Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(28)

It makes me hiss out a breath that he mistakes for pain.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, mimicking me while shaking his head. Then he hoists me up onto the counter like I’m a feather and steps close enough that my knees bump against his steely quads.

He’s still inspecting my burn with an expression that makes it seem like it’s offended him. When he carefully swipes the lotion over my pink skin, it’s too much. Deep down, I feel like I don’t deserve the level of doting.

He’s too gentle. So handsome that it hurts. I’m forced to look away from the way he tends to me.

Stupidly, I opt to soak in his naked torso instead. A fool’s strategy to keep from wanting to climb him.

My eyes trace hard line after hard line, the masculine dark hair leading up from his waist, a bit thicker on his chest.

Then I stop.

Just below his right collarbone is a heavy bruise, its edges fading to yellow. Without thinking, I reach up and run my fingertips over it, as if I can wipe it away. But it does no such thing.

“What is this?”

“A bruise.” Leave it to Rhys to give me nothing.

“From what? What the hell kind of porn are you filming?”

“I don’t do porn, Tabby.” Despite his harsh tone, he continues rubbing my hand gently. “I already told you that.”

“You did. But I don’t believe you. Are you okay?” I let my genuine worry seep into my words, hoping he’ll hear my concern. My fingers move away from the bruise and trail up over his collarbone, as though checking for any further damage of their own accord.

I shift my body to look at him, trying to make eye contact, but he keeps his focus on my hand. I swear I can hear his teeth grind. “I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, it’s none of your business.”

Rearing back at that, I regard him more coolly now, yanking my hand away with enough force that I finally break free from his hold. Of course, his body still has me caged in where I’m seated.

“The feeling is mutual, and yet you hauled me up here to fix what wasn’t your business.”

“You need help.”

A dry laugh crests my lips. “What?”

Rhys glares down at me and moves his hands to either side of my hips, propping them against the counter, effectively caging me in. “With Milo. I’ve been here for all of three days, and it’s been busy with both of us taking care of him. I can see you’re doing too much for one person. You’re tired. You’ve lost weight. You need help.”

Now it’s my turn to go rigid. Sure, I’m tired a lot. And yes, sometimes I forget to eat more than coffee.

But that’s not why I spilled the hot liquid on myself.

They say the days are long, but the years are short. Soon Milo won’t need me the way he does right now. And I don’t begrudge him this time. I revel in it, especially knowing Rhys could yank it out from under me at any moment.

“Oh, and you think you can do better?”

One firm nod from the mountain man. “I can afford to hire help.”

My jaw goes slack. He hit me right where it hurts. In the finances. “Are you kidding me right now? That’s your grand plan? Take Milo away from everything he knows and hire help to care for him?”

Rhys maintains an emotionless stare and says nothing.

I lift a hand and give him a push. Right on his bruise. “Are you taking him with you tomorrow?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

“No.”

His one-word answer is enough for me. I hop off the counter and shove past him to pour myself a fresh cup of coffee. Then I march outside like I wanted to do before his naked torso walked into the kitchen and fucked everything up.

But it’s not as relaxing as I anticipated. I’m angry and horny, and I feel like Rhys is watching me through the glass doors. But I refuse to check in case he sees and gets satisfaction out of thinking I care.

The next day, he leaves, and we don’t see each other or say goodbye.

The weird part is, I feel guilty about it.





CHAPTER 14


Rhys





Rhys: Checking in. How are you?

Tabby: You’re not here. So…poor and happy, I guess?



“DO YOU GUYS OWN GUNS?”

West, Ford, and Bash stare back at me like I’ve grown a second head. Okay, not Bash. He looks at me like you look at gum that’s stuck to the bottom of your shoe before responding with, “I have a hunting rifle. It stays in a locked cabinet in the basement. Why?”

I shrug. It’s been another two weeks since I was last here, and all I did was worry about Tabitha and Milo while I was away. It’s fucking insane.

I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night questioning if they were safe. Wondering if Tabitha’s burned hand is okay. The only saving grace is that she texted me photos of Milo. Never many words though. Which means I know they’re alive, but not how they’re doing.

Not that I should expect much else after the way I left things.

Flaunting my money and saying shit I shouldn’t have while keeping her completely in the dark was a real dick move. But hashing things out is not my forte. I’m well aware that I’m no open book. Sharing things about myself is a quality that people drummed out of me many, many years ago. And the truth is, I don’t know what to do about Milo and the guardianship.