Chapter Nineteen #2
“Except for excluding Von Charles.” That man was tall and lanky.
“If I pinpointed the right person,” Dean said. “I’m working on a better confirmation.”
They ended the call.
Rhys really wanted that cup of coffee. His phone dinged with a message from Sloane.
After Vivian and Scarlett’s side comments, he wasn’t sure he wanted to open anything that reminded him of last night.
Yesterday had irrevocably changed the way he saw Jules.
One night—one kiss—couldn’t rewrite their history.
Yet one kiss had shaken everything he understood about them.
Though something had always burned under the surface.
Nope. He wasn’t thinking about that. Whatever moments in the past he’d thought had happened were just them being human. She was impossible to ignore. He was not oblivious to the way he looked. Just human.
Another message dinged, but he wouldn’t look. If she had an itinerary change, she could send it as she’d done yesterday. Looking at text messages opened him up to Romeo-esque comments and pictures he didn’t want to see.
“Oh my God.” Jules walked out of the bathroom, her phone outstretched.
Her face made his stomach drop to the floor. She looked as if she might pass out. He moved toward her.
Blushing, she squeezed her eyes shut. “These pictures.”
The photos were why they’d done this. He couldn’t decipher her expression. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Look, Rhys.” She shoved her phone into his face.
“Whoa, shit.” Their picture slammed into him like an avalanche. It knocked the air from his chest and sparked lust.
“That’s…” The image captured the very second she’d melted against him. And for the first time, he had a taste of the invasiveness that she welcomed into her life. “Us.”
That moment, that kiss, had been all his. Now the world had it too.
Of course they did. That was the point of going onto the beach, for a hidden-away photographer to take a picture of their fake relationship, which they had soft launched on her social media yesterday.
Yet he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t deny everything he’d experienced last night and felt possessively deep inside him. No wonder Viv and Scar had said something.
“I don’t know how you handle this,” he muttered, turning from her phone.
Actually, he did know how Jules handled it. She faked everything.
“You—” He stopped short at the sight of her lips pinched together and her wide eyes too bright and shiny, like she might cry. “Hey. It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” She spun back into the bathroom, slamming the door in his face.
He held up a hand to knock but didn’t have the slightest clue what to say. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to the door. He would never be able to erase that photo from his mind.
“Jules.” He swallowed hard. That picture was exactly what Sloane had wanted. It was what Jules wanted. Except it was too much, too real, too exposing. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that,” he said too quietly for her to hear.
Not then. Not there. Really… not ever.
He’d been playing a stupid game and hadn’t realized the long-term effects. Everything could change for them, and he could want her all day long, but was it worth ruining their working relationship? They’d done this for so long that it felt like losing her was the same as losing part of him.
Did he want her? Who in their right mind didn’t? She was talented and gorgeous, but that had never stirred anything in his chest—until last night, then again today. Maybe it had before. He couldn’t analyze their past when she was crying in the bathroom.
That was the bigger problem, and he didn’t understand why. This wasn’t anything new to her.
Then it hit him like Sloane Ellis had dropped a ton of headshots on him. Jules Lowry was a commodity people bought, sold, and traded. Nothing was real—except maybe for last night.
Nothing was real, and that was why she was so lonely and why she’d agreed to marry Mason.
How the hell had Rhys missed that? He could literally see everything, remember everything, but had missed a monumental detail.
The bathroom door opened. Her eyelashes were damp, but the tears were gone. “Will you take me for coffee, please?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can get it and bring it back if you want.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure someone out there needs to take our picture.”
Rhys curled his hands into fists so that he wouldn’t reach for her. That wasn’t an option. Rhys clamped his molars then ordered his jaw to relax. “Jules.”
“What? Don’t look at me like that. Okay?”
“If you don’t want to do this anymore, Sloane will understand. Especially after last night and this morning.”
“I’ve never let that guy get to me, and I’m not going to start now.” She slid her hands along her sides, fidgeting with the fabric of her clothes. “Screw that guy.”
What neither of them said was that it wasn’t her stalker that had sent her running into the bathroom, crying. It was him.
“I have a large-brimmed hat,” she said, “and if I keep my head down, we can do what we want.”
Instantly, a list of things he wanted to do with Jules popped into his mind. None had to do with hiding her face from the public, and they all had to do with that large bed they’d woken in, wrapped together as though they’d spent the night naked. He cleared his throat. “Then let’s go get coffee.”
Jules snuck into her bungalow then walked out wearing the hat and large dark sunglasses. She was about as incognito as she could go.
“Did you check on Abigail again?” he asked.
“Still sleeping. I hope she can sleep her way through this as much as possible.”
They walked without talking to the main resort area.
He didn’t take her hand or even touch her.
His palm itched to rest along the hollow of her back, to slide down over the addictive curve of her ass.
Fuck. What he wanted to do had become a pile of distractions when he should have been simply scanning and assessing their surroundings.
They skipped the restaurants until they found outdoor seating with a shaded spot under an umbrella, backed by tall bushes. They ordered coffee and muffins. Most people didn’t recognize Jules. A few did double-takes but kept to themselves.
He noted others who also traveled with security in tow. Some were more formal. Some were well disguised as part of a group. The resort catered to the wealthy and well-connected. Everyone mostly ignored her.
How would people in his hometown react to Jules Lowry sipping a latte at a coffee shop on Main Street? Surprisingly, they would react similarly.
Granite Creek had that small-town friendliness and was also deeply protective of its own. Not that Jules would be theirs. But if he took her there, if he said she was part of Titan, they’d treat her that way.
The town consisted of locals mixed with Washington, DC, escapees who had retired or left the hustle-and-bustle to start families.
Everyone was not only protective but also guarded.
Residents threw themselves into making sourdough loaves or chatting at the local hardware store, all while assuming that everyone had worked for the state department or something similar at some point in their lives. Once a spy, always a spy.
“Earth to Rhys,” she said, breaking his train of thought. “What’s that look on your face?”
Jules in Granite Creek? The image landed and stayed longer than it should have. He had no idea what to do with that. “What do you want to do today?”
“Lie on the beach with my sister and drink mai tais.” She frowned. “I can’t believe she’s sick.”
“I lay on the beach with you yesterday. I can do it again today.”
“It’s not the same.”
He shrugged. “I’m definitely not Abs. What did you and Ma—” He caught himself. It was a honeymoon. He knew exactly what they’d planned to do, and an uncomfortable, irritated sensation pulsed in his neck.
She laughed, apparently able to read his mind. “Mason and I? Probably sightsee more than things that happen on a honeymoon.”
He grimaced. “That’s not what I was going to ask.”
She laughed harder. “I think it was.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Mason and I were friends.” She tilted her head. “At least, I thought we were. More like business partners in a lot of regards but friendly enough for the occasional friends with benefits.”
He grumbled. “You’ve said more than you need to.”
“The itinerary didn’t change much by bringing Abigail instead. I wasn’t going to stay in bed all day with Mason—”
“Jules. Really. Enough.”
“I’m just letting you know. We hadn’t slept together in…” She tapped her teeth together. “A while. I should have realized something else was going on.”
“When Abigail is on her feet again, you can tell her all about it.”
What did it say that she didn’t remember the last time she’d had sex with the man she was going to marry?
Rhys didn’t want to think about it. He hadn’t planned on thinking about it when he was supposed to be down here with Jules and Mason.
Rhys’s only responsibility was to be around when she was away from her bungalow.
That it was her honeymoon had literally never been an issue for him.
He’d seen her with romantic partners. Titan had vetted most, since they hired him after that one asshole had abducted her years ago.
Rhys had never cared who she dated, only that they wouldn’t hurt her.
Had her other partners been transactional like Mason? Is that how she viewed relationships? Just like she saw acting and life in show business? She was the product. Rhys couldn’t fathom.
“It’d been months,” she said, half ignoring his pleadings, half seemingly surprised. “That’s a long time.”
“Jules—”
“Don’t worry. I’m not asking about your love life.”
He never dated anyone seriously. He scratched an itch when necessary. Similar to Jules and Mason, he guessed—then ordered himself to stop thinking about it.
They ordered an extra muffin and a coffee in case Abigail’s stomach had settled enough to handle breakfast and returned to the bungalow.