First Kissmas

4. Ryder

4

RYDER

H er mouth against mine hits me like a shot of pure need straight through my body. All of my muscles go rigid with the effort of holding back, of keeping the kiss soft when everything in me wants to show her exactly what she does to me. My hands stay gentle in her hair even as desire burns hot and feral under my skin.

My self-control nearly snaps when she makes a small sound and reaches out to grip my shirt. Christ. I’ve wanted women before, but never like this—never with this mix of raw hunger and fierce protectiveness that makes my whole body burn with the need to keep her safe.

But she’s running from her controlling brother, probably not thinking straight. I need to keep my head clear, even if my body is screaming to deepen the kiss.

She pulls back slowly, her green eyes bright and wondering as they meet mine. She looks stunned, her cheeks flushed pink, her lips slightly parted. The sight of her like this tests my restraint all over again.

“That was my first kiss,” she whispers.

Fuck. The innocent wonder in her voice hits me like a punch to the gut. Of course it was her first—her piece of shit brother probably scared away anyone who looked at her twice. The thought of everything she’s been denied, all the simple joys kept from her, makes me want to trudge through this damn storm to her brother’s house and show that controlling bastard exactly what I think of him.

I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Her answering smile is so pure it hurts. I force myself to step back before I do something stupid. “We should finish those cookies Mrs. Miller made us.”

Somehow we end up on the bed, the plate of cookies nestled between us. Courtney sits with her back against the headboard, legs tucked underneath her, and I try not to stare at how her cream-colored sweater hugs her curves. I keep a careful distance, but even that feels too close, too intimate. Every small movement draws my attention—the way she absently traces patterns on her knee while she talks, how her fingers break each cookie into small pieces before eating them.

“Can I ask about your family?” she says, brushing crumbs from her lap.

I shift against the pillow behind me, grateful she’s keeping the conversation flowing, making this easier. “They’re spread out these days. Sister’s in Portland with her kids, parents retired to Arizona. Brother’s in the military, stationed in South Korea. I stay in touch with all of them, but honestly, I prefer the quiet up here.”

She tilts her head against the headboard, and the pretty curve of her throat makes me acutely aware of how much I want to kiss her there. “Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes. Holidays, mainly.” I watch as she reaches for another cookie. “But I’ve always been the solitary type. Need my space to work, to think.”

We talk for hours, trading stories and questions. She tells me about the books that got her through the rough years with her brother, and about the happier memories she has from when her parents were still alive. I share stories about growing up, about finding my way to this life I’ve built. The more she opens up, the more I want to know everything—every dream she’s kept hidden, every hope she’s never spoken aloud.

The sky darkens beyond our window, and Mrs. Miller brings dinner—soup and fresh bread that fills the room with its warm scent. As we eat, I catch myself watching Courtney’s mouth too often, remembering how soft her lips felt against mine.

Night falls too quickly. When Courtney emerges from the bathroom in flannel pajamas covered in tiny reindeer, she looks uncertain, biting her lower lip as she lingers near the bed. The question of sleeping arrangements hangs heavy in the air, charging every moment with tension.

Taking the cot is the right thing to do. The smart thing. But my body remembers how she felt curled against me last night, how perfectly her soft curves fit against my chest.

“That cot’s way too small for you,” she says, glancing at it. “The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Jesus. Having her that close and not touching her is going to be torture. But the thought of spending another night with her, even just sharing the same space…“You sure?”

She meets my eyes. “Yes.”

That one word holds too much promise, too much temptation. I take longer than necessary in the bathroom, trying to get my shit together. When I return, she’s already under the covers, the sight of her in the bed testing my resolve all over again.

I slide in beside her, keeping to my edge of the mattress. The space between us pulses with awareness. Every small movement of the sheets, every quiet breath fills my senses. Her scent surrounds me—and makes my hands ache to reach for her.

“Goodnight, Ryder,” she says softly.

“Goodnight, Courtney.”

I lie awake for hours, listening to her breathing even out. The moonlight casts a silver glow over the bed, over the too-tempting curve of her hip beneath the covers. The heat of her body radiates across the space between us. My hands remember the softness of her curves, how right she felt pressed against me when we kissed.

Tomorrow she’ll leave, and this torturous heaven will end. But for now, I let myself imagine a different world—one where she could stay, where I could wake up to her pretty smile every morning, where neither of us had to hold back.

Too soon, it’s morning. The roads outside are clearer, though snow still blankets most of the town. I stare out the window, my jaw clenched with the knowledge that our time together is ending. But that’s not what matters now. What matters is getting her somewhere safe, somewhere her brother can’t find her.

A door opens behind me, and I turn to find Courtney emerging from the bathroom. She’s dressed for traveling: sturdy boots, warm layers, hair pulled back practical and neat. Reality crashes back in—we need to get her out of here before her brother finds her.

“Ready?” I ask, grabbing my keys.

She nods, shouldering her backpack. We head downstairs, where Mrs. Miller intercepts us near the front door.

“Leaving so soon?” She looks between us, concern creasing her forehead. “At least stay for breakfast. I’m making waffles.”

“Sorry,” I say, already reaching for the door. “We need to get moving.”

Courtney offers Mrs. Miller a quick hug. “Thank you for everything.”

Outside, the morning air bites sharp and clean. Main Street has been plowed, though piles of snow still tower along the curbs. We climb into my truck, and I crank the heat, watching Courtney tuck her hands into her sleeves for warmth.

The drive to the bus depot takes less than five minutes. Every second that ticks by feels like a countdown I can’t stop. I park and turn to her, memorizing her face in the pale morning light.

“Here.” I grab a scrap of paper from my glovebox and write down my address and phone number. “If you ever need anything—a place to stay, help, whatever—my door’s always open to you.”

Her fingers brush mine as she takes the paper, and that small touch nearly breaks me. “Thank you, Ryder. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

We head inside the depot. The place is already busy with delayed travelers trying to get out of town. Courtney gets in line for a ticket while I scan the room, an uneasy feeling settling in my gut. Years of living alone in the mountains has taught me to trust my instincts.

She’s paying for her ticket when I spot the SUV through the depot’s front windows. Dark green, mud-splattered, moving slow like a predator searching for prey. My heart slams against my ribs.

“Courtney.” I keep my voice controlled. “Your brother’s car—what color is it?”

She goes rigid beside me. “It’s a dark green SUV.”

“Don’t turn around.” I take her hand, trying to look casual as I guide her toward the back exit. “He’s driving by outside.”

Her fingers clutch mine, ice cold with fear. Just before we reach the door, the SUV pulls into the lot.

“Fuck.” I change direction, leading her quickly back through the depot and out the front. “Stay low. Get in the truck.”

She doesn’t hesitate, crouching down in the passenger seat while I slide behind the wheel. Through the windshield, I watch her brother park and get out. Even from this distance, his anger is visible in every movement. He’s a big guy, heavy-set and intimidating, used to throwing his weight around.

“Stay down,” I tell Courtney, my hands tight on the steering wheel. She curls smaller in her seat, making herself invisible.

People start boarding the bus bound for Fairhope. The sight of Courtney’s ticket clutched in her trembling hand makes my chest tight. She should be on that bus, getting closer to her fresh start. Instead, she’s hiding in my truck while her brother prowls around looking for her.

When he starts checking cars, peering into windows with visible frustration, my decision is made.

“Hang on tight.” I start the engine, keeping my movements casual.

“What are you doing?” Courtney whispers. “I can still try to get on the bus.”

“I can’t let you take that risk.” I ease out of the parking spot, watching Eli. His eyes land on my truck and grow narrow, tracking our movement.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening,” Courtney chokes out. “I’m never going to get away from him.”

“You will. I’ll make sure of that.” I turn onto the main road. “I’ll get you to Fairhope. I’ll drive you there.”

“Ryder, no. Just drop me off at the next town over. I’ll take the bus from there instead. I can’t ask you to drive me all the way to Fairhope. It’s hours away.”

“You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m choosing this.” I check the rearview mirror, but there’s no sign of Eli’s dark green SUV. “I won’t be able to sleep anyway, not until I know you’re safe.”

“But your work?—”

“Can wait.” I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to keep my voice steady. “What can’t wait is getting you somewhere your brother can’t find you.”

The muscles in my shoulders slowly unknot as we put distance between us and the depot. No dark green SUV appears behind us in my rearview mirror. After fifteen minutes of careful driving, taking random turns to throw off any tail, I finally let myself relax slightly.

“You can sit up now,” I say. “Coast is clear.”

Courtney emerges from her hiding spot, her face pale. She smooths her hair back with shaking hands and fastens her seatbelt.

“Ryder, this is too much. I feel awful, getting you involved like this. You hardly know me.”

“I know enough.” I know how strong she is even when she’s scared. How pretty her eyes look when she talks about the life she dreams of building. How soft her lips felt against mine, how perfectly she fit in my arms.

And I know how much it’ll kill me to say goodbye when we reach Fairhope. But that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is keeping her safe.

“I’m driving you to Fairhope,” I say firmly. “End of discussion.”