Page 32 of Taylor’s Warrior

The kiss—the first one—had lived up to his fantasies and then some. Many more had followed, when they’d made themselves comfortable on the sofa. The last had been at the door to Taylor’s bedroom before they’d called it a night. He had no doubt she would have agreed had he suggested spending the night together, but with this woman he wanted to take his time and savor the journey. He didn’t want to rush her into something she might end up regretting.

He wasn’t that much of a scoundrel.

Rhys allowed himself a silent chuckle. He could hear his mother as clearly as if she were standing at his side and reading his mind.

“Paid â bod yn ddihiryn, fy mab.”

“Scoundrel” was one of his mother’s words and was very characteristic of the way she’d raised him, with her insistence that he behave like a gentleman at all times when he was involved with a woman.

Catrin Dalton was a formidable woman with a voice and a manner that, when warranted, had been capable of freezing the marrow in his teenage bones. Even the memory of it was enough to do something similar over fifteen years later. It would be good to catch up with her and all his family when he paid a visit home later in the year.

He glanced at his watch. In another hour, he’d be making his daily call to Nick. Maybe this time, there would be news of some progress he could pass on to Taylor. Her emotions were a turbulent mix of frustration, fear, and worry—it was about time she heard something that would lessen that burden.

And that thought led back to the questions he’d contemplated last night as he’d lain in bed after escorting Taylor to her room—specifically Charles Markham, and where the man was hiding out. Nothing about this situation sat right with Rhys. What kind of a man would leave his daughter in limbo for years, then dump all this shit in her lap and at the same time forbid her from involving anyone else? Thank God she’d taken no notice of that warning. When they finally tracked him down, the accountant had better have a damn good reason for his actions—otherwise, Rhys would be sorely tempted to give him a come-to-Jesus moment.

Hell, he might just do it anyway, good reason be damned.

Now there was a turn-up for the books—his relationship with Taylor had become personal all of five minutes ago, and he was already claiming the role of her knight in shining armor. The guys he’d left behind in the SAS would rip him a new one if they ever found out how fast he was sliding down the slippery slope to serious intimacy.

Before that train of thought could speed any further into dangerous territory, it was derailed by the vibration of an incoming call on his cell phone. Caller display confirmed the identity of the caller.

“Nick?”

“I know you’re due to report in about an hour from now, but this couldn’t wait.”

Rhys listened intently as his boss got straight to the point. And the end of the call, he remained in the same position, his gaze lingering on the pool in front of him. His outer calm was an effective smokescreen for the rage building inside him, in case Taylor came to join him. He didn’t want to have to explain why he wanted to beat the ever-loving shit out of her useless excuse for a father.

However, he’d been trained to remain professional, keep a cool head, and rein in any primitive impulses. Taylor was his priority, and he had to work out the best way to share what he’d just learned, because shit was about to get real.

Before he did that, though, he needed to speak to Wolf. Although it was still quite early, it was likely the SEAL would already be up and about.

His call was answered after only a couple of rings. The exchange was brief but long enough to secure the assistance he might need. Having done that, Rhys turned his attention to the next item on his agenda.

The conversation was going to be brutal enough without delivering it—or having it delivered—on an empty stomach. He drained his cup and diverted briefly to the kitchen to leave it in the sink, then made his way to Taylor’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

That was good—she sounded wide awake. He pushed the bedroom door open, to be greeted by the sight of Taylor—fortunately fully clothed—seated on the edge of the bed, pulling a brush through her hair. When she turned toward him, her face lit up with a smile that caught him with a perfect roundhouse punch to the solar plexus.

“Good morning.”

Rhys responded in kind, then started the conversation. “How did you sleep?”

Taylor stood, depositing the brush on the nightstand as she did so. “Better than I have for the last few nights.”

He cursed silently. Chances were he was about to ruin any prospect of that continuing. “Glad to hear it.” He held out his hand. “Are you ready for some breakfast?”

“Starving. Would you like pancakes?”

This time, he groaned aloud as his plans to make breakfast were summarily blown out of the water. Taylor was lethal in the kitchen when it came to the deployment of baked treats, and over the last couple of days, he’d discovered her prowess extended even further when it came to just about anything most people would consider edible. He tried to decline the offer, but his mouth had other ideas.

“I would love pancakes, thank you.”

Seated across the table from her as they made their way through the pile of perfect pancakes—accompanied by blueberries and maple syrup—Rhys contemplated the conversation they would soon have. He was just glad to have all the pieces in place, because presenting her with a fait accompli was probably the least painful option.

After he’d stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, it was time to tell Taylor about the call from Nick. “Tay, before we do anything else… I need to talk to you.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Sure.”