Chapter 9
The barbecue had turned out to be more than just a barbecue—it had been food and fun and laughter with a bunch of people who, in the course of an afternoon, changed from complete strangers to friends for life.
The military bond between Wolf and his team had extended to Rhys, and Taylor had been drawn without hesitation into the close circle of their wives and girlfriends.
More significantly, though, Taylor had seen a different side to Rhys, and it was a side she liked. As they’d made the journey back to the Airbnb, she realized she was no longer trying to resist an irresistible force.
Ans if she was being honest with herself about that, then she owed it to Rhys to be honest and give him the full truth about the reason for their exile to California.
She didn’t want to wait too long to do it, but the timing had to be right.
For now, she was content to lounge by the pool, enjoying the view.
Rhys had been reluctantly receptive to her suggestion during a shopping trip the previous day, and even though it had taken all her powers of persuasion to get him into the swimwear shop, it had been more than worth the effort.
She now had definitive proof that Rhys Dalton was not a board shorts man.
Anyone observing her stretched out on the chaise lounge would assume she was reading the book she was holding, but it was a bluff.
Her gaze, shielded by sunglasses, was not on the page but was aimed over the top of it and focused on the magnificent sight of her bodyguard cutting through the water with powerful, efficient strokes.
She wondered if he was keeping a tally, because by her count, he was about to complete his twentieth lap, with little apparent sign of tiring.
And he called this recreational swimming?
Impressed though she was by the athleticism, for Taylor it was overshadowed by the body that was accomplishing it—a body that was clad in a pair of swim trunks that covered what they needed to, without depriving an appreciative female onlooker of a… stimulating experience.
She sighed like a lovestruck teen. She was sooooo stimulated right now…
Witnessing him washing his pickup in a state of semi-undress had been one thing, but it hadn’t fully prepared her for this.
Rhys Dalton had exactly the kind of physique that inhabited her fantasies on a regular basis.
Long and lean, not too muscular, with an aesthetically pleasing scattering of dark hair across his pecs, and an intriguing arrow pointing due south.
The swim briefs left just enough to her imagination to make her mouth water.
When she’d first seen him dressed like that, her reaction had been visceral and raw—he was no longer an irritation in her life, or even a bodyguard protecting her under duress, but a man to whom she was attracted in a way that made her tingle in all the right places.
Thoughts of him made her so hot, she could set off a fire sprinkler system.
“So, when are you going to stop watching me rack up the lengths and join me in the pool instead?”
Absorbed in her fantasies, Taylor hadn’t noticed the subject of those fantasies had exited the pool and was dripping just a few feet away from her, while he toweled that spectacular body dry.
She turned her gaze in his direction and scanned upwards, from his toes, past his muscular thighs and incredible abs, to his dark hair, all tousled after he’d roughly attempted to dry it.
She pushed her sunglasses up her nose—not that they needed it. “Who said I was watching you? I’m reading.”
“I know when I’m being watched, fy nghariad.” He took a seat on the chaise lounge to her right and resumed toweling his hair. “Are you trying to put a spell on me?”
Taylor raised an eyebrow. “A spell? Are you insinuating I’m a witch, Mr. Dalton?”
His expression portrayed a scandalized innocence that didn’t fool her for a moment. “A witch? Would I do such a thing?”
She couldn’t help it. Before she had time to think, Taylor grabbed a cushion from the vacant chaise to her left and hurled it at Rhys with all the strength she could muster.
Somehow, in less time than it took her to blink, he dropped the towel, caught the cushion, and deposited it on the chaise beside him.
The roar of laughter that accompanied his lightning-fast move was so unexpected that she was incapable of defending herself when he lunged toward her, scooped her up in his arms, and held her close to his chest. She dropped her book and instinctively flung her arms around his neck.
“I think it’s time you got wet, Ms. Markham.”
Her mind went at light speed to the gutter—she was already wet, but not in the way he meant.
The fact the threat was accompanied by a broad grin did nothing to prevent fire rushing to her cheeks.
Had she been wearing a bikini instead of a one-piece, the sensation of his hands on her bare skin would have turned that fire into a conflagration.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “Put me down. Right now.”
He strode to the edge of the pool. “Oh no. You’re going in the water.”
He couldn’t possibly be intending to throw her into the pool. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
And to be fair, he didn’t.
What he did do, contrary to her suspicions, was jump in with her still in his arms. Taylor spluttered as her head disappeared beneath the water, and while Rhys released her legs, he kept her pinned to his torso to ensure she surfaced with him.
However, something was missing.
“My sunglasses! Where are they?” she spluttered.
She flailed around wildly—not because they were expensive designer frames, because they weren’t—but because she needed to focus on something other than the hard, muscular chest inches from her nose and the strong arm anchoring her to it.
“They haven’t come to any harm. I’ll get them for you. Are you okay?”
The gentle, sincere concern in his voice somehow calmed her instantly—not only that, it shifted her focus back to the one place she desperately needed it not to be, and that was on him.
Especially the part of him that was pressing against her belly.
“I’m fine. Wet, but fine,” she elaborated. “Are you insane? Whatever possessed you to do something as crazy as this?”
“Self-preservation,” he replied glibly. “When a beautiful woman launches a lethal weapon at me…”
Taylor’s brain imploded, torn between how he’d referred to her and his classification of a cushion as a lethal weapon. Modesty addressed the latter first.
“Lethal weapon, my ass. It would have bounced off of you.”
As the last word left her lips, her eyes zeroed in on his mouth—the mouth that had called her beautiful.
The mouth that at one time, she would have vehemently denied wanting to kiss, but right now, she could barely hold off doing it.
Her ability to think and form words—forget sentences—evaporated beneath the heat she imagined those lips were capable of generating.
Unable to help herself, she tilted her gaze up a notch.
Short-range eye contact was even more devastating.
Even though there was a less than zero chance of it happening, every inch of her body prepared for that mouth to claim hers.
The moment stretched into a warped kind of eternity, as if he were teetering as much on the edge as she was, a heartbeat away from lips meeting in a kiss that would crack asunder the fabric of the universe.
Without conscious thought, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
That small action, it seemed, was enough to break the spell holding them both in thrall. When Rhys stepped back and gently put some space between them, stone-cold sanity made its presence known with a crashing entrance.
“Lunch.” She wasn’t sure whether she strangled the word or it strangled her. “We should probably dry off and get cleaned up.”
Rhys pushed further away. “You go ahead. I’ll retrieve your sunglasses. Go,” he urged softly.
She’d never heard him sound quite like that before, leaving her in no doubt he was as affected as she was by what had just happened.
Taylor was back to normal by the time she’d taken a shower, and ready to focus on something far more prosaic. She still owed Rhys that explanation, and the time was now right to settle the debt.
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The kitchen might have been on the small side, but it came fully equipped, and after a delicious lunch, Taylor helped Rhys to stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher He’d seemed a little surprised by her offer of assistance, but then again, from the bits and pieces he’d divulged about previous assignments, he’d worked for some real divas who’d think nothing of leaving him to deal with similar tasks alone.
“Ready for some coffee?” he asked when the job was done.
Taylor rolled her eyes. “You beat me to it. Again. Actually…”
“Yes?”
There was her cue. “Coffee would be good. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Rhys had the most expressive eyebrows. “Okay. Let me make the drinks, then we can talk.”
Taylor didn’t argue—not when she could use the extra few minutes alone to marshal her thoughts. When he joined her in the living room and took his seat at the opposite end of the sofa, mirroring her posture of sitting sideways, she hoped he wouldn’t judge her too harshly.
“I know you said you don’t need to know why I need a bodyguard, but… I think it’s time to tell you why you’ve had this exile forced on you—and for that, I apologize. I know the last thing you’d want is to be in this situation with me.”
“Stop right there. No apology necessary. You say that as if it’s… I don’t know, some kind of cruel and unusual punishment to be here with you. I might have thought that at one time, but now? Things are a bit different. Aren’t they?” he prompted.
Her heart gave a little leap of happiness. “I hope so.” She managed a small smile. “So, I’d better get started, or we’ll be here all night.”
“Take as much time as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”