Chapter 6
Keira
We feasted on balsamic glazed chicken with roasted rosemary baby potatoes and grilled vegetables prepared by a Michelin starred chef.
Rhys’s house is incredible. My room is more luxurious than many of the high-end hotels I stayed at when I was on tour.
He’s made me feel so welcome. And that lounging pool area is a dream.
What more can a girl ask for? It seems that’s not enough for me because I’m dead set on poking the bear.
Rhys is still staring at me, like my question caught him off guard.
“Don’t look so surprised,” I say.
“You landed in LA a minute ago and you have the gall to think you know everything there is to know about my dating life?” He sounds vexed.
“I’ve seen the plethora of photos online.”
Even without them as proof, I know his reputation. Rhys Hartford is no choirboy. Why would he be? The man oozes the kind of sexuality that makes a woman dizzy.
“A lot of those photos are staged-dates,” he says.
“That might be true for a lesser man, but you––”
“It doesn’t mean I’m seeing those women off the red carpet.”
There’s a part of me that’s yelling at me to quit while I’m ahead, but another part of me soldiers on.
“You talk about your chef working on rotation. That’s also your MO since I can remember.
You’ve always had a predilection for rotating more than one woman at a time.
” To my chagrin, I’ve witnessed it with my own two eyes.
“I’ve overheard Noah refer to your dates by the day of the week…
Saturday Sally, Monday Gisele, Double Tuesday with Tracy and Tamara––”
He drops his glass on the table with a thud, causing Perrier water to spill. His blue eyes fix on me, a stern expression on his face. “You haven’t seen me in three years. What do you know about my fuck schedule?”
“Like your weekly hookup calendar isn’t bursting at the seams?” I roll my eyes.
He stares at me like I’ve grown horns.
Maybe I have because right now, the devil in me is doing all the talking.
“You’re assuming a lot, Keira.” There’s a warning in his voice.
Old, unresolved emotions prompt me to run my mouth. “I don’t want one of your girls to lose her shit when she finds out I’m crashing at your place. It’s best for me to be prepared.”
His blue eyes turn dark indigo.
I hit the nail on the head.
Rhys was always a catch, but now even more so. The last thing I want is for some psycho bitch to come after me, clawing my eyes out.
“If we’re going to live together, we should be honest with each other,” I say. “I have a right to know.”
He furrows his brows as if surprised by my demand.
He studies me long and hard.
I wince a bit under his inspection, but I hold his gaze, lifting my chin in defiance. He might be the most handsome man on the planet and he’s impossible to resist, but I, Keira Weatherly, can handle him.
I’m not backing down.
The air between us is so thick, I could slice it with dental floss.
I break the silence. “You’re a player, Rhys. I get it.” I can’t stop the verbal onslaught. “What’s the nickname the press has for you again?” I snap my fingers, feigning to search my memory. “Luva Boy Rhys.”
“I hate that nickname,” he says.
“Because it’s justified?”
He purses his lips into a thin line of discontentment.
I continue, my thoughts spinning out of control. “All that to say, no need to sugarcoat it for me. Make sure you give me a heads-up. I’ll return the favor if I decide to bring a guy back to your place.”
That’s an empty threat since men have been the furthest thing from my mind for a long time… present company excluded.
His eyes narrow to such tiny slivers, his striking blue irises turning dark.
I challenge his stare.
His expression is ice cold. “Over my dead body you’ll bring a guy to my house to fuck.”
His words are like a slap across the face.
He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “I knew we had unfinished business. I didn’t know you harbored this much resentment towards me.”
There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, and it breaks a part of me.
Rhys stands up and pushes his stool back with such force, it falls to the floor with a loud clatter.
I jump in my seat. Shit. “Rhys––”
“You must be tired.” His tone is clipped. “Don’t worry about the dishes. You know where you’re sleeping and you know where everything is. You also have my number in case—”
“Where are you going?”
“It’s clear my presence turns your stomach.” His words are as heavy as lead.
“No, it doesn’t––”
“I’m going for a drive. Don’t wait up for me.” My plea falls on deaf ears.
“I’m sorry.”
He cocks an eyebrow, his sharp gaze filleting me open. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Arctic air emanates from his body.
“I’m jetlagged.” God, that sounds lame.
His incredulous stare makes me wish I could dig a hole and crawl into it.
“Well before leaving LA you were hot-cold, hot-cold,” he says.
“Pick a temperature, but please stop with the bitchiness. Since you have concerns about coming nose-to-nose with the women I fuck, I’ll make arrangements to find you a hotel or some other place for you to stay.
I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow. I might not be able to find an accommodation until Monday, but this is a big house, we should be able to ignore each other until then.
” His gorgeous features morph into such disdain.
“Rhys––” I reach out for his arm.
He steps back, putting a galaxy between us.
Fuck.
“Good night, Keira.”
With that, he stomps out of the kitchen, his receding back fading with every step.
A minute passes.
Another.
And another.
After five minutes, realization sets in like a storm.
I sit there cursing my stupid mouth.
My head is all sorts of fucked up, my heart pounding into my ears.
Where did all this come from?
I guess it’s true what they say. There’s a fine line between love and hate.
This isn’t the first time I’ve allowed my feelings for him to make me act like a complete bitch.
This time, I might have gone too far.