I kick the mustang’s sides.
“Go!”
We take off. I don’t wait for Midnight. I don’t look back. I race across the meadow, the wind stinging my face, the rain lashing at us. The mud flies up behind the horse’s hooves.
I ride hard. I ride until my lungs burn and the tears on my face are washed away by the rain.
What the hell did I just do?
I betrayed my own principles. I let myself get distracted. I let myself feel.
And worst of all... I liked it. I liked it more than I have ever liked anything.
And that is the most dangerous thought of all.
I don’t remember the ride back to the ranch. It’s a blur of wet mane, stinging rain, and the thunder of my own heart in my ears. I leave the mustang tied to the hitching post near the porch, not bothering to walk him to the barn to cool down. I can’t. If I spend one more second doing the right thing, the responsible thing, I’m going to shatter into a million pieces.
I stumble up the steps, my boots leaving heavy, muddy prints on the wood. Wellsy is there, barking, jumping up to greet me. I push past him, my hands shaking so badly I can barely get the key in the lock.
I need to get out. I need to leave. Right now.
I burst into the main house. The air is warm, smelling of coffee and the faint, lingering scent of the generator. It feels suffocating.
I head straight for the bedroom. I grab my duffel bag from the closet and throw it on the bed. I don’t fold. I don’t organize. I just grab clothes—jeans, sweaters, underwear—and shove them in. I grab my toiletry bag. I grab my charger.
I move like a woman possessed, fueled by adrenaline and shame.
I zip the bag and throw it over my shoulder. I whistle for Wellsy. He comes running, tail wagging, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
I turn to leave the room, and collide with a solid wall of muscle.
I look up. Rhett.
He catches my arms, steadying me. His eyes scan my face, taking in the rain-soaked hair, the flushed cheeks, the wild eyes. He glances down at my muddy boots, then back up to my face.
“What happened?” he asks. His tone is even, but there’s an edge of worry beneath it.
“Nothing,” I say, pulling away from his grip. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” He frowns. “Saramaria, it’s pouring. The roads are?—”
“I’m going to Pearl’s,” I interrupt him. My voice sounds high and thin. “I’m going to stay there tonight.”
Rhett studies me. He looks at the bag slung over my shoulder. He looks at the way I can’t quite meet his gaze. He knows. He has to know. He’s an Alpha. He can probably smellthe sex on me. He can probably smell Boone on me, even through the rain.
But he doesn’t call me on it. He doesn’t ask why I look like I just ran a marathon. He doesn’t ask where Boone is.
He just nods. A slow dip of his chin.
“Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you need.”
“It is,” I say.
“Drive safe,” he says. “The truck has good tires, but don’t take chances on the creek crossings.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
I side-step him, rushing toward the door. I expect him to stop me. I expect him to demand an explanation. Part of me wants him to. Part of me wants him to grab my arm and tell me I can’t run away from my feelings.
