Page 130 of The Fine Line
“Well, you and I aren’t the same,” I mutter. “I felt nothing.”
“I know it’s hard to believe when you look like that, but you’re still human.” His voice is too calm, too assured. “It’s only natural to get jealous.”
My back hits the island. I reach up, gripping the edge of the countertop for support.
Rhett leans in, close enough that I can feel the words when he adds, “Even if you don’t understand it.”
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes.
“But you have to know that being jealous of her is a waste of your time. She doesn’t mean anything to me. Just like I don’t mean anything to her. Not really. It’s the same thing with all of them.”
“Them?” I ask, my voice brittle.
“Those women,” he says simply.
“A moment of adrenaline. A mutual exchange. A release. A shot of dopamine. A fleeting connection.” His voice softens, almost thoughtful. “I mean, you said it yourself before. You have desires. Needs.”
He closes the distance between us.
“Now, tell me, Baby Bear…”
His mouth grazes the shell of my ear, and I freeze.
“Are your needs being met?”
A sharp breath catches in my throat just as his fingers curl into my hair, gently but firmly tugging my head back.
“Mmm,” he hums, lips brushing along my neck. “You know I’d give you whatever you need. Anything you want. All you have to do is ask.”
A full-body shiver rolls through me, and before I can think—before I can feel—I move.
My arms flail out as I shove him away, stumbling back in a panic. “I don’t?—”
My heels swing wildly in my hand, and I register a crash a split second before pain shoots through my foot.
A burst of red-hot heat. A jolt. Blinding.
I cry out, nearly losing my balance. My heel lands hard, and I feel the sharp slice tear into my skin. I glance down just long enough to realize what happened—a wine glass I’d left on the counter earlier, now in jagged pieces on the floor.
And I stepped right into it.
I drop my shoes with a clatter, trying to catch myself as I topple backward.
“Cub? Oh my God?—”
Rhett’s voice barely registers before he’s scooping me up into his arms.
The world tilts as he carries me through the apartment, pushing into the bathroom and setting me down on the counter. I curl forward, gripping the edge with one hand and clutching my foot with the other. Pain pulses sharp and steady, and I dig my nails into my skin to distract myself from the sting.
“Let me see,” Rhett says, his tone urgent.
“No,” I grit out. “I’m fine.”
“You stepped on glass?—”
“Really?” I deadpan. “I had no idea.”
“Okay, well, let me help?—”
