Page 41 of Peaches

Her eyes track up the length of my arm, a slow smile creeping along her lips as she palms my wrist. “Is this where we move to the ‘exhibitionist’ part of the date?”

I help her up to her feet and give her a smile that spells trouble. “I’m notopposedto fucking you in public, but I have another bag of tricks in mind.”

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

OLIVIA

Itrail behind Rhett up the narrow staircase behind Wild Coyote, listening to each step creak as we climb. A spark of anticipation catches when I see a closed wooden door at the top of the stairs, and my focus zeros in on the simple black knob.

When Rhett reaches the top, he turns around to face me over the shoulder that bears the strap of a dark backpack, his gray eyes glittering with the reflection of the wall sconce beside him. He doesn’t say anything, and it prompts me to ask, “Is this where you bring all your girls?”

He smirks, but the curve of his mouth slips away just as quickly. “You’d be the first.”

I don’t believe him for a second.

“I need you to understand something,” he says quietly. “You can leave at any time. You can . . .stopthis at any time, if you?—”

“Rhett,” I say.

But he keeps talking. “Tell me that you will. If you need to.” His tone is insistent. “Tell me that you’ll stop this andleaveif you need to. I’ll take you home, no questions asked, and we can never talk about any of it again.”

I nod, mouth dry. “I will. I promise.”

His stare lingers for a lifetime before he turns back to the door, unlocking it with a small key he produces from his pocket. I follow him inside, the smell of warm spice and stale dust enveloping me—it’s like stepping into another world. The apartment is a small studio, with a kitchenette and bathroom to the right and a bed shoved into the corner on the left. The blankets are rumpled, clearly recently slept in, but the room is cold.

Itlookslived in, but itfeelsempty. Deserted.

Rhett must see the question on my face. “My grandpa had it built on top of the bar decades ago. I think he used it to sleep off the late nights he spent working downstairs.” He shrugs. “My family never really used it. But I started sleeping here on and off a few years ago.”

“Why?” I look around, eyeing the sheer curtains that hang from the single small window, embroidered with roses. The knotted hardwood floors creak with each slow step I take. It’s beautiful but ghostly. The cozy warmth I felt at the ranch—even outside the big beautiful house—doesn’t seem present here.

I find Rhett staring at me, face unreadable. “It’s quiet” is all he says. “Do you want a drink?”

I nod, nerves spiking as my gaze catches back on the bed.

Rhett swings the bag he pulled from the bike off his shoulder, dropping it on a narrow dresser pressed up against the wall. He unzips it and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a single plastic cup.

After pouring about a shot’s worth into the cup, he hands it to me. And then he leans against the wall, a picture of patience, and waits.

My fingers tingle as I tip the cup to my lips and drink it all in a single swallow.

His mouth twitches, eyes sliding down my neck.

“Another?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “That was just to calm your nerves. I can feel your heart pounding from over here.”

“Oh.” I smile around the burn in my throat.

He pushes off the wall, bottle still in hand, and closes the distance between us in two long strides. “My turn,” he says, still eyeing my throat. He lifts the bottle between us and I think he’s going to drink straight from it, but then he tips the neck of it in my direction and whiskey spills over my bottom lip and chin. Down my neck. Into the front of my dress.

And then he’sonme.

I barely register the thud of the bottle before his hands grip my hips,hard, pulling me toward him as he bends to lick me chest to chin. Lapping the whiskey off my skin with a low, rumbling groan. He sucks against me with wet lips, chasing open-mouthed kisses with more of his tongue, and I fuckingmelt.

Dropping the cup to the floor, I lift my hands to his face, tunneling my fingers into his thick, black waves as he buries his face in my throat. His grunt is sharp as he finds my lips, and I swear he wants to swallow me whole with the way he licks into my mouth.

He pulls away, heart flying against mine. “Breathe,” he orders. And I suck in air, completely unaware that I’d been depriving myself of it. His eyes dance across my face, and he looks . . . almost panicked. “I don’t . . . I don’t normally kiss on the mouth,” he says, voice low. Shaky.

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