Understatement of the fucking century.
Rowan ignored the bitingly cold water and scrubbed his hands vigorously under the faucet. “The usual,” he said. “Memories and shit. You know how it is. The storm didn’t fucking help.” He grabbed a towel for his hands. “Enya okay? I saw her coming in ahead of me.” He kept his tone carefully neutral and focused on the mundane task of pulling mugs from the cupboard.
Don’t look at him.
Don’t give him an opening.
Gael’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “She looked…rattled, and bolted straight upstairs when she came in. Barely said two words.” He paused, letting the unspoken question hang between them. “Said she was with you in the barn office.”
Fuckballs.
Even though his back was to him as he busied himself with the mugs, Rowan felt the weight of Gael’s scrutiny like a physical pressure. “Yeah, the storm spooked her, bad. Worse than me, I think.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. It just wasn’t the entire truth either. “She, um, needed something stronger than hot chocolate when I came down earlier.” He gestured vaguely towards the barn with his chin. “We um, finished the bottle of Knob Creek, so put it on the list, will ya?”
And then some.
“Hmm.” Gael’s non-committal hum was loaded, but he went to do as he asked and added it to the running grocery list on the fridge.
He poured two mugs and slid one across the counter towards Gael without looking at him. If he gave his twin an inch, all theteasing and bullshit he’d given him and Joel would be coming back toward him, stat. He knew better than most that Karma was a bitch, especially when it’s your brother who’s dishing it out.
“Heard the barn door slam like the hounds of hell were after her.” Gael returned to his spot against the counter and cradled his mug in his hands. His gaze was steady and probing. “Was everything alright out there, Rowe?”
The question was casual, but the emphasis on ‘Rowe’ wasn’t. It was a reminder of the bond, the shared history, the unspoken rule:No bullshit between us.Rowan met Gael’s eyes, forcing his own expression into one of weary annoyance. “Just a scared girl and a bad storm. Nothing the bourbon couldn’t handle.” He scalded the inside of his mouth, taking a gulp of coffee, but welcomed the burn. “She’s fine, that’s what matters.” At least he hoped she was. But he’d settle for safe, if fine wasn’t on the table.
Safe from the storm.
Safe from the cartel.
Not necessarily safe from me.
Gael held his gaze for a long, silent beat, and Rowan could see the questions swirling, along with the protective instinct warring with his brother’s understanding of boundaries. Gael knew trauma. He knew the jagged edges it left on a person’s soul. He also knew him, probably better than anyone on the planet.
Finally, Gael gave a slow nod, though the skepticism didn’t entirely leave his eyes. “Alright.” He took a sip of his own coffee. “Just… tread careful, Rowe. She’s—um—fragile.”
She’s stronger than she believes.
“That’s the plan,” Rowan lied. He pushed away from the counter. “I’ve got the morning feed, and I need to check on that filly’s hoof.”
Escape… he needed to be moving, to be doing something, anything except standing here under Gael’s all too-perceptive gaze. He grabbed his battered ball cap from the hook by the door and shoved it on his head.
Work.
Focus on the work.
It was just a kiss, damn it.
One hell of a hot kiss, but still a kiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The bedroom doorclicked shut behind Enya with a finality that made her flinch. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a frantic reminder of what had just happened—what she and Rowan had just done. The wood of the door was cool against her back as she pressed against it, her fingers trembling when they brushed her lips. They still burned, swollen from the pressure of Rowan’s mouth, the rough scrape of his stubble, the way his breath had hitched when she’d kissed him back.
What the hell did we just do?
Stupid.
That was stupid.
What if he makes me leave because of it?
