“Rhys and Jules. Rhules.”
He blinked slowly, staring at the screen. Scarlett had not warned him about Rhules. “This is the stupidest—there are pictures of us.” His brow furrowed as he scrolled. “A lot of pictures. None of these are actually compromising situations.” He glanced up. “They make us look…”
“Like we’re together.” She nodded.
“This picture is from years ago. Someone posted it last week.” He turned the screen toward her. “That’s Italy. Three years ago.”
“You look great,” she said.
He was standing on the back of a twenty-eight-foot luxury speedboat that Abigail had insisted they take out on Lake Como. They’d raced along the water and found a cove to slip into, allowing the ladies to cool off in the water. Wearing dark shades and with his arms crossed, he eyed the paparazzi speedboats that had followed them. Except in the angle of this picture, Rhys looked like he was glaring at the photographers. “I look like I want to murder people.”
“I always thought it looked like you were watching over me.”
He had been, but he should have kept a neutral expression. “I was, but I look like murder is on the table if they get too close.”
“They didn’t. Your glare kept them away.” Jules laughed. “What about this one? Remember how you saved me?”
He didn’t know why she’d asked. He literally remembered everything. Rhys thumbed the next picture into view. It was him holding out the sides of his dark suit jacket, looking away, as she and Sloane fixed a near-wardrobe malfunction. “That’s not Rhules. That’s me ensuring you didn’t have an FCC violation for a boob popping out on a live broadcast.”
“It’s you being a gentleman, Rhys. Close your eyes. Let’s play the Rhules lotto. I’ll swipe, and we’ll see what memory we land on.”
“I’m not closing my eyes.”
“You’re certainly not being fun.” She scrolled through her screen and counted to three. Her thumb stopped the freefall of Rhules posts. “What’s this one?”
The cast of the sci-fi thriller she’d starred in beamed for the rows of photographers shouting their names. Except Jules faced him. He stared at her. A million things were happening in thatpicture, but neither of them seemed to notice anything but each other.
He vividly remembered that night and that dress, the way it clung to her sides and how the slit showed off her leg. But more than that, he remembered her asking if she should go on a date with Mason Marlow. They were friends, and he’d asked her out.
Rhys had said sure, if Mason made her laugh and helped her forget that they were living under a microscope, then she should go for it. Jules had said no; that was his job. Rhys had almost corrected her, telling her his only job was to keep her safe. But her look grabbed him by the throat, and he didn’t say a word to contradict.
Everyone shouted her name. Rhys couldn’t tear his gaze from her. She didn’t look away either. Three seconds ticked by until she turned toward the cameras—an eternity on the red carpet.
“I don’t remember that one,” she said, quickly scrolling.
She was lying, and that night grabbed him by the throat all over again.
“Anyway,” she managed. “They’re just silly pictures.”
“Yeah.”
“Like the ridiculous ones Sloane has roped us into down here.”
“Yeah,” he said again.
They were both lying, and it changed the air pressure on this warm Caribbean night.
What if he’d told her Mason Marlow was a tool? Rhys hadn’t known that about the guy at the time. What if she’d never asked his opinion? Then they wouldn’t have this picture, where it looked like they were trying to read each other’s souls.
Chapter Fifteen
They walked in uncomfortable silence along the paths threading along the beach. The sounds of waves crashing and the steady breeze kept the quiet from becoming too unbearable. Jules couldn’t shake the goose bumps that had arrived with the picture of her staring at Rhys like he was the only man on earth. Embarrassed and aware of how she’d stared at him, she wished Rhys hadn’t seen that picture.
Not to mention, she didn’t have his memory, but she knew the exact conversation they’d had before the picture had been taken. So long as he couldn’t read her mind, then he’d never know that the moment her question about Mason had slipped past her lips, she wondered what it would be like to kiss Rhys.
Not that she had a crush on her bodyguard. Not that she could ever trust him enough to date. But she’d wondered. What would those large, strong hands feel like? He’d touched her before but nevertouchedher. And in that moment, captured in thatphotograph, the wondering had been inescapable. Her heart rate picked up the pace.
She still wondered. Tonight, she’d find out, even if they were just posing for a camera.
