He's the guy who took me home and tucked me into bed when I was so drunk that I couldn't feel my face. Right about now, I just can't feel my feet, and that's enough to tell me that I am still fine, that I can make safe, sound choices-- and what is safer than Ryder Kane?
"What are you doing to me, Tori?" he groans, voice low and gruff, as if this little space between us will be the reason he's going to loose his damn mind. He pulls his tie loose while I kick off my heels, and I'm not sure where the hell I dropped my purse, but I'm too fixated on the way his suit jacket curls off his strong, muscular arms, revealing a soft fitted shirt with not even one wrinkle in it. The white material hugs the right places, sitting loose around the others, and my brain feels like it's having a seizure as
