Connected (Twists of Fate #1)

by Jolyn Palliata

  He couldn’t have picked a worse way to approach it.

  Feeling the chal enge, she shot back, “And why the hel not?” You’re injured. He said it simply, as if it explained everything.

  She tried to shirk off her irritation as she strode towards her closet.

  Was he real y concerned about her wel being, or just messing with her? She assumed the safer reasoning of concern. Safer for him, that is.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. “Besides, dating doesn’t always equate to sex, Rhys. I understand this is a different reality than being a rock star, but real y. I think I’m perfectly capable of sitting in a restaurant without hindering my recovery.”

  When did you make this… date ? He spit out the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  I don’t remember you planning it. Were you blocking me again?

  “No, you paranoid psycho. I made the date before I even met you, okay?” Guilt nagged at her nerves.

  Paranoid, huh?

  Aw, hel . “Okay, so I blocked you when I sent him an email yesterday, but that was it.” She continued shifting through her dresses, sliding one after another across the closet rack as she decided against them.

  I see, he muttered. So…what? This is a blind date? A first date? I mean, the deadbeat hasn’t been around yet so he’s obviously not your man. Shit, the fucker didn’t even send you flowers or anything. Or did he?

  She tried to ignore him as she threw her hands up—half in frustration at Rhys, half in annoyance of not having anything to wear.

  But there was no way silence was going to shut him up.

  Right? he prodded, actual y pushing at their link so she felt the mental poke.

  “You are seriously five years old,” she accused, flipping back through al her dresses. “And it’s a third date, if you must know. I met him when I took the fiftieth anniversary photos of his grandparents.”

  Aww, how sweet, he gushed, his tone sour.

  “What the hel do you care anyway?”

  There was a beat of silence before he said, I don’t.

  “Then let’s drop it, okay?”

  Fine by me.

  “And stop pouting.” She could feel his mental huff, so she knew he was doing exactly that.

  And the fact he didn’t bother disputing it only strengthened her theory.

  After a few minutes of digging through her closet, Addison came up with two black dresses.

  She wanted something simplistic to fit her style, but elegant. Something not too revealing, but feminine; something that would make a man drool but leave enough to the imagination to have him wondering what was hidden underneath.

  What are you doing?

  “I’m trying to decide which dress to wear.” She chewed on her fingernail as her eyes shifted from one dress to the other.

  Wear the one on the right.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You can see them?”

  Hell, no. But your inability to make a fucking decision is raking at my nerves.

  “So you just picked one at random?”

  It’s a decision, isn’t it? It’s not like you’re any closer to one.

  She lifted a shoulder in semi-agreement as she eyed the wraparound number on the right.

  Worked for her.

  She shoved the reject dress back into the closet before she went to dry her hair and throw on some make-up.

  Rhys was surprisingly quiet throughout, and then she realized he had closed off their link.

  Why? She had no idea, but at this point it hardly concerned her. She was just thankful for the quiet.

  After fluffing her blonde locks and putting on her face, Addison shrugged out of her robe.

  She took her time as she picked out some fril y panties and bra—because you just never know—

  and then wiggled into the dress.

  “Oh, boy,” she mumbled, studying herself in the mirror. The dress didn’t leave as much to the imagination as she had hoped. She couldn’t go out like this, could she?

  A sly smile crept to her face. Wel , maybe…

  What’s up, sweetheart?

  Aaand the cocky attitude was back.

  “Just checking things out. This dress is a bit…revealing. I’m not used to it.” He chuckled. What? he teased . Can you actually see your knees?

  She pul ed at the fabric wrapped tight around her chest as her ample breasts kept trying to pop out and say ‘hel o,’

  and then she tugged fruitlessly at the hem.

  “It shows a lot more than that,” she muttered, rethinking if she could leave the house that way or not. After al , it was only a third date, and on top of that, she never truly intended to ever wear that dress; it was a impulse purchase on a day she had felt a hel uva lot braver than she did just then.

  Jesus, it can’t be that bad. Hell, if any damn flesh is showing, you’d consider it to be too revealing.

  “I would not.” Though she probably would.

  Don’t get all offended and shit. You showed me your picture, remember? Very proper, very conservative, very non-revealing. I know your type.

  “My type. Is that so?” She propped her hands on her hips, her contempt pushing her to prove the stereotyping asshat wrong. “Would you like to see for yourself? Then you can enlighten me with your vast knowledge as to how this dress is too conservative, and fits my type perfectly.” Snorting a laugh, he encouraged her further. I would love to see your oh-too-sexy dress, sweetheart. Lay it on me. I’ll try to contain myself.

  Striking a ridiculously sassy pose that had her giggling, she projected her image from the mirror.

  He made a choking sound, and she felt his entire being seize up.

  Frustrated, she shut down the image. “What the hel is that supposed to mean?” For crissakes, woman, you’re fucking hot in real life! What the hell happened to the prim-and-fucking-proper-working-class girl?!

  Suddenly feeling very confident, she tipped her head to the side and studied her image again, being sure Rhys saw it as wel .

  “I let my hair down, which I’m known to do when I go out. I put in my contacts, which I also do from time-to-time. And I put this on,” she ran her hands down her dress, caressing every curve. “Which, I might add, you picked out. I think you made the right choice, don’t you?” She turned in the mirror, glancing over her shoulder to show the ‘v’ of bare skin slashing down the back.

  Addison, baby, you’re killing me. Of all the damn luck; to be stuck in the head of some searing hot babe. He groaned as if in real pain.

  She laughed at his dramatics, and closed off the image.

  “What does it matter what I look like? I’m stil me. The irritating woman you fight with constantly.” Yeah, but before I was getting a rise out of you ‘cause I could.

  “And how has that changed?”

  His voice shifted low, almost sultry. Now I’m kinda thinking of it as foreplay.

  It was her turn to make the choking sound, fol owed by a wave of heat planting itself firmly in her cheeks. “Oh, please.”

  That’s right, baby. Beg.

  She couldn’t help but laugh, refusing to take the man seriously. “This is going to be a long night.” His chuckle joined hers. Count on it.

  “You better behave yourself, Rhys.”

  To that, he had no response.

  Chapter Eight

  “I mean it, Rhys,” Addison whispered, heading to answer the door. “You better behave yourself tonight.” I will if you will.

  “For crying out loud, it’s just dinner. Now shush. I don’t want to hear another word.” Throwing her shoulders back, she tried to compose herself. After a deep breath, she opened the door with a beaming smile.

  “Jonathan. How are you?”

  Jonathan’s general y polite gaze took a quick dip down and back up as he appraised her.

  “You look lovely, Addison, as always.”

  Stepping forward, he took her hands in his and leaned in.

  Addison felt a quick anticipatory thril as his head ti
pped toward hers, but it banked hard when she heard Rhys’

  voice.

  Whoa. Whoa. What the hell was that?

  She shoved back at their connection, refusing to let him ruin this moment for her. But she was so focused on Jonathan’s lips as they got closer, that she accidental y projected the image to Rhys.

  Oh, hell no! Don’t you dare fucking kiss that bastard. Do you hear me, Addison? I am not going to be a part to this bullshit!

  She was so flustered by the rant, and the impending kiss, that the only way she could cut off the image was to close her eyes. It seemed Rhys could tel the difference.

  Did you just close your motherfucking eyes?! Shit, woman! Talk about an open fucking invitation!

  It took al of her concentration, but she managed to close the connection a split second before Jonathan’s lips brushed hers.

  It didn’t stop Rhys from trying to barge right back in.

  Son of a fucking bitch! You swore not to block me! Do your promises mean nothing? Talk about kicking a man when he’s down. And, oh yeah…let’s just add molestation to the list, shall we? Who the fuck cares about the dead guy?!

  She mental y blanched at their connection as Jonathan kissed her, his tongue dipping in and sweeping against hers. His contact was firm and she felt the purpose behind it; he was testing the waters, checking her receptiveness.

  She would have been a hel uva lot more into it if it hadn’t been for asshat rock star in her head. His bombardment of complaints slammed into the weak mental hold she had managed, and it slipped free as she pul ed back, gesturing Jonathan inside.

  “Won’t you come in?”

  You’re inviting him in now, too? Are you insane, woman?

  Do you have any fucking idea how a man reads into that?

  Do you?! You seemed like such a smart chick; don’t tell me you’re totally dense?

  Addison ignored Rhys the best she could.

  She had agreed to keep their connection open during the date, under duress; the threat of repeated sleepless nights hanging like an guil otine blade over her neck. But she didn’t agree to let his comments go unanswered. With a smile at Jonathan, she mental y shoved at Rhys.

  Shit! Easy there, sweetheart. You pack one hell of a mental punch.

  “Wil you excuse me for just one minute, Jonathan?” Jonathan smiled. “Take your time, beautiful. We have al night.” She smiled appreciatively, then ducked down the hal and into the bathroom. Clenching and unclenching her fist, she elbowed the door closed and then proceeded to draw in long, deep breaths. If Rhys wasn’t already dead, she could’ve kil ed him!

  I’m feeling a little hostility over here? What’s he doing? He voice grew louder in intensity.

  Is he copping a feel or some shit?! Kick him right in the balls, sweetheart. Don’t hold back!

  Rhys, if you don’t shut the hell up, you’re the one who’s gonna end up licking the floor!

  Nevermind the fact she didn’t know how she’d actual y accomplish such a thing, but she was certain she could find a way.

  What’s going on? You sound…different; more—I don’t know—intimate. Like you’re talking right in my ear.

  I’m hiding in the damn bathroom and talking to you in my head instead of out loud. I don’t need Jonathan hearing me talk to myself and thinking I’m some kind of whack job.

  You still talk to me out loud?

  Addison sighed. The man just continued missing the point, didn’t he? Forget the fact she was hiding in the bathroom.

  Forget the fact she was furious with him. No, he was concerned about how she was talking to him. Asshat.

  Yeah. No one else is around, so why not? It makes me feel…more normal to talk out loud.

  Rhys felt a weird, hot tingling feeling that transferred to her. I sure as hell prefer this way.

  By far.

  She shook off the odd sensation—it wasn’t arousal…right?

  —and refocused her anger to the target at hand. Look. I agreed to keep this connection open, but you wil treat me with a little respect, you got it? I’ll not have you ruining this for me.

  With all due respect, Miss…

  He was quiet for a sec, and she could feel him trying to remember her last name. Thing was, he never knew it to begin with. He final y caught up and figured it out for himself.

  What the hell’s your last name?

  She rol ed her eyes. Calomino

  Calomino? Isn’t that Italian?

  Yeah. And your point?

  You don’t look Italian. You have those wicked turquoise eyes, and your hair—

  Focus, Rhys. I have a date waiting for me.

  She felt his scowl.

  About that… I agreed to keep my mouth shut when you told me it was just dinner.

  It is just dinner. What the hell are you so bent out of shape for?

  He kissed you!

  She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggle.

  Since when did you become the prude in this little relationship of ours? Aren’t you supposed to be a rock star sex god or something?

  Where did you hear that? He sounded defensive.

  I can read, ya know. Your reputation precedes you. She couldn’t keep the censure contained no matter how hard she tried. She couldn’t explain the admonishment, but she couldn’t deny it either.

  A flutter of nerves settled in her bel y, and it took her a minute to figure out it was coming from Rhys and not her.

  Rhys?

  You shouldn’t believe everything you read.

  She folded her arms and smirked. So you’re not a sex god?

  She knew there was no safe answer to the question, no matter how he responded. One answer was a blow to his ego, the other, to confess to something she was obviously disgusted with.

  He must’ve come to the same conclusion.

  I… Shut up.

  No, Rhys. You shut up. That’s the whole point.

  Forget it. Deal’s off. If I have to feel you kissing that piece of shit, there’s no way I’m keeping my fucking mouth shut.

  So either you can deal with that, or go tell that fucker to beat it.

  Rhys, if you ruin this—

  You’ll what? Sweetheart, I’m already dead. There’s nothing you could possibly do to me that’ll trump that shit.

  You’re gonna pay for this, Rhys. Trust me. You. Will. Pay.

  Yeah, yeah. His whole being relaxed, as if he had her right where he wanted her. So, you gonna go tell that little prick goodbye?

  She smiled; an evil, contented smile. Nope. I hope you enjoy being on my date with me, Rhys, because you are not scaring me away from this.

  He mental y bristled. I’m holding you to what I said before.

  You do this, you don’t block me.

  Not once. Or you will never get a fucking good night’s sleep again.

  Her smile fel and shifted into a snarl. Asshat.

  It’s simple, sweetheart. You play nice, I’ll play nice.

  Her eyes narrowed. You ever wonder what it would be like to be with another man, Rhys? To feel all that hard muscle up against yours? You push me too hard, and you just might find out.

  You said it was only dinner.

  I’ll make an exception just to spite you.

  You’re bluffing.

  You want to test that theory?

  You wouldn’t.

  Do you really think you know me well enough to make that assumption?

  Like I said. You play nice, I’ll play nice.

  She figured that was the best concession she was going to get. With a quick last glance in the mirror to check herself, Addison final y returned to Jonathan, patiently waiting in the living room right where she left him.

  What a gentleman.

  I want to see what he looks like, Rhys demanded.

  She almost refused him, but knew it would only draw her into another mental argument. She didn’t think she’d pul it off without Jonathan thinking she was certifiable.

  How do you remain pleasant-
looking when you’re tel ing someone off in your head?

  With practiced ease, she looked at Jonathan and projected the image to Rhys. She knew what he saw: a tal , lean man, neatly-trimmed dirty blond hair, hazel eyes, wire-rimmed glasses, dress shirt, slacks, loafers.

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the hottest piece of ass around

  —did she just think that?—but he was classical y handsome and a complete gentleman.

  Rhys did not agree.

  Oh, for crissakes! That’s the fucking kind of guy you go for? A pansy-ass like that?!

  She heard the disgust—who wouldn’t have?—but she also thought she picked up on a hint of disappointment.

  Or maybe that was coming from her. Thinking about how Jonathan looked versus how Rhys did…

  Well, woman? Is it?

  Not anymore.

  She cinched off the thought before it got to Rhys. Or at least she hoped she had. His lack of cocky response indicated she accomplished it, and al without having to close their connection either. Wel , how about that?

  “Shal we go, Jonathan?”

  He held out his hand to her. “By al means.” Clasping her hand in his, he lead her to the car. She was relieved he took the lead because she was total y preoccupied with trying to ignore Rhys’ surge of animosity towards her date.

  After Jonathan closed her door, and was walking around the car to the driver’s side, she broke her mental silence.

  Knock it off, Rhys.

  I’m not fucking saying a word, am I? he snapped back.

  No, to his credit, he wasn’t. But she wasn’t quite sure how long that would last.

  Chapter Nine

  Final y going out on a date with Jonathan after a month-long hiatus—heavenly. Going out on any sort of date with Rhys in her head—excruciating.

  Al evening long had been akin to waiting for a bomb to go off, without the pretty flashing light, but with every horrific part of the booming noise and destructive force.

  Jonathan was the perfect date; courteous, polite, flattering, attentive, and chivalrous. But even that didn’t sit right with Rhys. Whenever Jonathan placed his hand at the smal of Addison’s back, leading her from the car or to their table, Rhys stirred. Each time Jonathan took her hand and gave it a squeeze, Rhys tensed. And when Jonathan brushed his fingers over her arm or paid her a particularly endearing compliment, Rhys growled.