Chapter 2
Keira
Ismile wide at my travel partner.
“I’m so happy you talked me into doing this, Mikki,” I say. “I get to cross Thailand and Laos off my list.”
“This little jaunt was the best way to ease back into our urban jungles,” Michaela says. “Imagine the shock of going from near isolation to living in a hyped-up mega metropolitan city like LA again, or in my case, going back to the City That Never Sleeps.”
That’s the understatement of the century.
“I can’t believe we’re a few hours away from leaving the sanctuary and the safety of being anonymous,” I say. “These past two and a half weeks were a great transition, but I predict returning to LA will be a jolt to all of my senses.” I take a long sip of my refreshing mango juice.
I’m dreading and looking forward to going back. Dreading, mostly.
“When you say jolt, are you talking about the frantic pace of the city or the frantic pace of your heart when you’re near your new roommate?” She narrows her green eyes at me.
“Rhys is doing Noah a favor,” I say.
“I get that your big brother’s best friend would open his door to you, but can you handle it?” There’s genuine concern in her voice.
“It’s no different from crashing with a family member,” I say, trying hard to convince myself it’s nothing more.
Michaela twirls a forkful of noodles, poking through an equal portion of chicken and shrimp, before bringing the perfect bite to her mouth. “But he’s not family.” She shoves the food in her mouth and chews, her eyes still glued to me.
“In many ways, he’s the only family I have in the US right now.”
“But he’s not family.”
“Fine. He’s not family.” She wins. “I lost everything when I left London. What other choice do I have? It’s not like I have any money left to live on my own in a city like LA.
Heck, I don’t even have enough to rent a pantry in someone’s kitchen for three months.
” I push around my food on my plate. “Luxury homes in LA have a guesthouse. I’m sure Rhys has one.
He’ll shack me up there and forget all about me. That way, I won’t invade his space.”
“What if he doesn’t have a guesthouse?”
“He has a guesthouse,” I say. Please God, he must have one.
“Guesthouse or not, you’ll be living close to him,” Mikki says.
“No big deal.” I hope.
She stares at me like I’m blowing smoke through my ears.
Okay, maybe I am.
“Keira, you showed me photos. Rhys Hartford’s gorgeousness is on a planetary scale. How are you going to live with—or near—that man without either tripping all over yourself or fanning yourself all day long? And, I’m not talking about fanning your face.”
She’s wrong.
Rhys isn’t gorgeous.
He’s DEFCON 2 degree of hotness.
When he walks into a room, I’m certain panties drop.
Mine have a few thousand times.
I cross my legs to stifle the pressure building. My body is keenly aware I no longer have to adhere to my vows of chastity.
No, no, no, Keira.
Hot embarrassment floods through me because once again Rhys is taking up every bit of space in my brain.
Despite the A/C in the restaurant, my whole body is flushing.
Will I survive living that close to a DEFCON 2 state of emergency? How am I going to manage to avoid melting into a pool of heat when I’m around him?
I’ve asked myself those questions a million times since Noah announced Rhys was more than happy to welcome me into his home.
Since I can remember, those two have been as tight as brothers.
I’ve often felt left out––and a little bit jealous––of their bromance.
The age difference between my brother and me has never played in my favor.
You can do this, girl.
You’re not that silly teen and teenager who drooled all over your older brother’s best friend like a loser.
So, what if Rhys Hartford is successful, talented, and a self-made, badass, billionaire mogul?
He’s just a man.
I flash back to that kiss I stole from my long-time crush—the kiss I’d longed for.
One kiss.
One dear-God-make-me-yours-because-no-way-can-it-get-better-than-this-with-any-other-man-on-Earth-or-any-other-galaxy kiss.
One passionate, sensual kiss that’s been haunting my lips for years.
One kiss that didn’t go further… no matter how much I begged.
One kiss that left me so undesired.
One kiss that crushed me.
“Keira?” Mikki’s voice snaps me out of my trance.
I meet her gaze. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Are you still with me or are you already in LA?”
“Smartass.”
“You know you’re kidding yourself about Rhys?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Right,” she says.
“I will.” I grab my drink and hide behind it, that way she can’t see I’m lying.
“Okay, let’s play your game,” she says.
I don’t like the sound of that.
“If you’re that detached, you should use this perfect living arrangement with the sexy blue-eyed COO to your advantage.”
“In what way?”
“Rhys can devirginize you.”
I choke on my drink.
“You’d get your wish,” she says. “You’ve been pining over him for years. Men love knowing they’re the first to mark you. It’s primal––centuries of alpha coding and all.”
“But I’m not a virgin.”
“Gifting a man with your born-again virginity is better than the first time you punched your V card.” She ignores my protest. “No pain. No fuss. No mess.”
She’s put a lot of thought into this.
My gaze lowers to her glass. “Did the waiter lace your mango juice with vodka or rum, or both?”
“Like you haven’t thought about it.” Her response comes out faster than a whip crack.
“Rhys is my older brother’s best friend, and he’s made it abundantly clear he sees me like a kid sister––”
“That was then. This is now,” she says. “You’re twenty-three and you’re all woman—”
“Mikki—”
“Guys get freaked out when their best friends are in the picture. Noah lives far, far away. What a perfect time to push the envelope.”
Perhaps I confessed too much to her.
She grabs her glass, wraps her lips around her straw, and sucks on her mango juice, her smiling green eyes locked onto mine.
She’s so smug.
“Thank you, Dr. Knight, for your insightful assessment,” I say.
“I might not hold a PhD, but I’m a great listener… and you’ve had a lot to say about sexy Rhys in the two months we’ve known each other.” She grins around her straw.
I’ve told her too much. “Rhys must have a girlfriend or a fiancée.” It’s not something I want to think of, but I have to face reality.
“Your brother would’ve told you,” she says. “Not to mention, when the press labels you Luva Boy Rhys, chances are, variety is your middle name.”
I’m sure he has them lined up.
The parade of women hanging from Rhys’s arm in photos on the internet is dizzying.
“Even if your idea wasn’t preposterous—which it is, just so we’re clear—Rhys would still reject me.
I’m not subjecting myself to that again.
His loyalty to Noah is unwavering, almost etched in his skin, tattooed in blood.
The way I trip his best friend’s kid sister meter has been the bane of my existence. ” I huff in frustration.
Mirth dances in Mikki’s eyes. “Perhaps you need ammunition.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“You might want to buy a bottle of ‘Eau de Vage’ at the airport and spray it on from head to toe to drive the message home that you’re ready and willing.
Think about it, perfume that smells like a narcissistic celebrity’s private parts will help you seal the deal.
What red-blooded man doesn’t want that?”
She dissolves into giggles.
I can’t help but do the same.
Our joyous outburst elicits suspicious glares from patrons trying to enjoy their meals.
I pray most of them don’t speak English because our conversation is over the top and inappropriate.
It takes both of us a while to find our composure.
“Heck, I might have to take a page from that celebrity’s book,” I say. “After all, she sold out in a matter of hours. Since I have nothing to fall on when I land in LA, bottling my feminine scent and selling it to the masses might be my second wind.”
“I can see it now,” Mikki says with an exaggerated hand gesture. “Think bigger. Think a whole line of products—shower and bath gels, soaps, body creams… and even candles.”
I play along. “Now you’re talking.”
Mikki taps her chin with her finger, her eyes lifted to the ceiling. “I wonder if you’ll have to stamp a ‘use by’ date on your products? I’m sure over time, that shit smells nasty.”
Her comment makes us lose it again.
More and more patrons glare at us.
It’s a struggle to stop laughing.
“Seriously, Keira,” Mikki says when she’s able to talk again. “I’m jealous. I have to endure my stepmother while you get to play house with a dangerously hot artist-turned-billionaire.”
She makes it sound like a fairytale.
It’s anything but.
I haven’t told her the whole story.
No amount of ‘Eau de Vage’ will help Rhys warm up to me. Not after what I did.
It’s complicated between us.
Alas, beggars can’t be choosers, so now I’m stuck living with a guy I’m sure hates my guts.