River
. . .
collision
In the aftermath of last night’s storm, the dawn air is crisp and cool. Tangy with brine, pine, and petrichor, it saws in and out of my lungs as I run a six-mile loop around the property.
I’ve done this circuit every morning for nearly a week with little effort, but today, every step is war. My first night sleeping in the studio was terrible, and the paths are muddy as hell.
Every ten or so strides, my back spasms around a pinched nerve and sizzling pain shoots down my right leg. By mile three, my quads and calves are on fire. My legs are spattered with mud to the knees, my sneakers squelching with every step. Sweat runs freely, gluing my T-shirt to my chest and spine.
A rational person would be soaking in the hot springs or on their way to get a massage. But I’m not rational—I’m in full-blown denial. My ego refuses to accept I might be too old to sleep on a floor without fucking myself up.
So like the stubborn bastard I am, I keep running. Around mile four, I stop fighting the pain and embrace it like some sort of twisted meditation. The payoff is immediate. My mind quiets, giving me a much-needed reprieve from my thoughts.
Until the subject of too many of those said thoughts comes running full tilt around the blind corner right in front of me.
Rue-the-day-I-met-her St. James.
Our eyes meet for a split second, sharing horrified awareness.
We can’t avoid a collision.
I twist on instinct, catching Rue by the waist as I do. As she slams into me, I lift her off the ground. Knees bent to maintain balance, I allow momentum to spin us across the path. I get a mouthful of her ponytail. Her chin stabs my clavicle. A flying knee misses my balls by a hairsbreadth.
But thanks to me, we’re still on our feet as we skid to a stop.
Rue’s body trembles violently, her panting breaths painting my throat. Her nails dig into my shoulders like kitten claws, and her breasts are smashed against my chest. That goddamn intoxicating scent of hers fills my heaving lungs and swims into my bloodstream.
Sadly, the distraction only lasts a few seconds. As I straighten, the consequences of my heroism hit. My lower back screams and locks. Muscles twitch angrily around my spine, and my right leg almost gives out.
When Rue pushes against my shoulders, I barely hold back a groan at the resulting flares of agony.
“What the hell, River! You almost killed me!”
I glare down at her flushed face. “You can’t be serious. You were the one running on the wrong side of the path.”
“I was not!” She squirms in my arms. “Let me go, dammit.”
I loosen my hold enough for her feet to touch the ground, but my body ignores my demand to release her completely. Probably because she’s the only reason I’m still upright.
She shoves me again, her hips wiggling.
“Give me a second, okay? My back is jacked up. And for the love of god, stop moving.”
She either doesn’t hear the strain in my voice or, more likely, doesn’t care. Her squirming intensifies, her hips churning against mine. The resulting mix of arousal and pain is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Confusing. Slightly fascinating.
Deeply unpleasant.
That unpleasantness increases exponentially when she screeches in my face.
“Oh my god, is that your dick?”
The disgust in her voice works like an electric shock. I recoil backward, making it two steps before white-hot pain freezes me in place. My legs tremble. I try to lock my knees, but they wave goodbye and drop me like a bad habit.
I hit the trail on all fours, my palms and shins taking the brunt. Cursing, I flop onto my side, then roll onto my back and drag my knees up. The worst of the pressure releases from my lower back, but the painful spasms continue.
Rue falls to her knees beside me, her worried face appearing right above mine, and all I can think is that our faces have never been this close.
Tendrils of russet hair are plastered to her forehead and temples.
Beads of sweat dot the skin beneath her nose, a sight that shouldn’t be nearly as appealing as it is.
I see every single freckle on her cheeks.
The different blues in her eyes. Her lips are a little chapped, and there’s a tiny white line bisecting the curve of her lower lip that I’ve never noticed before.
It’s an old scar, and I frown, wondering how she got it. How old she was.
Then she opens her mouth and reminds me why I shouldn’t care.
“I thought you were messing with me!”
My jaw drops. “The fuck?”
She turns beet red. “Not with that. I know you didn’t—or wouldn’t—you know—to me. Or to anyone. Without consent or whatever.”
“Gee, thanks.” Molars grinding, I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at her. “Believe me, the reaction was involuntary and entirely your fault. I told you to stop dry-humping me.”
Her breath catches. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just go away.”
There’s a beat of silence, then a violent tug on my scalp. I hiss, more from shock than pain, and my eyes fly open. Rue smiles down at me, not an ounce of regret in sight for attempting to yank my bun off my head.
“What is wrong with you?”
She shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”
“Let go of my hair.”
“Stop being a brat.”
This woman. Un-fucking-believable.
“Final warning. Let go.”
She has the audacity to smirk. “Or what? You’ll glare me to death? Don’t be a baby, River. It doesn’t even hurt. See?”
She yanks my hair again.
Only this time, I’m looking into her glittering eyes as she does it. This time, the firm tug generates a surge of heat and sends my body an entirely different message.
It doesn’t matter that I don’t make a sound. That my bunched shorts conceal the rising evidence. Rue is staring right into my eyes, and I see the moment she realizes they’ve dilated.
Her lips part on a silent gasp. Her throat bobs. Right before she jerks her eyes away, I glimpse something I can hardly believe: those perfect blues darken to indigo.
Heady satisfaction sweeps through me. The pulsing ache in my back fades. I no longer feel the muddy, lumpy ground. All I’m aware of is her breath, fast and shallow. Her downturned face and the red of her cheeks. Her fingers, tangled in my hair and twitching like she wants to let go but can’t.
I’m a fool.
A masochist.
Scum of the earth.
Because instead of defusing this insanity, I say darkly, “Now we know, Ruin.”
Her gaze lifts, the blue searing. Fiery and defiant. “Know what? That you’re a whiny man-child?”
Her snark brings a dangerous smile to my face. One that makes her stiffen. Her eyes pinch, narrowing.
“We know what it will mean if you pull my hair again.”
My message is clear, the gauntlet thrown. I wait for her clapback, eager for it.
But it doesn’t come.
I’m not sure what to make of her expression, but it’s complex and nothing I’ve ever seen on her face before. Almost surprise but closer to confusion, with a touch of something grim that makes my breath catch.
Whatever it is, I don’t like it. I don’t like that I caused it.
“Rue—”
She wrenches her fingers away so fast a cluster of strands rips from my scalp. I wince.
“My bad.” She tugs dark hairs from the thin gold band on her right ring finger. Her eyes flash up. “That doesn’t count, by the way.”
“Obviously,” I grumble.
The discomfort I’ve been ignoring reintroduces itself.
My sweat is cooling, my body temperature dropping.
If I don’t get up soon, I’m going to be in a lot worse shape than I already am.
But when I lift my knees toward my chest in preparation for moving onto my side, Rue plants a palm on my forehead and pushes.
My head thuds back to the ground.
“Ow.” I glower at her. “Do you get off on my pain or something?”
“Poor baby.” Her lower lip extends in an exaggerated pout. “Be brave just a little while longer, okay?”
She starts aggressively patting my head. Like I’m a dog.
How the fuck did I forget, even for a second, how much this woman annoys me?
“I need to stand up,” I snap. “Either help me or get lost.”
“Shhh.”
Still patting me, she looks over her shoulder. I bat at her hand, but despite her distraction, I can’t catch it. Not even when she whacks my ear, then my nose.
“Goddammit, Rue, I swear—”
“Finally!”
She jumps to her feet and waves her arms over her head. A few seconds later, I hear the mechanical hum of a golf cart approaching.
A familiar voice yells, “Hey-oh! Somebody call for a rescue?”
Rue grins down at me. “Lucky for you, my phone picked up the Wi-Fi from the Lodge.”
The golf cart grinds to a halt six inches from my head. Kirk hops out, followed by another man in a PAC polo shirt.
Kirk peers down at me. “You’re not looking so great, bud.”
“He smells bad too,” Rue says cheerfully. “You’ve got him from here?”
“Absolutely,” he assures her. “Doc is on her way.”
“I don’t need a damned doctor.”
“Don’t listen to him. He hit his head when he fell.”
Kirk nods solemnly. “Don’t worry about a thing, Ms. Rue. We’ll take care of him.”
I glare at the relentless thorn in my side. She smiles and wiggles her fingers at me, then takes off at an easy jog.
“She-demon!” I shout at her.
“Man-baby!” she shouts back.
Kirk hocks a loogie.
“Okay, big guy. Let’s get you on your feet.”