Page 35 of Ruger's Rage

I head inside, practically ripping myself away from Ruger, and Ellie takes one look at my flushed face.

"Good lunch?" she asks innocently.

"Don't start," I warn, tying my apron.

"Wasn't going to say a thing."

"Your face is saying plenty."

She grins, bumping my shoulder as she passes. "Just nice to see you looking more alive than scared for once."

The observation startles me, mostly because she's right.

For the first time in months, the dominant emotion coursing through me isn't fear.

It's excitement, and that might be the most frightening thing of all.

Working through the afternoon, I find myself touching my lips, remembering the feel of his against mine.

The way his beard scratched my skin, how his hands stayed gentle even as the kiss deepened.

How different it felt from the last time a man kissed me.

Marco's kisses were possessive, demanding.

Taking rather than sharing.

His hands would grip too tight, ensuring I couldn't pull away even if I wanted to.

Ruger held me like I was precious, like I might vanish if he pressed too hard.

It unsettles me, making me question everything I thought I knew about men with power, about danger and safety.

As I wipe down the bar for the fifth time, Ellie slides a shot of whiskey toward me.

"Medicinal," she insists. "You're going to wear a hole in the counter."

I take the shot, welcoming the burn. "How did you know Ruger was different from Striker?"

The question seems to surprise her, but she doesn't shy away. "Time. Actions. The little things that reveal character when no one's watching. Doesn't hurt that I raised that man when his ma died."

"What kind of little things?"

"He remembers how I take my coffee. Checks the locks on my door when he visits. Calls just because, not only when he needs something." She smiles softly. "And the way he looks at you? It's completely different from how Striker ever looked at me."

"How does he look at me?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

"Like you could very well be the light of his life," She refills my shot glass. "Just something to think about."

I'm still thinking about it hours later as I head back to my trailer.

The bar closed early on Ellie's insistence—"We're celebrating the sale, go rest!"—leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Inside, I double-check the locks before heading to the shower.

The hot water soothes my muscles but does nothing for my racing mind.

Wrapped in a towel, I pass the window and freeze.

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