Page 65 of Lush

“Let’s pray you don’t have a concussion,” he said quietly, then stood watching me for a moment before walking away down the hall and turning on the lights. Seconds later, he was back with a first aid kit.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I whisper, my voice too soft, too vulnerable. I hated myself for it.

“No,” he said, voice thick with something I couldn’t name. “I didn’t.”

He came back, dabbed my forehead with a wet cloth to clean the blood, but I liked his shirt better. He was busy cleaning and adding the antibiotic. I closed my eyes, just for a second. Big mistake. Because suddenly, I was twenty-one again, tangled in his sheets, whispering his name into the dark.

No. Stop it. That girl was dead. I buried her the night I left him.

But my body betrayed me—leaning into his warmth, into his hands, into the only place I’ve ever felt safe. Even when I shouldn’t.

“Reese,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He just stared at me, like he was trying to memorize my face. He put his thumb under my chin and tilted my face up. Then he reached for a Band-Aid.

“Why are you apologizing? You know when I find who did this,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, full of a promise I didn’t doubt, “I’m gonna fuck them up. No questions asked.”

I let out a shaky but genuine laugh. Hearing old Reese—the one who never gave up—was strangely comforting. My unwavering protector, even if it meant destroying the world.

A momentary shift occurred. My number-crunching, inheritance-securing mind paused. Only then did I see how I’d been clinging to that one goal. But right here, between us, I couldn’t ignore the question that crept in.

What did Ireallywant?

I spent years convincing myself that love was a distraction, that Reese was a mistake, that my ambition was enough.

But the truth is—it’s cold at the top. And I am so, so alone.

I got that old craving again—the way he moved, so reckless, so bold. I saw a changed Reese.

My hand grazed his chest. He got stiff.

“Reese.”

I could feel the searing heat of his touch, a burning brand against my skin, and I couldn’t pull away, lost in the raw, aching need that pulsed through me like a wildfire.

He wasn’t pulling away. He inched closer, his presence overwhelming.

Every part of me was screaming for him. No time to think, no time to hesitate. I just wanted to feel him, that’s all. I was desperate to connect, to break down my walls, and find something real and unconditional.

I leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was slow and unsure, like I was asking permission. And I did, letting the warmth of his touch melt the coldness inside me.

For the first time in ages, the anger, pain, and confusion were gone, replaced by something soft and fragile. I didn’t care about the blood, bruises, or the past hanging over us. So, it was allabout that quiet connection, that tender moment—something I’d avoided for so long.

He pulled me closer, his hands on my back. Our hearts beat as one.

Reese pulled back, blinking slowly. I was lost for words. I was still all tingly from the kiss, but the headache was killer.

“You need to rest,” he said quietly.

Every brush of his hand against my skin felt electric, and he quickly finished patching me up.

“You’re not sleeping on that couch,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

He hauled me up, his hands keeping me steady as I wobbled. My legs were like noodles, but he wouldn’t let go.

We walked down a dim hallway, my nerves bubbling up as I followed him into his room. It was a simple space, but it was clearly his, down to the leather chairs, the piles of records, and his scent of leather and wood.

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