SO MUCH FOR SLOW.
The pull between Rhyson and me at the studio was locomotive, and we rode it all night. My lofty intentions of taking things slow, of not letting sex cloud our issues, crashed and burned after what we shared while I was singing in the booth. I’ve never felt anything like that before. The words to his song burned my tongue, caressed my lips and slid down my throat, searching out my deepest places. I thought I could just say goodnight, but as soon as I walked into that piano room, the pull was too strong. Inescapable. I knew we wouldn’t be going our separate ways.
And now it’s morning. For the first time in two months, I’m waking up with Rhyson warm and solid behind me. He doesn’t feel like a mistake. Not with his arm a heavy, welcome claim draped over my stomach. Not with the comfort of each deeply drawn breath in his sleep rustling my hair.
I turn over slowly so I won’t wake him. On the road, Malcolm made sure I experienced so many things I never thought I would. Expensive suites. Champagne. Gorgeous clothes I’d never buy for myself. But this is the luxury no tour or check could ever provide. The luxury of waking up with Rhyson. Him on the pillow beside me, his broad chest, lean naked body inked with the music he loves. The long lashes softening his rugged, handsome profile. The dark hair, dusted with autumn, wild, spilling over his closed eyes. Waking up with Rhyson is absolutely decadent.
I don’t know how long I study him before he sleepily blinks back at me. A smile tugs the edges of his lips, his hands wandering under the sheets to pull me flush against him, my breasts pressed into his bare chest.
“G’morning,” he says, voice still husky with sleep. “It’s kind of creepy to wake up with you staring at me like that.”
He drops a kiss on my forehead and pushes the hair out of my eyes.
“I could get used to it, though.”
I fold my arms against his chest between us, pressing my lips to his throat where his pulse drums beneath the warm, tanned skin.
“Sorry to be a creeper.” My laugh is scratchy in my throat. My voice was already a little ragged. Last night’s session didn’t help. “I guess I missed waking up with you.”
I flick a glance up at him, taking in the line of his scruffy jaw.
“You’re beautiful, Rhys.”
Something melts in his eyes before they start smiling at me.
“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle beautiful.”
The smile teasing his lips disappears.
“Are you . . .” Rhyson lets the words hang for a second, clears his throat and starts again. “I know you wanted to go slow with this and make sure we get things fixed. I don’t want you to think we can’t still do that. Work on things, I mean. Do you, well, regret last night?”
I scoot back just enough so he can see me and I can see him clearly, eyes to eyes.
“Not regret, no. It was too perfect to regret.” I place two fingers over the smile that instantly sprouts on his face. “But my concerns still stand. We can’t just jump back in like nothing happened. You really hurt me. We hurt each other.”
“I know.” His hand drifts down my back under the sheet, fingers spreading over the curve of my butt. “If I could go back and do it differently, I would.”
I wiggle away a few inches, dislodging his hand. There’s no way I’ll get through this conversation with his hand on my ass.
“You’ll get plenty of chances, Rhys.” I firm the line of my lips. “Over and over again we’ll disagree about my career, about the steps I should take and what I should do. You’ll have a choice every time to manipulate and control, or to trust me.”
An annoying voice whispers in my head that maybe I should trust him about the sex tape, but it sounds too much like San for me to pay it any mind. This is different. It has to be.
“What can I do to prove I’m serious about this?” His hand moves again under the sheet to grip my hip.
“Since you asked.” I give him a careful glance like my next words might set him off. “The family counseling that Grady keeps bringing up? I think you should do it.”
He closes his eyes tightly and presses his lips against his teeth.
“Pep, that won’t—”
“Hear me out.” I tangle my fingers in the thick hair hanging past his ears, holding his eyes with mine. “I know you hate it when I say this, but there’s a pattern. The same way your parents controlled you and called it love, you have the potential to do that. Not on purpose, but it’s the way you were first loved.”
He swallows, lowering his lashes before looking back at me.
“That will prove to you that I’m serious about this? That will make you feel good about coming back to me?”
“You make me feel good about coming back to you.” I shake my head, cupping his jaw. “Do you think I didn’t miss you, too? I did. I just . . . I don’t want us to go through that again the next time you don’t like a move I’m making.”
“Don’t ask me to stand by and watch you get hurt or taken advantage of, Kai.” His jaw flexes beneath my fingers as he grits his teeth. “No amount of counseling will get me to do that.”
“Can we just talk about it? Don’t go behind my back. Don’t undercut me. Manipulate me.” I bite my lip to stop because the more I say, the more the anger and hurt rush back. “The counseling, it’s a start. It’s a step. That’s all.”
“All right.” Rhyson gives a jerky nod, flipping onto his back and linking his hands behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’ll do it. Grady’ll set it up.”
“Good.” I snuggle into his side, slipping my arm across the hard plane of his stomach.
“I have my own conditions.” He twists a chunk of my hair around his hand, gently tugging until I have to look at him. “Remember after the tour, we go public.”
Fear and anxiety slosh around in my belly. That gives me a month to find Drex. To kill this threat before Rhyson or anyone else sees that sex tape. There has to be more we can do. I’ll have San redouble his efforts and press his contacts a little harder. Last night proved I can’t stay away from Rhyson, but if I’m giving us just this slice of time together before I go back on the road, I’ll have to be extra careful.
“Kai?” Rhyson asks. “You agree? Once the tour is over, everyone knows about us.”
“Yeah.” I nod and meet his eyes. “I said so yesterday.”
“I need you to mean it.”
“Okay. Of course. After the tour. “
“It’s like we’re hitting the reset button.” He smiles the tiniest bit. “This is our fresh start. Our clean slate. No more lies. No more secrets.”
I stare at him for long seconds, and that last secret, which blossoms every day into a full-blown lie, gathers between us like an invisible storm cloud. I want to reset so badly. And after this tape is settled I will.
If something is built on a lie, can it still be real?
The question I asked myself so many times when I was trying to forgive Rhyson comes back to mock and challenge me.
“Yeah.” I drop my eyes from the eager light in his. “We’ll reset.”
“Thank you for forgiving me.” He tips my chin back so our eyes reconnect. “Nothing but trust from here. Promise.”
“Promise,” I whisper.
“In case I haven’t told you.” He brushes a thumb over my lips. “I’m so damn proud of you. You’re doing amazing. Everyone’s falling for you just like I knew they would. I want you to have that without all the speculation and the drama about me distracting from what should be your time.”
I didn’t expect the tears that burn my eyes when I hear him say he’s proud of me. Maybe I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until he said it. It means the world. Emotion stifles my words, so I just nod and manage a watery smile.
“In the meantime, we’ve got today.” Rhyson drags himself to sit up, back against the headboard, smiling down at me. “I wanna take you out.”
I frown, pulling myself up to sit beside him, sheet tucked beneath my arms, dropping my head to his shoulder.
“Doesn’t sound very low key to me, us being out in public together.”
“Ah, I have a plan, ye of little faith. I have a plan.”
“A plan, huh?” I pull my knees up to my chest under the sheet.
He tugs on the sheet gently at first, but then with a wicked grin, jerks it away and tosses it to the floor. I stand to my knees in the middle of the bed naked, scooting to the foot, and dive for the sheet. His hand nudging my shoulder stops me. He grips both my arms, inspecting my body.
“I did that?” He traces a finger over a black and blue bruise belting my waist.
I have bruises in unusual places. It’s not every day a girl gets bent over a piano and screwed out of her mind. I wanted it, needed it rough in the moment, but I’m paying for it now.
“No, the piano you bent me over last night did that.” I take his wrists and place them on my shoulders, pushing into him. “It doesn’t hurt, and it was worth it.”
“And your tired voice and weight loss.” He thumbs under my eyes where I know he’ll see shadows. “Exhaustion. Is that all worth it?”
“Don’t.” I pull back, jump off the bed to gather the sheet and toss it onto the rumpled bed. “I told you it’s the dancing that has me losing weight. Every day, every night, all the time. I can’t keep weight on.”
“And the voice? And the—”
“Rhys, stop.” I walk toward the bathroom and turn on the shower, looking at him over my shoulder. “You’ve been on tour. You know the toll it takes.”
“But I don’t like it taking a toll on you.”
“I’ll be fine. The worst of it’s over. I’m back on the road, and then only another month. I don’t wanna fight, okay?”
He nods, walking toward me, a tall, lean, naked distraction.
“No fighting.” He backs me into the shower until I’m flush against the wet tiles. “We have to make the most of the time we have. Starting now.”
He’s gentle with me, mindful of my bruises, until he can’t be anymore. Until the time we’ve spent apart, wanting and needing, takes over, and he’s rough and fast, taking me hard with my slippery arms and legs wrapped around him and barely hanging on. Every powerful thrust slamming me into the shower wall. Our grunts, groans, and moans echoing off the walls, the love slick between our bodies until I’m coming so hard, I just know my heart will stop. I just know I won’t ever catch my breath again. Every time he loves me, I’m changed. Every time he takes me, I die a little and am born again.
I’ve missed the intimate rituals of living with him almost as much as everything else. Dressing together. The privacy of our nakedness where no one else can see. Our eyes meeting in the mirror to reminisce about what we just shared.
“So this date we’re going on.” I tighten the belt of my robe, one of the many things I left behind when I went on tour. “Tell me more.”
“Music Festival out at Newport Beach.” Rhyson shrugs shoulders still damp from the shower. “Marlon says there’s a few acts I should scope, possibly for Prodigy.”
“Just how do you plan to keep us off the radar?”
“Very simple.” He walks backwards toward his closet, pulling me with him by the belt. Once we’re in, he turns me to face a small alcove at the back. “Voila.”
It basically looks like he raided the nearest Salvation Army. This collection of out-of-date jackets, floral-patterned shirts and polyester pants could only mean one thing.
“You’re going in disguise?”
“We’re going in disguise.” He laughs at the expression I can only imagine is on my face. “While you were blow drying all that hair of yours, I had Sarita run out and buy you a few things that should fit.”
“I hope it’s not polyester.”
“No, that’s my thing.” He opens a small drawer in the panel of built ins. “Let me show you what I was thinking.”
He pulls out a jacket that’s straight from Goodwill.
“Is that a Member’s Only Jacket?” I hold it against my chest. “So what are you, the last Member?”
“Shallow Hal,” he says absently, not looking away from the array of horrific shirts he’s flipping through to offer the movie reference. “Throwing soft balls this morning, are we?”
I haven’t movie stumped him in a long time. Must try harder.
He pulls out a small drawer beneath a row of watches to reveal a disgusting display of fake lip hair.
“You have a mustache collection?” I cackle through the hand covering my mouth. “That’s just weird.”
“My life is weird.” He turns to me, the expression on his face so earnest you’d think this was a matter of national security. “OK. Here’s the first option. I usually save this for special occasions. It’s the handle bar moustache.”
“That thing is not leaving the house with me.”
“See? I knew you would say that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did, so I have a back-up.” He points to a row of thin moustaches.
“And here we have the Creeper Collection, ladies and gents,” I say, disgusted by the little hairy squiggles.
“Is that a no?” His face actually falls.
“Resounding no!”
“What about this one?” He points to an obscenely thick row of hair.
“It’s the size of a pregnant caterpillar.”
“It’s the Magnum P.I. What I like to call full lip coverage. No one ever recognizes me behind this thing.”
“That one will do, I guess. Let’s just go so we won’t miss the first acts.”
“Wait.” He gives me an I’m-loving-this grin and gestures back toward the array of lip toupees. “You have to choose yours.”
“Mine?” My mouth drops open. “I’m not wearing a moustache.”
“Come on. Get in the spirit. It’s like Halloween, but better.”
“Is there candy?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not better.”
“I think going full guy will guarantee that no one recognizes you.” He grabs me by the hips and does a little shake, his voice cajoling me. “It’ll be fun.”
Those sound like famous last words to me, but to be with Rhyson after so long, even in this ridiculous get up will be worth it.