Читать книгу Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires - Rebecca Winters - Страница 95

WREN HAD BEEN on edge ever since Rhys had shown up at work. Not just because he’d appeared as if the images in her head had come to life, but because he was there hunting for things she’d done. Naively, she’d assumed that when her attempt to get into the storage room had failed her boss would be none the wiser.

Wrong. Now he’d hired a security company to come in and investigate, which would no doubt throttle her ability to play detective.

So why was she standing at Rhys’s door, her hand poised to knock?

“Because you’re a glutton for punishment, that’s why,” she muttered. “You don’t know when to back away.”

Her logical side—she did have one, though it was the runt of the litter—said it would be better to keep in contact with Rhys so she could stay abreast of his company’s investigation. Her emotional side thought that sounded manipulative, and she supposed it was. But the fact that Sean had involved a security firm meant he was extremely serious about protecting his privacy, and that made her even more suspicious of him.

So she’d have to forcibly ignore her guilt about lying to Rhys. She didn’t like being dishonest, but she wasn’t about to give up on finding justice for Kylie.

“You’re doing it for her.” She stared at the gold-plated numbers on Rhys’s door for a moment longer before she knocked. “Kylie would do the same for you.”

Footsteps sounded inside and then Rhys swung the door open. Wren’s knees almost buckled at the dazzling smile he gifted her. Paired with the fitted black T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and the half apron accentuating his trim waist, it was a killer combination.

“Couldn’t resist my offer?” He held the door open and motioned for her to enter.

“I couldn’t resist the offer of a comfy couch. I think mine was home to a family of raccoons before I got here.”

“If that’s what brought you here, I’ll take it.”

Wren had been in Rhys’s apartment before, but she’d been more focused on her bleeding hand and his half-naked state the last time she was here. Now she had the opportunity to take in his space.

It was tidy to a fault, not a single cushion out of order. Next to the big-screen TV, he’d hung a shelf that was lined with books arranged by height. A set of hand weights rested in a rack near the window. They, too, were arranged by size. On top of the solid coffee table was a fancy-looking remote.

“You may be the tidiest person I have ever met,” she said, gazing around the apartment and feeling slightly inadequate. “Seriously, I want to fling some paint across your floor just to mess things up.”

“A clean space is a clean mind,” Rhys replied as he headed back to the kitchen. “I can’t think if there’s too much clutter. Besides, it doesn’t take much effort to keep something clean. I have a system in place.”

“A system?”

“Yeah, a routine, you might call it.”

“Stop. This conversation is becoming way too adult for me.” She leaned against the kitchen counter as he gathered up a handful of chopped onions and tossed them into a pan on the stove.

“I guess I shouldn’t tell you about my cleaning routine spreadsheet, then?” Laughter rumbled in his chest at her widened eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“I get the impression you’re one of those people who’s totally in control at all times.” She watched as he added green peppers to the frying pan and stirred them with a wooden spoon.

“No one is in control of life at all times.” He thought for a second. “But I do try to keep a firm hand on things.”

I wouldn’t mind if he kept a firm hand on me.

Wren stifled a smile as she watched Rhys work the kitchen like a pro. He had his back to her, granting her a secret moment to openly admire his ass. The man wore a pair of jeans like nobody’s business.

Why had she come here? To torture herself, apparently.

A deep ache built within her. It had been so long since she’d had sex, and with the stress of her fleeing her hometown and getting herself installed at Ainslie Ave, she hadn’t made much time for self-appreciation, either. Her hands twitched with the desire to knead the firm muscles beneath his jeans. She could almost imagine how it would feel to clutch that ass as he plunged deep inside her.

“Wren?”

“Huh?” Her cheeks were as hot as an open flame.

“I asked if you’re allergic to anything? I should have checked before I decided what to cook.”

“Oh no, I’m healthy as an ox.” Physically, anyway. Emotionally…not so much. “I’ll eat pretty much anything. When you’re raised in a tiny town, you don’t always get a lot of choice.”

“I’m sure small-town living has its perks.” Rhys cracked a few eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. “Not that I would ever consider leaving the city.”

“Why’s that?”

“I like being able to keep busy.”

“And I like the anonymity of the city.” She watched his deft hands making their dinner as gracefully as if he were conducting a symphony. You could tell a lot by watching people use their hands—and it was clear he knew exactly how to use his. “It’s so freeing to be able to leave the house without people gossiping about your every move.”

“That happen a lot to you at home?”

“Oh yeah. It’s kind of like being famous without any of the perks.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It truly is.” She sighed. “The worst thing is that people don’t hesitate to make things up.”

“Why let the truth get in the way of a good story, right?” He shook his head. “I really don’t get why people thrive on gossip. There’s so many more interesting things out there in the world.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

Within minutes Rhys had put two perfectly formed vegetable omelets onto pristine white plates. The scent of garlic, cheese and eggs made Wren’s mouth water. She realized then that she’d barely eaten all day. Too busy worrying about the fate of her internship…and the possibility of what might happen if she saw Rhys again.

Time to find out.

“So, do you have any idea who might be behind the security issues at the gallery?” They took their seats at a small table with two chairs. The space was cozy and her knees brushed against his.

“Not yet. Today was just a preliminary meeting. Quinn will be running the investigation, so she’ll most likely be back to ask more questions and help Sean set up a proper security system.”

“A proper security system?” The omelet seemed to stick in her throat. There went her hopes of trying to break into the storage room again.

She’d found out during her first week that he didn’t have any security cameras when she’d asked if there was a backup procedure for the camera tapes. She’d dodged suspicion with a false story about her duties at the community center back home, and he’d told her that he didn’t believe in keeping an eye on his staff in that way.

“Yeah, I can’t believe he doesn’t have a proper security monitoring system in place already. If his paintings are worth that much, it seems crazy not to have cameras.”

Wren chewed slowly. She was positive Sean had the money for security cameras. Which meant he chose not to have them because he didn’t want footage of the inside of his gallery. All the more reason to suspect he was doing something illegal or, at the very least, unethical.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Rhys said. “We’ll find whoever did this. And if they’ve committed a crime, we’ll hand them over to the police.”

Had she committed a crime? Did going through someone’s emails count as an offense?

All the more reason for her not to say anything to Rhys. She couldn’t risk getting fired and possibly fined—or, God forbid, arrested—just for the sake of a romantic fling.

“That does seem crazy. Well, I hope you find whoever is doing these things.” Guilt twinged in her gut, but she reminded herself why she was here—to help her friend. The usually confident and bubbly Kylie had come home a shell of her former self, and she deserved payback. “This omelet is incredible, by the way. Thanks for cooking.”

He reached for the bottle of wine and topped up her glass. “I’m just being neighborly and returning the favor.”

“You patched me up when I cut myself—that debt was already paid.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

The sound of their silverware clicking and scraping filled Wren’s pause. “I’m surprised, given what happened. I shouldn’t have kicked you out like that. It was rude.”

“That night has been on my mind.” He sipped his wine and Wren watched him, transfixed, as the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. Everything about him was so strong, so sure. So powerful and yet controlled. Restrained. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“You’ve thought about that night or just my painting?”

“All of it. I wasn’t lying when I said I was going to make a move, Wren.”

The confident way he spoke told her he wasn’t used to being rejected. And who would say no to him? Not only was he hotter than Hades, but the man was an utter gentleman. A rare combination in her experience.

“You can tell me to stop being pushy,” he added with a sly grin. “It’s a bad habit, I know. I can be single-minded like that.”

Grateful for the opportunity to delay addressing her attraction to him, she reached for her wine. “You’re driven. That’s not a bad thing.”

“Driven sounds much better. Mom jokes I was born with a life plan in my hand.”

“I bet she’s very proud of you.”

RHYS TRIED NOT to grimace at Wren’s kind—and no doubt well-intended—words. If only it were true. His mother was proud of him; she just happened to prefer expressing that pride from a distance.

“My family is complicated,” he said eventually.

“Aren’t all families?” She shot him an empathetic look. “I don’t think ‘unconditional love’ is as cut-and-dried as people would like to believe.”

“Or as equally handed out.”

“I’m the sister of an aspiring doctor. I get it.” Her head bobbed slowly. “Who’s the golden child, brother or sister?”

“Stepbrother.”

“Ouch.”

“I can’t hate the guy. We’ve been best friends since we were in elementary school. It was like one of those kids’ movies. His parents were divorced and my mother was a widow.” Part of him felt disloyal for spilling his family drama to Wren. He loved his family. But in the short space of time he’d known Wren he’d become comfortable around her. He trusted her. “When my mom married his dad I thought it was the best thing that could have happened. But it got difficult as the years went on.”

She tucked her feet up under her and cradled the wineglass in both hands. Her cascading golden hair and long, flowing skirt made her look like a goddess who’d stepped off a canvas.

“Why did things change?”

“We got older. I started to understand the way the world worked.” He kneaded at the knots in the back of his neck. “You see, my dad was black but my mom’s white. And my stepfather and stepbrother are white, as well. Which meant I spent a lot of time being asked if I was adopted.”

“That would be awful,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, it’s tough enough being mixed. You feel like you don’t truly belong in either camp. And I wasn’t really bullied at school, but I was always on the fringe of things. Nothing I did ever got me into the inner circle of any group.” He rubbed his palms against his thighs. “What made it worse was that my mom only saw my dad when she looked at me. So after a while it seemed as if she stopped looking.”

He’d never said that aloud to anyone before, never admitted that his mother had all but ignored his presence for a portion of his life. And the older he got, the worse it had become.

When he looked back at old photos of his dad, he could see why. Despite the difference in the depth of their skin color, he had his father’s full lips and strong jaw. He had the same intense eyes and heavy brows. The same strong cheekbones and slightly too-big ears. Ears made for listening, his mother had called them once.

It dawned on him then that this was why Wren’s painting had made such an impact on him. It wasn’t just that she’d been thinking about him, it was that she’d been looking at him. Acknowledging him.

In her head he was real and present and alive.

“I ended up moving to the city so I didn’t have to keep haunting her like that,” he said, shutting out his revelation.

“You moved because you were haunting someone and I moved because I was being haunted. Can’t win, can we?” she asked with a shake of her head.

“The reason you’re haunted, does it have something to do with the painting I saw?” He cleared his throat. “The one of the naked woman.”

“My problem was about the paintings,” she said with an emphasis on the s. “I have a series of them. And, yeah, that’s part of the reason I left. My town wasn’t quite ready for something so ‘shocking’ as the naked body.”

“I guess some of those towns can be quite conservative.”

“Oh, I knew that. It’s the whole reason I never showed the paintings to anyone except a few people I trusted in the art community. But my ex found them and…he got pretty mad.”

“Why the hell would he be mad about a couple of paintings?”

“He thought I was going to cause a scandal.” She laughed, but the sound was hollow. Humorless. “He had grand plans to be a district attorney one day and eventually make a move into politics. He told me he couldn’t be with someone who was going to ruin his career with sinful, disgusting activities.”

Rhys’s chest clenched. The pain in her voice was palpable. “Your ex is an idiot.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d just dumped me and moved on. But oh no, Christian thought he’d been wronged, and he wanted to take me down a couple of pegs. Teach me a lesson.” Her jaw tightened. “He took photos of the paintings and showed them to people in town to make sure there was no chance any of my ‘filthy secrets’ could come back to bite him. I could never be the kind of woman he wanted by his side, but he also didn’t want anyone else to have me…so he made sure I was ‘damaged goods’ as far as the town was concerned.”

Rhys blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I wish I wasn’t. But that tells you a lot about our relationship,” she snorted.

“And people really thought a few nude paintings were that bad?”

“I didn’t really have the chance to tell my side of the story. Christian went to a few loud voices in the community and the rumors were all over town before I had the chance to do anything about it. He said he felt it was his ‘duty’ to make sure I wasn’t working with any children while I was creating pornographic material.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Rhys shook his head, trying to quash the anger that had bubbled up in him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Anyway, enough of my sob story.” A smile tugged at her lips. “It’s all in the past, and I’m here now.”

But for how long? The question hung at the edge of his mind.

Why can’t you stop planning the future for once and live in the now? Live in the now with her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

Her dazzling smile kindled warmth in his chest. “And I’m glad you didn’t let me bleed out in the hallway.”

“My first-aid skills are good, but I’ve got other skills that are better than that.”

“You’re a fabulous cook, too.”

Hunger gnawed at him. “That’s not what I meant.”

Her pupils dilated, the black centers eating away at the rim of blue around them. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, causing her breasts to press against the thin tank top and reveal the faint shadow of her nipples. Her hand fluttered at her collarbone, toying with a thin necklace.

She intoxicated him. The very sight of her was so addictive that he was already desperate for a taste, as though he knew just how delicious she would be.

“I’ll do the dishes,” she said, standing and reaching for his plate. As she leaned over he could see that her blush extended down her neck and across her chest, coloring her skin with a rosy hue. “It’s only fair since you cooked.”

She stacked the plates in her arms and headed off in the direction of his kitchen. Draining the rest of the wine in his glass, he gave her a moment. Wren was skittish and now he understood the reason for that. She’d been hurt—run out of her hometown by a vindictive, selfish bastard.

But he also knew when a woman was attracted to him—and Wren’s face hid nothing.

Collecting the glasses and the half-empty bottle of wine, he followed her. In the small space, he could feel the heat radiating around them. Neither had said a word, but the air held a sizzling tension. Anticipation raced through his veins.

“Please, stop helping,” she said as she collected the dirty saucepan and wooden spoon from the stove. “Let me do it.”

She brushed past him, her bare arm sweeping against his. The subtle touch sent shock waves through him, flipping the on switch to his entire nervous system. It caught the on switch to his cock as well, which stood to full attention, straining against the fly of his jeans.

Holy hell. He couldn’t seem to control himself around her. Turning as though he were about to rinse the wineglasses in the sink, he adjusted himself.

“It’s no trouble.” He flipped the taps on, but the water gushed out far stronger than he’d expected and it sprayed him all down his front.

“Oh no!” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “The taps here have a mind of their own. I swear they’re haunted by evil water ghosts.”

She reached for the dish towel and wadded it up in her hand, pressing it straight to the wet patch on his stomach, dabbing up and down.

If he’d thought he was hard before, he was like marble now.

Her hand drifted over him, hovering at his waist as her eyes caught on the totally noticeable bulge in his jeans. Cheeks flaming, she sucked on her bottom lip and drew her hand back as if burned. Shit, she probably thought he was some sex-crazed freak.

“Wren, I’m sor—”

“You’ll need to lose it.” Her eyes came up to meet his like two smoldering sapphires.

“Huh?”

“The T-shirt.” She flicked her hand in his direction. “A dish towel won’t fix that. It has to come off.”

He hesitated for a moment but the lust in her eyes urged him on. Curling his fingers under the hem of the now-soaked cotton shirt, he peeled it up and over his head. Cool air swept over his skin, tightening his nipples and making him hyperaware of every inch of his body.

“The jeans, too,” she said, keeping her face straight. “They’re soaked.”

He glanced down and saw a small dark patch where the denim had absorbed the water. They were hardly soaked. “You sure about that?”

“Let me help you.” She stepped forward and reached for the buckle on his belt.

Her fingertips grazed his bare skin and he had to stifle a moan. He might have started the fire, but she was fanning the flames.