Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (11 page)

“Why are you saying all of this?” I gather enough breath to ask.

“Is there something going on between you and Dub?”

If I really wanted to put him off until I figure out this video thing, I’d say yes, but I can’t do that. It would violate too much. Make him question something that isn’t the question at all.

“I told you no,” I say softly.

“You sure?” His eyes don’t leave me. “’Cause it looks like it. Everyone seems to think you’re with him.”

“I know, but you should know—”

“I should know what?” He takes his jacket off, tossing it to the corner of the loft. “What am I supposed to think when you won’t even talk to me, and I see you all over the place with
him
?”

“You’re supposed to think he’s my choreographer. That he’s my friend.” I pause before going on. “And what about you and Petra? Did anything happen on tour with her?”

He scowls, huffing his irritation out in a quick exhale.

“Don’t ask me dumb questions.”

“So it’s dumb when I ask, but perfectly valid when you do?”

“I’m not the one who left and shut you out.” Rhyson slams his fist into his palm. “Not a day has gone by that you didn’t know I still wanted this. That I still wanted you. And from you? Nothing.”

“I needed that time to pursue this opportunity.” The memory of his betrayal, the pain blowing a hole in me like a twelve-gauge shotgun when I found out what he took from me, returns full force. “And to get over what you did. Rhyson, you hurt me. What you did hurt me.”

“I know that.” He growls under his breath, and I know this anger is directed at himself, not at me. “I was dumb. I was an asshole and handled it all wrong. You know I know that, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. Ever. And you’ve been acting like it’s over.”

“At first I thought maybe it was.” I snap a stalk of hay between my fingers.

“At first?” Rhyson looks up from the barn floor, eyes alert. “Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?”

Growing up, Mama always reminded me that love keeps no record of wrongs. I didn’t know until now that true love, pure love, the
right
love, doesn’t keep that record because it
can’t
. I can’t. I have to forgive Rhyson because I have to be with him. I just want it to be right. I want
us
to be right. To resolve the things that broke us in the first place. And as much as I want to just pick right back up where we left off, that might take some time.

“Pep.” As hard as I know he’s trying to keep his tone even, desperation puckers it. “I asked if you’ve forgiven me.”

If I say yes, he’ll be all over me. Not just physically, though he’s like a tuning fork vibrating, and my body the instrument helplessly aligning itself to him. He’ll be all over me to be with him. God help me, I want him all over me.

“Yeah, I’ve forgiven you.” Emotion whittles my words down to a whisper. “I have to.”

The words have barely left my mouth and he’s across the space, dropping to his haunches in front of me, palms at the back of my head, thumbs caressing my cheeks and running over my lips.

“Thank God.” He presses his forehead to mine, standing on his knees. “Baby, come home.”

I release a sigh, a breath between our lips.

“I kind of don’t have a home right now.”

He rubs our noses together, his words cool on my lips.

“This
is
home. Us is home. Come back.”

“I . . .” A ragged breath climbs my throat. “I just . . .”

“You just what?” he whispers, so close the words float across my mouth.

“It’s not that simple to fix, Rhys.” I close my eyes tightly against the emotion reflected in his. “I don’t even know if I trust you right now.”

“I’ll earn it back.” He sprinkles kisses over my cheeks, his fingers creeping into the hair at my nape to draw me closer. “Give me the chance to earn it back, baby.”

“But you can’t control me, Rhys.” I allow myself a quick kiss before finishing my point. “Love isn’t control.”

“You’re right. I’ve got control issues.” He sucks my bottom lip between his like he can’t help himself before he goes on. “I’ll work on ‘em. I swear.”

“Yes, but . . .” I pull his top lip between mine, sucking and groaning into the contact I’ve missed so much. “We need to—”

“We’re doing what we need to do.”

He fuses our lips together, stoking the passion higher with every second we touch. It’s even better than I remember, kissing him. His tongue brushes inside my jaw, over my teeth, licking the roof. Repossessing me with every stroke. I taste his desperation, his regret. I know he must taste my forgiveness because I can’t hold it back. It rushes up to meet him, burning my throat and streaking tears down my face.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His voice wavers as he wets his lips with my tears. “I won’t do it again. I promise. Not like that.”

“I want to believe you.” I slide my fingers into the cool, silky hair.

“Then believe me. I miss you so fucking much, Kai,” he breathes the words over my neck. “I need . . . I have to . . . baby . . .”

He gives up on words, pressing me back onto the soft hay. He dips his nose into the shallow cleft barely visible between my breasts, inhaling.

“Pear and cinnamon,” he whispers, continuing down my torso, past my waist. His hands slide the dress up my legs, and I’m already gasping just from his palms caressing behind my knees. His head disappears under my dress. He pushes my panties aside, and his lips close over me. My back arches up, pressing my breasts into the air like an offering. He slides the panties off altogether, pulling my legs over his shoulders. He nibbles at the lips, separating me with his tongue. Spreading his mouth over me as his hands traverse the backs of my thighs to grip my bare butt, pulling me into his hunger.

“This is mine,” he says hotly against the wet flesh. “And I’m yours, Kai. Nothing changes that. Ever. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I pant, twisting the tablecloth beneath us between my fingers, gale force pleasure ripping through me. “Oh, God. I know.”

He keeps worshiping me with his lips and tongue until my legs spasm, my body stiffening with the intensity of it. My fingers twine in his thick hair, trapping him against me, pushing him deeper into me. My hips rock into his urgent kisses. He’s eating me like I’m so good, his moans vibrating against me, layering sensation on top of sensation until I’m nothing more than a wave beautifully cresting, violently crashing; a tide pulled in, licking at the sand. I’m limp and sated, arms fallen to my sides, head lolling back, drained of all movement, but he’s still tasting me like he can’t stop, his lips and tongue warm and compulsive.

Steps below startle us, still us.

“Rhys,” Grip calls up. “It’s almost time. They’re leaving soon.”

From between my knees, Rhyson’s eyes burn a possessive trail up my body and to my face, his hands venturing over the sensitized skin of my inner thighs as he presses me open wider. He looks between my legs like he wants more. Like I’m something sweet in the store window he’s not sure he can walk past.

“Okay,” he calls down, voice hoarse. “Be down in a minute.”

Grip chuckles from below.

“Wrap that shit up and get back out there before you miss the send off.”

As I slip my panties on, I can’t even manage embarrassment that Grip knows. The love, the tenderness in Rhyson’s eyes, in his touch as he pulls me to my feet, crowd out everything else until we reach the floor below. As soon as my feet touch the barn floor, all the reasons I have to slow this down, to control it, come rushing back, chief among them a sex tape I can’t risk Rhsyon seeing. Maybe San is right. Maybe Rhyson
can
get past it. Or maybe he can’t, and he’d never see me the same again. And the thought of losing this, the way he’s looking at me right now, isn’t worth the risk. If there’s one thing I’ve seen for myself, one thing I learned from my father, even in a love this deep, there are no guarantees.

My back to the ladder, I tighten my fingers around his, pulling him in for a moment to face me. He stands on one foot and rests the other on a rung of the ladder behind me, pressing into my belly, so I can’t escape feeling him hard and long and ready.

“Come home with me,” he whispers near my ear, one hand above our heads on the ladder, the other wandering beneath my dress to squeeze my butt. Just that gentle squeeze has me clenching again in my panties. With reason my only weapon, I fight my way back through the fog.

“Rhyson, we need to talk about how this will be.”

He drops his lips to mine, feeding the scent of my body to me in light kisses.

“Better than cake,” he whispers against my lips. “You taste better than cake. Come home. I need to be inside you, Pep, so bad.”

I squeeze my thighs together against the pleasure his words dart through me. His words stroke me as surely as his lips and tongue. I tuck my head under his chin and grip his elbows.

“If I go home with you, I’ll end up in your bed.”

Laughter rumbles deep in his chest, and he pulls me so close it reverberates through me. He pulls back just far enough to tip up my chin.

“Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.” He drops a quick kiss on my lips.

“If we make love . . . have sex . . .” I falter, not sure how to articulate what I’m thinking. “If we sleep together—”

“Is this conversation supposed to be making me less horny? Because that’s not what’s happening.”

“Rhyson.” I laugh up at him, happy to be with him, even with all the complications. Even with the threat of exposure. “I’m just saying we haven’t seen each other in two months. We haven’t resolved anything. Sex is always right between us, and it’ll only give us a false sense that
everything
is right, when it’s not yet. Let’s just take it slow.”

“Slow.” He pulls a breath in through his nose, expels it in a rush. “We can do slow.”

“And not public.” I glance up at him. “For now it would help me a lot if people don’t know we’re back together.”

He stiffens against me, his arm dropping from overhead, his booted foot leaving the ladder to hit the barn floor.

“Not public?” Irritation clouds his face. “Why?”

“I’m back on tour in just a few days.” I touch the lapel of the jacket he retrieved. “All the crazy viralness is just now dying down from that fight everyone saw. I’m starting to make my mark, and people are paying attention for the
right
reasons. For my music, my performance on tour. Can I just have the rest of this tour to let it be that without all the speculation about us? To prove myself before it becomes about us again?”

There was a time when everything I just said would be the truth, and to a degree, it
is
true. Those are all valid reasons, but if it wasn’t for this video, I honestly wouldn’t care if the whole world speculated about Rhyson and me. I’d do my thing on tour and proudly be his girl. But there
is
the video, and I have to find out who’s behind it.

“So you don’t want to be public?” His eyes fall to the barn floor. “You don’t want people to know we’re back together?”

“Just ‘til I’m done with the tour,” I rush to say, cupping his chin. “Just give me this next month. We won’t be together anyway ‘cause I’ll be on the road.”

He clears his throat and steps away from me, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“I’ve done enough to set you back.” He looks up, wearing his disappointment and his acceptance on his face. “If that’s how you want it for now, then okay.”

“Just until I get off tour. I promise.”

If I haven’t found out who’s blackmailing me by then, I’ll have to confess, but I’ve at least bought myself another month to work on this. I tip up on my toes, one hand gripping the back of his neck and the other wandering into his hair as I open his lips with mine. Our tongues tangle, our bodies swaying into each other while I lose myself for precious seconds in this kiss, as intimate and as binding as a covenant. His hands tighten at my waist, lifting me up higher until my toes barely brush the ground.

“We need to go,” he says against my lips. “We don’t want to miss Grady and Em.”

We walk back to the orchard, our fingers linked until we reach the edge. I know he’ll hate it as much as I do, but I drop his hand before we arrive at the small clearing leading back to the wedding and to the guests and to the speculation and to the camera phones. To exposure. Back to the world we’ve escaped for the last half hour.

“You go first.” I hang back in the shade of an apple tree. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the studio.”

“I hate this,” he says through tight lips. “I don’t care who knows.”

“Just ‘til I come off tour, Rhyson. Please.”

He bites the inside of his jaw for a second before nodding abruptly and turning to leave. He disappears into the thicket, broad shoulders pressing through the foliage. It sounds stupid, but I miss him already. My resolution to find out who’s behind that tape calcifies into absolute necessity.