by Miles, Ava
Deep down, she’d sensed his interest in her over the years, but had disregarded it.
Until that moment.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, resting his elbows on the blue granite kitchen island.
“Nothing,” she said, hoping her cheeks hadn’t turned red.
“You’re thinking about how it used to be between us, aren’t you? Hard not to, I suppose. I think about it all the time, and most days, it doesn’t feel so great.”
Suddenly it was like a chicken bone had gotten stuck in her throat. She coughed to clear whatever that was.
“We should celebrate,” he continued. “You finally came to my house alone, even if you did it with the intention of chewing me out.”
She stuffed her hands behind her because wringing them was making her wrists ache. “You shouldn’t have stipulated that I couldn’t be involved with the party, Rhett. It’s disrespectful to me, and sends the wrong message to the staff. What in the heavens are they going to think?” The last thing she wanted was people to talk about her.
“Personally, I don’t care, but since I knew it would upset you, I simply told Karen–whatever–her–name–is that I want you to enjoy the party because you’re a family friend. She understood. Leave it at that.”
Men thought everything was so simple sometimes. She almost wished she lived in their universe. “Rhett, is this party my present? Because if it is—”
Bent over at the waist with his elbows on the kitchen island, his pose beyond relaxed, he looked downright sexy. He was studying her intently. Like usual.
“Abigail, a party with fifty other guests is hardly a present. Please give me a little more credit.”
The tea kettle’s sharp whistle shot across the kitchen. Unlike most people who would dart forward to stop the sound, Rhett took his time, uncurling from the counter with an ease she envied. He never rushed anything. Even this thing between them. She hadn’t expected him to hold out this long.
“Aren’t you getting tired of living here, Rhett?” she decided to ask.
“Nope. I love being close to you.”
He pulled out a tin decorated with white and gold crisscrosses with a peach patch on the front. She’d know it anywhere.
“You just happen to have Caffè Florian?” she asked.
“Venetian Rose. It’s your favorite brand,” he responded with the flick of a hand. “Just because you haven’t come over here, doesn’t mean I haven’t prepared. I also have the Venice kind with jasmine, since I know you prefer green tea at breakfast.”
On the few occasions when Mac had been out of town for business and Dustin occupied with a strategically–arranged sleepover, Rhett had flown in for the night from Vegas, his former residence. They would make love from pretty much the moment he shut the door and backed her into the wall. In the morning, they’d make breakfast together, since he was always starving after the hours of sex play. She’d brew her tea and make him a dark roast coffee. Then they’d sip their beverages, read the newspaper, and eat the pancakes or omelets they’d cooked together. It had been eerily domestic.
“I started drinking the Florian Darjeeling,” he informed her. “Asia got me hooked on tea. Not a lot of coffee out that way.”
Tea seemed too tame for Rhett, too delicate. But he poured two cups of the rose petal tea for them all the same.
“You’re having some?”
His shrug almost seemed like an afterthought. “If I can’t taste you…”
Thank God she wasn’t holding her cup, or she would have burned her hand six ways to Sunday. “Don’t talk like that. It isn’t proper.”
“Well, don’t you sound like Scarlett O’Hara right now?” He chuckled, the sound as dark as the loose tea he’d used. “I said I wouldn’t touch you until you asked me. I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk about it. Especially when it’s just us around.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m leaving if you do.”
The corner of that gorgeous, sensual mouth tipped up. “I believe you just might, so I won’t call your bluff. Now, let’s go sit down in the den, and you can chew at me all you want.”
Since she’d used her teeth on him in some rather wild moments in the past, she knew it was a double entendre. Her toes curled in her boots in a desperate attempt to stay grounded.
He took her tea cup and his and left the kitchen. She trailed behind him, her eyes lowering to his ridiculously firm butt. God, how she’d loved having her hands on it.
When he paused, she followed suit. “Why did you stop?” she asked.
Looking over his shoulder, he said, “I know you’re looking at my ass. I wanted to make sure you had your fill.”
Had she thought her tremors were like an earthquake earlier? Then surely this was the aftershock. She had to clear her throat before she could issue a comeback. “You’re full of it.”
The murmur he gave was low and sexy. “I’d rather be full of you. Do you want a glance at the front too? I recall you saying both my front and back sides were exceptional.”
She bit her lip at the heated flashes that ran through her mind, one of which involved her on her knees in front of him. “I told you I would leave if you kept talking like this.”
“You looked.”
How could she not?
“Fine,” he said when she focused all her energy on giving him her Don’t mess with me look, the same one she gave Dustin.
Rhett set their cups on an old Mission–style coffee table in dark mahogany.
She wisely took the loveseat next to the couch, not trusting herself to sit next to him. “Rhett, you know there was no one else but you after…what happened to me with Dustin’s father, right?”
Maybe it was because it had been on her mind earlier, but the words just popped out of her mouth. They’d never talked about her past relationships, largely because there hadn’t been any. Plus, she’d been embarrassed in light of his reputation with the ladies. Thankfully, it had never been an issue. They’d been so obsessed with each other that she hadn’t questioned his faithfulness for the six months they were together. He’d called or texted her every day, telling her he was thinking about her. Trusting him had been easy. Rhett didn’t say things he didn’t mean.
He carefully lowered the tea cup he’d picked up, and she was shocked to see it tremble in his large hand.
“I didn’t know that until now, although I suspected what we had wasn’t typical for you. I mean, I knew you had a son, but I’d never seen you with anyone. I’m honored, Abbie. I’m sorry I can’t say the same thing about me, but there’s no one else but you now.”
God, why did he always have to say the sweetest things when she was trying… “I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad,” she said, not exactly sure now why she’d brought it up. Confusion had become her new normal. “I only wanted you to understand…”
And in that minute, she didn’t know what she wanted him to understand. It was like the answer was stored in a lockbox, even from herself.
“Yes?” he said, settling the cup of tea against his thigh, his face impassive.
She shook her head and reached for her tea. The answer was out of reach. “Never mind.”
His stillness reminded her of how he kept his body at the table at a tournament when the pressure was crushing.
“You wanted me to understand it’s unusual for you to be with a man, and something you don’t take lightly. I know that. Always have. Now, if you’re telling me because you’re plagued with self–doubt and have forgotten how hot and sexy it was between us, then let me assure you. It was. I’d be happy to remind you, Abbie.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten how it was.” And wasn’t that her fear? That the fire would rage as hot and all–consuming as it had before, making her do things that were out of character, making her go a little crazy.
“Good. I’d be upset if you had. And now we need to change the subject. My body is responding pretty typically to this line of talk.”
She could
tell it was, from the tense line of muscles showcased by his thermal shirt to the rigid line in the front of his jeans.
Things unused to clenching in desire were moved as much by the words he’d used as the velvety voice in which he’d said them.
The rose scent tickled her nose when she raised her cup to her mouth with both hands and took a sip of her tea. “Rhett, why can’t you understand? Getting rid of the poker babes isn’t going to make us a better match.”
He sunk lower into the couch. “That’s not true anymore. All of the changes on the outside are meant to convince you that we are meant to be together. But you’re right. Deep down, the outer doesn’t matter diddly unless the inner is there. Wow! I almost sounded wise or something. I’ll have to tell my mama. She’ll be so proud.”
Her raspberry blew out easily. “The inner isn’t enough.”
“Bullshit,” he said, his voice no longer playful. “It’s all there is. We either love each other, or we don’t. And since we do, the rest is just window dressing. But you clearly don’t trust that.”
“Rhett—”
He leaned forward. “There’s no way you’ve stopped loving me. You couldn’t tell me that you didn’t love me when I arrived in July, and you can’t tell me now. If anything, you love me more. As I do you. Being this close to you has helped me notice a few things I missed in the past.”
Her tea cup suddenly seemed too heavy, so she set it down on the coffee table. “And what’s that?”
Those golden eyes seemed to burn into her.
“I knew you were a wonderful mother, a loyal sister, and a kind person. I knew you were creative and passionate about what you do at Mac’s hotels and how detailed and organized you are about practically everything.”
Yeah, he’d always seen the real her.
He ran his hand through his hair and pursed his lip for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to speak. “And I also knew that you made nearly every decision in your life based on fear.”
She inhaled sharply at his accusation. Okay, that hurt. And it so wasn’t true. Firming her shoulders, she prepared to give him a piece of her mind.
He held up his hand, stopping her.
“Give me a second to explain,” he said. “I understand that fear better after you told me about Dustin’s father.”
Right. The rich college kid who had date raped her and then suggested that the baby she’d conceived wasn’t his, that she’d lied about the whole thing.
Rhett set his cup aside, his eyes beseeching. “You’re terrified someone might learn about what happened to you and think you’re a victim. You’re also mortally afraid of what Dustin might think—totally understandable—and have chosen to protect him in ways I could never begin to understand. What I haven’t figured out is the root cause of all your fear, because it’s not just that. Once I do, I want to help you move forward and live from a place of happiness. I want that for you, Abbie.”
Confusion rained down on her like cold, icy sleet, making her shiver. This could not be borne. She shot to her feet. “I do live from a place of happiness,” she shot back, and then her breathing shattered, the asthma attack coming on so suddenly it blindsided her.
Rhett’s eyes widened for a moment before he raced out of the room. She stood up, fighting for oxygen, clawing at her throat.
She couldn’t breathe.
God, please let her breathe.
When he ran back to her, her over–sized purse in his hands, he dumped its contents on the rug and sorted through it until he found her rescue inhaler. Then he pressed it to her mouth. Her hands clamped around his as she took that first puff. Then she gave herself a second one just to be sure. The mist coated her mouth, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on her breathing, trying to calm herself.
Rhett pulled her back to his chest and wrapped his arms around her ribs as if willing her to breathe.
It took five minutes for her to stabilize. By then, her head was buzzing, and the deep inner roar of tears was rushing up her throat. She shook her head. No, she would not cry.
This had happened before with him since his return, but never this bad.
He didn’t say anything as he held her, his caress as gentle as if he were holding a newborn kitten. The Christmas lights cast a white glow in the den, the only sound her exaggerated breathing. She concentrated on taking another inhale. And then another. Somehow, with his arms around her, she recovered faster, became stronger.
She didn’t want to think about what that meant.
Leaning against him made her want to be enveloped in his body heat, his comfort.
She became aware of his cologne, the one she’d bought for him. Narciso Rodriguez Limited Edition. His breath on the back of her neck was what she noticed next—warm and sweet. Moving out of his arms seemed the best approach, and he didn’t fight her, although his hands tightened for a second before letting go.
“I’m sorry,” he said, edging away from her and shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “Can I get you anything? What can I do?”
Nothing. The problem resided in her, and it was so bad it could steal even her breath away.
She shook her head. “I’m just going to…”
The bathroom seemed to be the safest spot to gather her emotions. When she was in better command of herself, she reemerged to find him pacing in front of the Christmas tree, ruffling his ash–blond hair. He froze when he saw her.
“You’re as white as my mama’s bedclothes on the clothesline every Sunday, Abbie,” he said.
She knew she looked like shit. Hadn’t the mirror told her? Plus, she looked defeated. And all because he’d called her out on the very thing even she couldn’t put her finger on.
The core of her fear.
“Rhett, I’m going to go,” she said in a shaky voice, hating that, hating herself. She walked forward and gathered her things back into her purse.
“Please let me drive you home.” His voice was hoarse, and when she gazed at him, his whole body was wound as tight as wind–up toy soldier.
“No, I can manage,” she responded as coolly as she could.
His hand reached out to her. “I know you can, but what if you have another spell and black out? Please, let me take you. Abbie, please.”
Three pleases from him in less than thirty seconds? “Okay. Mac and Dustin can pick up my car in the morning.”
His fingers stroked her arm before dropping loosely to his side. “Thank you for not fighting me on this.”
“I don’t have the strength right now, Rhett.” And God if the truth didn’t make her look away to hide the tears she felt in her eyes.
“I’ll get your coat.”
Then he came back and dressed her like she was a little kid. After he’d smoothed her hair away from her face and tucked her hat on, he scooped her up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he walked out of the room.
“You said you don’t have the strength. Let me do this. It’s little enough.” He snagged his keys from the entryway and shut the front door behind them.
“But your coat. And you didn’t lock the house.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he ground out. “Save your breath.”
And so she did…because deep down a part of her always feared another asthma attack would follow an episode this serious.
Fear.
There was that word again.
He drove slowly. The silence between them seemed eerie in the cold night. Even the quaint glow of Dare did little to raise her spirits.
She was in chaos again.
When he pulled into her driveway, he stopped her from reaching for the door. “Let me come around.”
“I’m fine,” she protested even though her whole body was still trembling.
“No, you’re not.”
He carried her to the front door and wouldn’t set her down until they were inside. The lights came on after he fumbled with the switches. He finally deposited her on the couch in the family room, and a
part of her missed his warmth and the comfort when he stopped holding her. After gently tucking a purple throw around her, he turned on the Christmas tree and made her a fire.
“I’m calling Mac,” he told her, his hands tinged black from the newsprint he’d used to make the fire.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she told him, even though she knew it was probably a good idea. She didn’t want to be alone, and with this incident hovering between them, she couldn’t bear to be alone with him.
He tapped his phone and put it to his ear. “Hey, Mac.”
She couldn’t hear what he said since he wandered away. Instead she burrowed under the throw and continued to take deep breaths.
When he came back into the room, he sat down on the loveseat beside the couch. “I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing thickly, meeting her eyes. “It’s my fault.”
The guilt between then hung in the air like a soupy fog.
“No, it’s not. It’s mine. Rhett…”
And she heard that inner voice again. Follow the star.
Her eyes tracked to the silver star on top of their family tree. It winked at her, seeming to radiate a luminous light from another place, a light that uncovered more truth in her heart.
“Don’t give up on me,” she found herself saying in a whisper, feeling as broken in body as she did in sprit.
He sank to his knees in front of her. “Never.”
When Mac arrived, he and Rhett conversed for a moment in the other room. Dustin nestled in close and wrapped his arm around her, worry written all over his still–changing face, now dotted with patches of stubble.
When Rhett returned, he walked over to the couch and stood there, shifting from one foot to the other. “You take care of yourself. Do you hear?”
She just nodded, watching as Mac slapped him on the back and he left, his head bowed as if in defeat.
Part of her wanted to call him back. But she didn’t.
And dammit if the reason wasn’t called Fear.
Chapter 6
For the next ten days Abbie didn’t see much of Rhett, although he was frequently at the hotel playing poker or meeting with Nancy to discuss his party. Mac had told her Rhett wanted her to be surprised by the decorations, so she kept out of the ballroom as the staff set up on the day of the party. Mac and Dustin told her they would meet her there, so she changed into her costume alone in their family suite. And made sure she didn’t head down until thirty minutes after the party started.
