Page 42 of The Rogue (Four Corners Ranch #11)

He had been sure that was the only way she could get it, and then he had let her down.

And now she didn’t have what she deserved and...

Everything hurt. It just hurt.

But dinner started to come out, and they talked about that. The food in front of them. And he watched the candlelight flicker

over her face, and he knew without a doubt this was better than their barn Christmas, it contained more magic than any holiday

ever could. Looking at her by candlelight, at the beautiful woman she’d become. Knowing that he was going to touch her later.

Kiss her.

“I still have that necklace, you know,” she said. His eyes flicked down to the blue stone she was wearing.

“Not that one,” she said. “The Christmas present. It’s in my Justice box.”

“What’s that?”

“My box. Of everything you’ve ever given me.”

Everything he’d ever given her? All contained in one place? Kept. Treasured.

He gritted his teeth. But it was a damned thing to realize in that moment that no one had ever loved him half so well as Rue

Matthews. They had wonderful bread and filet mignon, perfect mashed potatoes and the best cheesecake he’d ever had in his

life.

But he could remember other meals with her, other times. When they’d cobbled together cheese and crackers and huddled in her

room, or in the barn.

The past and the present had never existed quite so intensely together, that necklace she wore shifting between the blue stone and that sea glass.

And when they were through, they went back to the room, and she closed the door behind them. She reached behind her back and

unzipped her dress, letting it fall to her hips. The breath got sucked from his lungs. The lingerie she was wearing was...

“You gotta warn a man,” he said as she took the rest of it off, her gorgeous breasts just barely covered by two silky strips

of black fabric that created a V down between her legs, dipping dangerously low, barely offering coverage. “I’m liable to

have a heart attack.”

“Don’t be dead, Justice,” she said, her eyes sparkling with need and humor. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

They had two days left of this. This was his present for all the bullshit he’d endured in his life up till now, and he was

set on unwrapping it.

Two days.

He took her into his arms and kissed her. Moved his hands reverently over the curves of her body, then kissed her mouth sweet

and slow.

He had never wanted to find the reverence at the center of his own debauchery quite so much. But he wanted to give her both.

The profane and the righteous, because this was real, and it came from deep inside of him. And if they were this close to

going back to not being able to touch each other like this then this had to be special.

He was good at living in the moment. He was not good at facing the reality of losing something he cared about. And he did care about this. This new dimension of their relationship, not just because it felt good, but because...

He didn’t let himself think anymore. He just kissed her, touched her, lost himself in her. Over and over again until she cried

out his name.

He had said to her once that the women he was with didn’t do that, because they usually didn’t know who he was. But she did.

And he knew her. Across time. Across dreams and fears. He knew her.

Not just her name, but the substance of who she was.

They had made love countless times this week, and he realized that after the first time it hadn’t been about helping her let

go, because she simply had. She had held on to him and let go, and every time it was like that. Every time, it was just that

real. Just that perfect.

And this time, when he gave himself over to his pleasure, he said her name too.

She held them, brushing his hair back from his face. “This isn’t done, you know that,” she said softly.

“What?”

“When we get back. I’ve been thinking this from the beginning. But trying not to think about it, you know? You can’t unhammer

a nail.”

He closed his eyes. “Okay. So what does that look like?”

“Do you feel like you’re ready for this to end?”

“No. But even though things have changed between us, I haven’t changed.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t need you to. I just need... more of this. I can’t keep staying with you knowing what you look like naked, sleeping down the hall from you, trying to stay in my own room. I can’t.”

He couldn’t do it either. She was just one that was brave enough, honest enough to admit it. She was the one that had faced

the terrifying reality that they couldn’t go back. Maybe that was why thinking of them as children made him ache. Because

back then they hadn’t crossed this line. Hadn’t complicated things.

That’s not it, and you know it.

“You’re my best friend,” she whispered.

“You’re mine too.”

She was supposed to be here with someone else, and she wasn’t. She was here with him. She’d been here with him for a long

time.

Part of him wanted to trust her, with everything.

But he found that he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. So he just held her. It was the closest thing to that feeling he had

the other day. The closest thing to freedom.

But one thing he knew for sure about things like this. The line didn’t hold forever. Eventually, it would break. Because in

the end, there was very little that you could trust to last. Very little that you could trust to be true. But for all this

time she had been one of them.

He didn’t know why, but it filled him with a sense of dread.

So he just held on to her tighter.