Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(19)

Whatever small talk I thought we might make disintegrates as soon as I brave a glance up at him. The space between our eyes, our bodies, pulses with tension and heat.

“Pep, you’ve got to stop looking at me like that,” Rhyson says, voice strung low and tight.

“Like what? I . . .”

He dips his head, looking up from beneath the dark brows in a way that tells me I know exactly how I’m looking at him. Like he’s a wall I want to scale and devour everything on the other side of. That’s how it feels, assaulting me without warning. The desire to reclaim, repossess him.

“You’re looking at me like you wanna get f*cked in this foyer,” he answers softly.

His husky words set my cheeks on fire, and I lower my eyes so he won’t see just how accurate that statement is. Maybe a little time and distance dulled my memory of this connection that vibrates between us like a physical thing exploding onto my senses. Our passion sprinkles across my tongue. Our lust hovers like a torch just shy of my skin. Our love—an ultrasonic boom, out of frequency for everyone but the two of us.

“I-I guess I didn’t really think about how it would be seeing you again.” I glance up at him once I have my body set to simmer.

“And I haven’t been able to think of anything else.” His eyes never leave my face, and I can’t look away for the life of me. We’ve trapped each other, and less and less I want to wiggle free.

“It’s good to see you,” I manage.

“Is it?”

He takes my hand, pulling me subtly closer inch by inch. His thumb brushing over my wrist electrifies the skin, jolting me back to my surroundings. A glance around confirms that several people watch us closely, probably waiting for a replay of the last scene Rhyson and I entertained the world with. Is one of them keeping tabs on me for my blackmailer? Could one of them be . . . him? I jerk my hand away, slipping it into the slit pocket of my skirt.

Rhyson stiffens, eyes narrowing.

“So I can’t touch you now?”

“It’s not that.” I step back, allowing myself room to catch my breath and patch my composure back together. “Or maybe it is that, at least not in front of all these people itching to grab their camera phones.”

“You’re not leaving this wedding without talking to me.” He captures my eyes with his. “I can’t trust that you’ll answer my calls or text me back or see me, and you only have a week off tour.”

I glance uneasily at the clusters of wedding guests milling around the spacious foyer.

“I’m not sure, Rhys.”

“Well, I am, and I don’t care who hears or sees, so if you want to avoid attention, I suggest you listen.”

I don’t put it past him to make a scene. What if Drex isn’t working alone? Whoever sent that mock up knew I was coming to the wedding today. Somehow they know my schedule. The last thing I need is to tip off the crazy person holding that disgusting video over my head. I have to be careful.

“Okay, what are you thinking?” I ask.

“You want to know what I’m thinking right now?” A grin quirks his full lips. “Well, in my mind, you’re not wearing any clothes and—”

“Rhyson.” I close my eyes, hating the insistent heat flooding my face. “I mean about us . . . talking. What are you thinking?”

“There’s my blush.” He dusts his knuckles across my cheekbone. Despite the eyes I feel on us, I can’t pull back. Finally, his hand falls away. “There’s an orchard that borders the yard out back where the ceremony’s being held. Through that orchard, on the other side, is an old barn.”

“When?” I flick an anxious glance over the small crowd around us, my voice barely reaching a whisper.

“I have all kinds of responsibilities today.” A smile softens the firm line of his mouth. “Best man stuff.”

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, longer than I’ve ever seen it, falling past his neck, riotous, thick and dark. My fingers itch to get in there, to twist into it.

“So the last thing I have to do is the best man toast.” His words draw my attention from the affair I’m having with his hair in my head. “After that, slip away to the barn.”

My mind catches up to his plan for us to talk. It’s reckless. Foolhardy. Any hint that Rhyson and I are together could set off a salacious fire I won’t be able to put out. Even standing here with him now so close is dangerous. But seeing him, being so close that his familiar scent lures me to lean in, I hurl caution far to the wind. I’ll slip away. I have to.

Before I get the chance to tell him so, Bristol strides over to us, her dark hair up and elegant. Her tall frame sheathed in a dress the same blue as Rhyson’s tie.

“Rhys, we need you.” She doesn’t even look at me or acknowledge my presence. “They want to make sure the piano is still tuned the way you want it. Something about the weather affecting it outdoors.”

“Yeah, I need to check that.” He looks back to me, eyes intent. “I’ll give you a shout out during the song I’m playing.”

I’m used to this by now, so I know he means he’ll tug his ear like he usually does during performances.

“You wrote a song for them?” I ask.

He leans in until his breath touches my ear, until his fingers touch my elbow, so his words can touch my heart.