Page 218 of Rush

I hear the elevator ding just as I place the finishing touches on dinner.

Scurrying over, I slip my heels back on, one at a time, steadying myself with the edge of the counter. The clack of them against the tile makes me feel taller. Sexier. More confident.

I fluff my hair out and smooth down the front of his shirt and step out from the kitchen. I lean against the counter, wine in hand.

Let him walk in and find me like this.

I can’t help but feel smug at how Alex would react if he could see me now.

He’d be furious and it made me feel brave—I had you first.

Not anymore.

My heart hums in my chest.

The thought of driving Broderick wild with lust makes my thighs clench with anticipation.

Did I mean nothing to you?

I shake Alex’s words away as Broderick steps into the open living space, suitcase in one hand, phone in the other. He looks tired—rumpled from the flight, jaw dusted in scruff, his collar loose.

Then he looks up.

Stops in his tracks, eyes dragging over me—bare legs, red lace, his shirt hanging open just enough to tease the edge of my breasts.

The door slams shut behind him, but he doesn’t move.

“Elena,” he says, low and rough with travel.

I tilt my head, lips curling. “Welcome home, handsome.”

He doesn’t speak. Just stares—as if I’m a mirage.

“You’re just in time,” I say, nodding toward the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

He blinks, finally scanning the space before his eyes fall back on mine, softening at the edges.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re trying to kill me.”

I smile turning to pour him a glass of wine. “I hope not—I worked hard on dinner.” Throwing him a glance over my shoulder.

He drops his bag to the floor with a thud. Crossing the space between us in three long strides. His hands grip my hips, hard, pulling me flush against him.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

“Welcome home, handsome.”

He kisses me—rough, like he’s been starving for me. Like I’m the only thing that can bring him back to life.

When really it’s him keeping me alive.

I moan into his mouth, letting him take and take until he evaporates any remaining trace of Alex.

“Damn, baby,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “It makes it a lot nicer to come home when you’re here waiting for me.”

When the work’s all said and done, Broderick, who do you come home to?

Andrew’s words echo in my mind.