Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
REBEKKA
Morning light drifts through the cracks beside the curtains, and it takes me a minute to remember where the hell I am.
Soft, tangled sheets wrap around my body.
I glance down to see Rian’s t-shirt clinging to my skin.
I lift the neckline to my nose and inhale deeply.
It smells like him—woodsy, clean, expensive—and I have the insane urge to never take it off.
To fold it into my bag and pretend it’s mine.
Last night replays in fragments. Drinks with the girls. Vomiting. Oh my. How fucking mortifying. His kindness. My confession. Oh shit. I drag my fingers through my sleep tousled hair.
I suppose it’s not like I told him anything he didn’t already know.
And he did confess first.
‘If you weren’t married to my best friend, I’d show you exactly how disgusting you are not, right here, right now in this lift.’
A sharp bolt of lust strikes between my legs.
‘I like you. I’ve always liked you.’
After that, we shifted the conversation to safer territory.
Work. Books. Music. We talked until the small hours, until my voice grew hoarse and my eyes were too heavy to keep open.
He walked me to the guest room door like a gentleman.
I wanted to drag him in with me. To let go of every rule, every shred of restraint.
But two wrongs don’t make a right. I’d never use Rian for revenge sex. He deserves so much more than that.
I reach for my phone on the bedside locker. The meditation I put on last night is still playing quietly. I can’t sleep without noise. Maybe it’s because I’m used to the hustle and bustle of New York. Maybe it’s because my bed is as empty as my heart.
I squint at the screen and groan.
Five messages. All from Anthony.
Where the fuck are you?
The concierge said you never came home.
Patrick didn’t bring you back. Explain yourself.
Answer me, Rebekka.
NOW.
I don’t dignify him with a response. He doesn’t deserve it. Instead, I toss the phone aside and drag myself out of bed in search of coffee.
As I pad barefoot down the huge hall, I hear Rian’s low and familiar voice. Heat floods through me at the sound of his deep baritone. Is he on the phone? Shit, I hope it isn’t Anthony.
I take a deep breath, smooth down my hair and pinch my cheeks to draw a bit of colour into them. It’s the best I can do.
My heart drops as the sound of a second voice floats along the corridor.
A female voice. Warm tinkling laughter floods the air. My stomach twists.
Of course. I’m so fucking na?ve. Rian Beckett is a notorious playboy. No matter what he says about liking me, no matter that there’s this insane chemistry between us, along with a deepening friendship, the man has needs.
Needs that I can never take care of.
He probably has a whole host of women on speed dial for a morning quickie.
I shouldn’t care.
I can’t care.
And yet hot, irrational jealousy claws its way through me, ripping open my ribcage.
I round the corner, and the sight that greets me knocks the air from my lungs. Not a stranger. Not some faceless fling.
A woman with the same dark hair as Rian, her eyes just as deep and intelligent. She’s elegant, with striking bone structure and full red lips that are gorgeous in a way that’s both natural and devastating.
Zara Beckett.
Rian’s sister.
She’s standing at the counter, her arm on Rian’s bicep. And just as I freeze in the doorway, I catch her words, her voice laced with concern. ‘I just worry about you. You’re playing with fire, Rian.’
Rian flinches. He looks ridiculously hot in a pair of low hanging grey sweatpants. A tight t-shirt clings to the curves of his pecs, showcasing the hard planes beneath the thin cotton. Hot, burning lust sluices in my stomach.
I cross my legs, leaning on the wall beside me, then clear my throat deliberately. ‘Morning,’ I reach up to tuck my hair behind my ear.
Zara’s sharp brown eyes flick to mine, and in that instant something unspoken passes between us. She knows. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to make me wonder if Rian has confided in her. If he’s ever said my name out loud in the safety of his sister’s trust.
‘Rebekka,’ she says warmly, sweeping me into a quick embrace that smells of jasmine and bergamot. There’s no judgement—just a genuine welcome. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘You too, Zara.’ My voice is steady, but inside I’m a mess of relief and embarrassment. ‘I had a little bit too much to drink with your sisters-in-law last night, and your brother was good enough to look after me.’
‘I bet he was.’ She smirks. ‘He’s all heart, that one,’ she teases. They exchange a look, and the affection between them is obvious.
Rian clears his throat, his expression tight but trying for casual. ‘Coffee?’ His dark gaze lingers on me, like I’m the only person in the room.
‘Please,’ I murmur, dragging my eyes from his frankly fucking fabulous physique. I’ve been starved for sex for way too long, and the signs are starting to show.
‘I should go,’ Zara says, patting Rian’s arm with a sisterly affection.
‘Don’t go on my behalf. I’ll be out of here as soon as I’ve had my caffeine fix,’ I promise her.
‘I have a pilates class in ten minutes.’ She motions towards her Lulu Lemon leggings. ‘I just popped up to drop something off.’
I remember then she lives in the same building as Rian.
‘See you tonight, yeah?’ She beams at me. ‘Rian said you’re coming to Hozier with us all.’
‘Maybe.’ Anthony’s messages flash through my mind.
While he’s happy to swan around Europe with his latest squeeze, he likes to do it in the comfort of knowing his little wife is tucked up at home.
I don’t know if I can face an argument when he finally does get back to the penthouse.
I’m no wilting willow, but I’ve learnt to pick my battles over the years.
I don’t think he’d physically hurt me, but there have been times where he’s towered over me in one of his temper tantrums.
Plus, as much as I love being with Rian, it’s a double-edged sword. It hurts not being able to touch him. Not being able to talk to him the way I want. To have to keep up the facade that everything is fine, when it clearly isn’t, and probably never will be. Not for me anyway.
‘You should. It’ll be so much fun.’ Zara gives me one last hug before she slips out, the click of the door leaving silence in her wake.
I settle onto a barstool, tugging Rian’s oversized t-shirt around me like armour as he makes me a coffee, strong and dark, just the way I like it. The boy pays attention. ‘She was up early,’ I remark, gratefully accepting the mug he places in my hands.
‘I asked her if she had any of this at her place.’ He walks back over to the counter, picks up a brown paper bag, and places it in front of me like evidence. A bottle of maple syrup gleams inside, along with a box of American pancake mix.
He rubs the back of his neck, his muscles flexing invitingly beneath his shirt.
‘I know the ready-made stuff is cheating. But I figured it was safer than setting the place on fire. My housekeeper won’t be back until tomorrow.
I didn’t want to pop out myself in case you woke up to an empty apartment. ’
My heart squeezes, warm and aching all at once. This man. This ridiculously thoughtful man. He’s dangerous.
‘You are coming tonight, right?’ He asks as he takes out the pancake mix.
I sigh. ‘Anthony’s on the warpath.’
‘Fuck him.’
Four words dance on the tip of my tongue.
I’d rather fuck you…
I swallow them back before I can get myself in anymore trouble.
‘Okay. You twisted my arm. Not that it took much.’
Rian dropped me home just after breakfast, his t-shirt still hidden under my coat like a dirty secret I couldn’t quite let go of.
I spent the afternoon torn between common sense and temptation.
The sensible part of me said I should cancel, stay home, avoid adding fuel to the fire.
But the reckless part—the part that still feels the ghost of Rian’s hand around mine, the warmth of his voice in the small hours—demands to see him again.
He’s an addiction I can’t kick. Which is why I’m ready and waiting at seven thirty when Ivy texts to say her driver is outside waiting.
Besides, Hozier is one of the best acts of our generation. And it’s in an intimate venue, where my friends have a private box, which will no doubt be overflowing with champagne. I’d be mad not to go.
Oh, who am I kidding?
It’s not Hozier I’m going to see. Not the velvet-draped balconies, the champagne on ice, or the promise of music so powerful it’ll rattle my bones.
It’s Rian.
I’m going for him.
Because he makes me feel more alive than I have in years. Because I can’t stop thinking about last night. About the way I feel when his eyes are on me. About the heat in them, and the way he looks at me like I’m the only woman on this planet—when in reality, I’m the only woman he can never touch.
Zara’s right; we’re playing with fire.