“He’s not the boss of me.”
The corner of Rush’s mouth curved crookedly. It did something to her insides. “I’d say you’re wrong about that, angel.”
Angel. She let the nickname slide, even though the sound of it sent a warm rush through her, and met his eyes squarely for permission.
Rush nodded slowly, and she sank to her knees between his thighs. His eyes were hidden, but she felt his reaction throughout his body. His thigh muscles bunched and flexed, and his free hand gripped the arm of the chair. She felt that deep inside.
Lily swallowed, her pulse hammering so hard she was sure he could see it, and reached for him. Her fingers brushed over the thin cotton that clung to his thighs, feeling the heat of him radiating through the material.
She pulled back and rubbed her hands together, glancing up shyly. “My hands are cold, but they’ll warm up fast.” She rested them lightly on top of his knees.
Rush went completely still. Then, with a slow nod, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Her fingertips drifted higher, brushing over firm muscle. She lingered over the strong curves and ridges of his thighs, feeling the strength there. Her hand grazed higher, gliding over the ridge of scar tissue she’d glimpsed in the shower. Carefully, she traced the uneven texture, feeling the raised lines and ripples.
A sharp current of sadness filled her. She sensed that this was a piece of him he probably didn’t talk about, yet he was allowing her to help ease his pain. It felt intimate in a way shewasn’t used to, a peek under the armor of Sheriff Rush Callahan she wasn’t entirely sure how to handle.
“From the accident?” she asked quietly, eyes lowered. She hadn’t meant to bring it up, but the question slipped out as her fingers worked gently over the scarred muscle in his thigh.
Rush didn’t answer. He went still in that quiet, locked-down way she was beginning to recognize, and took a long sip of whiskey. She kept her hands steady, her strokes long and firm and careful around the damaged tissue. Her training took over.Focus on the body. Listen to what’s unspoken.She didn’t need words to understand the tension locked deep inside him.
After a moment, he shifted slightly in the chair and let his legs fall open wider. His silence wasn’t permission, but it wasn’t refusal either.
So she kept going.
“Is that why you were heading up here?” she asked. “Because Caroline Whitmore’s memorial is this week?”
The tensing of his thigh told her exactly what he thought about her questions.
Rush’s eyes opened, and he looked down at her silently, his face stern. A warning, if she chose to take it.
She met his gaze steadily.
He took another slow sip of whiskey, and briefly, so briefly she would have missed it had she not been kneeling before him, his expression cracked. But Lily caught it, and her heart ached at what she saw there. Grief. Pain. The weight of that night crushing him.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” he said, staring into the fire.
“Because I know the Whitmores, and I know they want to thank you?—”
“No.” He caught her wrist in one hand, tugging her off-balance until she leaned into his body. They were so close their breaths mingled, and his eyes, dark, flinty steel, heldhers. “Don’t,” he said with enough finality that she found herself speechless.
Rush let go of her hand, stroking the bones along her wrist like a silent apology. He looked hard and closed off, and she got the message loud and clear: no more questions.
She pressed her fingers deeper into his muscle, smoothing her palm over the scar one last time. Rush leaned back in the chair, imposing even while relaxing—all dark stubble and broad shoulders, long legs stretched out, taking up the surrounding space. The firelight cast sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the rough edges and the quiet power he held so effortlessly.
A slow, electric shiver rolled through her, unfurling down her spine as she kneeled before his spread thighs. The heat in her chest spread lower, pooling deep and unfamiliar in its intensity. The air between them crackled with something she’d never felt so strongly.Desire.
She wanted him. The rough scrape of his hands, the weight of his body—she craved all of it. The kind of heat that stole reason and left only need.
Unsmiling, his hand caught hers and held it for a moment. “That feels better. Thank you.”
She nodded, slipping her hand from his and rising to her feet. Her gaze locked on a deck of cards on the table from earlier. She latched onto the distraction eagerly.
“Do you know how to play poker?”
Rush raised a brow,watching Lily lean forward to expertly shuffle the deck, her delicate fingers making quick work of the cards.Damn, she’s cute when she’s trying to be badass.
“Do you?”
