Maybe it would be good to get back to Navesink Bank, away from this fantasy. Then I would stop calling his line at work. I would put some distance between the two of us, maybe move onto something healthier.
"I appreciate it," I told him, meaning it, waiting for his thumb to finish one last swipe before pulling my wrist away, and going around the bed.
I settled in on my side, facing away from him, telling myself it was the surefire way to ensure that I didn't end up plastered to him by the morning.
I underestimated my subconscious's desire to be as close to him as possible.
Because I woke up to a grumbling sound in my ear, making my eyes snap open, my brain scrambling to understand the origin, the reason for that noise.
It was then I felt the warmth on my back from the top of my head to my thigh, the arm casually draped over my hip.
Rush.
I had shimmied back into him while I was asleep.
In fact, my butt was rammed back into his pelvis. Where I found the origin of the groan.
His erection pressed into my ass. Which I must have wiggled against in my sleep.
"You're killing me," he murmured into my ear, breath hot, making a shiver move through my insides.
"I'm sorry. I, ah, I don't know why I can't, you know, stay on my own side of the bed. I guess I just... it's been a while since I shared one, I guess. My boundaries are, um, off. I will scoot," I told him, my body trying to lurch forward to do just that.
The arm around my hip stopped me, sinking into my hip bone, jerking my back into him.
"Don't you dare," he told me, voice low, sexy, turning my insides to liquid.
This was how he sounded on the phone.
Husky.
Commanding.
Voice full of promise.
If there had been anything resembling resistance in me, it evaporated in an instant. Though, truly, I didn't think it had ever been there. Not with regard to him.
"Rush..." I had no idea what I was trying to say when his name left my mouth. Was it some attempt to de-escalate the situation, to remind him that we worked together, that it would get messy? Or to beg him to push me down, to whisper those dirty things he said to me over the phone, to slip inside me, to erase the months and months of longing, but not having?
I had no idea.
Because Rush scooted back, making me go somewhat flat, looking up at him, finding hungry eyes I was having trouble believing were meant for me.
Yet there they were.
Looking down at me.
Heavy-lidded.
Smoldering.
"I..." I started, again, having no idea what I was going to say.
But just this once, that was okay.
Because Rush leaned down and silenced me, his lips pressing to mine.
Not hard and hungry, the way I had imagined them over the phone. But soft, sweet, almost a little tentative.
I felt like my entire body went boneless at the contact. A small sighing sound escaped me as my hand rose, sliding across his jaw and to the back of his head as his lips pressed deeper, harder, got more demanding as his body shifted over me, his welcomed weight pressing me deeper into the mattress.
His tongue traced the crease of my lips, moving inside when they opened on a whimper, claiming mine as my arms went around him, pulled him tighter to me.
No thoughts could penetrate my mind in that moment.
Until it happened.
Until we heard it.
Ringing.
A phone.
Somewhere in the house, a phone was ringing, a lifeline to the outside world that seemed to have forgotten all about us.
Rush's lips ripped from mine, his body pressing up, looking down at me with drawn-together brows for a long second, like a part of him was struggling to comprehend what the sound meant.
But then it seemed to get through the fog in his brain, having him flipping over me, rushing out of the room, going through the pitch-black house at a dead run as I folded slowly up, trying to push down the disappointment flooding my system, the sensation of something important lost.
Because there was a little devil whispering in my ear that we would never get this same moment again, nothing was ever going to line up the way they had lined up this night.
It was over.
Stifling a pathetic whimpering sound, I climbed out of the bed, grabbing the flashlight and the hurricane lamp, carefully making my way down the stairs, finding Rush standing in the living room we never went in because of all the heads on the walls.
In front of him, a cabinet was open, a long curly phone cord spilling out, slithering up Rush's shoulder to the old-fashioned off-white receiver he had pressed to his ear.
I had no idea who was on the other end of the phone, but whatever they were saying had wiped all that softness, all that heat from his face, leaving instead what looked a lot like anger there instead.
"Yeah, well, it's not fucking funny. Something could have happened," he said, turning his wide back to me as he spoke, making me feel like I was intruding on something personal.
Shut out, I set down the oil lamp a few feet away from him, taking the flashlight with me.
I had no destination in mine, just as far away from the rejection I had felt as I could get.
It wasn't long before Rush joined me in my room, the hurricane lamp lit, brightening the dark space.
"Fee said the owner will be here at first light to deal with the tree in the road. We have flights back in the afternoon. It would be smart to pack tonight since you unpacked everything," he told me, placing the lamp on the nightstand before making a hasty retreat back to the doorway.
"Wait... what?" I asked, feeling like I had missed something.
"When we get back, Fee is going to talk to you about it," he said, shaking his head, moving into the hall, seemingly unwilling to give me anything else. "Pack. Get some sleep in my room. I am going to take the lamp when you're done, so I can finish straightening the place up for the owner so we can get out of here as fast as possible tomorrow."
With that, he was gone, closing my door as he went, like some silent sign not to follow him.
I didn't have a hell of a lot of pride left, but I had just enough to prevent me from running after a man who clearly did not want to be around me.
So I slowly, carefully, painstakingly packed; I straightened my room, hearing Rush doing the same across the hall, likely by the light of his phone.
He certainly didn't want to waste any time getting out of here. Getting away from this situation. And, even in an abstract way, me.
On that sobering thought, I took the lamp across the hall, placing it a foot out from his door, knocking.
"All yours," I said before rushing across the hall, closing, and locking my door, throwing myself in the bed, burrowing deep under the blankets, ignoring the cold that seemed to sink into my bones with each passing moment.
I wasn't going across that hall.
I wasn't getting in that bed.
Where the sheets smelled like him.
Where I had done something so stupid as to think it was possible to have something real with Rush Rivers.
I couldn't.
It was all fantasy.
Sure, he'd kissed me.
But I was there.
He was horny.
I was what he could reach out for.
It wasn't a happy thought, but it was a realistic one.
And it was one I repeated in my mind like a mantra for what felt like hours as Rush banged around a floor below me.
If I were a bigger person, I would go down there and help him.
But I wasn't.
So I stayed put, layering on a few sweaters, two pairs of socks, slipping all the way under all the blankets, head and all.
It was hours before I could hear his feet on the stairs, going into his room, pausing, likely taking in the empty bed, then coming across the hall.
My breath caught in my chest as I waited for his hand to raise
, for his knuckles to knock, for his voice to demand I come back to his bed, get warm.
But I waited in vain.
Because all I heard was an exhalation of his breath, then his footsteps moving away, his door closing, locking, the bed groaning as he got down in it.
So, that was it.
Ridiculous, irrational tears sprang into my eyes, making me blink them back with a determination that didn't feel familiar.
I wasn't going to cry.
Over a freaking story I created in my own mind, some fairytale where the plain, boring, awkward girl finds out she was somehow beautiful, interesting, and elegant after all, that she caught the attention of the handsomest man in all the land, and she was going to live happily ever after.
God, how could I have been so naive?
My life wasn't a fairytale.
I damn sure wasn't a princess.
And Rush Rivers wasn't exactly acting very princely right now either.
It was time to go.
Back to the cold, hard reality.
At least I knew where I stood there.
Whether I liked it or not.
SIX
Rush
My cock was still straining against my pants when I opened the cabinet to find the phone I wasn't sure how we'd missed when searching the house.
Of course a remote cabin with shitty reception that experienced end-of-the-world wind and rain storms would have a corded landline phone so they could call for help if they needed it.
Honestly, it had been so long since I'd seen an actual phone with a cord that I had all but forgotten they existed.
But there it was, and it was ringing, and we could finally tell somewhat what was going on.
"Hello?"
"Oh, good. You're still alive," Fiona's voice met my ear, making a mix of relief and irritation move through me.
"Where the hell are all of you?" I asked.
"Oh, see. This is the funny part..."
Only, it wasn't funny. Normally, I had a high tolerance for pranks. I liked to pull them; I was a good sport about them being pulled on me.
If Fee had done this to Atlas, I would have been laughing my ass off. It was clever. And aside from the unexpected power outage and inability to get help, it was all just in good fun.
Except it wasn't happening to Atlas; It was happening to me.
And maybe even more inexplicably, it was happening to Katie. A girl who had likely never pulled a prank on anyone in her life, someone who didn't deserve to be the butt of a joke by her boss.
Fiona wasn't a cruel person, so I couldn't figure out what the hell her game was.
"I just thought you two would hit it off. Kate needed a vacation. You are good in the woods. It seemed like a good fit."
She wasn't wrong.
I guess that was the problem.
We were a good fit.
We liked the same books, had a good time doing shit like playing board games, we'd walked to the lake where she pointed out little facts about whatever animals or bugs we passed by, about "crown shyness" which was what happened in the forest, the tree canopies growing with small gaps between them so that they could all share resources and thrive.
It had been surprisingly easy to get along with her.
But more than that, it had been far too easy to do other things with her.
Like share a bed.
Like become attracted to the smell of her fucking hair.
Like enjoy the feel of her when she laid on my chest, or wiggled back into me, seeking my nearness, demanding my attention.
She was smart and witty and interesting and sweet. But not so sweet that she was untouchable.
And, fuck, I wanted to touch.
I hadn't been prepared for the surge of attraction in my system to her, the way it got bigger and bigger until it was impossible to ignore, until I was moments from stripping her bare and having her right in that bed.
I tried to remind myself as I straightened and scrubbed the lower level that it was good we'd been interrupted, that it couldn't lead anywhere good to go to bed with someone I worked with, that a girl like her wanted nothing to do with a man like me, with a past like mine, with a job like mine.
It was better that things ended before they went too far, that we got back to our old lives, our old roles.
It would bring clarity to the whole situation.
I went back upstairs only after I was sure I worked off every bit of sexual frustration—hell, every bit of actual energy I had left—so that I could catch a little sleep before the sun came up, sure that I would be able to share the bed to get some warmth, but also keep my hands to myself.
But she wasn't there.
I immediately moved across the hall, wanting to tell her to come back to my room, to get warm again, even if it meant I would have to go sleep somewhere else.
But, in the end, I decided to just let it drop, let her have her privacy, even if it bothered me that I knew she was going to be in that bed cold, maybe even with her teeth chattering like it had been that first night without power.
It would only be one night.
Then she would be back in her apartment, comfortable, happy, away from men who had no business touching her.
I ended up not sleeping, just laying there, staring at the dark ceiling, watching the light come up through the window.
So I got up, powered the generator one last time, showered, made coffee, cleaned up after myself again.
There was no sign of Katie, not even after I heard the truck coming up the drive, the door slamming, bringing the owner of the cabin up the front path.
He was younger than I expected, somewhere around my age with black hair, blue eyes, and a tall, fit frame. Peeking out of his blue and gray flannel jacket were neck and hand tattoos that didn't exactly mesh with my idea of a rustic cabin owner.
He came up to the door, knocking, but moving in without waiting for an answer.
"You must be Rush," he said, giving me a head shake. "Your sister-in-law is a trip," he added.
"Tell me about it," I agreed, offering him my hand.
"Beau," he said, taking my hand, giving it a shake. "I should have known that woman was up to something when I'd asked if I should forward the welcome packet to the guests, and she replied that they would have everything they needed. Think that woman could talk herself out of a murder charge even if she was caught with the hot gun in her lap," Beau added, snorting. "Some friends and I handled the tree for you. The road is mostly clear. I will have the power company here later today."
"You're going to need more gas for the generator," I told him. "We cleaned everything up last night."
"Appreciate it. Oh, hey honey," he said, making my head turn to find that Katie had somehow managed to come soundlessly down the steps to stand just a few feet away without me noticing.
She looked tired, her eyelids puffy, purple smudges underneath. And even paler than usual, it seemed, as she stood there with slightly widened eyes, her mouth forming a little pouty O as she looked a Beau.
The surge of jealousy was sudden and unexpected, something I wasn't sure I'd ever really felt before, but there it was, a clawing in the stomach, a pressure on the chest.
Unwelcome, but undeniable.
"Katie, this is Beau. He owns the cabin. Beau, Katie. She hates the heads in the living room."
"You do too," she shot back, but didn't look my way.
"My uncle," Beau said, shrugging. "This was his place up until last year. I really didn't do much except clean it up and stick it up for rentals. I should probably make some changes. You want some coffee before you go?" he asked, looking at Katie. "You look like you need it. Bed not comfortable?" he asked, already moving over toward the coffee machine, making a fresh pot.
"The bed is fine. I was just cold," she admitted, making guilt stab me in the gut.
"Why didn't you sleep in the room with a fireplace?" he asked, and I was pretty sure the look he shot at me was accusatory.
Mountain me
n and their good manners, wanting to take care of the little ladies.
I wanted to be pissed, but it was how I was raised as well. Even if my sister—and most of my female in-laws—would want my balls to wear as earrings for suggesting such a thing.
"I, ah, I preferred my room," Katie said, head ducking, hiding whatever might have crossed her face from me, but it made Beau's brows furrow before he turned, reaching for a couple mugs. "The cabin is lovely," she went on. And since she wasn't, by nature, someone who was chatty with strangers, I figured her being so right then was for one of two reasons.
Because she was interested in Beau.
Or because she was trying to avoid talking to me.
Neither of those things sat right with me.
But I stood there as the two of them talked about the history of the cabin, what the sights were at the woods should she ever decide to make another trip back, the next time more prepared, ready for the mercurial weather and the unexpected ups and downs of cabin life.
"I'm a little bit more, um, what you might call, you know... indoorsy," Katie quipped, making Beau give her a warm smile.
If I hadn't been riddled with jealousy, I might have noticed it was the kind of smile I gave to Scotti, or the Mallick women, to Savea and Reagan. It was a brotherly smile.
All I could see right in the moment, though, was a man smiling at Katie. And all I felt was a strange, primal voice in the back of my mind saying "That's mine!" Even though every rational brain cell I had knew that wasn't the case, it would never be the case.
An hour later, though, Beau was telling us we'd better get on the road, knowing the traffic patterns better than the two of us.
I offered to go get Katie's bags, mostly as a move to prevent Beau from being the good guy again. But regretted it as I was coming down the stairs and heard him rattling off his phone number to her.
"In case you remember the name of that board game you mentioned," he told her as she tucked her phone away. "I think the guests would get a kick out of it."
Not five minutes later, Beau was opening her door for her while I put her bags in her trunk.
"Drive safe, okay?" Beau asked as she gave him a shy smile before putting the car into reverse.
Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3) Page 7
