Chased by Love (Love in Bloom: The Ryders): Trish Ryder by Melissa Foster

so strong it scares me, too.”
    He leaned his forearms on his thighs, clasped his hands together, and gazed out at the darkness.
    “I am not a saint by any stretch of the imagination,” she admitted. “And I don’t claim to be better, or more important, than anyone, but I am careful with my heart.”
    He cocked his head to the side with a serious look in his eyes.
    “Not that I think we…or you…” Oh God, where am I going with this? “I’m not a prude. I’ve had my share of flings, or whatever you call them, but I’m in this strange place right now. I’m almost thirty, and I’ve got this crush on you that makes me feel twenty. It’s silly and childish, and honestly, it’s hard to ignore.”
    He laughed softly and pushed to his feet. “A crush.”
    “Don’t judge me, okay? This isn’t easy to admit.” She watched him flip something on the grill. Then he sat back down beside her and held up his hands.
    “Hey, I’m not judging. But you know you don’t really come across as a crush type of girl. You’re ornery and abrasive, and—”
    “I guess I deserve that.” Her stomach sank.
    “You didn’t let me finish. Those are the things that make you strong and successful. We both know that being a celebrity changes a person.”
    “Maybe, but the truth is I was ornery and abrasive before I started acting.” She shrugged, glad that he smiled again. “When you grow up in a house where testosterone practically flows through the faucets, you learn to keep up so you’re not left behind. Not that my brothers would ever dream about leaving me anywhere. They practically have a leash on me at all times.”
    “That’s what family does. I’ve got younger siblings, and I’m sure they feel the same way about me. I’m an overprotective pain in the ass. I think you should consider yourself lucky. It sounds like your brothers care about you.”
    The tone of his voice warmed when he talked about his family, and his understanding caught her by surprise. “I am lucky. I adore them, but growing up as a tomboy has never helped me in the dating world. I am pushy and stubborn. And I don’t take crap from people very well. Not to mention that I’m hardly a delicate female, which doesn’t help.”
    “Maybe you’re dating the wrong guys.” He turned on the step, giving her his full attention. “You might be all of those things, but you’re sweet and sexy and beautiful, and I don’t buy that you’re not delicate. Not for a second.”
    She rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to get lucky by lying.”
    “I already got lucky with that kiss.”
    He said it so seriously, her thoughts stuttered.
    “The way I see it,” he said, “you work pretty hard to keep up a strong front. You say you’re not delicate, but what does delicate mean? Maybe you think it means weak? I think it means a lot of things, and where you’re concerned, I think it means sensitive and feminine. At the bar, I obviously said or did something that sent you storming off to the dance floor with that guy. And when I said the world didn’t revolve around you or the film, I saw the hurt in your eyes. I’m sorry for both of those things, but those moments were proof that you’re sensitive and fragile, like most people are.”
    “Or maybe jealous is a better word.”
    His eyes lit up at that. “Jealous? Huh. I hadn’t gone there.”
    She covered her face with her hands and shook her head, feeling like an idiot. When she lowered them, she groaned at his smirk. “It’s the crush thing again. I thought you were arranging something with the waitress and…” She shrugged.
    He reached for her hand, his thumb moving in slow circles over her wrist. “See? Delicate.”
    “Try stupid and childish,” she argued, and although she loved the feel of his hand, she withdrew from his grasp. “Whatever it was, I’m seriously not interested in becoming one of the women to pass through your bedroom door. Maybe a few years ago, but I’m looking for more.