Chapter Thirty-Two
They stayed in his bed for days. He ordered groceries and delivery and kept her naked, drunk on him like she didn’t know possible.
Sometime between the sex and the meals and the occasional bouts of sleep, she’d learned more of who he was.
An only child of two people who adored each other, Rhys grew up in a house where his dad fixed his mom’s coffee every morning before she got out of bed.
He preferred games of chance because it was no fun to win when he could figure out everyone’s hand, and Rhys would choose a backyard-grilled medium-rare steak over just about any meal Jules could think of.
She loved everything she learned about him.
When Jules woke up in Rhys’s arms, she melted against him, content in a way she had never known. He called her baby and commanded her orgasms like he was conjuring a spell. He whispered to her in the dark of night and held her hand throughout the day.
Her heart squeezed. This was so much more than ten-out-of-ten sex. They ignited fireworks and sparklers in her heart. Rhys made her heart happy. It was that simple.
All these years they’d been together, some of them passing when she thought she hated him, others when she couldn’t trust him, had been leading them to this—a future together.
Her arms slipped over his bare chest.
“Morning, baby,” he whispered against her neck in that sleep-drenched, half-awake way that made her feel like the center of his world. “Awake long?”
She shook her head and snaked her leg around his. She couldn’t be close enough. “You have to tell Viv.” If she hadn’t let her phone die last night, Jules might even call Vivian herself. She couldn’t get enough of Rhys. “Will you talk to her today? About us?”
He blinked, rubbing his face, then turned on his side to face her. “You and me, huh? That’s what you want?”
“It’s always been you and me.” Her heartbeat picked up. “It’s just more now.”
Rhys stroked her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “It’ll change things.”
They would be together. He couldn’t be her bodyguard, but just be by her side. “Wes can work my events.”
Rhys chuckled. “Man, he’s gonna kick my ass for that.” But he rolled his lips together, sobering. “Wes will do it. No problem.”
“I know you avoid everyone in Hollywood like the plague, but who else do you work with?”
He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Think less celebrities and more DC type. Politicos. People with money. Those traveling overseas, where they probably shouldn’t be. Family members of public figures.”
“Anyone else who you’ve fake dated?” she asked, a smile pulling at her lips.
“Not a single one.” He toyed with strands of her hair. “But I travel a lot.”
“ I travel a lot,” she countered, then released an exhausted sigh. “I’m so over what I do.” She’d never admitted that out loud. “Don’t tell anyone.”
A grin hitched on his handsome face. “You’ve seemed over it since your twenty-ninth birthday.”
“Was that the one with the big cake with sparklers?”
“In West Hollywood? No. I think the twenty-ninth was frat boys stopping traffic to take selfies.”
“Did I ever tell you that Aaliyah and Yasmin think Tabitha told people we were there? I never told Abs, because she’d kill her, but I’ve always thought they were right.”
“I don’t put anything past her. If she could step into your life—” Rhys faltered, his hand stilling in her hair, as if a thought had caught him off guard.
Jules snuggled against him, needing his fingers to play with her hair. “Did Wes bring Abigail home yet?”
Rhys refocused on her hair. “God, I hope so. If she’s not rolling around in spreadsheets by the end of the week, she might not forgive you for forcing a vacation on her.”
Clyde padded into the room and whimpered good morning.
“Someone’s hungry.” Rhys rubbed Clyde’s head. “He usually has my attention earlier in the morning.”
The dog whimpered again.
“All right. I’ll let you out.” Rhys lumbered out of bed, finger-combed his hair, which Jules had messed up the night before, and tugged on gray sweatpants before kissing her on the forehead. “And I’ll start your coffee.”
Clyde pressed his front paws onto the bed and gave Jules a good-morning lick then trotted after Rhys.
This life called to her. She didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to deal with red carpets or the insane publicity ideas Sloane developed. Jules wanted to watch her man wake up, pet his dog, and make her coffee.
Not that she wanted to give up her career for a man. She wasn’t an idiot. But there had to be a middle ground. They’d find it. She had no doubt.
Jules tucked the sheets around her chest and sat against the headboard. If she didn’t act and couldn’t realistically be a spy, she could… what? Work with her father? Write with her mother? Neither spoke to her. Nothing new came to mind. Yet.
That problem would be handled with more than thirty seconds of thought. Jules climbed out of bed, more excited than she’d been about a script or an audition in years, and dressed quickly in pajamas.
She walked into the kitchen, where Clyde snorted and slobbered over a bowl and the coffee maker percolated. Rhys faced the large picture windows and stared into the backyard, his phone pressed to his ear.
Jules inspected his refrigerator and found it essentially empty except for condiments and beer. They needed to restock after their initial grocery order.
She turned as he ended the call—and she froze. His sleepy bedroom eyes had disappeared. Tension flexed in the hard lines of his jaw. The tendons in his neck strained as though fury pounded in his veins.
She pressed her hands over her stomach. “What’s wrong?”
His lips thinned, and the corners of his mouth pulled down. “You have to head home.”
An absurd little part of her whispered, “This could be home.” She held on to that thought for exactly one second before his expression told her everything had changed.
Her heart pounded, and she swallowed hard. “ What’s wrong ?” Her mind raced. Was Abigail sick? Hurt? Her parents? “Rhys—”
Rhys’s phone buzzed, and he flattened his lips as he glared murder at the screen. “Give me a second.”
Fear curdled in her stomach. “Put it on speakerphone.”
His eyes sliced to her. She might be sick. Everything would change. Whoever was on the phone, whatever they had to say would knock the air from her lungs.
He swiped the screen, and Vivian’s voice echoed through the kitchen, “We’ll have a jet ready. Get her there as soon as you can.”
Nausea made her head swim. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”
“Your house,” Vivian said. “There’s a fire. It’s under control—”
So many people worked at her house. “Was anyone hurt?”
“I don’t know. Scarlett pulled video footage that people have posted. Sending it over now.”
Jules rushed toward her purse. She hadn’t looked at her phone in days. It was dead. “I have to talk to Abigail.”
“She’s with Wes,” Vivian said. “Left on a flight to California early this morning. Did you get the video yet?”
His phone buzzed. “Just came through.” Rhys tapped on the screen and opened the link.
Angry orange flames consumed her house. Her stomach bottomed out. “ No .” Someone could be in there. “Oh God.” Jules snatched the phone from Rhys, horrified, unable to look away. The inferno had swallowed everything. “I need to talk to someone. I need to know there wasn’t anyone in there.”
“Rhys will get you to the people you need to talk to.”
Her throat ached with tears. She had fire alarms. Smoke detectors.
The security system monitored everything from people entering the premises to air quality and chemical attacks.
Anyone in there would have a warning. They’d hear sirens and alarms. God, please let no one have been hurt.
Everything could be replaced. But an absolute gut-tearing sickness threatened to knock her over. “How? What happened?”
“The details are hazy,” Vivian said. “But someone was at your house a few hours ago—”
“Who?” she demanded.
Tension flexed in Rhys’s jaw.
“ Who ?”
“Someone with credentials that fooled the guardhouse and who had the entry code. It was keyed in about thirty minutes before the first 911 call came in.”
She gnawed on her bottom lip. “Lots of people can access my house.”
“Investigators are working on it. You just have to get back there.”
“Okay,” she managed.
Rhys slipped an arm around her back as if knowing her legs were done holding her up and said goodbye to Vivian before ending the call. “Get dressed.”