Understanding, I smiled. “That kind of distraction wasn’t really a hardship.”
Rhys chuckled, pressed a cute kiss to my nose, and stood, taking me with him. Glancing around, I saw I was right—my colleagues were looking at him, entirely fascinated.
They may have known he was an ex-heavyweight boxing champion, but knowing and seeing were two different things.
“Isn’t he something?” Fairchild said to the room as he walked toward us. “Now that our viewing entertainment is over, my guests must be hungry. My staff has laid out a world-class buffet in the dining room. Follow Andrew.” He gestured to the exit where Andrew the house concierge waited. “He’ll show you the way.”
Rhys and I moved toward the door, but Fairchild blocked our path. He held up a hand to stay us and waited until everyone else had left the room before opening his mouth. “Morgan, you and I need to talk.” His eyes cut to me and his expression hardened. “I need to speak with Rhys privately. Please follow the others to the dining room, Ms. Brown.”
I didn’t want to leave Rhys. My tight hold on Rhys’s hand told him that. After glaring at Fairchild for a good couple of seconds, Rhys looked down at me. His expression gentled. “Baby, you should go. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I felt more than a flutter in my belly at the “baby” endearment. That was new. It caught me so off guard, I found myself nodding. “Okay. I’ll save you some food.”
He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You do that.”
Leaving him there felt like I was abandoning him, my frustration real as I stepped into the hallway. To my surprise, Jackson was waiting on me.
“He’s a big guy,” he said. “He can handle Fairchild.”
Grateful for his perceptiveness, I gave my good boss a tremulous smile and let him lead me toward the dining room.
Franklin Fairchild was a slimy, inconsiderate, obnoxious bulldozer of a man.
He held Rhys captive for the rest of the night.
When I realized his plan all along had been to get Rhys alone and badger him endlessly, fury filled me. I was terrible company, sitting amongst my colleagues as they talked about work, life, and their plans to ski the next day. They eventually all started to cotton on about Rhys’s importance to Fairchild when my boyfriend (if he was that) didn’t reappear. I began to worry something had happened to him.
Everyone moved to retire for the night, so I asked one of the servers to put together a plate for Rhys from the cold selection; I was informed that Rhys had already eaten with Mr. Fairchild.
Well, that was something. At least he wasn’t attempting to starve him into submission.
More than three hours after I’d been separated from Rhys, I paced our guest bedroom, growing antsier by the second. Unable to deal with this madness any longer, I crossed the room toward the door, intending to search the house for Rhys.
Yanking open the bedroom door, I was brought to a halt.
Rhys.
Thank goodness.
My shoulders slumped in relief, and I stepped aside to let him in.
Looking drained, Rhys moved into the room, but instead of walking by me, he turned into me, his soulful eyes locked with mine. My breath hitched as he curled his hands around my biceps and slowly backed me up against the door until my body weight closed it. He released one arm to lock us in.
My heart raced as anticipation of yummy physical intimacy filled me.
Instead of ravishing me, however, Rhys cupped my face in his big hands, bent down, and pressed the sweetest, softest kiss to my lips. He let out a little exhalation as he released me, his breath tickling my mouth, before he straightened and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
I moved into him, slid my arms around his waist, and rested my head on his chest.
“Are you okay?”
Rhys was silent so long, I thought he might not answer.
But then, “I think I’m gonna have to fight.”
Shock rooted me in place, and I stiffened in his hold. “Rhys, please tell me you did not agree to fight?”
“Not yet.”
Oh, thank God. I pulled out of his arms and placed my hands on his chest. He looked down at me, curiosity in his expression, and then surprise when I gently pushed him backward.
He let me.
Of course he let me.
Like I could move a man his size without him letting me.