Isobel stepped back for a moment, watching Ryder work. The movement of his shoulders as he turned the steaks, the ease with which he handled the skillet—it was a dance she’d never thought she’d see him perform outside of the arena. Her fingers itched to reach for him, to trace the line of his spine, to feel the weight of him against her like she had in the trailer that night. But she forced herself to stay focused, chopping the lettuce with deliberate care, listening to the soft hiss of ...