Page 38 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

“Archie is chewing steel over that,” Katie said finally. “He’s obsessed. Says you should’ve been out there in the river with the men, shadowing. He’s convinced you missed something.”

“Archie is a consummate security professional, Katie, but he’s not the only one. Freestone has its own team. Chap was obviously not just a fishing guide. He hit that drone like a sharpshooter.”

Katie let out a breath. “That is a very good point.”

“I made a judgment call,” Ranney said evenly, even as her cheeks burned. “If I’d gone with the men, I’d have intruded on their stag party experience. We strive for balance when we work onsite. You taught me that.”

“Mmm.” Katie’s voice carried that neutral weight that meant she wasn’t agreeing, but she wasn’t arguing yet, either. Ranney felt her confidence returning. “We’ll talk more. For now, Archie’s under strict orders not to fly to Idaho on his own dime, so thank God for that.”

Ranney tried to smile, but it faltered.

Then Katie pivoted, voice softening just enough to sting. “Ranney, are you okay?”

The question threw her. “I—of course I’m okay. I’m always okay.”

“Because you don’t sound okay. And I’ve known you a long time. You’re off your rhythm. Archie says you’re not behaving like yourself, and frankly, I agree. Do you need to take some vacation time when you’re back?”

Ranney’s mouth opened, but no words came. Vacation? As though she were fragile. As though she needed rest instead of work. The thought of it made her skin prickle.

She was fine.

Fine.

“I’m fine,” she managed, though her voice was thinner than she intended. “I’m handling it.”

“Mmm,” Katie repeated, skeptical but not pressing. For now. “We’ll revisit this later. Stay sharp, Ranney. I need your A-game.”

“Yes, of course.”

When the call clicked off, Ranney lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen.

Claire was watching her, brows knit.

“What?” Ranney asked, but her throat was tight, her tissue still balled in her hand.

“You didn’t say ‘I’m fine’ like you meant it,” Claire murmured.

The locker room door swung open, releasing a wave of steam and the scent of cedar. Chap emerged first, hair damp and curling at the edges, his broad frame wrapped in a fleece pullover and cargo pants. He was toweling his neck when his gaze lifted straight to Claire.

His whole face lit, an instinctive, unguarded joy.

Claire stiffened, then marched toward him, earbuds forgotten. “We need to talk,” she snapped under her breath, though Ranney could hear every note of the tremor beneath her anger. Chap looked stricken, muttering protest as she propelled him down the hall, her voice low but fierce.

Ranney turned away, giving them the illusion of privacy she doubted they even wanted.

And then Tom stepped through the doorway.

He was half-dressed—dark jeans, a gray henley that clung damply to his shoulders and chest, hair plastered to his forehead in waves that caught the overhead light.

Drops of water clung to his jawline, sliding down the column of his throat before disappearing beneath fabric stretched taut across his torso.

His hands were still pink from the cold plunge, veins standing out across the backs, strong and steady.

He saw her instantly, and his entire being seemed to brighten. His mouth curved in open delight, his green eyes sparking like sunlight on a river. For a heartbeat, he looked exactly how he had when he’d kissed her in the hallway last night.

Hungry.

Elated.

And entirely hers.

Ranney took a deep breath and smoothed her expression into polite neutrality. “Mr. Phillips,” she said evenly, every syllable carefully measured. “I hope you enjoyed your morning.”

The light in his face flickered, confusion knitting his brow. He blinked, recalibrating, as if he couldn’t reconcile the cool formality of her words with the warmth he so clearly remembered.

Alarm edged his expression. “Ranney?” he said softly, searching her eyes, the name itself almost a plea.

Inside, she was coming apart. Every nerve screamed at her to close the space between them, to drag him back into the heat of last night’s kiss.

Her body remembered the press of his chest, the roughness of his stubble against her skin, the way her knees had nearly buckled when his mouth claimed hers.

But on the outside, she was ice.

Tom took a step closer, damp footprints marking the polished floor. “Ranney,” he said again, firmer this time, his voice pitched low, urgent.

She forced a cool smile. “You should dry your hair before you catch a chill.”

“That’s what the sauna was for.” His jaw tightened, his green eyes blazing now. “Enough of this. We need to talk. Properly. Not standing in a hallway where anyone can walk by.”

She shook her head, pulse racing. “It’s not appropriate.”

His hand came out, closing gently but unmistakably around her arm. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt straight through her, undoing all her carefully constructed composure. “Then let’s make it appropriate. My room. Now.”

“Tom,” she hissed, glancing around the hall. A couple strolled past, casting curious looks. “This isn’t the time or place?—”

He straightened, voice rising with stubborn force. “Talk to me. Don't shut me out. You’re my wife !”

The words cracked through the corridor like a gunshot. Ranney’s stomach dropped. Heads turned. A waiter paused mid-step with a tray of wineglasses. Somewhere behind them, Claire’s muffled voice went sharp with incredulity.

“Stop it,” Ranney snapped under her breath, panic rushing hot and fast.

Tom’s grip didn’t loosen, his mouth set in determination. “Not until you come with me.”

She yanked her arm, glaring. “If you ever say that out loud again, I swear—” She broke off, the weight of the gawkers pressing down on her. Heat crept up her neck.

“Fine,” she ground out. “I’ll go. But quietly.”

His expression softened, relief breaking through his stubbornness. He nodded once, then guided her down the hall, every nerve in her body humming as though she’d been set alight.

Tom slid the keycard into the lock and shouldered open the heavy door, ushering her inside.

The room mirrored hers and Claire’s, with polished wood beams, pale stone fireplace, and a view that spilled out toward the river—but here the details skewed decidedly masculine.

A plaid wool throw was draped over a leather armchair, fishing magazines stacked neatly on the side table.

The rug beneath their feet was handwoven, earth-toned, patterned in a way that suggested both comfort and utility.

Even the scent was different: cedar smoke and something warm, spiced—his cologne, lingering faintly in the air.

It suited him perfectly: rugged, understated, and self-assured.

He closed the door behind them and strode to the minibar, pulling out a pair of cut-glass tumblers. “Whisky? Might take the edge off.”

“No, thank you,” Ranney said crisply, folding her hands before her like she was testifying in court.

Tom turned, glass paused halfway to pouring. His brows knit. “Ranney, what is this? Why are you looking at me like I’ve done something terrible?”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He set the bottle down with a muted thunk, crossing the room in three strides. “No, you’re not. You’ve been distant since this morning. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her heart thudded, her voice sharp as she latched onto the only safe target she could name. “How are your stepsister and her friends doing?”

He blinked, clearly thrown. “Thea? They’re—what?”

“Thea,” Ranney repeated, her tone icy. “And her friends. Especially the dark-haired one.” She met his eyes, forcing herself to hold steady though her insides twisted. “What’s her name?”

Tom’s confusion deepened, lines furrowing his forehead. “Her name?”

“Yes.” Ranney’s chin lifted, brittle and cold. “The one Thea saved for you.”

The words hung between them, sharp as glass.

For a moment, Tom simply stared at her. Then his mouth twitched, and before she could stop him, he burst out laughing. A full, helpless, head-thrown-back laugh that filled the rugged room and bounced off the beams.

Ranney stiffened, heat rushing to her face. “What, precisely, is so funny?”

But then his laughter faltered as he caught sight of her expression—serious, cool, her dark eyes flashing. The sound died in his throat, and he blinked at her.

“Oh, dear God. You’re serious .”

She crossed her arms, wishing she didn’t feel like she was trembling inside.

The shift in his face was almost imperceptible, amusement giving way to something warmer, more dangerous. His eyes lit in slow recognition, his lips curving again. “You’re jealous.”

Her heart thudded. “I most certainly am not.”

“Yes,” he said softly, as if savoring the word. “You are.” His voice dropped, rich and steady. “And jealousy is a gift, darling. One I treasure. Because it means you care about me—” he stepped closer, the air between them charged, “—as much as I care about you.”

Her breath hitched, body betraying her. She wanted to deny it, to put him back in his place, to reassert her control. Instead, her words came out thin and brittle. “I am far too mature for that kind of drama.”

He smirked at her—smug, infuriating, impossibly sure of himself. That little curl of his mouth sent sparks racing down her spine.

And heaven help her, she found him irresistible.

Her gaze betrayed her, sliding to his mouth, remembering the heat of it, the taste, the way her body had felt in that hotel hallway when she’d pressed against him like a woman starved.

Tom saw it—of course he did—and the smirk deepened into something raw. His voice dropped, husky, pitched just for her.

“Thea’s friends?” He gave a low laugh, shaking his head. “Ranney, they’re the least attractive beings on the planet compared to you. Forget their hair, their bodies, their posturing. They’re nothing. Nothing .”

Her throat tightened, but she managed, “I don’t think?—”

“All I think about is you.” He stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him seemed to seep through her skin. “ You . How you felt in bed the other night.”

Heat surged up her neck, memories colliding.

“The way you whispered my name in the dark,” he went on, voice roughened, every word a caress. “The way your lips felt against my skin. I want more of that. More of you. All of you.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

“It killed me,” he whispered fiercely, “to lie in this big bed last night, alone. Knowing you were down the hall. Knowing you wanted me too, no matter what rules we pretend to live by.”

Ranney’s lungs ached. She wanted to throw the words back at him, deny them, call them madness. Instead she stood there, trembling, feeling the tears sting again, because God help her—every word he spoke was true.

He didn’t give her time to think, to retreat, to rebuild her walls. One moment she was standing there, clutching her dignity like a shield, and the next his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t a kiss so much as a claiming—deep, soulful, full of heat and aching tenderness all at once.

His lips moved against hers with urgency, with reverence, with the kind of hunger that shook her down to her bones.

She gasped, and he swallowed the sound, coaxing her mouth open, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that made her knees soften.

His hands—dear God, his hands—were everywhere.

One cupped the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair, angling her head so he could kiss her deeper.

The other traced her spine, bold and sure, then slid around to the curve of her waist, pulling her flush against the hard length of his body.

Every contour of him pressed into her, sparking a fire she hadn’t felt in decades, if ever.

It was even more intense than the other night.

She broke against him, lips moving helplessly with his, whispering against his mouth between desperate kisses. “I’m breaking every rule… every single rule at work. I can’t believe this is happening…”

He kissed her harder, as if to answer, as if to erase the rules entirely.

Her voice was barely a murmur now, caught between wonder and surrender. “I never even knew… I could meet someone like you. Someone this perfect.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, his breath ragged against her lips. The look in his eyes as he pulled back just enough to see her was pure devotion, fierce want, something that stole her breath more than the kiss itself.

And then his mouth was on hers again, and all the rules she’d ever lived by shattered like glass.

Tom’s kiss deepened, his body pressing her backward until her legs brushed against the edge of the bed.

His hands skimmed her arms, her waist, the flare of her hips, as if he needed to relearn every line of her body through touch alone.

She clung to his shoulders, the breadth of him steadying her even as the world tilted.

He broke from her lips only to murmur against her jaw, her temple, the delicate curve of her ear. Each word landed like a vow. “You’re all I want. All I’ve ever wanted.”

Her heart hammered. Her breath came in short, hot bursts as his palms slid lower, guiding her back onto the mattress with infinite care, as though she were precious and breakable.

Ranney let out a soft, helpless sound she didn’t recognize as her own. The rules, the job, the voices in her head—they all dissolved in the heat of his mouth on hers, the solid weight of him above her, the quiet reverence in his touch.

His hands framed her face, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that left her trembling. And then the world narrowed to him—his breath, his skin, the heat of his body—until thought itself was impossible.

The rest dissolved into heat and shadow, into the shiver of his touch, into the wordless communion of two people breaking every rule they’d ever lived by.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispered against his lips, shuddering.

“It is,” he promised, kissing her again. “And it’s whatever we say it is.”