Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(56)

I watch her smile down at the screen as my gravelly voice filters from the device. With only a few long strides, I stand beside her, looking down at the recording. And she wasn’t wrong. The lighting is better. She even zoomed in slowly so that you get a good close-up as I deliver my parting words.

I put an arm over her shoulder, mask dangling from my hand, and pull her in for a side hug. Partly a weird attempt at being friendly but casual, and partly because I itch to touch her. I want to tell her how special it is to me that she jumped in and helped with this.

But where Wild Side is just fine with expressing himself, Rhys is more like squeezing blood from rocks where emotions are concerned.

“Thank you, Tabby,” is what I settle on. It’s simple, but it gets the job done.

She turns her smile up at me. And fuck, it’s blinding. “Mrs. Wild Side to the rescue. Do we get to do more?”

My brows jump in surprise. “More?”

“Yeah. Like…again? Will I get to see my clip on TV?”

“Your clip?”

“Oh yeah.” She scoffs and mimes brushing dirt off her shoulder. All it does is draw my eyes down the front of her soft black sweater—the one with the plunging neckline and layered gold necklaces. From here, I can see a peek of a red bra, and I swallow the groan that surges up in my throat at the sight. “I’m your official camerawoman now. In fact…”

I’m so busy gawking at her that my reaction time is slow.

She grabs my mask and spins out of my hold, hiking it over her face in one fluid motion. “I think I need a headshot and video credit.”

“Absolutely not.” I reach for her, but she turns away again.

“Never mind this wedding band. I need a matching mask,” she calls over her shoulder as she hustles away, laughter floating through the chilled basement.

I go after her, covering the ground in long strides. I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s one of several masks. Nothing special, really. Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to follow her around. “Tabitha.”

She turns and strikes a pose with a hand beneath her chin at the base of the stairs. The lime-green lines on the mask pop against her dark hair. “Admit it. I look cute like this.”

“That’s not the word I’d use,” I grumble, reaching forward with a chuckle as I make a feeble attempt at unmasking her.

Her sweater slips between my fingers as she jogs up a few steps before taunting me. “How are you going to catch Little Willy, Rhys? You can’t even catch me.”

And then my wife, wearing my mask, holds her fingers up in a peace sign, sticks her tongue out, and snaps a selfie on my phone.

I take two steps with one stride, and this time, I do catch her. My hands snag on her waist, and I drag her down onto my lap as I turn. And then I’m seated on the stairs, back pressed to the steps behind me, with Tabitha straddling me.

I peel the mask back and toss it over my shoulder, gaze burning across her features.

My plan ends there.

I’m met with flushed cheeks, wide eyes, and parted lips. Her mouth. God. I can’t stop staring at her mouth. The light from upstairs shines down on us, illuminating her in the most enticing glow. What started out playfully suddenly feels serious.

“Caught you,” I rumble. “Now what?”

“Now…” she breathes, but doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, her head drops closer, body arching toward mine. Then she fists the front of my shirt and kisses me.





CHAPTER 26


Tabitha





MY HUSBAND HAS NO FUCKING BUSINESS LOOKING THIS good. That’s how I’m justifying pouncing on him. Because Rhys and I are far too complicated for this to be a good idea.

Grief is still my constant companion, and a feeling I’ve become numb to carrying with me. I should be too sad—too angry—to maul this man.

But right now, I don’t feel any of those things. No, I feel electric. With Rhys holding me, I feel no sadness. And I want more of that feeling. Straddling his lap, with his hands on my waist, and that fucking mask tossed a few stairs up—I want him.

My hands cup his bristled jawline as I move my mouth, savoring this sensation.

He stills.

But then his fingers flex on my waist in a way that sends a current straight to my core. He makes no other move, so I take the lead, firm and demanding from the first swipe of my tongue. Leaving no sliver of doubt in his mind about what I’m after.

A quick nip at his bottom lip gets me a groan and a whispered, “Fuck, I’ve dreamed of this,” against my damp lips.

Then he grabs the back of my head and sears me with a kiss of his own. Like everything he does, there’s a raw power to each motion. The way his tongue lays claim. The way his opposite hand roams my hip, as though he’s touched me a million times before this moment.

His hand slips beneath my sweater to splay over my back. Having his hands on my body does nothing but drive me wild. It makes me want so much more, and that desperate feeling coursing through my veins gives me pause.

My fingers flutter over his cheeks. I cling to him, and he clings back. We fall into a rhythm. Give and take. Hard and soft. There’s no fumbling, no rushing, no clanking of teeth. We are perfectly in sync.

My heart thuds with a heavy, undeniable certainty as I kiss Rhys. I roll my hips and grind myself down, the hardness of him responding immediately. And when I startle back up, his hand lands on my shoulder, pushing me back onto him.