Ryker Read online

  Ryker

  Insta Love at First Sight: Book 1

  Flora Madison

  Copyright © 2020 by Flora Madison

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  **Edited by: Geeky Girl Author Services**

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue: Mikey

  Thanks for Reading!

  Also by Flora Madison

  1

  Ryker

  Tires crunch against gravel outside my woodshop window. My weekend renter has officially arrived. Normally, I’d be cursing and moaning; I’ve been AirBnB-ing my guest cabin for the past three years. But, today there’s a smile on my face. Whoever’s in that car ends the revolving door of tenants. With their check, my land is officially paid off, as is the house sitting upon it—the one I built from scratch with my own bare hands.

  Sweat beads on my upper lip as I lay down the hand sander and slide my goggles off of my face. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been out here in the country so long. That I left the hustle and bustle of the city nearly five years ago, a decision I thank myself for every night as I drift off to sleep to the sound of crickets instead of car horns.

  The car rolls to stop in front of the main house, my house. I lean against my workbench and let out a long sigh. The directions in the email are clear. You drive past the main house until you reach the rental cabin just around the bend, in front of the stream. Either this moron, Mikey Amato, can’t read, or he decided to ignore my directions entirely. Either way, it’s rude.

  I throw a T-shirt over my slick torso, and tug at the fabric sticking to my chest. I can’t go out there and give him a piece of my mind without a shirt on. It’s too aggressive. I throw open the door to my woodshop and press my hand against the frame, waiting for him to get the hell out of his car.

  Mikey Amato? He’s probably crawling here straight from the Jersey Shore. I can picture him now. Hair slicked back, too white sneakers, and a gold chain wrapped around his overly tanned neck. This is my own fault. There was no profile picture, and no previous stays listed on his profile. At least it’ll be worth it when the check clears.

  The car door creaks open. I shift my weight, waiting for this guy to get the hell out of his car so I can flag him down before he heads toward my house. As soon as I see a leg, I take a step forward.

  Wait—leg?

  I stop dead in my tracks. The thick, smooth leg couldn’t possibly belong to Mikey. A woman appears from the driver’s side. The wind lifts her thick mass of dark curls. My jaw clenches, and I step back into the woodshed, watching her through the window.

  A pair of cutoff jean shorts show off her ripe, round ass. The frays at the bottom conceal what needs to be covered, but her cheeks play peek-a-boo when she bends back into the car and grabs her purse. She closes the car door, places one hand on her impossibly curvy hip, and takes in her surroundings. I lick my lips as the cool breeze tickles her diamond peaks, now poking through the thin cotton t-shirt she’s wearing.

  Dear God, who is this bombshell of a woman? And where the hell is Mikey Amato? Maybe he’s in the passengers seat? Maybe she’s lost?

  I haven’t been with a woman in five years. Not since I left the city. But now, staring at this goddess as she strides to my house, her thick legs pumping, it’s hard not to think of anything but being with a woman.

  Being with her.

  My jaw clenches, and every ounce of gentlemanly willpower drains from me as she ascends the steps. When she reaches the door, she stands on her tiptoes showing off her thick, toned calves. A groan escapes my mouth as I study the curve of her face from a safe distance. She’s put together how I like. How a woman should be built.

  My eyes flick back to the car. I say a silent prayer that Mikey isn’t sitting in the passengers seat after all. A wave of jealousy passes over me. I’m normally not like this. It must be a side effect from years of abstinence. When the door doesn’t open, I breathe a sigh of relief before a different feeling takes over.

  What if she’s Mikey Amato? It’s a long shot, but why else would she be here?

  If she hears me open the door to the shed, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she walks around to the far window and peers inside. I cautiously make my way over to her, not exactly sure what to say. The only thing I can think about is how perfect she is. How drop dead gorgeous. That it’s no accident she’s shown up on my doorstep. My body tightens with each step.

  I’m suddenly craving release.

  The woman doesn’t notice me approaching. She’s too busy looking into my front window. It gives me a chance to check her out, and I’m delighted to find she’s even thicker up close. My breath comes in short spurts, partially from working in the shed, and partially from being near her.

  I’m about to speak when her spine straightens, as if she senses me standing right behind her. Ready to pounce on this delectable creature sent directly from heaven. This woman may not know it yet, but she’s about to be mine.

  Mine all mine.

  2

  Mikey

  There’s someone on the porch behind me. I bite my lower lip, heart beating out of my chest. Before I can think better of it, I spin around in one quick motion, not knowing who or what I’ll come up against. My eyes widen and I suppress a scream when I see the size of the man who’s crept up closely behind me.

  Darkened by the shadow of the sun, I can’t make out his features. It’s as though a halo of light surrounds him. I lift my chin in an attempt to meet his eyes, squinting to catch a clearer glimpse of his features, but I can’t get past his hulking frame. Toned arms ripple from beneath his shirt sleeves. I drink in his broad shoulders, gigantic in comparison to his trim, tapered waist.

  I’m about to speak when he moves sideways onto the porch, taking the shadow with him. Like a spotlight, it reveals his face. His neatly groomed beard accentuates his square cut jaw. His lips are full, the kind you could melt into. “Why are you on my porch?”

  “Who are you?” My voice trembles.

  “I’m Ryker. I own this place.” My body trembles in his presence. Look at the size of him. He could overpower me in a flash. Why does that turn me on so much?

  “I’m Mikey Amato. I’m renting your guest cabin this weekend.”

  “You’re Mikey?” Ryker mumbles.

  “Short for Michaeline, but no one calls me that except for my Nana. My phone died on the way up here. I couldn’t access the email instructions.” His t-shirt sticks to his mighty chest, showing off the deep groove between his pecs. I clear my throat and refocus. Gruff or not, this man is a walking wet dream.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience.” Sarcasm lines my words. “If you’ll point me in the direction of the cabin, I’ll be on my way. I have to get to work.” I try to step around him, but he shifts his weight, slight enough to give me pause.

  “I’ll take you down there.” His demand sends chills across my flesh. “Ryker, you don’t have to do that.”

  His massive arm stretches toward the steps. “I know.”

  With weak knees, I follow his command. His footsteps fall heavy behind me. We walk a ways in awkward silence, save for the random bird chirping, or bug buzzing past. Finally, the big guy speaks. “Where are you coming from?”

  “The city,” I say, taking in the lush grounds. Ryker scoffs. I scrunch my face at him. “Let me guess, you love the woods, hate the city, blah, blah,
blah?”

  “I certainly don’t miss it.”

  “You lived there? When?”

  He walks in step with me. “Feels like a lifetime ago,” he mutters.

  I’m about to answer when we come upon small cabin that I recognize instantly. It’s exactly as described on the website. My hand clasps against my mouth. “Oh my gosh, it’s adorable!” I pick up my pace, excited to see inside. “This is my first AirBnB,” I toss over my shoulder, stepping onto the wooden front porch. Ryker moves past me, his scent lingering in the air, hard working man mixed with Irish soap and the tiniest hint of cedar. My center clenches as I breathe him in.

  “The code is 2-0-1-5.” A loud beep, and Ryker pushes the door open.

  “Good year,” I tease as he holds the door for me. His presence is overwhelming and I can’t help but shiver when I pass him.

  His eyes follow me. “It’s the year I moved out here.”

  I stop mid-stride, looking up at him. His eyes are the color of green olives. They glow against his suntanned skin. “Don’t you ever change the code? That’s dangerous.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  My eyes bug out of my head. “You have over two hundred five star reviews online. That’s two hundred people who could break into this place.”

  “They won’t.” The timbre of his voice resonates in the deepest, darkest parts of me.

  “Um, they might.” I tear myself away from his gaze and step all the way inside. The entire place is stacked with custom everything: built-in bookshelves, a kitchen dinette, even a window seat filled with fluffy pillows, perfect for morning coffee and afternoon revisions.

  Ryker steps in behind me, again standing a bit too close for comfort. I flip my hair in his direction. “You’re not going to kill me in my sleep tonight are you?” Ryker’s eyebrows knit together. “Why would you think that?”

  Not much of a sense of humor on this one. My smile fades. “I write horror movies. It’s kind of how I’m wired. Strange mind, big mouth.”

  “You came up here to write?”

  “Yep. My agent’s bugging me for a second script and I have zero ideas. I thought being in a secluded cabin in the middle of the woods would get the creepy juices flowing.” I take a step toward him and trip over a loose board. It’s merely a stumble, but Ryker’s hands wrap around my waist to steady me.

  My panties explode with wetness. For a hot second we both stare at each other, speechless.

  “I’ll bring in your bags,” he says, and before I can stop him he’s out the door, and I’m still tingling from his touch. I came out here to work without any distractions, but something tells me that with a man as hot as Ryker so close, complete focus won’t come easily—but with a man like Ryker, I bet I could.

  3

  Ryker

  I pace in front of my picture window, back and forth for what feels like hours. I’ve eyed her cabin all day, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. No action occurs until her lights flicker on as the sun sets behind the pines. Her scent remains imbedded on me. Even after a shower, she’s all I smell, a light dusting of vanilla and sugar.

  I stiffen in my jeans again, nearly chafing against my zipper. It’s been years since I’ve been with a woman, and with someone as dead sexy as Mikey so close, I’m about to lose my sanity.

  It’s not just because I want release. There’s something about her, specifically. I want to hold and protect her. To lay her down and claim her. Make sure no one else ever touches her again but me. Logically, I sound crazy, but something in my soul tells me that she’s meant to be mine.

  Living in solitude has taken its toll on my social skills. As much as I want to knock on her door, throw her over my shoulder and taste every inch of her sweet, dripping center, I have to play this cool. In the city I was a workaholic, hungry for money and status. Here in the woods, a different set of primal instincts have taken over. Mikey’s awoken something raw, hungry, and animalistic deep inside of me.

  I can’t sit here any longer waiting for her. I throw on a flannel, head outside, and gather sticks for a bonfire. Once the fire crackles, sending embers dancing in the navy blue night sky, footsteps crunch against the fallen leaves. When I turn around, Mikey’s heading toward me. Still in those jean shorts, she’s thrown on a light colored hoodie, and thrown her hair on top of her head.

  “I needed a break,” she says, and holds out a beer. “Mind if I join you?”

  Our hands brush when I take the beer. Raw desire floods my bloodstream. Like a caveman, I want to pull her toward me and scream, “mine!”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Pull up some wood.” Mikey’s hazel eyes glow against the flames as she sits down on the log next to me. Her thick, creamy thigh brushes my own, and I have to beg my hardness to calm itself. “How’s the writing?”

  The night breeze pulls at a stray hair framing her face. “Honestly, not great. I can’t seem to come up with anything that feels original.” She takes a pull from her beer. I try not to stare, but I’m enamored with her perfect face. My heart races, stricken by her natural beauty. Her long, dark lashes beat against her soft, round cheeks. Her eyes flicker toward me. “Know any good ghost stories? I’ll give you credit.” One side of her mouth lifts into a sly smile.

  Dammit, I’m a goner. I sit on one hand so I don’t reach out and squeeze that smooth sexy thigh of hers. “There is one legend, but I don’t believe it.”

  Her eyes dance with delight. “Don’t hold out on me, Ryker. I need a fix.”

  I’d like to give her a fix. Lay her down, spread her wide and fill her up with my length until she screams with the dawn. “Amalie Rhodes was a wife to a colonel in the Civil War.”

  “A Yankee?”

  “No, A Confederate.”

  Mikey’s eyes narrow. “What was a Southern Woman doing in the North?”

  “She was captured by Yankee soldiers. Something about a vendetta against her husband. I’ll spare you all the gory details.”

  “No…please don’t.”

  “You’re the writer. Use your imagination.” I tip back a swig of my beer. “Besides, I’m sparing the details for my own sake, not yours.” Mikey nods, the campfire spotlights her beauty. “Amalie Rhodes was left to die, and some say she still roams the woods searching for her husband, her one true love.”

  Mikey looks over her shoulder. “Those woods right there? Right next to my cabin?”

  “Those very woods, indeed.” I clink the neck of her beer bottle with mine, and we both drink. Mikey shivers, shaking her shoulders. It sends her full, breasts swaying and again I’m clenching my jaw, trying not to think about what they’d look like pressed into my calloused palms.

  “Good thing I don’t scare easily.” Her eyebrows dart upward. “When you write this shit for a living, you become kind of immune to urban legends and whatnot. But it’s still fun.” I can imagine her as a precocious teenager. Her youthful spirit still clings to her, even though she must be almost thirty.

  Directly behind us, a loud snap breaks the silence. Mikey gasps, her beer bottle thudding to the soft earth. Both of her hands grip my bicep. Her body presses up against mine, so close I can hear her heart beating. Stray strands of her hair tickle my neck. When she looks up at me, Mikey wets her lips. Her round doe eyes hold fear and vulnerability, but also something else.

  Permission.

  I press my lips to hers. Gently at first, but when her fingernails dig into my arms, my mouth grows hungrier, exploring every inch of her pretty little mouth. My erection bulges against my pants as I unzip her hoodie. I’m dying for a rough handful of those amazing breasts.

  After five years, it’ll be a city girl that breaks my dry spell. Or will it? A dull ache throbs in my chest. She’s in the city and I’m here. As much as I want to throw her down and devour her, past the sex this could never work.

  I tear my mouth away and stand. “That shouldn’t have happened, Mikey.” Her rubbed red mouth hangs open, her brows knit into a straight line. “I’ll see you in the morning
.” I turn and head toward my house, leaving her there confused.

  She’s more than a one night stand. In order to protect myself, it’s best I step away. I’ll never go back to the city again. Not even for the woman of my dreams.

  4

  Mikey

  What the hell just happened? One minute I’m all up in a good ghost story, and the next I’m being rejected by the owner of this place. Who kissed me nonetheless! I didn’t come out here to seduce him…did I?

  I blow out a long breath, and rest my head in my hands. Not only am I suffering from some serious writers block, but now I’m not good enough to kiss? Oh no, my friend, I don’t think so.

  I sit straight up and hop off of the log, high tailing it as fast as I can toward Ryker’s house. What the hell do I plan on saying to him? Hey, you suck for that?

  My brain remains unaligned with my body, heart racing as I grow closer. In my business when you get “no” for an answer, it’s your job to find out why. Out of sheer habit, I guess that’s what I’m doing with Ryker.

  My knuckle pounds on the solid wood door. I step back, square my shoulder and wait for him to answer. It doesn’t take long. His massive frame stretches to the top of the doorframe. What little light shines from behind him is blocked by his width. This man is a mammoth woodsman superhero who—like it or not—will fuck me stupid tonight.

  “What’s your deal, dude?”

  “You’re a tenant.”

  “So, you’ve never slept with one of your vacationers?”

  “No, actually.”

  “So it isn’t me? It’s my rental agreement?”