Page 78 of River & Rue

“Thank you for trusting me with your secret,” she says softly. “I promise it’s safe with me.”

I smile weakly. “I know. Thanks.”

She nods toward the plaque. “I’m okay with skipping the rest if you are.”

“No way. Stopping now would be like orgasm denial.”

I’m rewarded with a startled expression and an eruption of color in her face. She looks down, muttering something under her breath that includes “degenerate.”

My next smile comes easily. “Artistically speaking, of course. Get your head out of the gutter.”

She lets out the cutest harrumph. “Fine. ‘One asked and given free.’ What do you want to know?”

The defiant lift of her chin is so fucking sexy. Almost as sexy as the obstinance in her eyes. My gaze gravitates to her mouth and lingers. It’s perfect. Vibrant coral with cotton-candy undertones. Bratty and bewitching. Strong and smart and tender.

She has a freckle on the right side of her upper lip I want to lick.

“Stop it,” she whispers.

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

The annoyance in her voice doesn’t disguise its breathiness one bit. Ignoring her command, I trace the subtle valley of her Cupid’s bow. The tiny creases along the inner seam. The changing texture as her lips soften and part.

“River…”

Her warning comes out as a plea. Another thread of my restraint snaps, and my hand rises to capture her jaw. She gasps, then holds still as I hover my thumb just above the cushion of her lower lip. As tempting as it is to see the look in her eyes, I keep my attention on her mouth.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I won’t kiss you. Not even if you beg me to.” I smile just enough to show her the canines she loves to stare at. “But when you kiss me? All bets are off. This pretty mouth will never forget the shape of mine.”

A quick exhale showers my thumb with heat. In her speechless silence, wildness flickers as it fights years of denial. I know she feels the potential—no, the certainty—of us, but she doesn’t trust it yet. And that’s okay. I don’t care if it takes me years to rebuild what I nearly shredded seven years ago.

She’s mine. I’m hers.

I’ll wait as long as I have to.

Giving us both a reprieve, I finally press my thumb against the tiny scar interrupting the line of her lower lip.

“This is the secret I want to know. How did you get this scar?”

I lower my hand, curling my fingers around my tingling thumb.

“When I was eleven, I fell twenty feet out of a tree. Clipped a branch with my face on the way down.”

My heart veers sharply sideways. “Twenty fucking feet? You could have died.”

She nods, her eyes clouding with the memory. “I caught the last branch long enough to slow my fall. Ripped up my arm and cracked a couple ribs, but I hit the ground mostly on my feet. Fractured my femur instead of my skull.” She lifts her left leg and shows me the faint scars on either side of her knee. “Surgery souvenirs. I was young enough that it healed relatively easily. They took out the giant nails after a year.”

“I thought you were going to say you fell off a bike or tripped on a curb.”

She smirks. “I have different scars for those.”

My focus narrows. By the way her eyes flare in response, she hears my unspoken intentions loud and clear: I’m going to see and touch every single one of your scars.

Rue lowers her foot and her eyes. “Okay, my turn. Why did you and Elise break up?”

I told her last night, but I’m not surprised she doesn’t remember. Right afterward, she informed me the Little Dipper was scooping star noodles.