Now all I saw was a stranger looking through me, like I was a disappointment. A regret. A reminder of every wrong turn we—I—took.
His stare didn’t set me on fire. It left me hollow.
Like he’d already buried what we had and was lingering to make sure it stayed dead.
And maybe I deserved that.
But Christ, it still hurt.
“Snake,” he said finally. “Rattler spooked him.”
“Shit.” I ran a hand through my wet hair, muttering, “I should go after him?—”
“He’ll find his way back. He’s well trained.”
“Still.” I snatched up my underwear. I needed something between me andthatlook. Matty grabbed my wrist, stopping me from putting them on.
I froze.
His grip wasn’t rough. But it wasn’t gentle either.
“What happened to you?” he asked, voice low.
Before I could answer, he brushed his fingers over my collarbone, right over the bruise blooming there, dark and tender from the earlier fight.
I sucked in a breath, unprepared for the jolt of sensation.
His touch wasn’t soft. Just the bare press of calloused fingers, grazing skin. But it washim.
Matty.
My Matt.
Touching me like this again, even in anger, even in concern. My brain short-circuited.
Don’t pop a boner.
Don’t pop a boner.
Goddammit, Hudson, keep it together.
But it was impossible not to feel everything at once. The heat of his palm, the weight of his stare, the lure of his scent so close. The memory of him holding me down, fucking me so deep I couldn’t think straight.
And now here he was, touching me again. And I was ready to fall to pieces.
God, I wanted him. I wanted him so badly it hurt.
I pulled back, clearing my throat. “Nothing.”
His jaw flexed. “Who punched you?”
“It’s fine.”
“Hudson—”
“I got a few licks in too,” I said. “What, you think I should only beyourpunching bag?”
He parted his lips, a huff of breath escaping. “Yes.” He caught himself. “I mean, no. Maybe. It’s just—it’s my damn concern if you got into a fight because ofmyfamily’s honor.”
