Page 54 of River & Rue

“Earth to Rue.”

I flinch and cover my cheeks, peering at River over my fingers. “I’m not leering, I swear. I’ve just never seen anything like that.”

He smirks. “No orgies on the weekends for you?”

“God, no. That’s—no. One-willy woman right here.”

River chokes.

I freeze, then lower my hands.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You definitely said that.”

The pool lights have gone off, but the delight on his face is clear even in gray scale. His low, rumbling laughter reminds me of a cat purring—if the cat were a bipedal sadistic vampire.

Rhythmic grunting joins Penelope’s performative moans. River’s smile vanishes, his upper lip curling.

“Still fascinated?”

“Negative.”

“Great. Now that we have that settled, what I was trying to ask you—before the orgy detour—was if that’s your backpack.”

He points behind me.

I spin around and instantly spot a dark, familiar lump a few feet behind Matteo’s thrusting hips. Prickling panic races down my body. I can’t walk over there. No freaking way. But I also can’t leave without my bag. My laptop and phone are inside, not to mention my handwritten plot journal.

White spots dance across my vision.

Warmth encases the top of my head, and the pressure of gentle fingers urges me to turn around. Once I have, those fingers move beneath my wet hair and grip the nape of my neck.

I blink up at River.

“Breathe with me, Rue. In… and out.”

My gaze drops to his chest as it rises, then falls. Rises. Falls. My lungs instinctively mirror the rhythm, and while it does nothing for my heart rate, my mind quiets within a few cycles.

“There you go. Perfect. Just like that.”

The low words spark an entirely different type of buzzing in my body—a buzzing that intensifies as I watch a moonlit water droplet roll between his pecs and down his stomach.

“One more for me. In… and out. That’s my girl.”

As the droplet reaches the trail of dark hair leading into his shorts, his fingers lightly squeeze. Dazed, I lift my eyes to his face.

River sucks in a short breath, his features sharpening in a way that’s familiar and not. Before I can decide on an appropriate adjective, he releases me and takes a step back.

“Head to the cabana. Dry off, get warm. I’ll be there in a minute with your stuff. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

He nods and walks past me.

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