Chapter Twenty-Five
Max
For once, Rhys doesn’t argue. He grows quiet, then agrees to a year.
I’m not sure why I proposed that time frame—it’s in my best interest to find a potential partner as soon as possible. But even if Rhys hadn’t wanted to fake-date, I know it won’t last. He isn’t the type to commit, and I need something long term—like lifelong term.
But maybe I just want to stay long enough to prove to Jeffrey that I’m not some shameful secret. Or maybe I want to show Trevor I’m with someone who’s nothing like him—but a thousand times better—the next time he harasses me. Nothing would upset them like seeing me do well.
And a year isn’t that bad. I’m plenty young enough to find another man when our relationship’s over. Mom surely wouldn’t mind me taking a little detour.
“All right, Freckles,” Rhys says, rising from his seat. “Let’s go.”
I should’ve said something when he said he’d call me Freckles in boyfriend mode, but for some reason the protest got stuck in my throat. Probably because there was warm affection in his eyes. Something I’ve never cared for all my life doesn’t seem like such a horrible flaw when he says it.
“Where to?” I ask, mentally flipping through his agenda for the rest of the day. He doesn’t have anything, as far as I know.
“Home. I wasn’t kidding about free housing, utilities and food. You’re moving in today.”
His speed leaves me slightly dazed. “Um… Shouldn’t we come up with a plausible story first, to explain how we slowly discovered our feelings before moving in together?”
“We only have a year, not much time for feeling development. Besides, your place burned down. Where would you stay while these feelings develop?”
Touché.
“Anyway, our attraction started over three years ago, but didn’t fully bloom until today—so romantically that we had to move in together.” He smiles with satisfaction. “If I ever get tired of finance, I should write romance novels.”
I have to laugh. He’s obviously never read a romance novel in his life, but he’s so cocky and adorable. “Or Hallmark cards. You’d be amazing.”
“I am a veritable fount of cheery goodwill. And it’s always smart to have a backup plan. Let’s take my car.”
“What about mine?”
“If we’re commuting together, you won’t need it. But I’ll have Angelo bring it over for you.” Rhys reaches for my hand.
His fingers thread through mine, linking our hands together. Although we’ve done things far more intense, it seems both shockingly intimate and innocently pure. My belly flutters, like I’m a young girl with a crush.
“What are we doing?” I murmur.
“Holding hands. That’s what a couple does.”
My cheeks warm. Suddenly I feel shy…and uncertain about our coworkers witnessing us like this. “Can our attraction wait until we’re out of the building to bloom?”
“What’s the holdup? It needs to bloom before we move in together.”
“I’m sure you can think of something to trigger it on the way to your place. Aren’t you the romance writer here?”
“Sounds like we both are.” He squeezes my hand. “You’re the one throwing in an unnecessary difficulty, coming up with a reason for us not to hold hands.”
I can’t think of anything for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his palm against mine entirely too much. Finally, I look up with a small smile. “I need my hands to get my laptop and purse.”
“One hand for the purse. Leave the computer.” But even as he says it, he lets go when I tug my hand away and head to the desk to gather my things. “It’s just company property…you could leave it anywhere. Even sixteen time zones away.” He looks innocently at the ceiling.
“Pettiness isn’t attractive,” I say.
“Me? Petty?” He places a dramatic hand over his chest and bends a little as though deeply wounded. “I was magnanimous enough to pack your things and haul them over the Bering Strait and Arctic Circle, then back across the Atlantic.”
“Don’t forget the desolation of the Alaskan tundra. But yes, thank you,” I say sincerely.
We walk to the elevator. It’s empty when we enter, but as the car stops at floor after floor, more and more people pour in until everyone’s packed like sardines.
Rhys and I get squeezed together until my back’s pressed against his solid chest. His fingertips trace my hip with the barest pressure. Little sparks crackle along my spine.
“Attraction is blooming,” he murmurs into my ear.
I open my mouth to retort—but it vanishes the instant I feel his erection against me. The proof of desire heats my blood, making me feel illicit.
Something is blooming. I haven’t felt this way in…
My face goes slack, as I can’t recall. I did something with Jeffrey to make our anniversary special—and it was fun enough, but the intensity wasn’t quite there.
The fact that Rhys is sporting a hard-on in an elevator full of people, with me as the only shield hiding him from the world, is shockingly thrilling.
I barely rock against him. If anybody sees me, they’ll assume I’m just shifting around to get more comfortable in the cramped space.
“Enjoying yourself?” Rhys whispers, his hot breath tickling my ear.
I can’t whisper back. Need burns, but I maintain a proper facade. Public humping is out of the question. I’ll have to do something about this later.
My initial plan was to stay at Rhys’s place while pretending to date him, but this could be like a year-long sex buffet.
I suspected he’d be great in bed, and he was even better than I thought.
He’s into my body, too, so why not take advantage and enjoy what we have for a year?
Our chemistry will probably wear off as we spend more time together, but until then, we can enjoy the side benefits.
By the time we reach the lobby, the black Cullinan sits gleaming in front of the building. Angelo, in a black suit as usual, opens the door for us. “Hello, Rhys. Max, what a surprise.”
“Hi, Angelo.” I smile. He’s one of my favorite people around Rhys.
Once we’re settled inside the luxurious mélange of British engineering, buttery leather, wool and bespoke wood veneer, Rhys says, “We’re going to pick up some stuff.”
“Where to?”
I text Angelo the address for my motel.
He frowns. “Huh. You sure that’s the right one?”
His reaction isn’t unexpected. Rhys doesn’t do motels. “Yes,” I say. “It’s to get my stuff after my apartment burned down.”
“Ohhh.” His eyebrows climb. “So sorry to hear that. I’ll let you talk.” He raises the partition.
Alone at last. I take a deep breath. “Rhys. Just to clear this between us—I shouldn’t have left like that in Tokyo. I’m sorry.”
“Why did you?” He sounds conversational, but there’s an unblinking focus in his eyes.
I feel silly because my flight was purely driven by my gut. “I just…panicked. I was angry with Jeffrey—and Trevor—but hadn’t planned on, um, consoling myself that way.”
“My dear, I am always open to consoling you with my body.”
I snort a laugh, but there’s a hint of tenderness in his tone that makes my insides feel warm and fuzzy—like he cares about me as a person.
“Never panic, no matter what happens. You can always talk to me, Freckles.”
I look away from him briefly before turning back. “What if it’s embarrassing?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Have you seen my parents?”
I let out another chuckle. “Okay, point taken.”
“I should tell you this in case it becomes public.” Closing his eyes briefly, Rhys rubs the bridge of his nose, then repositions his glasses. “Remember that so-called high school pregnancy thing?”
“Yeah. What happened? Did Jeremiah sort it out?”
He shakes his head. “First of all, she’s not a high school kid. She’s a twenty-six-year-old stripper. And it was Dad.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He slept with her…and gave her my name when she asked.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“Because he didn’t want Grandmother to find out about it.”
I stare. That’s…an interesting reason. I’m tempted to scoff, but after meeting Sorcha Kingswood, I can sort of empathize with his fear. Not that it lessens my disapproval. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I, believe me.”
I pat his shoulder. “Well…it’ll blow over.”
“Yeah, nobody’ll be talking about it once he gets into another scandal. It’ll probably be Mom’s turn next.” He sighs.
“Don’t be so pessimistic.”
“Realistic is the word here. I’m a realist.”
His resigned tone makes my chest ache. He couldn’t sound or look more vulnerable.
A crazy urge to wrap my arms around him bursts through me, and it’s all I can do to pull back.
It’s a bit too intimate—too real. He flicks a strand of my hair near my ear, his eyes lowered for a second.
When he lifts them again to meet mine, his usual steady control is back.
The sight squeezes my chest, even though I know it’s better to maintain some emotional boundaries.
The Cullinan stops and the partition comes down. Angelo turns in his seat. “We’re here.”
He gets out and opens the door. Rhys and I exit the car; he stops short, staring at the L-shaped two-story structure with a sort of horror.
“Damn. Could’ve done better than this.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you have insurance or something?”
“Yes, but the payout is limited. And so is my bank account.”
I start toward my unit on the first floor. Rhys and Angelo follow. “Doesn’t look safe,” the latter remarks, looking at the rusty stairs.
“I don’t need to go up there.” I open the door to reveal a modest room with threadbare carpet the color of dog vomit and a king-size bed. The small couch matches the carpet, although nothing really smells bad, just a bit musty.
Rhys shakes his head. “How can it look worse inside? Wouldn’t surprise me if a roach flies smack into your face.”
I shudder. “Ugh. You’re going to make me puke.” I go to the bathroom to dump all my toiletries and dirty laundry into a couple of shopping bags. I check the counter, and don’t see anything of mine.
Rhys grabs my clothes from the closet and drawers, draping them over his arm.
“Want me to carry them?” Angelo offers.
Rhys shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He turns to me. “Got everything?”
“Yeah. If I forgot something, I’ll just grab a replacement. It’s at worst some soap—”
In my peripheral vision, something dark flies at my temple.
Screaming, I raise a hand to block it. The loud buzzing trills in my ears.
Whatever’s making that sound is definitely not a little fly or mosquito.
Black and huge, it zips around, then comes straight for me again, this time aiming for my eyes.
“Ack!” I scream, then drop the bags and jump on Rhys, burying my face into his shoulder while looping my arms around his neck. I can’t have the thing attack and gouge my eyeballs out! He’s probably safe because he has glasses.
His free arm embraces me as he swings around, ready to confront the attacker.
“Holy shit! Cockroaches can fly!” Angelo’s shout sounds way too excited.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I shriek so hard my throat hurts. My arms wrap around Rhys so tightly they shake. I add a leg as well.
“Jesus, Freckles, stop screaming. You’re going to turn me deaf!” Rhys yells to be heard over me. At the same time, his hand pats my back soothingly.
I open one eye to reconnoiter the area to see if the black thing flew out.
Angelo, meanwhile, has jumped into action. He grabs a wire hanger and whips it through the air. There’s the sound of a small impact and the buzzing sputters and dies. “Gotcha, sucka!”
“Are we safe?” I whimper, still hanging on to Rhys.
“Yeah. I practically cut him in two!” Angelo says proudly.
“Oh my God. Can you carry me out?” I ask Rhys. “I just can’t with cockroaches. Eek.”
“Of course,” he says, all easygoing, but his voice holds a hint of laughter.
“I’ll get your bags, Max. I’ll return your key and check you out,” Angelo offers cheerfully.
“Thank you.”
Rhys scoops me up. Eyes closed and face buried in his neck, I feel his movements. He carries me effortlessly. From the breeze, we must be outside. “The body’s in the room, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. Both pieces.”
“Ugh. Are they visible?”
“Well…yeah. I don’t think they’re moving much, though. Not anymore.”
I tremble. “Cockroaches are worse than Trevor and Jeffrey put together.”
“They are?”
I nod. “I mean, I can look at either of them and not have nightmares for days. Roaches? Ugh. If I see one, I’ll have nasty dreams about being chased for several nights.
Another reason I’m particular about my home—no roaches, ever!
Which means newer units in a nice area. That made it harder to find a new apartment. ”
He lays a kiss on my head. “I promise you—my home is a roach-free zone.”