Chapter 10
Keira
“I’m used to getting what I want.”
Myriad stores later, and his words still ring in my ear.
When a guy tells you that while his heated gaze roams over your body, what does it mean?
I wish I could confide in someone.
I miss not being able to talk to Mikki every day.
“You didn’t buy enough clothes.” Rhys’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
My gaze snaps to his. “You’re crazy. I got plenty of stuff.”
“You got casual outfits to hang out at my place with,” he says. “What about outfits for a dressy or formal evening?”
After half a day of shopping, we’re driving back to Manhattan Beach.
“No one knows I’m in LA. I doubt I’ll be getting invitations to chi-chi parties anytime soon.”
“What if I need someone to accompany me to an event?”
A snarky remark is on the tip of my tongue, but I suppress it. Instead, I channel softer, gentler Keira.
“I’m sure there’re no shortages of women who would die to hang from your arm.”
“What if I want you on my arm?” he says.
I’m not sure how to read into his admission.
“You can’t stay locked up in my house forever, Keira. You’ll have to show your pretty face at some point.” His words are a reminder I’m back in paparazzi land.
“You’re sure you want to be seen with me?”
“I’d be honored to be seen with you.”
“Does this have to do with your brotherly duties?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to tell Noah you’re taking good care of me.”
“This has nothing to do with your big brother.”
I shiver under his onceover. “Wouldn’t you want to be seen with someone whose star is rising? After freefalling out of space, my lackluster star is kind of floating sideways. I’m a has-been. It’s over for me. I committed the cardinal sin. I broke my recording contract.”
Rhys shoots me an unimpressed side-gaze.
“If anyone knows anything about a comeback, it’s me,” he says.
“After Dad’s death, I did a piss poor job of picking up the pieces of my shattered life.
Falling on your knees isn’t the problem, Keira.
Not getting up is. When the underdog triumphs, everyone stands up and cheers. ”
“Oh, wise one. When did you become a Buddhist monk?”
He laughs.
Rhys Hartford.
Cruelly bullied in school well into his teenage years.
Former rap star one-hit wonder.
More famous for his many rehab visits than his musical career.
He now owns the town that used to ridicule him.
He knows a thing or two about making a comeback.
“I’m not sure I’m ready yet,” I say.
“I much prefer that honest answer.”
I nod.
“You can’t flounder forever. An idle mind is a dangerous mind… for a bratty woman like you.”
I narrow my gaze at him. “More sage wisdom, spiritual guru?”
His glacier-blue eyes fix on me. “Something like that,” he says with a grin.
“At least you didn’t call me a girl.” I roll my eyes.
“You made it perfectly clear today you were anything but.” His voice is as rough as gravel when he says that.
Did the temperature go way up in the Benz?
I fan myself to cool down.
I wish I could do the same for the heat mounting between my legs, but that would be unladylike.
“You have a clean slate, dimples.”
Not that I’d tell him, but I kind of like my new nickname.
“You can go in any which direction you want. Have you put any thought to what you want the next stage of your life to look like?”
“Not really,” I say. “One thing is certain, I’m not going back to being a stupid popstar.”
“This is LA. Any dream is within your reach.”
I consider him.
“You’re incognito until people clue in to who you are,” he says. “Take advantage of it.”
I nod.
My worries dissipated when no one recognized me during my shopping extravaganza. Even without my baseball cap on.
“Promise you’ll think about it?” he says.
“I promise.”
“That’s my girl.”
That’s all I’ve always wanted to be.
Sigh.
“Can I ask a question?” From the trajectory of Rhys’s gaze, I guess what it is.
“My breasts?”
“Yes.” He looks pained.
I laugh. “Men and boobs.” I shake my head.
“Pardon me for being a man, but I’m curious. You don’t look anything like you did before.”
“My boobs were stupid heavy, and I couldn’t wear cute tops without a bra that looked like a contraction. I wore a sports bra over a regular bra to try to hide my size, but I was kidding myself. And there was the constant pain. Getting a breast reduction was the best decision I ever made.”
“This is news to me––the surgery and the chronic pain.”
“It’s not like I was going to talk about my boob problems with you.”
“Fair enough.”
“As for the surgery, we weren’t on talking terms at the time.”
He nods. “I see.”
“I got the operation done in a hush-hush private clinic in London in between tours.”
“Did Noah know?”
“Not at first, but I did tell him when we started talking to each other again. He was ecstatic—”
“Because he wouldn’t have to go around decking assholes to protect your honor?”
To Noah’s discontent, my breasts got me a lot of unwanted attention.
“One less thing for him to worry about,” I say. “In any case, when I told him, I asked him not to tell you.”
“That would explain why I was in the dark.” Rhys’s lips purse.
Right before leaving LA, I cut off all communications with my older brother.
My ruthless ambition also caused a rift between Rhys and me.
I can’t take back that day.
I can’t take back the words.
I can’t take back the hurt shining in his eyes.
“Men put large breasts on a pedestal, but it doesn’t work for everyone.” I keep talking. “My frame is far too small for large breasts.” 40 DD works in Porn Valley, but I cursed mine. I’m much happier with my perky B cup.
“Not all men are obsessed with size.”
“Perhaps, but my experience with big boob lovers was never pleasant.”
“Got it.”
“And then there’s the lack of practicality of carrying watermelons on your chest in my former profession.
Even before leaving for London, I knew my oversized boobs would be a liability.
I was right. Singing isn’t enough anymore in the music industry.
Record companies expect you to put on a show.
Vertiginous dance moves and double D’s don’t go hand-in-hand. ”
“I can imagine.”
“After the surgery, to avoid public scrutiny, I wore a padded bra stuffed with socks right up to the point I left London. The record company insisted on it.”
“Really?”
“Keeping the brand pristine was their only concern,” I say in a formal corporate tone.
“Wow.”
“It was a small price to pay,” I say. “I couldn’t handle all the jumping up and down required in choreographies. Not to mention, I was tired of men being oblivious to the color of my eyes. Big boobs lead to erroneous assumptions when your breasts precede you when you walk into a room.”
Rhys explodes in laughter.
“I can’t tell you how much I missed your sense of humor.” I can’t tell you how much I missed you.
“I have another question,” he says.
“Inquiring minds want to know…”
He winks, and my stomach flutters.
“I expected the jetlag to mellow you out, but I was wrong. You’re as sharp as a whip.”
“One of my many qualities,” I say. “So, what’s on your mind?”
“What was that about in the lingerie shop?”
“What do you mean?” I feign ignorance.
He changes gear.
My eyes drop to his large hand.
When I look up, he’s staring at me.
“I’m talking about your little act.”
“Chill out,” I say. “I was just having some fun.”
“It was misleading.”
“Where’s the crazy and unpredictable Rhys? The rapper who could bring down the house with his edgy rhymes. The daredevil who never backs away from a challenge?”
“The daredevil is still alive and kicking. For the rest, Rhys grew up and he no longer raps. He’s wheeling and dealing.” He flashes me his trademark pearly-white smile.
Thank God I bought a new pair of designer shades or else I’d be blinded right now.
“You’re too stuffy,” I say. “You need to loosen up.”
“That’s your assessment after not seeing me for three years? You haven’t been in LA twenty-four hours and you want to ransack my life,” he says with a laugh.
I don’t answer.
I study his gorgeous profile and his chiseled features.
He didn’t shave this morning. I’m more than okay with that.
In my opinion, men’s eyelashes are underappreciated.
Same for earlobes. His are prime examples of that.
He left the COO porn suit home today. He has the California hunk vibe on point in his fitted black jeans and black t-shirt.
What a man.
I comb my fingers through my way-too-short hair, wishing I could run my fingers through his.
Rhys has the best hair—dark brown, thick with a wave.
He’s sporting a kickass layered and feather cut—close shaven on the side with the longer layers on top styled with gel.
The haircut drips with boldness and masculinity.
My eyes drop to his mouth and those lips I’ve only been able to taste once. I’d give up a vital organ in a heartbeat for a second kiss.
He waves. “Earth to Keira.”
I snap out of it. “You said it yourself last night at dinner, you work too much. My role as your new roommate is to shake things up for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah.” I stand my ground.
“And when did you decide that?”
My eyes shift left to right. “Just now. I made an executive decision.”
“If you think I need to inject more fun in my life, I cease to understand how your fake girlfriend act at French Appliqué fits. It made me uncomfortable.”
“What made you uncomfortable, my harmless shenanigans… or imagining me in sexy lingerie?”
Whoa.
I have no idea where that came from, but since this is the first time in my life I see playboy Rhys Hartford blush, I’m pretty proud of myself.
“You’re playing with fire,” he says. His voice is gruff.
I consider him for a few beats.
“I’m okay with that.” I don’t recognize my raspy voice.
He shoots me a measured glance.
His gaze slides back to the road, but his reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. He tightens his jaw and white knuckles the wheel.
Keira, one. Rhys, zero.
For the rest of my natural life, I’ll never forget the hunger in his gaze when he was drinking me up in that kimono.
His dreamy blue eyes were dark, hooded and something flashed behind them that caused my whole body to shiver.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been dying for him to look at me that way and I went about it in all the wrong ways… until today.
Thank you, French Appliqué.