Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(33)

“Don’t.” I pull back, jump off the bed to gather the sheet and toss it onto the rumpled bed. “I told you it’s the dancing that has me losing weight. Every day, every night, all the time. I can’t keep weight on.”

“And the voice? And the—”

“Rhys, stop.” I walk toward the bathroom and turn on the shower, looking at him over my shoulder. “You’ve been on tour. You know the toll it takes.”

“But I don’t like it taking a toll on you.”

“I’ll be fine. The worst of it’s over. I’m back on the road, and then only another month. I don’t wanna fight, okay?”

He nods, walking toward me, a tall, lean, naked distraction.

“No fighting.” He backs me into the shower until I’m flush against the wet tiles. “We have to make the most of the time we have. Starting now.”

He’s gentle with me, mindful of my bruises, until he can’t be anymore. Until the time we’ve spent apart, wanting and needing, takes over, and he’s rough and fast, taking me hard with my slippery arms and legs wrapped around him and barely hanging on. Every powerful thrust slamming me into the shower wall. Our grunts, groans, and moans echoing off the walls, the love slick between our bodies until I’m coming so hard, I just know my heart will stop. I just know I won’t ever catch my breath again. Every time he loves me, I’m changed. Every time he takes me, I die a little and am born again.

I’ve missed the intimate rituals of living with him almost as much as everything else. Dressing together. The privacy of our nakedness where no one else can see. Our eyes meeting in the mirror to reminisce about what we just shared.

“So this date we’re going on.” I tighten the belt of my robe, one of the many things I left behind when I went on tour. “Tell me more.”

“Music Festival out at Newport Beach.” Rhyson shrugs shoulders still damp from the shower. “Marlon says there’s a few acts I should scope, possibly for Prodigy.”

“Just how do you plan to keep us off the radar?”

“Very simple.” He walks backwards toward his closet, pulling me with him by the belt. Once we’re in, he turns me to face a small alcove at the back. “Voila.”

It basically looks like he raided the nearest Salvation Army. This collection of out-of-date jackets, floral-patterned shirts and polyester pants could only mean one thing.

“You’re going in disguise?”

“We’re going in disguise.” He laughs at the expression I can only imagine is on my face. “While you were blow drying all that hair of yours, I had Sarita run out and buy you a few things that should fit.”

“I hope it’s not polyester.”

“No, that’s my thing.” He opens a small drawer in the panel of built ins. “Let me show you what I was thinking.”

He pulls out a jacket that’s straight from Goodwill.

“Is that a Member’s Only Jacket?” I hold it against my chest. “So what are you, the last Member?”

“Shallow Hal,” he says absently, not looking away from the array of horrific shirts he’s flipping through to offer the movie reference. “Throwing soft balls this morning, are we?”

I haven’t movie stumped him in a long time. Must try harder.

He pulls out a small drawer beneath a row of watches to reveal a disgusting display of fake lip hair.

“You have a mustache collection?” I cackle through the hand covering my mouth. “That’s just weird.”

“My life is weird.” He turns to me, the expression on his face so earnest you’d think this was a matter of national security. “OK. Here’s the first option. I usually save this for special occasions. It’s the handle bar moustache.”

“That thing is not leaving the house with me.”

“See? I knew you would say that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did, so I have a back-up.” He points to a row of thin moustaches.

“And here we have the Creeper Collection, ladies and gents,” I say, disgusted by the little hairy squiggles.

“Is that a no?” His face actually falls.

“Resounding no!”

“What about this one?” He points to an obscenely thick row of hair.

“It’s the size of a pregnant caterpillar.”

“It’s the Magnum P.I. What I like to call full lip coverage. No one ever recognizes me behind this thing.”

“That one will do, I guess. Let’s just go so we won’t miss the first acts.”

“Wait.” He gives me an I’m-loving-this grin and gestures back toward the array of lip toupees. “You have to choose yours.”

“Mine?” My mouth drops open. “I’m not wearing a moustache.”

“Come on. Get in the spirit. It’s like Halloween, but better.”

“Is there candy?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not better.”

“I think going full guy will guarantee that no one recognizes you.” He grabs me by the hips and does a little shake, his voice cajoling me. “It’ll be fun.”

Those sound like famous last words to me, but to be with Rhyson after so long, even in this ridiculous get up will be worth it.