Chapter Fifteen #4
They talked about ordinary things. A new novel he looked forward to reading, the girls’ message that they had arrived on the island and loved Roger’s place, and how much longer the winter storm would last. But beneath the talk there was an awareness of each other, a desire and tension that was coiling tighter, drawing them closer.
Cat went to the kitchen to do the dishes, thinking it was that or fall into bed with Rhys.
He followed behind her to dry while she washed.
But when the last glass was done, she turned toward him. “I should go up,” she said, suddenly shy, and conflicted.
He leaned back against the counter, arms folded, eyes on her face. “You sound unconvinced.”
“I’m just—” She stopped, blushed. “Trying to be sensible.”
He straightened, closing the space between them slowly, as if giving her time to step away. She didn’t.
“Cat.” Her name was almost a sigh, his voice low, threaded with restraint.
She looked up, and that was all it took—the moment tipped, quiet as a breath.
He reached for her, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, the other resting at her waist, pulling her closer and closer until there was no space between. The kiss came unhurried, warm, deliberate. Not a question, but an answer long overdue.
The kiss was a reminder of the heat and need between them.
With his mouth on hers, claiming her, Cat could feel nothing, and want nothing, but him.
For now, the world narrowed to pure sensation—the taste of him, the feel of him, the clean scent of him.
This, in his arms, was her favorite placed to be.
When Rhys finally drew back, they were both breathing hard, but she had to cling to him, her legs quivery, her veins full of fire and honey. “Do we take this upstairs?” he asked.
She was dizzy and dazed and so not ready to let him go. But would going upstairs together be the right thing? Was this the next most logical step?
“I don’t know,” she whispered honestly.
He kissed her brow and then her nose. “I think that’s all the answer we need. We won’t push this—”
“Does it have to be all or nothing?” she asked. “Can we sleep together but not … um, do everything … together?”
Amusement warmed his eyes. “I think you’re asking can we sleep together tonight but not have sex?”
Her cheeks burned hot. Her body tingled from head to toe. “Pretty much.”
“I think we can do that. My room or yours?”
“My room. Less sick kids in the bed.”
He laughed, kissed her, and pulled her upstairs after him.
*
She slept in his arms that night—really slept—her body curved into his as if it had always known the shape of him.
There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, only the quiet wonder of belonging, of feeling safe and wanted and inexplicably at home.
At some point, she woke to find his hand resting at her waist, his breath warm against the back of her neck, and the ease of it all settled deep within her, burrowing into her heart.
Being with Rhys wasn’t confusing or complicated. It felt right. It felt like love.
The next time Cat woke it was morning, and she was alone in her bed, but when she slid her hand to the place Rhys had slept, the sheets were still warm.
Cat headed downstairs wrapped in her mother’s cardigan, her hair still damp from the shower.
The scent of coffee greeted her first, and then the most delightful sight in the world, Rhys was working away on his laptop on the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, notebook open, beside the mug he’d half-finished.
“Morning,” she said, trying for casual.
“Morning.” His voice was calm, even, but when his gaze slowly traveled over her, she felt as if she was wearing almost nothing and back in bed, pressed against his hard muscular body. And what a body he had.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
Her heart jumped. “Good.” She swallowed with difficulty. “And you?”
“Very good.”
Again, his gaze swept her, resting briefly on her face, then her neck, breasts, and lower. “I could get used to holding you every night.”
“Maybe we should just have sex and hope it’s bad, really bad, so we can be done with all this chemistry and attraction.”
Rhys grinned, looking sexy and gorgeous without even trying. “Only it wouldn’t be bad,” he said. “It’d be very good, and we’d just want more … all the time.”
Heat shot through her, right from her toes straight to her chest, an electric sensation that almost made her gasp. “How about some coffee?”
He laughed softly, knowingly. “It is fresh.”
She poured her cup and then looked at the table piled high with books and papers. “I thought you said you were done or almost done.”
“So did I, and then I went through the article this morning and discovered I’m missing something critical. An entire section is missing, and I’d like to find it. If I can’t, I need to recreate it and that could take days.”
Cat grimaced. “I hope you find it.”
“Me, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you okay if I claim the kitchen table today?”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t want to push you out—”
“You have work to do. I get it.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s probably for the best. We need to take it down a couple degrees. It was getting pretty hot in here.”
“I noticed.”
Cat slipped into the sitting room, curling up in the chair by the fire with her laptop tucked next to her, her favorite plaid blanket across her lap.
After ten minutes of just savoring her coffee, because really, there was nothing like that first cup, she forced herself to open her laptop and go through her email.
There were several emails that looked promising.
One was a request for an interview. The other asked for her references.
Cat hesitated before replying to either, not eager to reply.
She didn’t want to think of Michigan and jobs and a future without Rhys when all she could think about was being close to him, and sleeping with him, which felt like the most natural thing in the world.
She closed her eyes and pictured Jillian, and how happy and relaxed Jillian had become once Cat assured the girl that she wasn’t a threat, and she wasn’t going to steal her father or do anything else to upset her home.
Cat remembered herself at ten, eleven, and twelve …
all those years where she felt so lost and so alone, even though her grandmother had been there at every step.
Unfortunately, a grieving Cat didn’t trust that her grandmother would be there.
If disaster could take her parents, why couldn’t it take her grandmother?
And then, where would she go? To foster care, like her mother?
To a life where she was bounced from house to house, unwanted by anyone?
How could Cat betray Jillian’s trust?
And yet with Rhys, Cat finally felt wanted. She felt safe. In his arms, she knew where she belonged, and it was with him.
From the kitchen came the quiet rustle of papers, the occasional scrape of Rhys’s pen.
He was still focused on his work, and she didn’t want to disturb him, but at the same time, she needed a small snack and wondered if any of Mrs. Johnson’s Christmas biscuits were left.
Cat quietly stepped into the kitchen, refilled her coffee cup and checked the cookie tin. Three little shortbreads remained. She took two and put the lid back on.
Rhys looked up as she slipped past him. “How is it going?” he asked.
“Slow,” she admitted. “Finding it hard to focus.”
“Funny, that.” He set his pen down and held his arm out, wanting her to go to him, and she did. He drew her down on his lap, just as he did with his girls. “This isn’t how I thought we’d spend the day.”
“You getting your article right is better. It’s why you hired me. It’s what I was for—to keep the girls busy so you could work.” She pressed a kiss to his lips and then slid out of his embrace. “Now work. I might go upstairs and read in bed.”
“Now you’re really distracting me.”
Cat laughed. “Work now. Bed is later.”
*
He finished what he could finish in one day, and when he went to check on Cat, found her sound asleep on the couch in front of the fire. The blanket had slipped down, and he drew it up over her shoulder before leaning over to brush her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her lovely dark eyes full of emotion. “No matter what happens, this was the best Christmas since I was ten,” she whispered.
He sat down and pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, the kiss deepening quickly.
Her hands slid up his chest, fingertips grazing the warm skin just beneath his collar. He drew in a sharp breath against her mouth and held her close, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other slowly slipping down her back, just as he’d stroked the length of her last night.
He shifted, turning them slightly so her back brushed the edge of the sofa. The fire flared, throwing light across their faces. His thumb skimmed her jaw; her pulse beat wild beneath it.
“Cat…” His voice was rough, torn between desire and restraint.
She answered with another kiss—slower, deeper—giving him everything in that moment, surrendering to the need that had become bigger than her. She needed him with her, in her, everywhere. She needed Rhys not just now, but forever.
Suddenly a phone rang, sharp, loud, jarring. They both froze. It rang again, the ringtone unfamiliar to Cat which meant it was Rhys’s phone.
“Livy,” he said, drawing back, breathing hard. He reached across the coffee table for his phone balanced on the corner. “Do you mind if I answer?”
“Of course not,” she said, climbing off his lap, and tugging her cardigan down.
He answered, his tone gentling instantly. “Hello, Livy love. How are you?”
Her chest tightened. She could hear the small, bright voice on the other end. Olivia was clearly happy and her sister’s voice could be heard in the background.
“Just wanted to say goodnight, Daddy,” Olivia said.
“Did you have a good day?” Rhys asked.
“So fun. We did so many things. I even have a little sunburn, but Mum says to tell you not to worry because it’s not very bad.”
As he spoke, Cat watched the change in him—the way his voice warmed, how he straightened, that quiet devotion that made him who he was. And with it came the reminder; he had a life in England that she didn’t have. He had a big career. A family. Responsibilities. Roots.
She rose quietly, giving him privacy, and crossed into the kitchen to look out the window. It must have rained a little earlier as the ground was wet, shining beneath the moonlight.
Rhys joined her in the kitchen when the call ended.
“She sounded happy,” Cat said, still facing the glass.
“She is,” he said. “They both are.”
A long pause.
Then, softly, she asked, “What are we doing, Rhys?”
He didn’t answer right away. He came to stand beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I know it’s not a mistake.”
She turned toward him. “It’s not, and last night wasn’t. But—”
“I know,” he interrupted tersely. “You’re still going back to Michigan.”
“I have things I have to take care of there. My grandmother’s property and her homes.”
“You can’t lease her houses?”
“They are filled with her things still. Her clothes and furniture.” Cat swallowed hard. “And the attics are packed with my parents’ things. She couldn’t bear to part with their personal possessions, and now I have done the same thing.”
“It sounds overwhelming.”
She hesitated, nodded. “And depressing.” Cat looked at him, emotion filling her eyes. “I dread it, to be honest. I’ve spent the past two and a half years avoiding what waits for me, but I can’t avoid it forever.”
“Have you thought about how you will … handle … it all?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “I just have to do it. That’s all there is to it.” Outside, the rain began again, not a storm this time, just a steady downpour. She looked up at him, her voice quiet but sure. “But that’s not now. That’s not for days. We have a week.”
He met her gaze, something fierce and unspoken there. “Then we don’t waste it.”