Page 132 of The Fine Line
“There you go,” Rhett says. “You okay?”
“I think so,” I breathe. “You know… you’re pretty good at that.”
He shrugs. “Well, I’ve only dealt with a few hundred cuts and bruises over the years.”
I let out a weak laugh. “Guess I should be thankful for that.”
With one last breath, I push away from the mirror and scoot to the edge of the counter to hop down.
But Rhett’s not ready for the movement.
As I shift forward, his hands slide instinctively up my thighs to steady me—and suddenly we’re face to face. Inches apart. Too close.
“Oh,” I stammer, pulling back slightly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says softly.
His eyes flick down between us, then back up to mine. He swallows hard, his brows knitting together in concentration.
I’m about to ask what he’s thinking—but I don’t need to.
Now that the adrenaline and pain have cleared, I feel it.
The electricity humming between us.
Me, perched on the counter. Rhett, standing between my legs.
His hands on my thighs.
My breaths shallow.
Him, taking care of me.
Me, letting him.
It’s dangerously familiar.
Rhett’s grip tightens, fingers flexing against my bare skin.
A gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
I bite the inside of my lip, trying to cover it up, but my throat goes dry.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But I can see it in his eyes.
He’s looking at my lips. And he’s thinking about it.
His voice is rough when he finally breaks the silence.
“Cub… we need to talk.”
thirty
RHETT
She’s so fucking close I can taste her.
I never imagined there’d be a single situation in this world where I could do something—anything—to help Caroline Barrett. Much less two.
