“‘I draw inspiration from my life and those around me.’ That’s as nonspecific as you can get.”
“I was trying to help.”
“No, you didn’t want to be the bad guy?—”
“Would you rather I tell them why yes, girls, your dad isthat boy. He’s so much that boy that I could’ve written another album about him. Because why would a boy stay with you for five years—five years, Rhys—why would a boy make the rawest, sweetest, hottest love to you and then walk out of your life forever like you didn’t mean a thing? Is that what you want me to say?”
I took two steps closer to her. “Would it have been better for you to write about being a poor rancher’s wife who can’t go anywhere, especially not during calving season?” I crowded even closer. “Would that stay in the number one spot for two weeks?”
Her eyes narrowed and she planted her hands on her hips. “It was three weeks.”
The yellow in her eyes was sparking. Energy poured off of her. This was the June Bug I used to run thepastures with. The June who drove my high school pickup with the stick shift like she was in a Formula One race. The June who didn’t hide in her hometown because she was lost and confused.
“Who’s the guy you were crying over in ‘Emerald Rain’?” I was inches from her. I needed to hear the answer. Had she been jealous of Kirstin? Had I made a mistake when I’d finally decided to let her go and attempt to move on with my life?
She blanched. “That was no one.”
“It was very much someone. Was it me? Did you picture me up on that church altar, saying my vows to the woman who’d be the mother of my children?”
Her eyes misted over, and it was a kick in the goddamn gut. “Rhys, don’t.”
“Who was it, June? Who made you think you were the richest woman in the world crying those emerald tears?”
“Rhys—”
“Yes or no, songbird.” I lowered my voice. The smell of peonies hit my nose and my muscles strained against leaning forward, burying my nose in her hair, and inhaling her deep into my lungs. “Was it me?”
“Yes.” One word. Barely a whisper.
My world crumpled around me like an aluminum can. So my worst fears were true. She’d hurt as badly as me. It didn’t make me feel better.
Old emotions rushed in. That aching emptiness for years after she’d left. The loneliness. The longing to have her in my arms just one more time.
But I’d made the right decision. I had made it for her.
And she was right here. I could take the blue, silkystrands of her hair between my fingers. I could feel those puffy lips under mine once again.
We were still close, our chests nearly touching. Her face was tipped up. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and tracked down her cheek. I swiped it away with a thumb.
How many times had she cried around me since I’d found her on the side of the road? I shouldn’t be making this woman feel bad.
I could make her feel good. I dropped my head a few inches. She fisted her hands in the flannel of my shirt, but she didn’t stop me. So I closed the distance.
As soon as my lips hit hers, my epically bad mistake was clear. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to taste June Kerrigan again.
I licked my tongue out and she opened for me. Her minty flavor filled my mouth and her tongue danced with mine.
We used to make our own music together. Special notes for the two of us. A bourbon harmony.
I gripped her waist and tugged her closer. She circled her arms around my neck and pressed against me. Turning us both, I backed her to a workbench. Once she was wedged against the bench, I could fully devour her.
A moan went through her and right into me. I swallowed the sound and continued to plunder the warm, wet depths of her mouth. This was no bumbling teenage make-out. We knew what we were doing, but the years between us melted away. What had been complicated was now a simple kiss.
A sweltering, hot-as-fuck kiss. One that would keep me up at night until I had to do something to take theedge off the lust that hadn’t gone away since I’d seen her looking back at me in the rain.
I ground into her, and she met my movements with a force of her own. She curled a leg around me. I ran my hand down her ass and hitched her leg higher, notching myself between her thighs. Too much damn denim was in the way, but I’d take what she was willing to give me.
Reversing direction, I brushed my hand up her toned thigh to her waist. Her shirt was tucked in. Tempted to rip it to shreds, I started working the material out of her waistband.
