Wes. Thank you for asking, but no. And let me make this very clear—that rig is 100 percent yours. I don’t own any part of it. I don’t want to own any part of it. What you do with it is your choice. I did you a favor, just like I’ve done favors for Lexi and Jax and a couple of dozen other people. It’s good karma. Are we clear?”

“Sure, whatever.”

She squeezed his forearm. “Good night.”

“Baby…” He took her arm and stepped close again, discomfort ratcheting up in his chest. “I don’t want to leave like this. I don’t want to be a four-hour flight away with us at odds.”

She searched his eyes, all those beautiful features softer in the moonlight. Her eyes narrowed. “Why? Worried I might end up at Stilettos?”

There was a challenging edge in her voice. One he recognized as the old Rubi. One he realized she hadn’t used with him for over a week.

Until that moment, no, he hadn’t considered Stilettos. Now it terrified him. “Rubi—”

She jogged toward her slider. Rodie glanced between them, his ears pulled back in distress.

“Go on,” Wes said to the dog.

Rodie followed Rubi and stepped inside.

“I’ll pick you up for your flight at the set,” Rubi said. “Ten o’clock.” And she shut the door.

Eighteen

Rubi pulled into the designated parking area just as she had early that week—only so much had changed between then and now. Rubi had hoped for things she’d never believed she would. Her relationship with Wes had undergone a transformation she’d never believed possible. She’d finally cut the dysfunctional cord with her father. And her dream of buying the house she loved had been shot into the fiery pits of hell.

She shut down the car and picked up the note she’d found on her car that morning in Wes’s neat, all-cap, architect-type scrawl.

I MISS YOU ALREADY.

To say she was a little off-balance would be an understatement. Her inner landscape had turned into the aftermath of a hurricane.

She tucked the note into the ashtray with all the others and stood from the car, watching Wes half a mile away. He wore the neoprene, shucked off his shoulders and hanging at his hips again. A big part of her was deeply disappointed she’d refused to sleep with him last night. He might have believed they’d really sleep, but if she’d been in proximity to that body, sleeping would have been the last thing on her mind. And they were already treading tumultuous waters without adding more sex into the picture.

He was pacing between two muscle cars and one Ducati, arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest. His head was down as Jax talked to Wes, Keaton, and Troy.

Rubi climbed the stairs of the trailer, entered, and found Rachel at her desk. She had that gorgeous hair of hers up in a tight bun again, her tortoiseshell glasses perched on her tiny nose. “Hey, Rubi.”

“I see you didn’t take my advice about the hair.”

“If I leave it down, it’s always in the way.” She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can diffuse the mood around this place. These guys can get so intense. And when they’re stressed, I’m stressed.”

Rubi wandered to a window and opened the blinds so she could look out on the scene. “Speaking of intense, what’s going on out there?”

“Not exactly sure, but something that pissed Wes off-not exactly easy to do. Something about explosives and blowing up a bridge and… Hell, I never know what these guys are going to do from one day to the next. I’ve got to make this phone call before they come back in.”

While Rubi watched the men pacing and gesturing as they spoke, Rachel put the phone on speaker and punched in a number. Rubi turned away from the window just as someone picked up on the other end of the line.

“What?”

The abrupt, challenging male voice made Rachel’s gaze dart to Rubi’s, her lips parted in alarmed surprise. A moment of silence hung before Rachel said, “I’m looking for a Mr. Ryker-”

“I don’t do mister anything. Just Ryker.”

His voice was deep, rough and…it had a vaguely, but intensely, sensual glide. Rubi lifted her brows at Rachel, who shrugged back at Rubi.

“All right just Ryker,” Rachel said in that sassy tone that made Rubi grin, “I’m calling from Renegades Stunt Company in Los Angeles-”

“I don’t want whatever you’re selling.”

Rachel dropped her hands to her desk with an audible slap and glared at the phone. “Are you always this rude or did I just catch you on a bad day?”

Rubi curved her lips inward, holding back laughter.

A moment of tense silence followed when Rubi would have sworn the two were having a stare-down if they hadn’t been speaking over a phone line.

“Okay,” Ryker finally said. “I like spunk. You’ve got two minutes.”

Rachel gave Rubi a the-fuck-with-this look and flipped off the phone. A snort of laughter escaped Rubi.

“Actually,” Rachel said, “I was calling to make you an offer, but you’ve kinda dinged my mood.”

“Offer?” His tone turned lighter, more interested. “I hope it’s an offer of phone sex. You’ve got a hot voice, and I could use some decent incentive to give myself another hand job. God, those get so old.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open, her expression part outrage, part humor, part shock. “What in the-?”

“Joke. Thought you might have a sense of humor, but I guess not. Though your voice is hot. What did you say your name was? Rachel? That’s way too cute for the hot voice. What are you wearing, Rachel with the hot voice?”

She dropped her forehead into her hand. “I should have expected this from a friend of Troy’s.”

Laughing softly, Rubi stepped up to the desk and pulled that damn clip from Rachel’s hair. When the other woman gasped and looked up, Rubi pointed to the phone, then fanned her chest with a luscious eye roll.

Rachel lifted her mouth in a half-grin.

“Troy’s been talking shit about me again?” Ryker asked. “What’s that fucker up to now?”

“You’ve got his mouth too.”

“Oh, no.” His voice lowered with suggestion. “Baby, my mouth is way better than Troy’s, all the women say so.”

Rubi clasped her hand over her mouth and bent at the waist in an effort to hold back her laughter.

But Rachel didn’t even try. Her laugh was low and suggestive. “Really. Now you’ve got my full attention. Unfortunately, I haven’t called to give you a free round of phone sex. I’ve called because Renegades is looking for an explosives expert and Troy gave me your name and number.”

Hesitation fell over the line. Then, “How…disappointing.” Another hesitation. “If I said I’d consider blowing something up for Troy, could we renegotiate the phone sex? Cause, really, your voice already has my jeans a little tight.”

Rachel shook her head, looking at the phone as if it had turned fluorescent orange. With a sigh, she dropped her chin into her hand and met Rubi’s gaze with a silly what-the-hell grin.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice low and husky and purely sexual, “you’re wearing nothing else but those sexy, tight jeans, Just Ryker.”

Rubi barely held the laughter back. God, she loved this chick.

Ryker’s laugh matched Rachel’s voice. “Now we’re talking.”