Rhys Page 5

  “This is an excerpt from my latest release,” I say after I’ve settled in the chair. I decided to go straight for the sexy scene. It’s taken on a whole new meaning for me now.

  Just picture them naked, Rhys said. Picture me naked.

  To a rapt audience, I boldly read the scene of Leona and William making love—the same one I read to Rhys while we made love. No one laughs. No one faints. There’s only wide eyes, some hands on throats and chests, low murmurs of approval.

  My confidence soars. I’m not blushing. I’m not hot. I’ve stopped sweating. My voice hasn’t trembled since the first few words. I can do this.

  “‘As Leona lay in William’s arms,’” I read, “‘waiting for her heart to finally slow, she was struck by a realization. A simple, yet terrifying one.’”

  That’s when I falter.

  The last time I read these words aloud, I was in Rhys’s arms. Safe, warm, and overcome with love. The most intense love I never thought I’d get to experience in my life. That lack of love is why I started writing novels. I never dreamed it could be real for me, and fuel my novels.

  But that love is missing. I don’t know where it—where he—is. How badly he’s been hurt. If he’s all right now.

  If he still wants me.

  I liked your story. A lot. I love you too, Vi.

  If he still…loves me.

  On the page, the words blur together as sudden, hot dampness comes to my eyes. I blink swiftly and glance up. Now the looks on those faces have gone from enrapture to concern.

  “Sorry,” I say breathlessly. I clear my throat. “‘She was struck…by a—a realization’—I’m sorry.”

  The last two words come out of me in a broken whisper and I lower the book to my lap.

  The book manager lifts a subtle hand. You okay? she mouths.

  I clasp my lips together and stretch them into a smile I’m sure is more of a grimace, and nod. Really convincing.

  The readers murmur to one another.

  I press my fist to my mouth, truly embarrassed now that I can’t get my emotions in check.

  “‘She was in love with him,’” a voice at the back of the rooms calls.

  My heart trips and falls flat on its face as I slowly raise my head.

  The readers all whip around toward the sound of the voice.

  From the back of the room, carrying an enormous bouquet of violets and three heart-shaped helium balloons in one hand, his other arm in a sling, Rhys Hartley, resplendent in his crisply pressed patrol uniform, walks up the aisle.

  Several women gasp. They probably think he’s here to arrest me. Like maybe he found that open can of white wine underneath my signing table.

  Me? I forget how to make sound at all.

  Rhys walks toward me, a slight, sweet smile on his face. “‘She was in love with him,” he recites again, never taking his eyes from me. “‘Him, the one she’d had no idea she’d been waiting for all this time. Her whole life.’”

  “Oh my God,” someone cries out softly.

  “Rhys,” I whisper.

  “I’m a big fan,” he says, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Your biggest, I’d say. But I had a thought about this scene.”

  “Y-yeah?” I manage.

  He turns to a woman in the seat closest to him. She has tears streaming from her eyes. “Would you mind holding these for me?” he asks.

  She nods happily and takes the bouquet and balloons from him.

  He pulls me to my feet, his good arm wrapping tightly around me. The gadgetry on his duty belt digs into my belly, but it bothers me not at all.

  “I read the book. And based on the life William led, the constant struggles he had with the people in his life, the loneliness he felt—it seems like he needs Leona as much as she needs him. So, I’m going to say, the realization he has is that…he loves her. Her, the one he had no idea he was waiting for all this time. His whole life.”

  He uses his other thumb to nudge my chin up. “Have you ever felt like that about somebody, Vi? Because I have. I love you, Violet Randall. And I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

  “I love you, Rhys,” I whisper. It’s the only thing I can think of in this moment, the only thing that’s worth saying.

  He kisses me.

  The audience goes absolutely nuts.

  9

  Violet

  When the applause dies down, I manage to thank all of the readers for coming. Rhys takes a big group picture of all of us on my phone’s camera, and I promise the group I’m going to post it on my Facebook author page as soon as possible and invite them all to tag themselves. And, everyone here will be getting a paperback copy of my newest book—the one I was finishing up when Rhys came knocking on my door—when it releases in a couple months.

  Rhys helps me load up all of my things I brought for the signing—extra books, a banner, treats and bookmarks for the attendees—as best he can, which is impressive for a guy who can only use one arm at the moment.

  “I have my car here,” I say shyly, gesturing to my white SUV.

  He nods. “What do you say to dinner? At my house? It’s almost seven. You’ve got to be hungry.”

  “I’m famished, actually.” I smile up at him. “It’d be nice to catch up. I have…questions.”

  “And I have answers,” he replies, and I know it’s a promise.

  I follow him to his home. He has a cozy house in a quiet, modest neighborhood. Down the street, a dog barks. It feels like a simple, relaxed, nice Saturday evening for all the families who live on this street. They probably don’t get their homes shot up or bear witness to their neighbors losing their shit and holding their families hostage.

  For a second, I can’t move from beside my car, parked in the driveway.

  A warm hand touches my cheek. “Vi?”

  I shift my gaze toward Rhys, and I’m surprised when a couple tears roll down my cheeks. “Yeah.”

  His blue eyes flash with understanding. “Want to come in?”

  I nod, brushing my fingers across my cheeks.

  Rhys winds an arm across my shoulders and leads me inside through the garage. It’s definitely a dude’s house, but I can tell he values cleanliness. The split-level home features a living room with an oversized couch, a huge TV mounted on the wall, nice, warm-brown coffee and end tables, and family pictures on their surfaces and on the wall. There’s a framed photo of Rhys and a young woman who looks a little older than him on the end table. I pick it up. It’s got to be a sister—they share the same wide smile, the same blue eyes, the same sandy hair.

  “That’s Amy,” Rhys says.

  “Your sister,” I say. “She’s pretty. She has a great smile.”

  He nods. “She’s my best friend.” He tilts his head. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “No, only child. Always wished I had one, though. I think I’d want an older sibling. A big sister to teach me stuff. A big brother to protect me.”

  “Little brothers will protect you too,” Rhys says with a smile. “I remember the first time Amy brought home a guy. I gave him so much shit, he ran out of the house and jumped in his car to drive away in less than fifteen minutes.”

  I can’t help laughing at that—hard. “I might have to put that in a book.”

  He grins. “Okay, but I get royalties for that.” Rhys’s face goes serious. “Listen, we should talk about what happened. Will you sit?”

  He gestures into the kitchen behind me, a space that has room for the generous kitchen table on one side. I notice it’s set for two, complete with wineglasses and candles in the middle.

  “Expecting someone, Sergeant?” I tease, sliding into a chair.

  He smiles and lights the candle. “Yep. You.”

  Rhys goes to the oven and withdraws two covered plates. On each is a bacon-wrapped filet mignon, a twice-baked potato, and bright, fresh green beans.

  “I made a lot of assumptions today,” he says, carrying one plate at a time and shooing away my offer for help. “One
of which that you would want to come here for dinner. And two that you like red meat. But since you ate pepperoni pizza, I figured that was a safe assumption.”

  I grin as he pours us each a little red wine. “You assumed correctly.” I saw into the steak. It’s a perfect medium. “You also assumed I don’t like well-done steaks.”

  He looks up. “Need me to cook it longer?”

  I wave a hand. “Don’t you touch this steak.” Then I glance at his plate. “Let me cut it for you.”

  I slide out of my seat and go to his side. Then I cut his filet into manageable pieces. Before I can head back to my seat, he drapes a hand over mine and pulls me in for a kiss.

  “Thank you,” he says softly.

  “I’m really happy you’re okay,” I whisper.

  “I was an inch away from not being okay,” he admits. “The bullet almost hit an artery. But the doctors dug out the bullet, and I’ll be in physical therapy for a while. I’ll regain full mobility, it’ll take some time. So that means desk work for me.”

  “Oh darn,” I say sarcastically, and smile. Then I clear my throat and push green beans around my plate. “I wanted to get in touch with you. Boy, you cops sure are hard to contact.”

  “That’s kind of the point,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you sooner. I was in the hospital until Thursday. Then I had to get settled here at home, and had my family fussing over me. Then I had to go into the department and debrief with the chief—anyway. I wanted to be there for your signing.”

  “I’m glad you came,” I say. “I was pretty shocked, actually.”

  “So, things got a little crazy that night.” He reaches for my hand again. “And I don’t mean the hostage situation.”

  I flush.

  “We both said some…things. Serious things.”

  I swallow but meet his gaze steadily. “Very serious things.”

  He leans toward me. “I’ve never been in love before you. I haven’t had a lot of girlfriends. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck things up from time to time. I’m not—I’m not perfect, like the heroes you write about. Not by a long shot. I don’t want to let you down.”

  I push his plate away and sit on his lap. “The thing about the heroes I write about—they all have flaws, too. They’re perfectly imperfect. What matters is their hearts.” I place my hand over his chest. “You have a perfect heart. That’s why I love you.”

  Our kiss starts out sweet and quickly turns deep, slow, and wet. I pull my lips from his with a gasp. “We can reheat the food, right?”

  “Yep,” he replies, sounding just as breathless. He stands up, keeping his good arm wrapped around my waist, and carries me down a short hall to the master bedroom. He tosses me onto the bed, and giggling, I start stripping.

  “Normally I would insist on that,” he says, carefully taking off the sling and keeping his gaze on me, “but I’m a little shorthanded at the moment.”

  “I didn’t know you were punny, Officer.” I sweep off my top and wriggle out of my jeans, then crawl toward him and kneel on the edge of the bed. Tenderly, I undress him, stopping to lightly kiss the bandage over his shoulder and chest, then push him back until he’s flat on the bed.

  “I don’t think you should put any weight on that arm,” I tell him, leaning over him. “So I think I’ll need to be on top this time.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he exhales. The exhale becomes a deep groan of pleasure as I move the crotch of my thong to the side and sink onto him, bracing my hands on either side of his head. “Jesus Christ, Vi. You’re wet as fuck.”

  “I’ve been missing you,” I say, throwing my head back as I envelop every inch of him. He feels huge inside my petite frame, but I’ve never been filled like this before. I’ve done a lot of imagining of what the “perfect” man feels like, but for the first time in my life, I’m actually experiencing him.

  And it’s better than anything.

  I ride him slow and hard, taking my time, torturing us both. My pleasure keeps spiking like a crazed heart monitor. When I can’t hold out any longer, I lean down until our mouths meet and slam my hips down on his until I explode around him.

  “Shit, yes!” He grabs my hip hard with his good hand, working me on his cock the way he needs until he bursts inside me like a volcano and he growls deep and low. Then he gathers me close and rotates us so we’re lying on our sides.

  “I missed you,” he whispers. “A week feels like a fucking eternity.”

  “That was worth the wait,” I murmur. “That’s going in a book.”

  He chuckles. “Is that what our relationship is going to be from now on, you putting things in books?”

  I kiss him. “I can’t imagine crafting a better love story. A bookish girl falls for a hunky cop who’s an actual, real-life hero. You can’t make this stuff up.”

  “Write one about a lonely cop who felt like he was stumbling around in the dark until this beautiful, bright light found him and showed him the path home.” Rhys strokes my cheek.

  I think about that. That could be a best-seller.

  “I’ll write it,” I tell him, bringing my forehead against his. “But it’ll be just for you and me. Because that’s our story.”

  The story of us, and we’ve only written the first chapter.

  One down, infinity to go.

  Epilogue

  One month later

  Violet

  Ridge City Police Headquarters is bustling on a Friday afternoon as I carry a brown paper bag full of food up to the seventh floor where SWAT is located. I intended to bring lunch for Rhys and his whole crew, but when I get up there, I see him and Detective Rivers—Saint, as he insists I call him—lounging around near cubicles, chatting and laughing.

  Rhys normally works nights, but this week he’s had in-service training, so he’s actually getting to do the regular, eight-hour day shift, and what’s even better is that he has a real weekend off. That’s a new thing to get used to as the girlfriend of a cop—things like “weekends” and “holidays” become a thing of the past, unless fate lands just right and one of his off-days falls on a weekend or holiday.

  We’re planning to do the ultimate staycation—not leave his house until Monday morning. I’ve got Netflix queued up, groceries are stocked, and we have plenty of (canned) wine and beer. Clothing will be optional. I’m going to opt for nope.

  “Hey,” I call with a grin as I approach. “You guys are doing a really great job of keeping the city safe and stuff, cracking ‘that’s what she said’ jokes at your desks.”

  “If it ain’t the ball-buster,” Saint says dryly.

  Since he and Rhys are such good friends, I’ve gotten to know Saint a lot more this past month. He was something of a “saint” in getting my window repaired and my apartment cleaned so fast. He’s a pretty mysterious kind of guy, though. All I know about him is that he’s in Auto Theft, and his younger brother Jaxson is a patrol cop.

  “Sweetheart,” Rhys says by way of greeting, and kisses me on the mouth.

  “Ah, get a room,” Saint complains.

  “No need this time,” I say. “I just came to drop off lunch. I thought the whole crew would be here, but I guess this is all for you guys.” I open the bag to show off the boxes of barbecue takeout I got at the best joint in town.

  “Their loss,” Rhys says, grabbing for a container overflowing with sloppy ribs.

  “You’re an angel,” Saint says, pulling out two containers. “I’ll probably be here all night. Big case.”

  “The car theft ring you were telling me about?” Rhys says with a frown.

  The second-best part about bringing lunch to Rhys at work is that I get to overhear very interesting things on a regular basis, and since I’m “part of the family” now, they often discuss things as though I’m not there. Hello, book fodder…

  Saint nods. “I’m this close to a breakthrough. We’re organizing the op to set up a meet with the ringleader.”

  “Wow,” Rhys says, lifting his brows. “Congrats.�
�

  “Eh, don’t congratulate me yet.” Saint shrugs. “Anything can happen.”

  “Sounds like you’ll be here late,” I say, and offer him the bag. “Take more. You need to keep up your strength.”

  He shrugs again. “Sure, thank you.” Then he points a finger. “By the way, easy on the book stuff, buttercup.”

  I grin innocently. “Who, me?”

  He chuckles and balances four cartons. “I’ll share this with the team. Thanks again, Vi. Rhys—catch you later.”

  Saint walks off, and I turn back to where Rhys is perched on his desk. His computer screensaver is on—a picture of us from last weekend, his arms—now completely sling-free—wrapped around me.

  “Well, that sounds serious,” I tell him.

  “It is.” He slips his arms around me. “Thanks for the food. Especially for him—he’s been working really long nights. By the way—don’t forget to lock your car. Ever.”

  “I won’t,” I say, “but I highly doubt these car thieves are much interested in a five-year-old Honda SUV. He said before they’re targeting luxury vehicles.”

  “True. But can’t be too careful.”

  “Well, then maybe I should make sure I have an officer with me at all times.” I smile and wind my arms around his neck.

  He clears his throat. “Funny you should say that, actually.”

  “Why?”

  He sighs and grins. “I’ve never been a patient man. You should know that about me.”

  “I’m well aware of that at this point,” I say, mystified. “Rhys, what’s up?”

  He pushes me back by my hips a few inches and sticks a hand in the pocket of his dress pants. “I was going to do this during our staycation. But now that you’re here, at headquarters, it almost feels…more appropriate.” His smile fades and his eyes grow serious. “Because, you need to know, Vi, that you wouldn’t just be saying yes to me. You’d be saying yes to the department. Yes to living this kind of life with me. It’s hard. It’s hardest on you guys—the families. The loved ones.” He withdraws his hand and shows me a ring box. “The…wives.”