Page 8 of River & Rue

Old embarrassment resurfaces, kindling flames in my cheeks. I’d been so nervous that day, only the second time I’d been surrounded by the intimidating, ultra-famous Ashburn family. And unlike my first encounter, there hadn’t been a wedding giving me an excuse to fade into the background.

It hadn’t mattered that everyone was welcoming and kind—besides River and Olive—or that the atmosphere was relaxed. My hands still shook so badly I could barely eat.

When Eva Sullivan, whose music helped me through one of the worst periods of my life, smiled at me and asked me to pass the butter, I completely glitched. The forkful of stuffing I’d been guiding carefully to my mouth had jerked violently, spraying its gravy-coated contents all over my chest.

“Should we head back to the Lodge so you can tell Claudia you’ve made a mistake?”

I backpedal from the memory, emerging in the present to see River standing at a bend in the path ahead. He stares back at me with a smirk, but the self-satisfied glint in his eyes is missing. They’re disturbingly blank, a muddy whiskey instead of their usual amber gold.

As though the observation pulls a veil from my eyes, I see him. His shoulders sit unusually high, muscles bunched with tension. Deep shadows rest beneath his eyes. Lines of strain bracket his mouth and carve a valley between his eyebrows.

In the two years since I saw him last, he looks like he’s aged ten.

Before my brain can intervene, my stupid mouth blurts, “What happened to you?”

His eyes flare, then narrow. Without their typical sparkle, the effect sends a shiver down my spine. Muscles coil all over his half naked body, and then he’s stalking back toward me with determined strides.

My primal brain bleats danger! abort! run! But I’ve never been great at listening to that voice, so I plant my hands on my hips and wait. He halts inches away, battering my sensitive nose with a subtle (and totally revolting) combination of salt, citrus, and cedar. I ward off another memory, one so incongruent with the present it belongs in a different lifetime altogether.

River’s gaze zeros in on my neck, jaw working like he’s chewing on the idea of squeezing it. I swallow reflexively. It’s painful, the kind that burns your esophagus and feels like swallowing glass.

Because I have no sense of self-preservation, I snap, “What’s your problem?”

His eyes lift. They’re still weirdly vacant, but at least they’re not homicidal.

“Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it.”

I squint at him, baffled. “Paying me? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

His insinuation sinks in and pulls a harsh laugh from my throat. “You think your family is paying me to spy on you?” I shake my head in disgust. “Just when I think you can’t be any more self-centered, you prove me wrong.”

He shifts even closer. So close the fine hairs on my arms lift like tiny proximity alarms.

“Then prove me wrong. How did you get a residency here?”

Something inside me cracks. Between one second and the next, the reasonable, mature woman disappears. Animal instinct takes over. I need him out of my space rightfuckingnow.

Slapping my hands to his rock-hard chest, I push with all my might.

He barely sways.

“Are you… shoving me?”

He sounds surprised, a little confused, and not at all threatened. My reply is a hiss through clenched teeth. Head down, I dig in my heels and keep pushing, and he keeps not moving—the absolute bastard.

His chest shakes under my hands. “A for effort. You’re really putting your back into it.”

A scream pools in my throat, bleeding into my voice. “You think this is funny? Looming over me like a tacky villain and trying to intimidate me? Well, it’s not fucking funny. It’s gross. You’re gross.”

“If I’m so gross, why are you stroking my nipple?”

I’m not stroking a damn thing, but the ridiculous suggestion excises the last of my common sense. Grabbing the nearest nipple—of course it’s one of those small, perfect ones—I twist it. He yelps, jumping backward and cupping the offended area.

“What the hell, woman!”

I bare my teeth. “I was hoping it was an off switch.”