Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Noah
I've just had the best evening of my life. Dinner out with the amazing Rhys Calder, treated as his equal by fans. I can't get the grin off my face, and it's making drinking embarrassing as lemonade dribbles down my chin.
“We should leave,” Rhys smiles, tossing me his napkin.
“I feel like I could float home,” I confess.
“I'll tie you down before I let that happen,” Rhys growls, his tone dropping to a more dangerous octave. My eyes snap up, fixing on his. My grin finally drops, but not because I'm afraid.
No. It's something deeper than that, and suddenly the air around us feels warmer.
As Rhys pays and I struggle into my borrowed jacket, I feel eyes on me again.
I've dealt with it all night, but the mood has changed.
These eyes don't feel quite so friendly.
I've braved my fans this evening. It's only fair to face my critics, too.
But as I turn, there's no one there, just an empty table and a large window overlooking the garden.
“Ready?” Rhys asks, gently turning me away from the window while his gaze lingers behind me.
“Thank you for tonight,” I cling to his arm as we stumble out of the flashy restaurant, drunk only on joy.
Well, I feel drunk despite only having lemonade for the evening.
Rhys has changed. He's stiffened. The change is effortless, like normal Rhys transforming under the light of the camera, but this isn't presenter Rhys. This is dark Rhys.
He takes my hand, but there is nothing romantic in the grip.
This isn't love.
It’s protection.
We pick up the pace, walking across the damp floor of the car park, moving from lamppost to lamppost toward the lonely Land Rover at the back of the car park. I glance across at the restaurant, my eyes falling on the window I'd been looking out of only moments ago.
There, half illuminated by the restaurant lights, stands a dark figure.
Too far away to recognize, but definitely positioned so he could watch us. When my eyes meet his, he doesn't look away. He wants to be seen.
Rhys opens my door and holds it as I climb in. Not romantic. Possessive.
Rhys walks around to his door, taking the longer route behind the car, keeping the shadow man in his sights.
This feels dangerous, even if it’s just one man feeling exactly how I expected everyone to. But the danger feels… safe.
Rhys checks the rear-view mirror twice before pulling onto the road.
Rhys drives home without relaxing. He's dangerous, but not to me. This is all because someone dared to look at me. Not him. Me.
We encountered someone who must hate puppy farms more than I do.
When we get back to Rhys's house, he parks right outside the door.
“Stay,” he orders.
He races around the car and grabs my arm, pulling me toward the house with a grip strong enough to promise bruises.
“Can we pop over and ask…”
“No,” he interrupts, locking the door behind us.
“I just want to know if Bobo is…”
“No.”
“Just a quick call about Honey?”
“No.”
“Am I only getting one-word answers?”
“No,” he growls, then forces a little of the tension from his shoulders. “You’re supposed to be having one night off.”
He tries to pull a little of normal Rhys back into the situation, but I'm in no hurry to lose this version.
“I had an amazing night off. You made me feel safe when those people liked me. And you made me feel valuable when that guy…”
I shake my head. “I don't know if he hated me or he was pissed with life, but I felt…”
“He wasn't anyone.”
I'm getting to know Rhys's body language. This is a man who needs space.
“I'm going to bed.” I step closer, too close. I'm drawn to the man with murder in his eyes. I lean closer, pressing my lips to his cheek. “Thank you for everything.”
“I’m glad you felt…” Rhys searches for the right word before settling on the most accurate one. “Safe.”
He has no idea how long I've needed to feel safe.
“Goodnight.”
I turn away from him. I don't want to be alone, but I respect his need for space. He grabs my wrist before I can leave. Bruising tight.
“Do you really feel safe with me?”
“Yes,” I reply without a doubt. “I feel safe with you.”
He tugs on my arm, pulling me into him with more force than necessary. I stumble into his chest, and before I can recover, his hand is in my hair, pulling me in for a kiss.
He holds me so tightly, I feel like I might never breathe again. I could die in his arms tonight… and still call it the best day of my life.
Luckily, I suppose, he releases me enough to drag air into my lungs.
“I want you,” he admitted.
“I… me…yes…too.”
He shoves me against the wall, kissing me again, while kicking off his shoes with the opposite foot.
“Bedroom?” he growls, the questioning tone only implied. He's already made the decision.
“Uh-huh,” I agree, my brain completely offline.
Our passionate frenzy stops dead. Rhys kneels before me and starts tugging my shoes off. It seems no amount of passion will excuse wearing shoes beyond the hallway.
One minute I'm mid-kiss, then I'm waiting patiently for someone to remove my shoes for me. Then, without warning, his hand closes around my wrist and I'm being dragged up the stairs.
Passion mixed with his OCD is still more affection than I've experienced in years.
He drags me into his bedroom, and for a moment, my brain stalls.
I'm in his bedroom.
It's tidy and as much of a show home as the rest of the house, but this is his bedroom.
He sleeps in this room.
He takes his clothes off in this room.
He's taking his clothes off now.
Once the tie and jacket are off, he kisses me again; my eyes close, my mouth widens.
And then he's gone.
I stumble slightly as he releases me to fold his jacket and hang his tie, then he's back.
My arms raise, wrapping around his shoulders as he pulls me back towards the bed.
Our shirts come off in a flurry of movements, my hands find the muscular planes of his chest, gradually working lower to the waistband I want to attack next time he lets me breathe.
Then he moves away again. The shirts get picked up and hung on hangers.
He looks at me and must see something in my expression that draws awareness to his action. “Sorry.”
“It's fine. We can hang everything properly if it helps.”
I pull off a sock and throw it at his head.
“I know I'm odd,” he confesses. “People always…”
“People don't know what you're hiding behind all this order,” I smile. “I do. And as I said, we can hang everything properly.”
When I throw the second sock at his head, it awakens something dangerous behind his eyes.
He runs at me, knocking me down onto the mattress.
Before I can protest, laughing too hard to try, he straddles me, kissing me again.
Wriggling out of my pants while kissing is more difficult than I even imagined, but I managed.
I'm naked before him, ready for his final scrutiny.
He looks at me like he’s committing the sight to memory, as if making sure I’m really here.
His fingers explore my body, slower now. No longer testing. No longer careful.
Certain.
His touch drifts over my chest, down my stomach, lower; pausing just long enough to make my breath catch before continuing.
My back arches into him without thinking.
“Rhys…” His name slips out, softer this time. Not teasing. Not joking.
Needing.
His gaze darkens.
That’s when something shifts.
Not just tension.
Not just curiosity.
Possession.
He moves over me, pressing me into the mattress, his weight grounding, his presence overwhelming in the best way. His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time, hungrier, while his hands stop hesitating.
No more stopping to tidy.
No more pulling away.
Just him. Claiming my physically in the center of his large bed.
Just this. Rhys filling me completely.
The world narrows to heat and pressure and the way he holds me like letting go isn’t an option anymore.
Every movement is deliberate. Deep, controlled, but no longer restrained.
And when he finally stalled inside me, pulling me closer than anything has ever felt, there’s no space left between us at all.
No uncertainty.
No distance.
Only him.
Only this.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my lips, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I don’t feel broken.
I just feel… wanted.