Ranger (Reynolds Protective, #4)

by Rebecca Sharp

To Dr. Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds did you dirty, Pretty Boy. You deserved a happy ending, so this one’s for you.

It was me—my fault. I was the problem. Taylor Swift played rent-free in my head for the last four weeks as what was left of my life imploded. I’d become that author. You know the one. Hated. Loathed. Scorned. All because I’d killed off a beloved character.

Okay, maybe he was kind of tall, but it was the lanky kind of tall. He didn’t have bulging biceps or a muscular chest under his button-down shirt and… sweater-vest. Yup, that’s right. A sweater-vest. To be fair, he was strong enough to lift my suitcase without struggling, but that was the most I could determine about his strength.

I’m on all fours and barking

Ranger was a pretty boy. And the reason for it was because he was classically beautiful.

How young was he? He couldn’t be twenty-five if that.

HOW OLD ARE YOU- 29. IM 30

Had I ever seen a grown man blush? I didn’t get the chance to think about it before he did this thing that dropped my attention to his mouth… his full lips gently pursed together and then sprung into a smile. A dimpled smile. Now those dimples… those were the kind of dimples I’d give to a hero. The perfectly lickable kind of dimples.

Perfectly proportioned or not, I’d always been drawn to the kinds of men I wrote about, the impressively muscular, confident Casanovas. Not beautiful men with dimpled smiles who dressed like the old man from Up!

shut up loser

“Did you know studies show more pathogens are exchanged by shaking hands than a ten-second kiss?”

guess who just died. yes it was me

“I’m sorry… was that supposed to be a pickup line?” If it was, it had the poorest delivery in the history of pickup lines. Ranger’s eyes bulged, and he visibly flinched as though I was the inappropriate one. “What? No.” He bundled his arms over his chest. “I apologize. I just mean… I only meant that research has shown that handshakes spread about a hundred and twenty-four million bacterial cells, whereas a ten-second kiss only transfers about eighty million.”

Any other man would’ve answered my question with something like “Do you want it to be?” and inserted their best smoldering look. But Ranger Reynolds… tripped and tumbled down a rabbit hole of information, and I was mesmerized. “That’s… a lot of germs.”

Ranger Reynolds was unexpectedly sexy, and that might just be the most dangerous thing about him.

it’s spence babe

you have any questions, I left the instruction manual on the table and tabbed the most important parts.” Of course he did. I bit into my cheek to hold back my smile, but it didn’t matter because he was already leading the way upstairs to the apartment.

Ranger Reynolds was as far from a typical romance hero as one could get… maybe that was how he managed to slip past all my defenses and invade my dreams as soon as I shut my eyes.

I’d wanted to kiss my new guest, and there wasn’t a single logical reason for it.

It was logical to avoid things that caused uncontrollable and potentially hazardous reactions. I already had a list of those. Shellfish. Cocaine. Explosives. And now, Sydney Ward.

She looked up, and our eyes collided. Dopamine. Norepinephrine. Serotonin. I flipped through the chemical Rolodex of what was releasing in my body to create the surge of attraction, but none of them adequately described the sensation of ungrounded electricity running through my body at the sight of her. The heat. The powerful current. It wasn’t logical—rational.

“I’d like to discuss Baby Brains’s new tenant.” “Why?” Blood rushed to my cheeks. “Oh boy…” Hunter grumbled. “Because you have a crush on her.” “What?” My bag fell off my lap, and I scrambled to pick it back up, my iPad, notebook, and the two books I was rereading spilling out from the open flap. “No, I don’t, Gunner.”

“If Della starts getting numbness in her legs or feet, she should see her doctor.” He smiled. “I’ll let her know that Uncle Brains is looking out for her.” I smiled. Uncle Brains.

Smart people knew their weaknesses; brilliant people avoided them at all costs.

The odds of me developing a relationship with someone to the point of having children weren’t in my favor. Especially if the first woman I felt any kind of attraction to was only my temporary tenant until the new year.

“Smarty McHotpants?” “Chemical Casanova. G-spot Genius. The Nerdy Nutter.”

gina linetti dis u

“That’s it! That’s the one.” “What?” “Your landlord is the real Albert Fineinstein.”

A boyishly handsome genius hero. Part awkward. Part adorable. And wholly attractive.

I opened my laptop and created a new document. White space, like a plot of open land that would be built on and seeded, nourished and landscaped until an entire story was constructed on it. On him.

Was it possible to get to know someone without talking to them? Because every time I saw him, that was what it felt like was happening.

The unassuming genius medical examiner came to life as he interacted with my brokenhearted heroine.

I WANNA READ THIS

“I saw the light flickering, and I worried there was a fire since your lights are usually off by now. I didn’t realize it was a candle.” Usually off by now? My pulse thrummed. Maybe I wasn’t the only hyperaware one…

YAS STALKER RANGER

Ranger’s instantaneous knowledge base was fascinating but not as mesmerizing as the way he spoke. The confidence of his lips. I wished I could be as sure as he was about… everything.

I noticed the smudge of flour just above the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, I brought my thumb to my lips, wetting it with my tongue and then reached for him. He didn’t move, and I didn’t stop. Not until my finger touched the soft warmth of his cheek. I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe that he would be as hard as his facts. Or as cold. But he was neither. He was warm temptation—sweet fruit from an expansive tree of knowledge.

“I don’t want to be in Mom’s way, so I use the kitchen once she’s in bed. I don’t mind it, actually. It’s nice to work in the…” “Quiet,” I finished for him, recognizing the look of someone searching for the right word. “The quiet.” His chin dipped.

“What are you writing?” he asked instead. My lips parted. “A romance novel.” I didn’t expect him to know who I was or what I wrote. Men weren’t typically part of my target audience, not to mention I envisioned Ranger to be a nonfiction kind of guy. “Your thirty-second book, I believe?” he asked without missing a beat. I swayed against the door, not expecting him to know who I was, let alone any details of my career. Then again, cancel culture was the kind of thing that spread like wildfire, so who knew? Maybe Sydney Ward’s infamous fall from fame had made it all the way to Wisdom. “Yeah…” My brow pulled together. “How did you know that?” Dumb question because now I was pretty convinced that Ranger Reynolds knew everything. If Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? were still on, he would be my “phone a friend” every single time. “I looked you up before accepting your application. Thirty-two books. Twenty-five New York Times bestsellers…”

I shivered, our eyes locking for another long beat of silence. Once more, it was a moment carved out for a goodbye. For a “Glad you didn’t set my apartment on fire, Sydney. Have a good night.” But it never came. Ranger Reynolds was an enigma. He could be wearing a button-down shirt and vest, yet covered in flour. Wearing a tie, but his hair was tossed like churning waves. And he could be smart… impossibly smart… but so unaware of social cues.

“Have you read my books, too?”

OOP

There was a selfish part of me that wanted to know if he had, too. A selfish part that wanted to imagine Ranger reading a romance novel.

Would he pick it apart for inconsistencies? Would he read the sex scenes? Would they turn him on, or would he get lost in anatomical and positional facts? Would they make him blush?

YES HE WOULD BE WHIMPERING ON THE GROUND TO

“It’s not silly to keep close things that bring you comfort.” He stared at me, and for a brief, soothing moment, it felt like he was peering directly into my soul. And then his gaze dropped back to the book. “I’m excited to read it.”

“Reading is good for the brain. It increases knowledge, expands vocabulary, strengthens cognitive skills—did you know that reading can reduce stress by up to sixty-eight percent? It works faster than listening to music or drinking a cup of hot tea.”

And it was ridiculous. I couldn’t be attracted to someone I’d barely spoken to. But then, what was attraction, if not the ache to know more? And Ranger… he made me want to know more about him without even trying.

I needed to stop distracting myself with Ranger Reynolds. No matter how he looked at me or the way my body reacted, he was my landlord. An acquaintance. A perfectly handsome prodigy but an acquaintance nonetheless.

The only space in my life for any kind of relationship existed in the blank pages of my next book, safely between the covers where my heart couldn’t be broken again.

Sorry, your book sucks. Here’s some chocolate.

What was it about him? Sure, the internet had the power to turn “dad bods” into a thing, but had I missed the memo on sweater-vests? Was that a super sexy secret weapon I hadn’t been aware of? That was what it felt like.

“I’m glad you liked them. They were a hit at trivia night.” Not as much of a hit as those dimples were with my lady parts.

“Romance novels aren’t for everyone, but it was nice of you to give it a shot with an open mind,” I murmured. “A shot?” His head tipped, brows pulling tight. “I don’t understand.” Don’t go down this path. Don’t prompt explanations you might not like. But he looked so confused—frustratingly confused, that I couldn’t stop myself. “Well, you returned it yesterday morning.” “I did.” He blinked, clearly not catching on. Great, he was going to make me spell this out. I inhaled deeply and then blurted out, “You only kept it overnight, so I’m assuming you didn’t get very far before you realized it wasn’t for you. Which is really fine. I’m not offended at all, and we don’t need to talk about it.” He stared at me like I’d just insisted that two plus two equaled five. “I read the whole book, Sydney.”

“But I can recite it back to you if you don’t believe me.” “Recite…you’re joking.” My laughter fell flat when he began speaking again. “‘She opened her eyes to a room she didn’t remember. Her head pounded and blood was splattered all over her clothes. She’d been compromised. Her cover blown. And now, the man she’d been hunting had gone from prey to predator. ‘I know you’re there,’ she called—’” “Stop! I believe you,” I cried out, desperate to stop what would’ve become a full-blown recitation of my entire novel. “I just…” I gave my head a little shake, trying to process it. “You read my book in ten minutes…” “Less than ten—” “And you can narrate it back in its entirety… perfectly… from memory. So, you can read a billion words per minute—” “Twenty-thou—” “And have a photographic memory,” I concluded in awe. “Twenty thousand and an eidetic memory, not a photographic one,” he corrected.

He’d picked me up and steadied me like I weighed no more than a doll. “Are you alright, Sydney?” Ranger panted, his warm, heavy breaths brushing my ear. “What’s wrong?”

He pulled me tighter, his arm wrapped around my middle, the whole of his front pressed to my back… my ass. “You’re not fine,” he insisted with a low voice that inched dangerously close to a growl. Neither was he.

“Deep breaths,” he encouraged and I closed my eyes, focusing on his instructions. “You’re so tight. Just breathe through it.” My inhale hitched on its way down into my lungs. Did he just say that?

IM S(CREAMING) LMFOANDJSMSHFNWNSU

Torture to hear him. Torture to watch him. Torture to see his attention so focused on his hands, on the way his fingers stroked and rubbed the entire length of my calf. He was so focused on me in a way that no one had… ever… focused on me before. I wondered what he was thinking… wondered if he knew what I was thinking…

Goddamn you, Mr. Fineinstein.