Ryder heard his phone ringing, hurriedly shut off the shower, and grabbed a towel, water still streaking down his shoulders as he lunged for the counter.
“Hello?” he answered, voice rough, not checking the caller ID.
“Ryder?”
Her voice. His pulse jumped. “Isobel,” he breathed, almost a prayer. “How are you? Did you have a good time with Rose?”
“Always,” she said lightly, though he could hear the tired smile under it.
“What are you up to?” she asked.
“I worked a few horses after lunch. Just got out of the shower,” he said, toweling his hair, picturing her face when he told her.
Isobel went still. Her mind betrayed her, conjuring the memory of Ryder that morning he’d surprised her—skin still damp, water clinging to him like glass beads, heat radiating off his body. She closed her eyes
