Page 9 of Rush Turner
Jessa
Imust have fallen back to sleep because the smell of bacon and the sound of him humming woke me up.
Rush Turner. In my kitchen. At an ungodly hour. Using my mismatched pans like he owned them.
I shuffled in, hair a bird’s nest, tank top askew, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders like a superhero cape; it reminded me of my little brother. I leaned against the doorframe and tried to remember why I hadn’t pepper-sprayed him yet.
“Morning, sunshine,” he drawled without turning around. He flipped bacon with surgical precision, muscles flexing under a worn T-shirt that should be illegal at dawn.
I squinted. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re going to crash.”
“I’m fine.” He turned then, holding up a steaming mug like a peace treaty. “Drink this before you sass me. Doctor’s orders.”
I took it, sniffed it, and nearly groaned out loud. Perfect coffee. Perfect bacon. Perfect man currently acting like my personal bodyguard/chef.
“Are you a doctor?” I asked.
“No, I’m a mechanic, a protector, and a former Navy SEAL.”
“I don’t need babysitting, Rush.”
“Not babysitting,” he said calmly. “Protecting.”
I scowled. “What does that mean?”
His grin was slow, infuriating, and made my stomach flip in a way it hadno businessflipping. “I’m here to help you.”
RUSH
She thought she was so slick. Standing there pretending she didn’t sleep better on that couch because she knew I was watching the window all night.
I’d checked the street twice before dawn. No sign of the SUV. No new tracks in the gravel lot. But my gut said the quiet wouldn’t last.
She padded over, yanked a strip of bacon off the plate, and shoved half in her mouth before I could warn her it was still hot.
“Careful—”
“Mmfff!” She fanned her tongue, glaring at me like I’d personally betrayed her.
I bit back a laugh. Too easy. Too damn hot.
JESSA
I munched my half-burned bacon in moody silence while Rush washed my single coffee mug like it was made of crystal.
“Stop hovering,” I snapped when he checked the front window for the third time.
“Not hovering.” He dried the mug, set it in the rack, turned and pinned me with that calm storm of a stare. “Planning.”
“Planning what, General Patton?”
“How to keep you alive while you fight me every step of the way.”
I crossed my arms. “Newsflash, Rambo. I have a job. A normal job. I have to go in today or my boss will freak out.”
