Page 33 of Whistle

“Count some sheep.” Emmett snapped.

The muscle in Rush’s jaw jumped, but instead of storming out, he hesitated. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, the words not directed at me at all.

Emmett let out a low exhale. His voice was not nearly as biting as before. “I’m fine, son. Go on.”

Rush nodded once. “I’ll check the locks,” he said, exiting the room.

The hand around my wrist yanked, pulling me around. Intense eyes bounced between mine. “You’re nothing but trouble.”

“I’m not the one trying to shoot someone,” I smarted off.

He smiled. A genuine smile that had my heart performing a cartwheel in my chest. “I’m throwing it in the ocean.”

My lips formed a small O. His smile grew.

Wiping the surprise off my face, I pulled my arm free and wrapped both around myself. “Whatever.”

He chuckled, and I thought about kicking him. But then I remembered he had a gun when he lifted it to empty the chamber.

“Wait here,” he ordered and went out onto the deck.

I rushed out after him, slamming into his broad back when he stopped midstride. The wind blew strands of my hair against my cheek. “You’re coming back, right?”

The muscles in his back tensed, but he remained facing away.

Embarrassment blurred my vision, and I thought about throwing myself into the ocean with the gun. Why did I say that out loud?

His intense silence lasted so long that I grew even more embarrassed and shifted to flee into the privacy of my room.

He caught my waist as I turned, tugging me hard enough that I tumbled into his chest. He had enough height on me that I had to drop my head back to look up. With the gun in one hand at his side, he reached up with his other, molten stare tracing every inch of my face.

No one has ever looked at me like that before. Ever.

The pads of his fingers were warm and soft when he dragged the hair off my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. He didn’t pull away, though. His fingertips stayed close, ghosting over my earlobe and creating shivers down my neck.

“You worried I won’t?” he asked, his voice once again like top-shelf whiskey and making me drunk.

I nodded without hesitation. The vulnerability I showed suddenly seemed minuscule compared to the depth of his stare.

He made a sound in his throat, a deep satisfied purr. My eyelids drooped. This man was indeed some sort of drug. God, he is beguiling. I was completely beguiled.

His face lowered, and my pulse began to hammer. Anticipation rode me hard, giving me the jitters.

When he was mere inches away, my eyes swept down, no longer able to even stare at his face.

“Nothing but trouble,” he murmured before settling against my lips.

I melted, body liquifying as though there was nothing solid left to my form. His arm wound around my waist, holding me up, and I arched over it, surrendering all my weight.

His lips were warm and forgiving, something I hadn’t felt in so very long. The scruff on his jaw and chin was a soft scrape to my smooth skin. I whimpered and tried to clutch him closer, but he was the one in control. After another lingering brush of his mouth, he lifted enough to speak.

“Yeah, Goldilocks, I’m coming back,” he said, his voice vibrating my half-dead heart.

I cracked my eyes to peer through my lashes at the specimen he made. He eased back, and my fingers bunched in the shirt at his waist.

Instead of forcing me away, he nudged me to the railing. “Stand here and watch me.”

I nodded.

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