Pull You In (Rivers Brothers 3)

It was my deepest, darkest insecurity. More than my weight. More than my social awkwardness. It was something I couldn't talk about with anyone because, well, what could anyone say?

Don't be silly, Kate, you're not bad in bed!

They didn't know.

They couldn't possibly.

There was one person who could.

And that person just threw that insecurity in my face.

I mean, maybe he was right.

Maybe I was cold in bed.

I certainly never burned like the heroines in my books did. I didn't writhe and scream and suffer aftershocks.

The whole thing was just... pleasant. It was pleasant. Most of the time.

But maybe it wasn't supposed to be merely pleasant.

What can I say? I just... I wasn't sure my body worked that way, I guess.

No.

No, that wasn't true.

If it was, if I was someone without those urges, I wouldn't have called Rush's line. I certainly wouldn't have done so for anything more than company with another human being.

And, well, on the phone with him, with Rush's voice in my ear, with his mouth saying those filthy things... I did burn then.

The heat moved through me like lava, burning from within.

There was no denying that heat.

It was an overpowering thing.

It made anything other than release impossible.

Maybe the problem wasn't me.

Maybe the problem was Blake.

Maybe the problem was our lack of chemistry.

Maybe I could have amazing experiences in bed.

With the right person.

But what if the 'right person' was Rush Rivers?

No.

I couldn't even entertain that idea.

It was never going to happen; It would only lead to heartache to even think about it anymore.

I had to put all thoughts of Rush Rivers out of my head.

Permanently.

And my ex, while I was at it.

I suddenly wished there was some commune of women I could join where we could live in the woods, grow our own food, enjoy one another's company, read books, and never have to think about men again.

Unfortunately, as far as I could tell, that utopia did not exist.

So instead of packing my bag—sans makeup, uncomfortable clothing, or shoes that might give blisters since, if there were no men, there would be no need for all that stuff that most of us didn't love anyway—I decided to be practical.

I walked into my room, resetting my alarm for earlier. I set my coffee pot to brew fresh tea water to match the alarm. I set out my clothes. I packed a lunch that I could eat with one hand while powering through work.

I considered texting Fee, asking her about the plan. But I decided against any other conversation about the whole ugly incident. Fiona was in and out of the office. And she had never cared if someone had to play around with their timecards, if they had an appointment they needed to slip out for, a child's play to attend. So long as the work got done, she was happy. It was one of the many things that made her a great boss.

Eventually, she would catch on to my new schedule, though. And she was also the kind of boss to call you into the office and ask you what was going on.

The traits I was so wholly lacking—namely, boldness and confidence—Fiona had in spades.

And since she was in-the-know about the whole thing with Rush, it would make the conversation uncomfortable at best.

Hopefully, though, she would agree at that point that it was for the best, it created peace in the workplace.

Surely, with how ugly things had gotten, she was overthinking she could make something happen between Rush and me. And if she wasn't actively trying to push us together, I didn't see any reason for her to object to the new schedule so long as everything got done on time, as usual.

Then, maybe, someday, far down the road, Rush and I would look back at this and laugh.Well, maybe he would laugh. And maybe I would laugh politely just to minimize the situation. But I was pretty sure this would go down in history as my most embarrassing moment, my biggest not-so-secret secret.

But, anyway, let's face it, more likely than not, Rush and I were never going to speak again.TENKate"It's not because of you," Fee told me as I shot her raised brows over my shoulder while stocking the coffee station in her office.

"Of course it is," I objected, closing the mini-fridge, reaching for the box of individual coffee pods, stacking them in their usual order. Plain, salted caramel, vanilla, mocha, decaf. Even though Fiona didn't understand the concept of drinking decaf.

But why drink coffee at all if you don't want the legal high?

"No, really, it's not. We'd already noticed a big downturn in his calls. And it took a really steep downturn the past few months. Then it went to nothing."

"Fee," I said, snorting.

"What?"

"That's my fault too," I reminded her, voice getting a little squeaky at having to talk about The Incident. You know, the months and months of making calls I knew I shouldn't have made. My therapist gave me a stern look whenever I "detached myself" from my actions by calling it The Incident, but, well, sometimes a girl's got to fall back on her defense mechanisms.