Chapter 4
Chapter Four
RHYS
Shock washes over me—from the fall and a bucketload of bombarding sensations. A rush of warm blood spills out of my nose onto my lips, the stickiness saturated with a metallic tang. The swell of Dani’s bare breasts crushes against my chest, pinning both lungs. I feel the hammer blows of my pulse and fight to take a deep breath. Then another.
The move here is to ask if she is all right, but you try to talk with a divine entity sprawled on top of you in the buff.
The idea of asking for cream now?
File that under wildly inappropriate.
Dani slowly lifts her head off my chest. Everything has gone very quiet. I feel dazed like I’ve been touched by black magic, but she looks like a stunned deer chased out of the woods by a hunter. I wait for the awareness to hit her—that the flimsy barrier of my clothes might erupt into flames from the heat of her nakedness. Or if she moves her hips even the slightest, I claim zero responsibility for what she encounters.
Her gaze tapers onto my face, a traumatized horror taking over her expression.
“Oh my god!” she gasps. “Did I break it?”
I gingerly explore the damage with my fingers. Nothing crunches or spears me with pain, but goddamn. The overwhelming pleasure of her body molded onto mine…
Forget my crushed nose. The jolt to my dick is what worries me.
And maybe Dani feels it too because suddenly she pushes up and off me, backpedaling away, stumbling, arms windmilling before she loses her balance and ass-plants in front of me.
For five agonizing seconds, it’s like the world melts away.
The sight of her … legs splayed wide like she's giving 'er for amateur night at the local strip club.Every random dot in the universe connects, forging the beam of twilight sun that slants onto her smooth pink mound like a lurid spotlight.
The gentlemanly thing to do is not fix my gaze on the sparkle.
But life as a hot-blooded male has its limitations.
And there is no denying the object of my attention: a shiny silver barbell looped in the hood of her clit, with two pink pearls on either end twinkling like Christmas presents under the tree.
Holy smokes.
Dani is completely still, quietly absorbing the devastation. Then she clamps her legs together and attempts to cover her heaving, sizeable, and fucking perfect breasts with one arm. I drag my eyes to meet hers with unbridled shame. Apologizing is out of the question. The peep show came to town, and I gawked. Guilty as charged.
So much for professional boundaries.
I finally scrape together some manners, turning my head to give her privacy from life-ending embarrassment.
After an awkward beat that seems to go on for eternity, Dani says, “We need to clean you up.”
“Okay,” I reply, out of my element entirely. “I’ll wait here.”
She’s gone within seconds, scurrying inside for the safety of four walls and clothing. When the coast is clear, I sit up, the weight of what just happened pressing hard on my shoulders. What a way to make an impression, Rhys—creeper at her door.
Shit!
In the dying light of sunset, my chest is heaving as I try to catch my breath. I need a minute to recover before I can do anything about it. Blood dripping onto my t-shirt spreads into a mangled scarlet Rorschach blot, and nausea rumbles precariously in my gut. Even as a kid, injury and pain freaked me out. Dad labeled me Mr. Sensitive, and not in a loving way.
“Dani! What’s going on?”
I freeze, scanning my immediate perimeter to locate the source of the shrill, disembodied voice that settles on my skin like napalm.
There. Lying face down in the grass. Dani’s phone.
Another panicked Hello??? broadcasts into the silence, prompting me to answer.
I fumble the phone to my ear and center with a calming, deep breath. “Hi. This is Dani’s phone.”
“Who’s this?” the female voice asks, tinged with surprise.
“Uhm, Rhys?”
There’s a long silence before she replies, “Oh. Hi. Is Dani okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I snap into an easy-breezy mode, as if she and I are chilling with beers on the deck. “Do you want to talk to her?”
“Ah … she can call me later.”
“Okay. I’ll pass on the message. Who’s this?”
Another pause, weightier, like she’s debating what to say.“Her BFF,” she finally says. “And tell her there’s no rush. Bye.”
The line goes dead in my ear. That woman was in a hurry to end the call, whoever she was. But her voice—why did it sound familiar? Some people remember faces; I’m an audio guy. Laughs, voices, songs. Sounds trigger immediate and visceral reactions, and her voice provoked a flare of goose bumps and a quickening of my heart.
My whole body is humming now. With Dani’s phone unlocked in my hand, I’m tempted to cross-check the caller’s name. Maybe scroll through some of her photos while I’m at it. Watch for the one of her wrapped in the arms of some slick, suited-up guy, and quietly bow out of the fruitless pursuit of my new boss. On my walk over here, I did the math. A result that didn't end up in my favor because, well, reality. Dani and I are as likely as Mother Teresa hooking up with The Joker.
But the photo on her home screen shows Dani wearing a beautiful smile and a Joey Ramone t-shirt.
That has me thinking twice.
As do her pearls.
Thank god I control my urge to poke around her business because Dani suddenly reappears in denim cut-offs and the oversized Joey shirt. Her eyes immediately travel onto the phone clutched in my hand.
My cheeks blaze. Guilt by association. Because I almost looked.
“Your friend said to call her back,” I explain, thrusting the phone at her like a hot potato. “I convinced her I wasn’t an ax murderer.”
Dani tucks her phone into the back pocket of her shorts with a rueful half-smile. “I’m the one who almost murdered you .”
I give a little shrug and rise to my feet, brushing dead grass off my shorts. Cool as I can be with sexy red ooze leaking from my nose.
“Next time,” I say. “Hit me with your best shot.”
Dani appraises me, letting her gaze run over my face. I’ll take her soft eyes any day over Joey Ramone’s stone-faced mug silently judging me from the front of her t-shirt.
How did you manage to create this clusterfuck in under an hour?
“Come in.” Dani waves me inside. “I have a first aid kit.”
I don’t have to be asked twice to follow those endless tanned legs. To avoid leaving a trail of red splatters on her floor, I use my shirt as a temporary bandage. Dani rambles about the door and how the repair guy must have fixed it, but I’m only half-listening.
Compared to my extravagant villa, her crib is the equivalent of the other side of the tracks. A shack with no flair. Walls slapped with institutional beige paint. It’s like a thrift store came by and dumped all the unclaimed furniture. My eyes sweep the room hunting for telltale signs of a man. Dirty white socks heaped in a corner. An Xbox. A grungy recliner that matches nothing else.
But there’s none of that.
Not much of anything, to be honest.
Her place is a little hard to read, like her.
And Dani interprets my silent investigation bang on. “None of this stuff is mine,” she says. “It came with the place. I moved here temporarily in June after Evelyn hired me. Vancouver is home.”
“So this is a new job for you?” I ask.
“New, in terms of the wine industry,” she clarifies. “But I’ve worked in advertising for the past eight years. Copywriter and junior creative director.”
Her chin rises slightly as if daring me to question her credentials. Ha. As if. My toolbox of tricks boils down to being pretty and looking good on camera. Hardly the ammunition to throw down a challenge.
“You seem very competent,” I say.
A surprised smile tugs her mouth higher. “Thank you.”
I groan inwardly. Competent? Why don’t I hand her a report card and call it a day?
Dani graciously moves on, gesturing at the strip kitchen. “I’ll meet you at the sink. Otherwise known as the emergency room.”
She disappears into what I guess is the bedroom, and my gaze drifts across the not-so-great room to a large picture window and the stunning vista framed within. Colin told me on the drive up that Osoyoos Lake is Canada’s warmest lake. Seeing it in person, it seems to stretch on forever, glittering in the sunset like a blanket of blue-green diamonds.
The dazzling display of nature fills me with an irresistible urge to swim.
After a day without the ocean, I get antsy.
Or maybe it's the sweat prickling on my skin that feels like ants are crawling all over me. The view certainly raises the bar of this shabby hut, but how can Dani survive in this heat?
She returns seconds later carrying a small first aid kit and busies herself at the kitchen counter, opening the kit and poking through the supplies. Her skin glows with a fine mist of sweat.
“Why is your place so hot?”
Dani glances up, her face flushing a deeper shade of crimson. “My air conditioner broke. Hence…”
She trails off with a bashful smile, and I jump in with some solidarity. “I walk around my house naked too.”
She levels a look at me. “But have you ever flopped nude onto a stranger?”
I pretend to think about that. “Not lately.”
“By that, you mean never.”
“No worries,” I assure her. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
Her brow rises in a question of— can a man be trusted with secrets of that magnitude? In the case of me, the answer is yes. My flaws are many and plentiful, but when it comes to holding on to classified information, I'm a human vault. And the more pressing question is, why are all these snappy one-liners rolling off my tongue like butter? Any woman I’ve ever had a speck of interest in leaves me tongue-tied and flustered, but I feel oddly protected in Dani’s presence. Like I can let my guard down for once and not have it bite me in the ass.
She unravels a small roll of gauze, uses a pair of mini scissors to snip off two tidy squares, and hands both to me. “Wad one of these into each nostril.”
While I stuff cotton up my nose, she inspects me from all sides, her face picture-perfect with concern. Without her glasses on, I can see flecks of blue trapped in the bottomless gray of her irises. I’m careful not to stare.I could get lost in those eyes and never find my way home.
“Why did you come over?”she asks, her quizzical gaze landing squarely on mine.
“Oh. Uhm…” She’s standing so close, I can feel the heat rising from her skin, a ribbon of her sugary-sweet perfume caressing me. It short-circuits my brain. “I, uh, hoped you might have some coffee cream. There was none in my fridge.”
Her brow furrows, and dammit! Can I replay that? Spin the story to be about her and not my royal neediness?
“Sorry about that.” She spins to the sink, rips off two paper towels, wets them under the faucet, and motions me closer. “May I tidy you up as an apology?”
Her voice is warm, sincere, and so kind it makes me feel undeserving of her selflessness. “Yes, but please, you don’t have to apologize. You’ve done enough. And I can survive a day without cream.”
She wipes blood from my face, touching me like I’m fragile. “Which is why you’re here.”
“Partial survival?” I crack a smile.
Dani laughs and takes a step back. “You’re funny. And you should be fine. Take a look.”
She hands me a small mirror from the kit to gauge for myself. Aside from looking like a dork with gauze jammed in both nostrils, this injury is minor. But how I wish it were major if it meant more of her attention.
“Put some ice on it just in case,” she recommends. “And take the supplies with you.”
Light and shadows play across her face, her voice soft and final as she packs up the kit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline wearing off, or her gentle compassion. Both inspire me to hunker down and get cozy, although I sense my visit is drawing to a close.
How to extend it?
I spot a tin of Folger’s pre-ground on the counter next to a cheap, dollar-store plastic coffee maker.
“You steal that from a Motel 6?” I joke.
Dani cocks one thin, shaped brow. “Are you judging me?”
“Possibly.”
“Says the guy with the overblown rider.”
“If you can forgive me the bed, I’ll overlook your taste in coffee.”
She leans against the counter, studying me with a slow burn of a smile spreading on her face. “Tell me the truth,” she says. “Is it worth it? Do you sleep that much better?”
“You tell me,” I say. “I’m officially donating it to you when we’re done.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “The plan was to send it back and eat a small restock fee.”
Before I can tell her to dock the full price from my final invoice, her phone chimes. Dani tugs it out of her shorts, glances at the screen, then sends the call to voicemail.
“I should call my sister back sooner than later,” she says, a hint of reluctance in her voice.
“Sister?” I tilt my head at this news. “She said she was your BFF.”
Dani blinks. A blankness settles on her face. “She’s both.”
The niggle at the back of my mind from earlier returns. I struggled to pinpoint why that woman’s voice sounded familiar. And Dani just sounded a bit wary at the mention of her.
“Oh, don't forget.” Dani sets down the phone, whirls around, and opens the fridge to brandish a carton of coffee cream. She wiggles the container in her hand with a sly expression. “You probably thought I had caramel-flavored creamer, didn’t you?”
I smile back. “I guess it’s my lucky day.”
As she hands me the cream, her fingers graze mine and linger, like they did when she took back her phone. Our eyes meet, and something else pulses in the air between us, something electric and powerful. I feel a punch of emotion in my chest, almost knocking me off my feet. All I can hear is the fan sputtering on overdrive in the other room and the frantic thrum of my own heartbeat.
“What time is brunch tomorrow?” I manage to ask.
My question slices through the loaded tension, and Dani pulls back slightly, her posture stiffening as the strange spell between us dissolves. Just like that, she slips back into official mode.
“Noon,” she replies. “At Evelyn’s place. Follow the path up from your villa, or text me if you get lost.” She hands me the first aid kit, this time careful not to let our hands overlap. “And, speaking of texting, next time, send me one before you come over. And feel free to use the real front door.”
She points to the Home Depot special next to the picture window, winks, and flashes a grin more arch than duh, you idiot. Feelings I have no name for churn to the surface from wherever I had them quarantined. What would it feel like to kiss that lush, lip-glossed mouth?
A thrilling sense of inevitability surges through me.
So many questions. And five full weeks to answer them.
Our goodbye doesn't feel so final.
On the short walk home through the hush of twilight, my flip-flops crunch along still-warm gravel, although the air is cooler and infused with the fruity tang of fermenting wine and a faint brininess from the nearby lake. I feel sleep dragging me down, but I’m buoyant inside. Yes, my nose got smashed, and I damn near needed the shock of a defibrillator to kickstart my heart after witnessing her jewels. But it’s a known fact that women will mention a boyfriend or husband at the first opportunity.
And I gave her plenty of those.
Just before I pass out on the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept on, two words cradle me like welcoming arms.
Next time.