CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rhys gave a start when a knock sounded at the door that evening. He was hiding out in the wine room—another custom-built feature of the house that was surplus to requirements. It adjoined the den and connected on the other side to a butler’s pantry that led into the kitchen and great room. In addition to its climate-controlled shelves, it boasted a large humidor that sat empty year-round.
The knock sounded again, and he groaned inwardly, putting down the bottle he was contemplating opening. What was with everyone today? He’d have been perfectly content to get on with wallowing in his own misery, if people would just stop trying to stage interventions.
“We need to talk.” Andie stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing. It was so strange to see her in person after seeing her nowhere but in his dreams for longer than a week. He had to simply steady himself for a moment and drink her in. She was nervous, he realized. Keyed up. It touched him, making him want to fold her into a hug. But the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest, swathed in a fitted pale-pink T-shirt, also motivated him in other ways altogether.
“Come in,” he offered. There was really nowhere in the wine room to sit. But that didn’t matter, as she was clearly in a standing mood.
“I’ve made a decision,” she announced. “I’m leaving.”
A bolt of panic shot down Rhys’s spine. Leaving? No. That wasn’t supposed to happen. That couldn’t happen.
“No, Andie. You’re not going anywhere. Will needs you—”
“I’ll tell you what Will needs!” she fumed. “He needs his father. And if you want to keep a five-mile buffer zone between us just because you accidentally touched my . . . uh, nipple, then that’s up to you. But it should be you who stays in the house, not me. I can be gone first thing tomorrow.”
The way she said “nipple” was so charmingly self-conscious that Rhys felt a lick of delight, like a small flame, in his chest. He noticed for the first time that one of her eyes had more gold spokes; the other, more green. And actually, her pupils were dilated. Maybe it wasn’t only nerves she was feeling.
God, she killed him. Just destroyed him. He had to focus. Had to persuade her not to remove herself from his and Will’s lives. She couldn’t leave. He’d never been more certain of anything.
“This week has been a nightmare,” Andie continued, taking Rhys’s silence as resistance to her argument. “Will has been looking for you everywhere. He’s been having tantrums. He’s been more difficult with transitions—”
“Wait, Andie. Please,” he entreated. “I’m sorry. I never intended to set Will back and make things more difficult for you. I didn’t realize—”
“You’ve left me no choice,” she accused, her brow furrowed. “Making such a big deal about a stupid fumble.”
“It wasn’t about . . .” Rhys broke off helplessly.
Andie glared at him like he was the most maddening, incomprehensible idiot she’d ever laid eyes on.
“You think this is so catastrophic that it justifies deserting your child for a full week?” she demanded, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her left breast. Her eyes snapped with determination, and she arched one brow, full of challenge.
Every trace of awareness flew to his fingertips as she held them trapped against her body. Her skin was intoxicatingly warm, the delicious curve of her breast straining against the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Under the inadequate barrier of her lacy bra, the controversial nipple itself stood to attention beneath his touch. Her heart beat its insistent tattoo against his hand, reverberating through him until his own pulse seemed to match its rhythm.
He was powerless to do anything but reach out with his other hand and close the remaining distance between them, his fingers finally weaving into the heavy silk of her hair, his mouth zeroing in on hers as she gave a start, her lips parting on a breathless “Oh!”
Pure sensation jolted through him as he plumbed the sweetness of her bottom lip, and she opened to him. His bones seemed to dissolve in response to the hot, frictionless glide of her mouth, pliant and melting under his. Her kisses were so sweet, so deep, that he could only follow where they led, even if it might mean never finding his way back. His hands wound farther into her silky cascade of hair, cupping the back of her head to anchor her to him as he tasted and probed.
If he’d felt high on the buzz he got from just talking to her, reading her face, then this was something else altogether. He thrilled to the feverish dance of tension and release as they braced against one another to prolong one moment of exploration before drawing closer to broach the next. With his senses he could know her. He could know her sighs, her wants, her needs—what it took to melt that familiar expression of reserve from her face.
Almost without realizing it, he had lifted her up onto the narrow counter that ran around the periphery of the room, to better explore her throat with his lips. The gathering storm in his blood crashed over him, obliterating the barriers of resolve, judgment, and good sense. He needed this, and—incredibly—she seemed to need it, too.
From her higher perch, she wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him to her with an instinctive pull that could result in nothing less than a frank meeting of the seam of her jeans with the fly of his. If she’d been in any doubt about the force of his arousal, she couldn’t be anymore. Every thought, every feeling, every pulse of his blood coalesced around one critical mission: melding with her until no distance remained. And his cock was only too happy to lead the charge.
She released her grip on his hand and let her fingers drift up to twine in his hair, sending tremors of pleasure ricocheting across his scalp. His right hand, no longer trapped in her grasp, found the V neckline of her T-shirt, sliding beneath the soft cotton and beyond the lace edge of her bra to learn the curve of her breast in a kind of feverish braille.
The heat and weight of her flesh cupped in his hand almost sent him over the edge right then. The raw physicality of it floored him, the shock of being able to capture the miracle of her under his touch. He would never forget it: the smoothness of her skin, the radiating warmth, the quintessential Andie-ness of her that made this contact such a revelation.
He shivered as she moaned her own longing into the crook of his neck. His teeth grazed her skin as he moved down to explore her shoulder, her collarbone, and then the upper swell of her breast. At last, his lips and fingertips converged, thrusting aside the final inch of fabric and baring the peak of the nipple in question, which he teased to a glistening point. She bucked against him, gripping his shoulders as the taut peak hardened against his lips and tongue.
He lost himself in exploration, drowning in the salty-sweet taste of her skin, her scent, and the shudder and twitch of her response to his hands as they traced a path he’d mapped in his mind countless times. Finally, he wrenched himself a few inches away, gratified by the disappointed little hitch in her breath as space opened up between them. Her cheeks were flushed; her swollen lips a deep, crushed pink; her eyes dark with need.
“Is this actually happening?” he asked. It was both an existential question and a practical one. He needed to gauge her intent.
“It’s happening,” she said huskily. “It’s definitely happening.” Her lips moved against his jaw, her mouth rising to meet his with a sensual languor that made his entire body thrum in anticipation of discovering the slick heat between her legs.
He wanted to peel her out of her jeans right then and there, his hands bracing her hips as he plunged inside her, watching her unravel as she pressed up against the wall stacked with dark-tinted burgundy bottles. But there was the issue of protection. It wasn’t like he had condoms conveniently secreted around the house and could just grab one from the nearest nook or cranny.
“Come with me,” he whispered, his hand sliding into hers like a promise. Their flight upstairs through the sleeping house was filled with an air of suspense as Rhys turned out lights in their wake and led Andie toward the wing that was Rhys’s own domain. They passed through a corridor deep in shadow, their footfalls muffled by a thick cream-colored runner.
He paused in front of a heavy, varnished door. “I haven’t slept for a week,” he confessed. “Every night you’ve been in here with me. In my head. In my blood. I can’t think for wanting you.”
She gestured to the dark shadows under her eyes, which made her look vulnerable and somehow even lovelier. “I haven’t slept a wink, either.”
He turned the door handle and led her inside. The night sky had cleared, and moonlight poured through a trio of tall windows. A large bed, dressed in white linens, dominated the room. He drew her into the center of the space, where silvery light slanted to the floor.
“Stay right there.”
Andie stood in the shaft of moonlight, so high on the rush of courage it had taken to confront Rhys—and so overwhelmed by the result—that it was like she’d been transported to another dimension.
She honestly hadn’t known what was going to come out of her mouth until she saw him standing there in the wine room. She hadn’t realized how intensely she could thirst for the sheer presence of another person. Even with their weird estrangement still hovering between them, she was like a wanderer in the desert who’d stumbled upon an oasis. Every cell in her body was infused with life and energy, a current of vitality so powerful she had to fight not to tremble.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to threaten to leave. All she knew was that she had to jar Rhys out of this strange impasse. She had no intention of deserting Will, but if she had to work with him somewhere outside the walls of this house, she would do it. The only thing she couldn’t do was endure this peculiar personal exile a moment longer.
Grabbing Rhys’s hand and pressing it to her breast had been an act of blind instinct. She’d already reached a place where all her reservations about getting closer to him were reduced to rubble. She was prepared to own her fierce longing for him. How could she not, when everything in her whirled and funneled into a singular ache?
Now she practically shook with relief. In spite of his lengthy disappearing act, he apparently didn’t hate her, after all. He was here, in the flesh. He’d never really left. And the odds were good that tomorrow she’d wake up to a day with him in it.
He reappeared in the doorway, and a ferocious happiness roared through her veins. As he stalked toward her, she met him halfway, twining her arms around his neck. Her hands were eager, her kisses hungry as he lifted her to him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her heart leaping in anticipation as he carried her to a wide window seat.
Desperate for contact, she slipped her fingers under his T-shirt to brush across the corrugated muscles of his abs. His skin was hot, satiny, and dusted with a smattering of coarse hairs that arrowed down under the waistband of his jeans. She followed their tantalizing path, finding the long, thick ridge of contained heat that pushed at the buttons of his fly. She traced its outline through the denim, panting openmouthed against his throat as desire spun and unfurled with such force within her that she was convinced parts of her would just fly off into the ether. Her name? Gone. Her history? Vanished. There was nothing but this moment and him beneath her fingertips.
She felt a tug as Rhys drew her shirt up, and she lifted her arms to be freed from its confines. Her breasts were exposed to the silvery air as he deftly unhooked her bra.
“You,” he whispered hoarsely, raking both hands from her throat to her navel in a reverent sweep before reaching up to thumb the aching tips of her nipples. “You’ve changed everything. You know that?”
She closed her eyes to the silent explosion of longing his words unleashed. Yes, everything was different. She, too, was transformed by the strange alchemy of their connection.
The barrier of his T-shirt was too much to bear, so she grabbed two handfuls of fabric and swept it off over his head, exposing the delectable expanse of his throat. But now that his shirt was gone, there were even greater vistas to explore: the sleek, defined chest with its flat brown nipples, the taut bands of muscle that flexed in his chest and upper arms as he reached for her. A fresh wave of heat claimed her, and she lost herself in exploration, her tongue finding expanses of satiny skin and ridges of muscle, her hands slipping under the buttons of his fly. It should have been no surprise, but she felt a shock of discovery as her fingertips found him, hard and hot beneath the thin cotton layer of his boxer shorts. A knot formed in her throat, longing and excitement mingled with trepidation.
His fingertips skimmed her belly, and she wriggled, desperate to be liberated from her jeans. Button and zipper melted open under the ministrations of his hands, and he tugged the denim down her thighs, his breath hissing through his teeth as he revealed the silk and lace of her thong underwear.
His fingers were heat-seeking missiles, following the inexorable path of that scrap of damp silk. She held her breath as they circumnavigated her curves, tunneling under the flimsy fabric. A cry tore from her throat as one relentless fingertip zeroed in where she most needed it to land, with a precision that left her gasping for breath, another finger gliding through the slick heat at the entrance to her body.
His breath thundered against her earlobe, and she bucked under his touch. She needed him inside her now, buried to the hilt. But she stood trapped by the snug denim around her thighs and the merciless strokes of his fingers, sweeping along her swollen, slippery inner folds with a ruthless insistence that made her want to sob.
He somehow knew even before she did exactly where each stroke should land for maximum effect, and what kind of touch—gentle, firm, or downright forceful—would propel her into the stratosphere. Lust had melted everything. There were no hard angles, just the perfectly choreographed rhythm of pressure and release, stroke and pulse.
“Get these off me,” she begged, plucking at the denim and thrilling to the dark sound of his laughter as he tugged the fabric past her knees.
“Skinny jeans,” she murmured apologetically as the denim got stuck at her ankles. “And big feet.”
He yanked hard, and the jeans came off, instantly forgotten as he sat her down on the bench, parting her legs and pulling aside the silk that covered her. His tongue passed across his lips in a hungry sweep, and his eyes gleamed as he went to his knees in front of her.
“No,” she protested. She couldn’t take it: the soft caress of his mouth. “I need you inside me. Now.” Desire made her bold, and she pulled on his shoulders, holding her breath as he slithered back up the length of her body.
“Sit down,” she said, directing him to the spot she’d just vacated on the window seat. She would own this, and feel this, like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
Rhys gave her an inquisitive glance, but he didn’t seem inclined to argue. He groaned as she found his fly and unbuttoned it with desperate haste, welcoming the hot thrust of him into her hands. She relished the glide of satin over steel as she wrapped her fingers around his thick circumference, her thumb skidding across the slick bead of moisture at the tip. Of course. He’s just as perfect here as everywhere else. Why wouldn’t he be?
“Hurry!” she pleaded, and he produced a condom, tearing the wrapper open. He looked like an erotic statue, reclining on the window seat with the moonlight bathing his torso, his jeans peeled down over his hips. As he rolled the condom on, she stared hungrily and flung a leg over to straddle him, her knees pressed into the seat cushion.
The air was almost grainy with heat as she reared over him and lowered herself down, gasping as she notched herself against him, the slickness of her body welcoming him inside. She raised herself a fraction and impaled herself, shuddering at the exquisite sensation of fullness that claimed her. Finally, he was seated deep within her, and she gazed into pupils blown out with desire, his irises just thin purple-blue rims circling fathomless darkness.
He growled, leaning in to graze the delicate skin of her throat with his teeth. The sharp satisfaction of it set off an explosion behind her eyes, and his clever hands went to her waist. Suddenly she was moving with a reckless urgency, and he was gripping her hips, intensifying her pleasure, helping her ride him, rising to meet every thrust of her body. She’d never felt anything like it. She was so used to having to coax out the delicate, elusive flame of her desire and hold it slightly apart so the prosaic efforts of her boyfriends didn’t snuff it out. But Rhys fanned her pleasure into an inferno that possessed every inch of her body, her soul.
Her climax loomed like a juggernaut as she rocked helplessly against him, crazy with need and slick with exertion as he drove into her, parting her flesh with hard, wet, delirious strokes. She came in a series of hot, blooming pulses that radiated out and bathed her entire body in flame-bright sensation. Kaleidoscopic patterns of red and gold swirled behind her closed eyes as she heard him cry out with the explosive force of his own orgasm. Damp and utterly spent, she collapsed against him, their panting breaths synchronizing as they both drifted back to earth.
She murmured as he lifted her and carried her to the bed, where they cooled their limbs against the smoothness of pristine white sheets, one of his hands still playing in her hair. She curled toward him, pummeling his shoulder with a tired fist.
“Don’t ever, ever do that again,” she half laughed, half sobbed.
“What?” He drew back. “I thought it was pretty damn incredible.”
“Not the sex,” she gasped. “Feel free to repeat the sex. In fact, I insist on it. I meant don’t ever disappear like that again.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tear myself away.” His tone was tender, serious.
“Would you really have left?” he asked a few moments later.
“You better believe it,” she responded. “I meant what I said. If I was getting between you and Will, then I would have had to leave.”
“Yeah, well, the next time I’m running around with my head up my arse, I hope you’ll give me a swift kick,” he said. “I’m sorry, Andie. I’m awkward. I miss things. I second-guess myself until nothing makes sense anymore.”
He stretched out his legs and entwined them with hers, tugging them closer together. “But this makes sense.”
Andie almost couldn’t take the wave of happiness that enveloped her as they lay quiet for several minutes, Rhys’s fingers still tracing delicate patterns on her skin. Some vestigial part of her brain issued a mean-spirited note of warning. Don’t get used to this. She wrestled her demons back into their lair and snuggled defiantly closer.
Rhys’s hands moved to her hair, the gentle tug of his fingers sending shivers down the nape of her neck.
“Why didn’t you let me kiss you before?” he asked. “Here.” His hand slid down to the delta between her legs, one finger slipping into yielding heat. She shuddered, biting back a cry as she pressed her face to his shoulder. She was aching and swollen, every inch of her already yearning to welcome him into her body all over again. His fingers found the tight, sensitive bud that was the epicenter of her desire and circled it with tantalizing delicacy.
“It would have been distracting,” she panted. “Too soft.”
In truth, there was more to her reluctance than that. She couldn’t confess it to him, but she’d never let anyone kiss her there. She had always prided herself more on her tight command of her body than her level of comfort with it. She was glad of the shadows as he searched her face, his fingers still working in languid strokes.
“Would it be distracting now?” he asked. But the question became moot as she moaned and broke apart beneath the exquisite flicker of his fingertips, her body wrung out with pleasure.