by Meg Tilly
“Wait.” He snagged her hand. “Eve, I’m flying to LA when we close.”
Her stomach plummeted. “You’re . . . going to LA?”
He nodded.
“Today?” she managed to croak. She shook her head, suddenly angry with herself. She’d known it was going to be short-term, but this must be some kind of record.
“Yeah.” He was already working on the next order and acting completely casual, as if he hadn’t just dropped an enormous frikkin’ bombshell. “I was planning to zip down by myself and to be back around midnight, but with all that’s been going on, I think it’d be best if you came with me.”
“To LA? Tonight?” All her grouchy thoughts came screeching to a halt. “You want me to come with you?”
“I know it’s short notice, but we could make it fun. Stay overnight. You could see my place.” His thumb was gliding back and forth on the inside of her wrist, sending tingles up her arm. “It’d mean a lot to me if you’d come. I’d like you to meet my mom.”
“That’s your big Thursday-night date? Your mom?” And he wants me to meet her? Her gaze snapped from her wrist to his eyes, her lungs feeling as if they’d forgotten how to draw air. Holy cow!
“I think you’d like each other, and more important, you’d be with me. I wouldn’t have to worry. Would know you were safe.”
Forty-one
EVE LEANED BACK in the luxurious leather armchair. I’m going to take Maggie’s advice and enjoy every second of this lovely adventure, she thought as she watched through the Cessna Citation jet’s window as Solace Island dropped away from view.
It had been a mad dash, racing to the house after the café closed, packing an overnight bag. Luckily, Lavina and Ethelwyn were able to take care of Samson.
On the way to the private airfield, Eve had called Maggie and let her know about the change in plans. She didn’t want her sister and Luke to freak out if they arrived on Solace Island before she and Rhys returned.
“I’m glad you’re going to LA,” Maggie said. “Since it will take you out of harm’s way until Luke can sort everything out. And don’t waste your time away by worrying. Enjoy yourself. We’ll figure out this stalker thing.” There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone, and then Maggie laughed. “I still can’t believe my big sister is dating Rhys Thomas.” With her eyes shut Eve could imagine Maggie sitting beside her in the car as it whizzed down the road, beaming her wide-open smile. “The man is gorgeous, Evie. Super hot!”
Luke had growled in the background, which had made Maggie laugh again as she covered the phone with her hand. Her voice was muffled, but Eve heard her murmur something to her husband, love evident in her tone.
When they’d arrived at the private airfield, Rhys had driven his truck onto the tarmac, right up to the gleaming white jet that was waiting for them. He handed his car keys to the ground personnel. The two pilots and the steward introduced themselves. Eve’s overnight bag was stored in the baggage compartment at the back of the plane.
“All right, Mr. Thomas, we’re fueled and ready to go,” one of the pilots said. And that was it. No lengthy lines to check in, no security. Arrive at the airfield, and five minutes later you’re in the air. Unbelievable.
“Ms. Harris, would you care for a blanket?” Before takeoff, the steward had settled them in with drinks. Once altitude minimums were reached, he unbuckled his seat belt and started moving about the plane again.
Eve wasn’t cold, but he had gone through the trouble of taking the blankets out, and maybe the cabin would get cold later on. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”
He opened the blanket and draped it across her lap, then returned to the galley.
“Oh dear.” She smiled ruefully across the glossy burl wood table at Rhys as she smoothed her hand across the whisper-soft cashmere blanket. “A girl could get used to this.”
She took a sip of champagne. “Yum . . .” The bubbles were frolicking in her mouth. There were hints of ripe fruit, a woody earthiness, the delicate floral note that lingered on her tongue. A slight moan escaped from her lips. “I don’t know if this is the best champagne I’ve ever tasted or if the gorgeous crystal flute affects the flavor.”
Desire gleamed in Rhys’s dark eyes. “We can run a couple of experiments if you’d like.” His voice was a low growl as he shifted in his seat.
Eve let her gaze wander languidly down his body and was rewarded by the sight of a massive erection straining against the confines of his jeans. She smiled, suddenly ravenous for him. “You’re incorrigible,” she purred. Who knew that simply enjoying my drink would bring him to such a state of arousal?
She traced the rim with her tongue, enjoying the flavor as well as the texture of the smooth, cool crystal.
“You’re killing me,” he said.
She tipped her head back and took a long last sip, her gaze locked on his hungry eyes. “Mm . . .”
She became aware of a droplet of champagne trickling down the side of her flute. “Oh my,” she murmured. “I’d better get that.” The tip of her tongue captured the droplet, then began a slow, sensuous ascent as she followed the droplet’s pathway back to the rim of her champagne flute.
“That’s it,” Rhys said, energy crackling through the cabin like an electrical storm. He ripped off his seat belt, lifted the polished burl wood tabletop, and slid it into its slot in the wall. “You are in trouble, woman,” he growled, rising to his feet in a smooth, predatory manner, one hundred percent focused on her.
She felt powerful causing this raging need in him and was laughing up at him as he loomed over her. Then suddenly the world shifted and she was upside down. How did he get me unstrapped so fast? She couldn’t stop laughing as he slung her over his broad shoulder.
She saw Rhys’s hand snag the bottle of Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque, and anticipation joined the hot-blooded dance coursing through her veins.
Polished men’s shoes and black trousers stepped into her view. “Can I interest either of you in a bite to eat?” The steward’s voice sounded smooth, unperturbed by the sight of Rhys with Eve slung over his shoulder. “An iced-prawn cocktail, perhaps? Or—”
“Privacy,” Rhys barked, on the move, his arm firmly around Eve’s thighs, her ass in the air as he headed toward the back of the plane. “You can interest us in some privacy until further notice.”
“Very good, sir,” she heard the steward reply.
“Rhys,” she said, trying to sound stern, but the laughter didn’t help. “I am not a sack of chicken feed that you are hauling to the barn. Put me down.”
“I’m happy to accommodate your request.”
He took two more steps and then she was soaring through the air before landing on a—
“A bed!” Eve pushed up onto her elbows and gazed around, enraptured. She was lying on an actual bed, fully decked out in crisp white linens with caramel piping. There was a cashmere throw blanket at the base of the bed and an abundance of plump pillows. “They have a bed back here. This is amazing!”
He set the bottle of champagne on the bedside table, then turned and yanked a set of folding curtains shut, closing off the rest of the plane.
“Curtains! I hadn’t noticed those—”
Then he was on her, and she was surrounded, caged in, captivated, mind and body. His mouth descended on her, a match to dry summer grass, engulfing her in the fierce flames of desire.
She could hear the steward moving around beyond the curtain, the clink of glasses being cleared as Rhys was slowly unbuttoning her blouse, christening each newly exposed inch of flesh with a kiss, a stroke, a gentle bite. “Rhys,” she moaned softly, writhing beneath him.
He spread her blouse open so she was exposed to his gaze. She could feel her nipples tighten under her black lace and mesh bra. “Nice,” he said, his thumb gliding over the material, the taut peak of her breast, his mouth descending, a swirl o
f his tongue.
“Rhys . . .” She couldn’t speak as heat spiraled through her. He’d barely touched her, and already her undies were soaked through. He reached for the champagne, drizzled the ice-cold bubbly liquid along the center of her body. It trickled downward, pooling in her belly button.
“Mm . . .” he murmured. “Very nice.” He set the bottle down as he followed the champagne’s path with his gaze and then his mouth. The contrasting sensations from the ice-cold champagne and the silky heat of his tongue forced her heartbeat to take up residence lower in her body, in her labia, her pulsing clit.
“Please . . .” Eve was torn between thrusting him away and yanking him closer. “We can’t.”
A low guttural laugh rumbled from the back of his throat as he slid up her body and tugged the delicate black fabric down with his teeth. Her right breast was now fully exposed. The cool air from the overhead vent caused the aching tip, wet from his mouth, to tighten even more.
“He’ll hear,” she gasped, as Rhys’s tongue traced its way to her other, still-clad breast, his hand cupping her exposed breast, his clever fingers causing her body to jolt upward toward the low ceiling.
He lifted his head, eyes gleaming. “Not if you’re quiet,” he said, watching the effect on her as his fingers squeezed her nipple. Taking her to that point where pleasure dances on the razor’s edge of pain, causing her body to buck as she craved, wanted more.
A high-keening cry of need erupted from her lips.
He braced his weight on his elbow, still caressing her breasts. “Shh . . .” he whispered, his voice a sensuous tease, as he placed a finger on her lower lip. “Be quiet.” His finger glided along her lip, then dipped inside. “Here,” he murmured. “Suck on this.”
She did, but it didn’t help. His mouth was on her nipple again, his fingers on her other breast, driving her need higher and higher.
The more she sucked, the hornier she got. It felt good to have part of him inside her.
“Jesus, woman,” he groaned, removing his finger from her mouth. “You’re driving me crazy.” He was breathing hard now, as if he had just completed a five-hundred-meter dash.
He lowered his body. His button-down shirt chafed her sensitized skin; he was fully clothed and she was undone. It was so damned erotic. He made her feel wanton, beautiful, desired.
Her hips writhed against his jeans-clad erection, the hard heat of him winding her tighter and tighter. She tucked her pelvis upward in small circles, wanting contact there. Right there.
His hand traveled downward, undoing the button on her jeans, her zipper. He shoved her jeans down, peeled her panties back. His hand cupped her mound, laying claim to all the energy rocketing around at her core. He dipped the tip of one finger inside her opening, barely penetrating her. Slid his finger out again, then gently swirled it along the outside rim. “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered with his breath warm behind her ear, his lips following his breath in a kiss before capturing her earlobe between his teeth.
Another moan escaped from her lips. “Oh shit. I can’t—” She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stop words, noises from escaping.
She heard the sound of a door opening. Two male voices, talking low, words indistinguishable.
“That’s right,” he murmured, languidly dipping his finger again, then gently trailing his forefinger along her slick wet folds. “One of the pilots has come out of the cockpit. For coffee, a chat.” He barely skimmed her clit, causing her to buck upward. She muffled her wail with her hand, wanting, needing more.
“Maybe they’re going to eat some dinner.” He circled his shimmering wet finger on the hood of her clit, slow, languorous circles that wound her need tighter and tighter.
“I gotta . . . I need . . .” She wailed soundlessly into her palm.
She could hear male laughter. Did they know what was going on?
Higher and higher. Body undulating, no control. Her world narrowed down to his hand, her pussy, the men right outside the curtain.
She could hear a cupboard being opened, liquid being poured, Rhys’s breath harsh and fast against her neck near her ear. So wet. So damn wet, tremors building, building. She could feel the juices from her pussy saturating the duvet beneath her. She would leave a wet spot for sure. No way to hide what they’d been doing back here. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she moaned.
“Gotta keep quiet.” Rhys’s voice was a low, barely there growl. “Everyone’s gonna hear,” he whispered as her orgasm roared through her like a runaway train.
Forty-two
THE LIMO SPED down the Pacific Coast Highway, a high, craggy embankment on their left, the ocean on their right, glittering like a multifaceted sapphire in the setting sun.
The color of the water was quite similar to the starbursts and the deep blue that encircled the outer rim of Rhys’s iris. Her thought was followed by a rush of tenderness, a desire to lie in his arms and gaze into his eyes until they both were old and gray and covered in cobwebs for not having moved for years and years.
He’d grown quieter since the plane had landed, as if he were gathering his inner resources, bracing himself.
“If you change your mind and want to see your mom alone, I totally understand. I’m happy to grab a coffee somewhere.”
He placed his hand over hers. “I want you with me,” he said. There was a wistful smile on his face, a trace of sadness in his eyes. Then he turned to gaze out the window again.
* * *
• • •
THE RESIDENCE HIS mom lived in was a Spanish hacienda high on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Beautiful antique hand-painted tiles were on the risers of the stairs leading to the arched doorway of the lobby. Inside, large Saltillo tiles made up the gleaming floors.
The setting sun cast a warm glow that seemed to bounce off the white stucco walls and ceiling, making the lobby look quite magical. The exposed wooden beams and a stunning wrought-iron and crystal chandelier gave the place a rustic, elegant charm.
As they traveled through the lobby, Eve noticed several residents in quiet conversation, ensconced in comfortable sofas and chairs, a few in wheelchairs. An elderly couple were duking it out over a chessboard. Eve had the sense that they’d been playing chess together for years. The friendly staff moved among the residents with a calm competence and a caring demeanor.
Rhys led the way through another arched doorway and onto a pathway that meandered through the lush, fragrant garden. He held the homemade fudge he’d purchased on Solace Island carefully in his hand. An abundance of flowers were blooming, such a contrast to Solace Island, where the leaves had already started to change color. “It’s a lovely place, Rhys,” she said softly.
He stopped in his tracks, turned, looked at her. The vulnerability in his face was heartbreaking. “Really?” he said, as if wanting, needing to believe that placing his mom here had been the right decision. She could see the struggle in his eyes.
“Truly,” she said. “There is a lovely feeling about this place.”
“Please, God, I hope so.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he exhaled shakily, then shook his head and tried to smile. “You know, every night I say a prayer. Not for me or for little things like whether I’ll get a particular job or not. I pray for her. That she’s safe and happy, that I made the right decision moving her here.” He opened his eyes, his expression bleaker than anything Eve had ever seen. “That she knows that she’s”—his voice broke—“loved.”
He kept his head bowed as he fought for control over his emotions. “You know, I used to have her staying with me. I thought that would be what was best for her.”
A self-loathing half laugh fell from his lips. “Best for her,” he said bitterly, kicking a fallen twig off the walkway with his foot. “See”—he whirled to face her again, his expression ferocious—“I was gone, being the big hotshot movie star for huge chunks of time. I wasn’t there, o
verseeing the caregivers I’d hired.”
His jaw clenched, his mouth a harsh straight line, then his shoulders slumped, as if the weight on them had gotten too heavy to bear.
“I was in Mobile, Alabama”—the words came slowly—“shooting Caught. A location fell through.” He scrubbed his hands across his face. “There was a scramble to find a new sports arena, a rearranging of the shooting schedule. I had three days off. Enough time to fly home, check on her, and then fly back. I didn’t bother calling as I usually do. Came home unexpectedly.”
Her heart was breaking for him. He looked so tortured, pale tension lines around his nose and mouth, his breath shaky.
“I could hear my mom crying before I even opened the door. Found the couple I’d hired to take care of her—who had glowing references, by the way—in the den, feet up, munching on popcorn, a half-eaten bucket of ice cream melting on the coffee table, the TV blaring. Totally ignoring my mom’s cries. When I got to her room, she was tied to the bed like an animal, her face swollen from crying so long and so hard. Her teeth hadn’t been brushed probably since the last time I’d been home. Her hair was uncombed, her diaper, soggy and soiled. I wanted to kill them. Might have, if my mom hadn’t been there.” He blew out a breath. “So that’s how she ended up here. I know it’s not perfect, but I feel safer, knowing there are checks and balances while I’m away.”
“I think you made the right decision,” Eve said, gently wiping away a tear that was sliding down his cheek. She slipped her arm around his waist and placed her head against his chest, giving silent comfort.
A few minutes passed. Shadows lengthened across the lush lawn. Crickets chirped. A broad-winged condor lazily circled above.
Rhys straightened, cleared his throat. “All right,” he said, rolling the residual tension out of his shoulders. “I’m good now.” He seemed lighter as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, like a weight had been lifted. “Let’s go see my mom.”