Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Finally, after a couple of long seconds, his fingers close around mine, and everything changes.
Rhett looks down at our joined hands. “You have no idea what you’re doing to us.” His voice is so low and rough it raises the hair on my arms.
This morning, I may have stepped back and told myself I shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s too messy or complicated or just plain wrong.
But after meeting Elena and Kira and realizing wanting something isn’t a crime, I stay where I am and hold Rhett’s gaze. “Maybe I do.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and then he steps closer. So close that my breath catches and the heat of his body warms mine in the cool night air. I can see his pulse at the base of his throat and a faint scar along his jaw.
He reaches for me with his other hand but stops just before he touches my face. His hesitation frustrates me, but it also makes something turn molten inside me, because it’s obvious he wants me.
“You’re allowed to touch me,” I whisper.
“Wren.” His eyes are dark with need, but he says my name like a warning.
When he cups the side of my face in his hand, I stop breathing. His palm is rough against my cheek as his thumb brushes once near the corner of my mouth. His touch is controlled, almost reverent.
He lowers his head and the space between us shrinks to nothing. His breath is warm against my lips, and I lean in to let him know the last inch is his if he wants it.
But he goes still, and his fingers tighten. His breath is nearly ragged as, instead of kissing me, he rests his forehead against mine for a second.
Then he steps back.
I stare at him, pulse hammering, frustration and desire knotted so tightly I can’t separate them.
He pulls his hand back from my face, but he doesn’t release my fingers. “When it happens,” he says, his voice more raw and rough than I’ve ever heard it, “it happens with all of us. Or not at all.”
All of us. It’s not a denial or rejection. It’s a promise.
My body likes the sound of it so much that I have to lock my knees, but the part of me that doesn’t appreciate being bossed around goes rigid.
Rhett is setting the terms without bothering to ask what I think. The fact that I like the terms doesn’t erase the fact that he delivered them like an order.
I pull my hand from his. “You say that like it’s been decided.”
He works his jaw. “Isn’t it?”
His arrogance is irritating, but it has other effects on my body that make it hard to be as angry as I should.
I step closer, reclaiming some of the space he made when he pulled back. “I’m not one of your brothers. I don’t fall in line because you’ve assessed the risks and decided the best course.”
His dark eyes reflect the same fire I’m feeling. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
His expression doesn’t change, but something in him recalibrates.
“When it happens,” I say, echoing his words, “I’ll be involved in deciding how.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and it’s not fair how he can make me feel victorious and unsettled at the same time.
Then he meets my eyes again. “Yes, ma’am.”
I should go inside, but instead, I stay close, feeling the pull of him and the tension still running through his body. Then I turn toward the door before I grab the front of his shirt and make him forget every noble thought he ever had.
Rhett stays on the porch, watching me leave, then watching the treeline, never fully off-duty.
As I step back into the warmth of the cabin, I know I’m going to hold him to what he said.
All of them. Or not at all.
CHAPTER 18
RHETT
The big topo map, weighted at the corners with two coffee mugs, a box of ammunition, and Boone’s knife, covers most of the scarred pine dining table.
Cade’s marked the suspected cache sites in red, the routes Wren recorded at night are in black, and the game trails that have gone quiet are shaded in dull pencil. The routes Elk Run Outfitters advertises to clients are marked in blue, and the overlap is absolute.
Every pass Turner’s guides use for legitimate trips overlays a corridor men have been using to move narcotics through my mountains.
Boone stands on the other side of the table, arms folded. He hasn’t smiled in an hour. Cade leans over the map, one hand braced on the table, the other holding a pencil.
“Run it again,” I say.
Cade taps the first red mark. “Cache one. Ravine west of Brindle Pass. Two miles off the maintained route, but less than a quarter mile from the switchback Elk Run uses for their three-day advanced package.”
He taps the next one. “Cache two. Deadfall basin below Mercy Saddle. Their guides bring clients over the saddle, drop down here for camp, then cut east.”