Burning Desire - Sequel to Burning Paradise

Chapter Eighteen

Back at home, Mom is doing some gardening, her hair scraped back with a bandanna. Dad is in the study, having a tediously long video chat with his agent. I retreat to my room, letting myself fall back onto my bed, sighing blissfully.

“Have a good time?”

I jump into a sitting position, startled by the sudden voice. Rhys is leaning against the far wall casually, his arms folded, his legs crossed at the ankles.

I calm my racing heart, “How did you...” My gaze falls upon the open window, “Oh.”

“Yeah. So? Did you have a good time?” He asks, coming to sit beside me.

I look at him, narrowing my eyes suspiciously, “How did you know I was at Avril's house?”

“Do you think after what happened last night I'm going to let you run around LA unprotected?” Rhys scoffs at me, leaning back and looking at me with a cocked eyebrow.

I look at him, my head tilted, “Unprotected? I'm not a kid.”

“No. You're not.” Rhys agrees, “You're a seventeen year old girl. A seventeen year old girl who had a gun pointed at her forehead and so I am here at your service solely to protect you.”

I roll my eyes at him and push his chest down so he falls back against the bed. I lean over him, my hair falling around us like a private curtain, “So you wanted to protect me.”

“Of course I did.” Rhys shrugs casually, reaching up to twiddle a lock of my hair around his fingers.

“Say I was to... I don't know, accidentally make us fall off the bed. What would you do?”

“I'd make sure I was the one who hit the floor so there's no chance of you getting hurt.”

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

Rhys nods, as if it's obvious.

A mischievous smile lights up my face and I grab Rhys's collar, rolling over on the bed until I feel the world tilting like it does when you fall off your bed accidentally-on-purpose. The world tilts again – more abruptly – and then we've landed on the floor. But Rhys is under me, when he should have been on top of me. I frown at him, confused. He just grins.

Shrugging, I smile back, “Guess I'm just going to have to take advantage of our situation.” I lean down to lock our lips together, both of my hands resting on his chest, my knees settled on the floor, taking my weight so he doesn't have to. Rhys winds his long arms around my waist, his gentle hands playing with the hem of my top. My hands roam downwards and slide themselves under his top, exploring the vast contours of his long and lean body, travelling across the ridges of his chest and starting the process all over again. Trapped by the tightness of his shirt, I'm not satisfied. Ripping my hands out, I abruptly begin to unbutton his shirt, huge fistfuls of material in both of my fists. I push the two flapping sides of his shirt away, using the new space I have well. Rhys pushes me, spinning us so he's on top of me. His hands grip my face, holding it steady, his long fingers cool against my flushed face. He kisses my jawbone, my cheek, my forehead, my nose, my eyelids  before rolling off me and beginning to button up his shirt in the most relaxed way you ever did see.

I sigh, grumbling.

Rhys looks at my expression and chuckles, “What's wrong with you?”

“You know what.” I say, folding my arms, still laying on the floor.

“Did I break away too soon?” Rhys pouts at me mockingly.

I nod grudgingly. He grins and pulls me up into a sitting position.