Romance Me (Boxed Set) (67 page)

Rhys shook his head, confusion creasing his forehead. “What do you mean, I was making out with Trisha the whole time? I never made out with her.”

Abruptly hiking the blanket to her thighs, Melina jumped to her feet. “Why are you lying?”

Getting to his feet more slowly, Rhys strode past her and into his bedroom.

She watched him in disbelief. “Where are you—”

Before she could finish the question, he was back, pulling on a pair of shorts with stiff, jerky movements. “Did Max tell you I was making out with Trisha?”

She hugged her arms to her chest, not knowing what to think. “Yes. Are you telling me you weren't?”

“That's exactly what I'm telling you.”

She pulled the blanket tighter around her. “But why would Max lie?”

“I've got a pretty good idea.” Rhys threw his hands up in the air and began pacing. “No wonder he felt so bad afterward. Telling me it was nothing. That he'd initiated it. That I shouldn't let it stop me from telling you how I feel.” Coming to a stop, he pointed his finger at her for emphasis. “I sent Max out to tell you why I was late. I caught Trisha throwing up in the bathroom. Caught her
making
herself throw up. You know how obsessed she was with staying thin. Well, she freaked when I caught her. Thought I would tell her parents, and I sat down with her, telling her that's exactly what she should do. When she'd calmed down and finally agreed, I was walking her out when I saw you kissing Max. Then you just left. When I tried to talk to you, you—”

Shaking, Melina lowered herself to the couch. “I froze you out. I was so crushed, I didn't want to talk to you. Never wanted to talk about that night.”

Rhys dropped down next to her, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his feet.

“You said you had something you wanted to tell me that night. What was it?”

Rhys pressed his lips together. “I was going to ask you out.”

It was what she'd hoped, but to hear him verify it after all these years was almost too good to be true. “Out, out?”

A slow smile curved Rhys's lips. “Yes. Out, out.”

“So you liked me, liked me?” Melina knew she sounded like an idiot, but the ways things were going, she wanted things to be crystal clear.

“Yes,” Rhys said simply.

“I liked you, too. I still do,” she whispered.

Reaching out, he took her hand and squeezed. “Like me, like me?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

“Do you still like me enough to give me a hug?”

She practically leaped into his arms, knocking him over so he fell back with her on top of him. Their mouths met for several long, deep kisses before she pulled back. “I want to ask you something,” she confessed, “but I'm afraid you'll get mad again.”

He hugged her closer. “I might, but I promise to stay calm and let you say what you need to.”

Reaching out, she traced his lips with a finger. Teasingly, he caught the tip of her finger in his teeth, making her giggle. Since the topic was obviously so important to him, however, she forced herself to be serious. “Do you really think people view you and Max as interchangeable? Anyone who knows you sees the differences between you.”

Smoothing his hands up and down her back, he said, “Yeah? And what differences do you see?”

“Max is less certain of himself, and he disguises it by acting cocky. It's why he sleeps with so many women, and why he jokes around so much. You're more introspective, more serious. You put the weight of the world on your shoulders because you care about people so much. Like what you told me about Trisha. You interrupted your own plans to talk with her. Max wouldn't have. Not that Max doesn't care, but he wouldn't have felt comfortable getting that close to someone's scars. He'd have helped her, but by grabbing one of us or your mother to talk to her.”

For a moment, Rhys couldn't respond. He was so choked up by how she saw him that he almost wanted to duck his head and hide for fear that she'd see just how much. Max was more comfortable with people, but she was right: It was mostly on a superficial level. Rhys, their parents, Melina—they were the only ones Max had ever really trusted enough to let inside. Rhys's circle wasn't that much bigger, so he knew Melina was exaggerating to a degree. He still liked how she saw him.

“There's another difference between you, but I'm not sure if I should tell you. It might give you a big head,” she whispered.

He grinned and arched his hips into her, making her gasp. “Too late for that.”

She stretched up so she could whisper in his ear, deliberately dragging her nipples against his chest. “You promise you won't tell anyone?”

Dropping his hands to her lush hips and pulling her in tighter, Rhys groaned, “I promise.”

Raising herself up slightly, Melina looked directly into Rhys's eyes. “You're way better looking than Max,” she deadpanned.

Rhys's eyes widened, then narrowed. “You little—” Digging his fingers into Melina's sides, he tickled her, making her screech and laugh with delight even as she struggled to get away.

He ceased tickling her almost immediately and instead wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. The last thing he wanted, he realized, was for her to get away.

Chapter Nine

Dalton's Magic Rule #10: Know when to move on.

The next morning, Melina woke to a curious swishing sound. Stretched out on her stomach and nestled under Rhys's down comforter, she patted the bed next to her, confirming that Rhys was no longer with her. Blinking her eyes open, she yawned and stretched, hissing at the soreness in long-neglected muscles even as she grinned. Rolling slowly onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, straining her ears to identify the sound that continued to drift through the closed bedroom door.

A flash of white caught her eye, and she bolted into a sitting position, then fumbled for her glasses on the nightstand. After jamming them on her face, she stared at the white pieces of fabric slung over the doorknob.

It was the bikini she'd bought. The one she'd taken out of her purse and then chickened out of wearing. She'd stuffed it into her overnight bag before they'd left for the lake, only Rhys had obviously found it. Her first reaction was embarrassment. Sure, he'd said she was a bikini girl, but something this flashy and risqué? Something so out of character for her? Had he been amused by her purchase or turned on?

Standing, she moved toward the door and picked up the bikini, grimacing at the little piece of string that was supposed to (not) cover her bottom. But the longer she looked at it, the more certain she became.

It had turned him on, she decided.

Why wouldn't it? It answered the pop quiz he'd given her. If the bikini didn't prove how far she was willing to go to have him, she wasn't sure what would.

But then she frowned.

She'd bought the bikini, yes, but she hadn't worn it. And, worse, he'd probably guessed why.

Swoosh
.
Swoosh
. The strange sound was a bit louder now that she was so close to the door. Whatever he was doing out there, she tried to imagine his reaction if she sauntered out wearing nothing but the bikini. She got all hot thinking about it, so she quickly pulled on the bottom piece, then looked down at herself. Since she'd waxed, her bikini line was bare. Her skin looked smooth and somewhat creamy, just liked he'd said. Unfortunately, if she looked closely she could see the first sign of stubble on her calves, and she knew from behind she had a dimple or two or ten that she wouldn't be able to hide. Suddenly she wasn't feeling so hot.

She bit her lip, undecided. This was her last day with Rhys. She wanted to make the most of it. Did she really want to wear something she felt less than confident in?

Shaking her head, she quickly pulled off the bottom, returned the pieces to her overnight bag, and then rushed into the bathroom to brush her teeth and dress. Compromising, she pulled on the shorts and pretty lavender tank top she'd bought for the weekend. It showed more skin than she normally did, so she didn't feel quite as cowardly as she did about the bikini.

She opened the door, then froze, sucking in her breath at the sight in front of her.

Rhys stood in the living room with the front door open. He was wearing jeans but nothing else. Sunlight illuminated his bare chest and muscular arms as he rhythmically worked sandpaper across some kind of wooden frame. A light layer of sweat covered him, and he paused to swipe at his forehead, then downed some water from a bottle. Staring at his throat as he chugged the water, Melina licked her lips and automatically stepped forward, wanting to wrap her arms around him and get all sweaty herself.

He glanced up and saw her, his smile making her knees tremble. He put down the water bottle. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said back, moving closer.

His eyes swept down her body. “Very sexy. But it's not a bikini.”

His exaggerated pout made her laugh. “No.”

“I hope you don't mind that I went through your bag. I threw your shorts and tee into the wash, and figured I'd throw in anything else that needed to be washed, too.”

“That was very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he replied, looking amused.

She peered at what he was working on. She'd been right—it was a frame, with gentle curves, scrolled corbels, and intricate beadwork. “Oh, Rhys. What a beautiful mantel.”

Grinning, he swiped his hand across the top. “Isn't it? Someone painted it, and I've been wanting to get to the grain underneath. Since you were sleeping, I thought I'd try to get some of it done before we leave.”

His voice trailed off and he frowned. Wishfully, she wondered if it was because he didn't like the idea of their weekend ending. Since he didn't say that, she just nodded, trying to tell herself the sudden tightness in her throat was a result of all the talking they'd done last night. Looking around, she grabbed a banana from the counter and backed toward the bedroom. “You can keep working on it. I have some stuff I need to read anyway. I'm presenting at a conference this week…”

Now it was her turn to frown. Hello. Conference. Jamie. Baby.

The day before yesterday she'd been imagining holding Jamie's baby. She hadn't thought of him once since being with Rhys. She certainly hadn't spared a thought, enthusiastic or otherwise, for their after-conference drink date. That was so not good.

Despite Lucy's concerns, Melina genuinely liked Jamie. He was attractive. Kind. Deep. She'd been excited by the prospect of going out with him. By the possibility of their future together. Heck, she'd liked him enough to try to turn herself into a sexual dynamo. In truth, she could barely remember what he looked like. All she saw—all she smelled and felt and longed for—was Rhys. Now here he was in front of her, and all she could think about was how it was going to end.

“Melina? Are you okay?”

She bit her lip, wanting to shout,
No, I am not okay.
She'd never be okay. Not after this. “You know how I am with public speaking,” she forced out. “I'm presenting a workshop with Jamie. It's a wonderful opportunity since I'll be just one of three on a panel. Jamie talked me into it, but I guess I'm still more nervous than I'd hoped.”

“You'll do great.” He put down the sandpaper, walked around the mantel, then held out his arms. “Can I have a morning kiss?”

She walked into his arms, squeezing him tightly and kissing him so eagerly that her teeth scraped against his. Obviously sensing her desperation, he pulled back, his brows furrowed. He smoothed a hand over her hair. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“Nothing, nothing.” She pulled away and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I'm just going to grab my paperwork and read in the bedroom if you don't mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I really need to catch up.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but simply said, “One hour and then we can go into town. I'll buy you lunch, and we can walk around?” The hesitation in his voice indicated he was thrown off balance by her strange mood, and she struggled to reassure him. The last thing she wanted was him feeling sorry for her when they went their separate ways.

“That sounds perfect.” Feeling like her face was going to crack because she was smiling so hard, she backed into the bedroom and gave him a cheery wave. Hesitantly, he waved back.

She shut the door. Leaning her forehead against it, she tried telling herself that the weekend wasn't over yet. She had the whole day with him before he left for…for…

She scrunched up her face.

She didn't even know where he was going when he left her.

With the thought came a wave of intense emotion. Dropping the banana on the floor, she covered her mouth with both hands in order to stifle the grief that tried to pour out of her. Turning, she stumbled, but she didn't even make it to the bed. Slowly, she sank to the floor and curled into a fetal position.

She was splintering apart, she thought. No matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes shut, the tears leaked out, all the more painful for their silence.

***