Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Take a deep breath.”
Rush, his eyes sharp, pressed the inhaler to her mouth. They were on the couch in the cabin now; the fire dancing merrily in the stove, but all Lily could focus on was the tight, vise-like grip on her lungs.
She wanted to snap at him, tell him she was trying to breathe—that she always had to think about breathing, such a simple thing that most people took for granted. But her lungs stole the words from her as usual. Frustration, hot and bitter, burned through her, but she swallowed it down and focused.
One, two, three.
She inhaled another puff of the medicine, the cold mist filling her lungs, loosening the pressure that wrapped around her ribs like a clamp.
The feeling of not being able to breathe never got any less terrifying, even after all these years.
But what made it worse, so much worse, was that Sheriff Sexy got to see her struggle this time.
She squeezed her eyes closed in silent misery, aware that her hair was a wild mess, half of it falling from her braid, damp with melted snow.
Her cheeks burned from the wind, her nose was probably pink, and she could still feel where a chunk of snow had lodged itself down the back of her shirt.
She was braless, makeup-less, and feeling less than sexy.
Like a bedraggled disaster instead of the confident woman she saw reflected in Rush’s eyes for that brief moment in the snow when he was on top of her.
When he was about to kiss her.
Her eyes watered, and not from lack of air this time.
Embarrassment burned hotter than the tightness in her lungs, making her feel even more exposed.
She wasn’t supposed to be like this. This version of her wasn’t the one she wanted Rush to see.
She wanted him to see her as desirable. Strong.
The way she’d felt before, when he’d pinned her in the snow, when her wrists were locked in his grip and heat had curled low in her belly. Not like… this.
Rush, as stoic and unshakable as ever, was watching her like she was his problem to solve instead of kissing her senseless.
Rush’s hand moved in slow, steady circles on her back, calm and methodical, like he was soothing a wounded animal.
And damn it, it was working. Her body instinctively leaned into the comfort of him, chasing the heat and the solid, grounding feel of him.
His hands were large and calloused from hard work, dragging against the flannel shirt of his she wore with each warm stroke.
An unsteady shiver ran through her, a sharp contrast to the burning in her lungs.
“That’s it. Take another one. Slow and easy,” he murmured, his voice low and so damn sure of what she needed.
Lily squeezed her eyes closed, trying to will her face to stop flushing.
Rush had wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She knew it. She’d seen it in the way his cool gray-steel eyes darkened to something molten hot. In the way his gaze had lingered over her mouth, his jaw flexing when she’d licked her lips.
She’d felt it in the way his hands had gripped her, rough and firm, fingers digging into her waist like he was testing the shape of her, mapping her body.
And yet, beneath his strength, there had been something precisely careful about the way he had held her down.
Like he knew exactly how much force to use to make her mouth go dry and her belly flutter in anticipation.
And then her body had betrayed her.
Tucker’s voice slithered in her mind. It’s always something with you, Lily, he’d muttered under his breath more times than she could count.
She’d pretended not to hear.
She pretended now.
“I’m okay.” The words scraped out of her throat. She forced herself to sit up, breaking contact with Rush’s body even though she wanted—God, she wanted—to stay there. She sniffed, lifted her chin, and pushed to her feet, ignoring the wobble in her legs.
Nothing about this moment was usual. Despite her humiliation, her pulse still hummed from that almost-kiss, and the way Rush’s hard body had pressed against hers in all the most sensitive places and had left her feeling quivery in a way she never had before.
Lord, the man had enough sex appeal to melt all the snow on the mountain.
She knew she was way out of her league with experience, but that hadn’t stopped her from wanting to learn what his lips tasted like.
Rush’s brows lowered. He sat back abruptly on the couch, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and looked her over with clinical precision that made her feel as womanly as a doorknob.
“Do you usually wrestle with dogs outside in the snow without your inhaler?” His bossy sheriff voice was back, and Lily stiffened. Intimidating or not, she wasn’t a suspect.
“No,” she said stiffly, shooting Riggs a quick glare. The dog yawned hugely and collapsed into a heap beside the stove to lick his paws, ignoring her completely as if they hadn’t had a come-to-Jesus moment. Traitor.
She narrowed her eyes at Rush. She wasn’t going to let him bulldoze her just because he was big and broody and wore a badge. “Riggs”— at his name, the dog’s black ears perked up, his head tilting as if listening—“and I were coming to an understanding. He’s learning to respect me,” she added.
Rush exhaled sharply, looking a bit too intimidating for her comfort. “What if I wasn’t here, Lily?” he asked evenly. “What then? Would Riggs have carried you inside? Found your inhaler?”
There was no accusation in the question, no lecture.
Just a what if that landed on her like a weight.
Old Lily would have apologized, rushed to smooth things over and promised to be more careful.
But New Lily was done being handled, done being smothered by well-meaning people who thought they knew what was best for her.
Her chin rose a fraction higher. “I know how to take care of myself.”
Rush’s lips pressed together, his jaw flexing like he was holding something back.
“Then act like it,” he said, not unkindly, but firmly.
“I’ve known you for a few days, and so far, I’ve seen you run out of church in a blaze of glory and survive a deadly snowstorm, and now you’re out here wrestling with my dog.
” His eyes held hers steadily, something flickering behind them before his mouth curved.
“Maybe just make sure your inhaler is in your pocket when you’re being a badass,” he added dryly.
The words knocked her off-balance more than his concern. She was used to people hovering and worrying, being handled rather than being trusted to take care of herself. But Rush wasn’t looking at her like she was fragile. He was looking at her like he admired her, and it felt pretty amazing.
A slow grin spread across her lips. “For the record, I didn’t get tackled. We were playing a game.”
Riggs cocked his head the other way, as if contradicting her, and let out a sharp bark that made her flinch. Dammit. She restrained herself from sticking out her tongue at him.
Rush’s eyes flicked to her mouth, just for a second, but it was enough to make her stomach swoop.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice lower. “I noticed.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Rush,” she said quietly. Her heart thudded in her ears, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. She sensed this was too important to let go. “I don’t need anyone deciding what’s best for me.”
His dark brows lifted, but he didn’t argue. He just studied her, eyes locked on hers, holding her breath in place.
Then, to her absolute shock, the corner of his mouth curved up. “Noted.”
He turned back to the fire, as if that was that, leaving her standing there, breathless and flushed with an unfamiliar thrill. New Lily was pretty badass.