Rhys
W e get I can’tto mystandplacethisnot torturea minuteanytoolonger. soon. If I wanted to test my ability
to drive with a hard-on, mission accomplished. I let Keira get out first. I need a minute. I lean over the
steering wheel and I close my eyes for a beat, trying to control my raging cock. As it is, the fucker is
getting harder than steel, and there’s no way I can let her see me like this. Down, boy. I don’t want to
freak her out and I don’t want her to think I’m a pervert. God, please give me strength. “Are you okay,
Rhys?” I drag my hand through my hair and take a de ep breath before I look up. Her eyes shine with
genuine concern. “I’m okay. I’m still jetlagged. I’ve only been back a week.” Partial lie. “Jetlag is a
bitch. She’ll be whipping my ass for the next week.” Her earnest laugh elicits mine. I get out of the car,
grab my jacket, and her backpack from the backseat before joining her at the front of the vehicle.
“Let’s go inside and I’ll give you a tour,” I say. “From the eye-popping glimpse I caught as you rolled
into your three- door garage, I hope said tour in volves a golf cart because touring your big ass mansion
sounds like exercise.” “Are you criticizing my pad, Cocoa Puffs?”
“No, bigshot, I’m impressed. I know I’ve said before, but I’m so proud of you, Rhys.”
“You haven’t even seen the interior yet.” “Lead the way, Mr. Mogul.” “Please.” I give her an indignant
look. “My mama raised me right. Ladies first.”
She giggles. “How’s your mom?” She glances over her shoulder. “She’s doing really good. She can’t
wait to talk to you.” “Same here.” I let Keira inside the foyer of the side entrance, drop her bag on the
floor, and place my jacket on the console. Without thinking, I take her by the hand. The contact is
electrifying. She looks up, her eyes wide with bewilderment. A voice in my head yells at me to let go
of her hand, but that would be awkward.
I lead her through the house. Keira is all oohs, aahs, and oh, my God, I can’t believe this house,
throughout the tour.
I can’t help but chuckle at her appreciative exclamations and comments. “Let me show you the best
feature of the house,” I say when we return to the kitchen.
“I knew you had LA bowing at your feet, but this is too much. I don’t think I can handle more.”
“You make me sound like an emperor or the King of England.” “News flash. With your wealth...
you’re as powerful.” I sometimes get a little self-conscious about my success. In some instances, I
struggle with it. It’s been a hard road for me. For a while, I thought ‘failure’ was my middle name.
“Trust me, you’re going to want to see this,” I say. “All right.” She says that like I’m twisting her arm.
Her huge grin suggests otherwise.
I lead her to the expansive backyard, and she clamps her hands over her mouth. “Holy shit.” That
comes out muffled. “Are you kidding me right now?” Her eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“I know, right?” She gasps at me, her jaw dropped. “I end my day here,” I say. “This is my favorite
spot––” “And soon to be mine.”
I chuckle. “Did the house come with this incredible pool when you bought it?” I shake my head. “No. I
rented an apartment while the house underwent extensive renovations. The previous owner had a
massive, curved resort style pool with a stone bridge and a waterfall. It was a bit much for my taste
—cumbersome and a pain to clean. A lap pool for exercise and a s eparate lounging pool fit my
lifestyle much better. I stole the idea of a shallow pool surrounding a cozy sitting area on all sides from
an A-list celebrity. The addition of the fire pit in the center is perfect for cooler nights.”
“It’s such an oasis, I often have dinner out here and then kick back and look up at the stars.”
“This is living it large,” she says with a calculated nod. “You get to enjoy it too.” I tap the tip of her
nose. Amusement shines bright in her eyes. “Is that my new nickname?” “You were complaining
about Cocoa Puffs.” “I guess it’s an upgrade,” she says. “It is.” “As for your invitation, trust me, I
intend to make good use of your lounging pool, but I need to buy a bathing suit first.”
Unbidden, my mind is assaulted by a series of saucy images of her parading in a rainbow of different
sexy-as-all-fuck bikinis.
Dammit. I was doing so well, but now, my mind goes into the gutter again.
The tour ended when Keira’s stomach started to growl. She insisted on a shower first. Since she
arrived without luggage, she ended up wearing one of the souvenir t-shirts she bought for me. I gave
her a pair of my boxer briefs since my shorts were huge on her. I ditched the suit for more casual
clothes, then I made my way back down to the kitchen.
While she was freshening up, I was getting everything ready. Thank God for skilled chefs. I planned
on eating in the dining area, but she didn’t want me to fuss. We enjoyed a succulent late dinner at the
granite kitchen island. Keira practically inhaled her food.
“More Perrier?” I lift the bottle.
“Yes, please.” I top her glass and mine. After such a long flight, she was worried wine would knock
her out. “Thanks again for the i Phone,” she says for the tenth time since I handed it to her.
“It’s nothing.” After hanging up with Noah, I texted my executive assistant. Keira’s new phone was
waiting for me when I got back to LA.
“Don’t kid yourself. I may have been hiding in a monastery for seven months, but I know how much a
new i Phone costs. I also know this is the latest model.”
“Anything you need, ask. Don’t hesitate. Like I said, mi casa es su casa.” I wink.
“You’re the best.” Her shy smile blossoms into a full-on grin. Her hazel- green eyes dotted with sparks
of gold lock onto mine. “I can’t thank you enough, Rhys.”
She reaches for my hand but changes her mind. A shiver races down my spine at the near touch.
Before she left LA, she hated me. The tide has turned. “I like su casa and I love su chef.” She looks
down at her empty plate. “That meal was out of this world—such a decadent d eparture from the frugal
vegetarian meals we ate at the monastery.”
Ah. That explains the weight loss. “I’m glad you liked it,” I say. “I’ve been here a New York minute
and already I feel so pampered.” She smiles at me.
“I never thought I’d have all of this.” I extend my hands out. “Or that I could hire the services of a
bona fide Michelin-star chef to stock my fridge and freezer with incredible meals.”
“How does one find a Michelin-star chef?” “Beckett’s older brother hired him.” “It makes sense Holt
would need help given he’s a single dad and a busy music mogul.”
I nod. “The chef rotates between my place, Beckett’s and a bunch of other friends’ kitchens in
Manhattan Beach.”
“You’re living the good life.”
“I’m doing my best.” I wink. “How is Holt? He came out to some of our concerts when he was still
living in London.”
“He’s giving the music industry a run for its money. The guy is on fire. His recording label is
skyrocketing, and he ke eps turning out chart-topper after chart-topper. When you’re settled in, you
should get in touch with him. When I told him you were coming back, he said he was eager to talk to
you––”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay.” Her hazel-green eyes are clouded with a veil of sadness.
I don’t push. “I can’t believe I get to call this place home for the next little while.” She changes the
subject. “I’ll fall from grace when the time comes for me to move out and find a crappy, but
affordable, apartment of my own. God, given my shaky financial situation, I might have to find a
roommate.”
Her statement bothers me to no end. “You have a roommate. Me.” “Rhys, I’m not paying my way,”
she says. “It’s like I’m mooching off you.”
“You’re not. You’re my guest. You can stay here for as long as you need. There’s no rush for you to
leave.”
“I’m sure your girlfriend will think otherwise.” My eyebrows lift to my forehead. “Girlfriend?”