My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) (15 page)

It’s rare to have a break from all my jobs at once. And if Rhyson hadn’t come, I’d be spending the day exactly the way he predicted. Doing laundry. Instead, I get a day at the beach with the wind in my hair.

Speaking of hair, mine’s a rat’s nest. My tongue is covered in mink, and Rhyson may still smell good, but an investigative sniff under my arms confirms that I don’t.

Thirty minutes later, I smell like the pear cinnamon soap Mama sold in the diner. I’ve been meaning to get the recipe from Aunt Ruthie. I’m down to my last three bars. When that soap runs out, it’ll be one more piece of Mama I’ve lost forever. If I can make another batch, replicate her recipe, I’ll be able to hold on to that bit just a while longer.

With damp hair hanging down my back, I slip on a black bikini top and a pair of old cut offs. I have no idea how to dress. The smell of brewing coffee tantalizes my senses and pulls my caffeine-deprived body toward the kitchen.

Rhyson has such a great ass. It’s the first thing I notice when I enter the kitchen. His back—and ass—are to me as he scrambles eggs. His hair, per usual, dips and flops over his eyes and around his ears. My fingers itch to wind through its thick, not-quite-curliness. He grins at me over his shoulder.

“Morning.” His smile drops away and his eyes scroll down my body, lingering on my breasts in the bikini top and the length of my legs. “You look great.”

“Yeah, right.” I fold my arms under my breasts, self-conscious under his stare. “I’m not sure what I should wear.”

“What you’re wearing’s fine.” He draws in a deep breath. “And you smell great too. What’s that scent you always wear?”

“Pear cinnamon,” I say softly. “My mom used to make it.”

He crosses the small kitchen to stand in front of me.

“I like it.” He leans in to inhale at my neck. “A lot.”

Our glances tangle when he pulls back, and my breath hitches. He pushes my arms away so his thumb can venture over the skin covering my ribs. Every inch of skin he touches ignites like he’s branding me with his gentleness.

“You have a tattoo,” he says softly, voice rough from sleep or this moment sizzling between us. I’m not sure which.

I glance down at the cursive ink just beneath my breasts and over my ribs. My skin feels so alive beneath his touch I expect to see the ink move and dance under his fingers.

“My soul to keep?” He pulls his eyes from the script back up to me. “What’s that?”

“Um, it’s part of a prayer my mom used to say with me before I’d go to sleep.” His drags his knuckles over the skin, and I have to dedicate half my neurons to not wrapping myself around him like a koala. “You know that prayer they teach you as kids.”

“Nah, we didn’t learn any prayers as kids. Ever.”

“Not even grace?”

“No, my family’s not religious at all. Unless you count music as our religion. That, we’re fanatical about.” He crosses over to the stove, giving me back some space and air to breathe, and starts dividing the eggs between two plates. “Your family was religious?”

“Well, it’s small-town Georgia, the Bible belt and all, so that’s the rule, not the exception.” I sit down at the table, composing myself and saying a quick grace, something I haven’t done in a long time. My sagging faith would disappoint Mama.

“My grandfather was a pastor.” I sip my orange juice before continuing. “He and my Grams couldn’t have kids. They’d tried their whole marriage and were in their forties when they took that mission trip to Korea.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah.” Memories of my grandparents make me smile. “They were something else. Pops, that’s what I called my grandfather, said they took one look at Mama and knew she was theirs. Come to think of it, he said the same thing about Grammy.”

“That’s amazing.” He props one elbow on the table and holds his chin, eyes never leaving mine. “Just knowing you want someone right away like that.”

The way he looks at me as if nothing else in the room interests him at all is addictive. I know because I want it all the time now.

“Yep.” A laugh breezes across my lips as I drag my fork uselessly through the eggs on my plate. “Mama was just two days old when they found her. So yeah, she grew up a PK, a pastor’s kid.”

“And she kept the whole religion thing going with you?”

“Her faith was strong. Mine, not as much anymore. She married a pastor too.” My fork clatters on the plate when I drop it abruptly. “My father took over the church, Glory Falls Baptist, when Pops retired.”

“You talk about your mom all the time, but I’ve never heard you talk about your dad.”

“Let’s just say you don’t have the market cornered on the bad dad thing.”

Rhyson lifts his eyebrows and bends his head to that angle that silently encourages me to go on. I swallow the painful lump that always forms when I think about my father.

“My dad left when I was eight. He ran off with the church secretary without a word, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Asshole.”

I smile at the fierceness of his tone. The hard lines of his face soften only when mine do.

“My sentiments exactly.”

“His loss, Kai.”

I wish it were that simple. When a man leaves his family, there is a lot he loses out on, but it goes all ways. The wife who cried herself to sleep for months after he left, she suffered losses. The little girl who always looked up the dirt road every birthday, half wondering if he’d show—she lost too. She
becomes
lost. Sometimes she stays lost for a long time.

I gather our dishes and scrape the remnants down the garbage disposal. Once the dishes are loaded in the dishwasher, I turn back to find him staring at my bikini top.

“Should I change?”

“Huh? What?”

“I was gonna throw a T-shirt on top of the bikini. I wasn’t sure if it would be warm enough to swim, but thought I should be prepared.”

“Um, yeah. Good idea. I have some clothes out in the car. Lemme shower and we’ll get on the road.”

“Rhyson.”

My voice stops him, and he turns around.

“Thanks for last night.” I twist my fingers together in front of me. “I didn’t want to be alone, and with San in Vegas . . . well, thanks.”

“And how do you repay me?” he asks, eyes teasing me. “By force feeding me hours of
Sex and the City
. You owe me big time for that one, Pep.”

“Oh, don’t even try it,” I fire back, needing this lighter conversation to chase away my father’s ghost. “You loved it.”

“What do you see in that show?”

“Female empowerment. Strong, successful, independent women.”

“And the clothes don’t hurt, right?”

“Oh, I do love everything Carrie wears, especially her nameplate necklace.”

“Yeah, feminism and Manolos.” Rhyson’s mobile mouth smirks. “Spare me.”

“I know you stayed up and watched another episode after I fell asleep.”

“If you fell asleep, how do you know that?”

“I’m a light sleeper.”

“So am I, Kai.” A smile takes its sweet time spreading across his face. “You might want to remember that.”

He couldn’t have . . . surely he wasn’t
aware
. . .
awake
when I was cuddling and near-humping him earlier on the couch. He touched my
nipple
. My face burns, but I give no indication I have any idea what he’s talking about. I hold his stare for as long as I can before I have to look away. When he looks at me like that, I don’t know how to describe it except to say that his eyes speak. All the things I won’t let him say, his eyes do. And it’s too much sometimes, because there is so much I want to say in return.

With every conversation, he peels away another protective layer, coaxing me to reveal more of myself. To share more of myself, and I know it’s the same for him. I’m not sure how much longer we can go on with this intimacy blooming between us like a hothouse flower. I only know that I feel more alive than I have since Mama died. I don’t want to give him up. And that dependency, that is the very thing I’ve always feared the most.

WE’RE JUST A FEW WEEKS FROM
Halloween. Back in Glory Falls, Aunt Ruthie’s probably making sure there’s plenty of firewood for cold nights. She’s serving hot cider to the morning crowd. Not mint cider. We save that for Christmas. By now, there’s a nip in Glory Falls’ autumn air that would make me pull my scarf closer and huddle into the light jacket I grabbed “just in case” before I left the house. We don’t get the variety of seasons as much on the left coast, and I miss it some days. But today, standing in eighty-degree weather in a bikini and cut offs with the sun suspended high in the sky, warming the bare skin of my shoulders and neck, today isn’t one of those days.

I’ve been working too hard. I can tell because my body and my mind soak up rest like water in a desert. Like it’s a mirage that might disappear any moment. On the two-hour . . . correction, almost three-hour . . . drive to Pismo Beach, I fell asleep. Rhyson’s deep voice was a lullaby, making a sleepy song of all the goings on in his life. His semi-addiction to Madden, his growing irritation with the details for the upcoming world tour, this group of musicians he has flown in from all over the world for sessions this week. It’s hard to believe the public sees him as broody and almost reclusive. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen firsthand how the guy wears disguises so he can go out in public undisturbed, but with me, he’s open and downright chatty.

He’s living the life I want so badly, and instead of listening with bated breath and sitting on the edge of my seat, exhaustion forces me to sleep. He wakes me up with his thumb whispering across my cheekbone. His eyes and his smile hold so much affection it makes my heart ache. Soon he’ll stop pretending with me. He wants out of the friend zone. It’s apparent, but I had my reasons for putting him there in the first place, and they still stand.

“We’re here, sleepyhead.” He pushes strands of hair back behind my ear. “Should I be offended that you fell asleep on me?”

I subtly pull back from his fingers, and his smile slips a little. It’s hard not to give him what he wants. It’s even harder to consider giving up our friendship though, so I’ll just let this go for as long as I can. I’m so selfish, but I can’t imagine my life without him now. By the same token, I can’t imagine risking my peace of mind, my independence, or my focus for the kisses I know we both crave. Well, I know
I
crave. I can only speak for myself, but Rhyson isn’t great at hiding what he wants either.

Once we’re out on the beach, I find myself grinning hard. There’s nothing but sand and ocean as far as the eye can see. Instead of renting from a public spot where he’d be spotted and stalked, Rhyson’s had the spot come to him. It’s just us and the dune buggy, this contraption made of fluorescent green metal bars, oversized wheels, and testosterone. It’s one of the larger ones, with an open top and two seats. Rhyson practically bounces even though he stands perfectly still, listening to the guy making sure we’re ready for the ride. The energy he’s emitting draws me in and has me bouncing inside too. When the guide moves to place the helmet on my head, Rhyson snatches it from his hands.

“I’ll do it.” Rhyson frowns and puts the helmet on, tightening the strap under my chin.

I can’t help but smile. If he ever got out of that friend zone—not that I plan to let that happen any time soon—he’d be a possessive handful. I can already tell.

“What are you grinning about?” He grins back at me as he puts on his own helmet.

“You, acting like that guy was trying to cop a feel or something.” I recreate his frown and imitate his gravelly voice. “
I’ll do it.”

“He was flirting with you the whole time. You didn’t notice?”

“No, I really didn’t.”

He rolls his eyes and says, “Figures,” under his breath.

“Are you one of those jealous, possessive boyfriends?”

I’m a foolhardy idiot for asking him. I’m baiting a shark with a baby worm, but I want to know how he is when he’s off the friend leash.

“I’ve only ever had one girlfriend.” He walks over to the dune buggy and leans against the frame, nodding his head for me to get in. “And, no, I wasn’t jealous at all.”

That’s not possible, right? Rhyson’s twenty-eight years old.