She couldn’t imagine the evidence he’d seen, the situations he’d assessed. His ability to compartmentalize must be unimaginable. Otherwise, she didn’t know how he was still standing. “I’d never thought about it like that before. I’m sorry. I should have realized.”
“Don’t be. Why would you?” He stared at her as though he were memorizing what was in front of him now to erase what he’d seen earlier that day.
She didn’t know what to do with being someone’s good memory. She’d never thought of that before. Jules shivered.
“I only brought it up to explain why Titan is a better fit. I still see the ugly, but more often than not, it’s in real life, not an evidence file, and I can do something about it in real time rather than try to find something from the past.”
She chewed on her lip. “How do you deal with the memories?”
“I put it away and never pull that mental file again.” His gaze held on to hers. The hum of the jet clashed against the solitude of the night. “And when I can’t forget, I make good ones that outweigh the bad ones.” After a moment, he looked away. “You should try to get some rest.”
She reached for the pillow and small blanket that rested nearby on the small shelf between them then laid her head on his thigh, spreading the blanket over her legs. “We made good memories that will outweigh today’s.”
His fingers stroked her hair, and her eyes drifted shut. The unnamed, unsettled tension ricocheting in her chest slowly drifted away. Contentment bled through her arms, her legs, her head, and her heart.
Before everything had fallen apart with Mason, Jules would have sworn on a stack of bestselling scripts she’d been content. But whatever this blend of contentment was, it was bliss.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They were wheels down in the middle of the night. The private airport made quick work of processing them, and before dawn could peek at them with its rose-and-purple welcome, Rhys had settled Jules into bed. It wasn’t a safe house, just a small house close to their headquarters, not too far from the center of Granite Creek.
She slept upstairs. He posted on the couch, unable to sleep, unable to leave. Unsure what to do next.
The stairs creaked. Her quiet footsteps padded closer, and his heart thudded harder, reminding him that he was fucked. The things he wanted to do to that woman might scare her back up the stairs. But an agreement was an agreement, and their vacation was over.
Too bad he hadn’t realized how in deep he was. Or maybe he had and just thought there was more time to get a handle on it before real life called.
“I can’t sleep.”
“You’ve been up there for hours.”
She leaned against the wall. “Not sleeping.”
He’d been telling himself this was manageable, but sitting here in the dark, unable to sleep, unable to make himself leave her alone, he’d run out of ways to believe that.
She wore a tiny cami and baggy pajama pants, looking soft and touchable in the barely lit living room. “Can I sit with you?”
He nodded to the spot next to him on the couch.
She moved in front of him instead, and he tipped his head back and caught her emerald eyes.Hell.Lust punched into his throat. Rhys hooked his hands around the back of her thighs and pulled her onto his lap.
Their mouths crashed together. Peppermint kisses and soft lips scattered his thoughts, making him stupid. His hands dived into her hair, angling her head just right. Her moan vibrated into their kiss. The wicked tremors ripped through him, rushing straight to his cock. She rubbed against him, flexing her hips. He couldn’t get enough.
His tongue worked down her neck, stopping only for him to tear her shirt over her head, and he threw himself into worshipping the peaked tips of her glorious breasts. God, this was what he needed: her writhing against his cock, her tits on his tongue, her slender fingers tugging his hair.
“We’re not on vacation,” she managed.
Did it look like he cared? The way she rubbed against him, he didn’t think she cared either. He palmed one breast, flicking her nipple with his thumb, as he lapped his tongue over the tight bead of the other.
“Rhys.” Her head dropped back, her back arching for more, as though the warm, wet heat of his tongue raking over her nipple might make her come.
He alternated breasts, devouring her, letting her ride against him. She pulled his shirt over his head then dug her fingernails into his muscles, begging for more. Begging for him.
He kissed her neck. “Going to let me have you?”
She tilted her head, pulling her hair away, as she nodded. “Please.”
Flipping her onto her back, he ripped her pants down her legs. Rhys buried his face between her legs. She dripped for him, and he loved it—arousing her, tasting her, bringing her to climax when she rode his face. All of it. It was what he needed.
