“Got me. We’re as hot as they are.”

“Absolutely. Plus, you probably look more natural in a tool belt than Bradley. Tool belts are also hot,” she explained. “They’re like gun belts—Old West cowboy gun belts. When a man’s wearing one—naturally—a woman knows he can handle himself.”

“That’s a lot for a tool belt.”

She pointed at him. “You like my shoes.”

“The stilts?”

“Yes, the stilts. You mention them, often, which tells me you notice. And you notice what they do for my legs.” She shot one out, turned her foot at the ankle. “They’re good legs.” She angled her head and her smile. “Maybe not as long as Cameron’s, but they’re good legs.”

“You’re not lying.” He gripped her calf, swiveled her toward him. When his hand started its slide up, she swiveled back, rose quickly.

“We should eat. I thought I’d set up in The Dining Room.”

He simply reached around her, turned off the oven. Then pressed her back, moved in.

Not just his mouth this time, but his hands, quick, impatient, just on the edge of rough. Desire, never far below the surface when he was near, punched through and made her knees weak.

Some sane part of her thought of the impropriety if one of the guests walked in. But that part simply wasn’t loud enough, strong enough to drown out the primal pull.

“Stay there,” he ordered the dog, who sighed and settled again.

Hope was still reeling when he grabbed her hand, dragging her out of the room. “Ryder—”

“They’ve got wine, pizza, and sex. It’ll be a miracle if they come out before morning.” He paused briefly at her office. Not M&P, he thought, not with those two doubles. “Not down here. We’re going to need a bigger bed.”

“I can’t just—”

“Wanna bet?”

And not her apartment. Damned if he was hauling her up to the third floor. He grabbed the key to T&O, pulled her out and toward the stairs.

“But if they need something—”

“They’ve got what they need. It’s time we did.”

He turned her on the stairs, pressed her back to the wall, and kissed her until even the idea of protest seemed not only impossible but absurd.

If she didn’t have him, and now, she might just blow apart. Then nobody would have an innkeeper.

“Hurry,” she managed, and began pulling him.

Breathless from much more than a dash up a flight of stairs, she clung to him when they reached the second floor. Now her hands rushed and took, riding over his hips, up his back as they stumbled their way to the door.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry.” She chanted it, and fixed her teeth on his shoulder as he fought with the key.