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Just truth.
“Rhett…”
“I wake up thinking about you.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “I track your movements because if something happens to you, I’ll lose my damn mind. Every time you walk away from me, my first thought is whether you’re safe.” His jaw tightens slightly. “And when that guy touched you in town, I wanted to break his hand for it.”
Heat floods my chest so intensely it almost hurts.
“That’s not healthy,” I whisper weakly.
“No,” he agrees. “Probably not.”
I should run.
Any sane woman would.
Instead, I’m standing here staring at a man who looks at me like I’m already essential to him, and all I can think about is how badly I want him to kiss me again.
“You fall hard, huh?” I murmur.
Rhett’s mouth curves slightly. “You have no idea.”
God.
The honesty in him is lethal.
I’ve spent my entire adult life around polished men who hid behind charm and strategy and careful words. Men who liked me best when I stayed composed and independent and emotionally manageable.
Rhett doesn’t want manageable.
He wants all of it.
The messy parts too.
And somewhere deep down, I think I’ve wanted that longer than I realized.
“You’re staring,” he says quietly.
“I’m concerned.”
“About?”
“How much I like you.”
That gets a real reaction out of him.
Something shifts visibly in his expression, something deeper and rougher and almost disbelieving before it settles into certainty.
Then he steps forward and wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me against him again like he physically can’t help himself anymore.
“Yeah,” he murmurs against my mouth. “That’s becoming my favorite problem too.”
I laugh softly despite myself.
The sound seems to undo something in him completely because Rhett kisses me again immediately, slower now, consuming instead of desperate.
And this time when I melt into him, when my hands slide up his chest willingly, when I let myself imagine what staying here might actually feel like, the thought terrifies me enough to make my chest ache.
Because I’m not just losing control anymore.
