Rush (Gods #2)(4)

By: Samantha Towle

Did I mention that Ares Kincaid is good-looking?

I’ve seen him on TV and in pictures, but this is the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh. He’s all rippling muscles, hard edges, and golden skin. Dark scruff covering his strong jaw, like he hasn’t bothered to shave in days. Striking blue eyes, which are still working their way over my body, and dark hair, which is shorter than it used to be. I remember him having longer hair.

Anyway, he’s hot. If you like that kind of thing—jocks—which I don’t.

What do I like?

Honestly, I have no clue anymore.

Before I was sober, I used to go for guys who liked to party. Dirty, rough guys. Guys I could get drunk with. The quintessential bad boys.

Sporty, serious, and stable were never in my repertoire.

Maybe they should be.

Not with him, of course.

And not anytime soon. Relationships are not something I’m interested in. Staying sober is.

“So…” His eyes finally land back on mine, and I give him an irritated look due to him blatantly checking me out. The bastard doesn’t even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. He just smiles and shrugs his big shoulders. “This might be a crazy question”—his lips are now twitching with amusement—“but who are you? And why were you bent over and shirtless in here?”

“I, um…look, do you mind if I put my shirt back on?” I take a step back, angling down to look at my shirt, which is still on the floor in a damp heap.

“No. Go ahead.” He gestures a hand in my direction but makes no move to give me any privacy. He just stands there, watching me with his blazing eyes burning right through me. The color reminds me of a flame when it’s reached its hottest temperature.

“Could you turn around?” I give him a pointed look, tightening my arms over my chest.

Shaking his head, he rumbles out a chuckle, which makes the muscles in my stomach clench. “Sure,” he says. “I’ve already seen everything…”

His eyes drop to my chest before slowly lifting back to mine. The heat in them is undeniable. And so is the sudden throbbing occurring between my thighs. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex. That’s why I’m responding like this. It’s all it can be.

“But I can be a gentleman.”

“Wow. Lucky me,” I mutter sarcastically as he turns away.

I hear him laugh again.

And I experience another stomach clench.

I bend to retrieve my shirt and quickly pull it on, wincing at the feel of the wet fabric against my now-dry skin. I fasten the buttons, starting at the top and working my way down.

“You can turn around,” I tell him as I fasten the last button.

“So…” he says, turning to face me. A smile lifts his lips. It’s a smug look.

His thick arms fold over his massive chest. I can see the veins running beneath his golden skin.

I have a thing about men’s arms and veins. I find them incredibly hot. On the right man, of course.

Weird, I know.

“So…” I echo.

The smile widens. “I hate to tell you this. But I can still see as much as I could before you put the shirt on. Well, more now since your arms aren’t in the way, blocking the view.”

My eyes drop. “Shit!” I bark out, arms covering my chest again.

I forgot it was totally see-through.

“Wet shirt,” he says. “Rain outside. I’m guessing you got caught in the downpour.”

“You’re right,” I grind out.

He’s starting to annoy me a little.

His arms unfurl, and those bright eyes of his darken. I’m not sure what with.

Then, he starts toward me, those long legs eating up the space between us. My heart starts to beat in staccato.

He stops a few feet away.

Sweet Jesus, he’s huge.

And I’m small.

Ridiculously small. Five feet one to be exact. And I don’t currently have my heels on for the added height. I stupidly took them off.

Ares is well over six feet tall. Probably closer to six and a half.

I am a dwarf, standing in front of him.

His eyes stare down at me, probing. I feel like he can see every part of me. Even the bad parts.

“Still doesn’t explain who you are or why you stripped off and decided to do your morning stretches in my locker room.” His voice is lower, deeper. The sound rushes over my skin, like a cold breeze on a hot day, making my skin cover in goose bumps.

I have to hold back a shiver.

“Your locker room?” I question, lifting a brow.

“Are you a football groupie?”

“No!” I bark out a laugh.

“Because, if you broke in here, I’ll have your ass hauled out with one phone call,” he continues, clearly ignoring me.