Page 28 of Just What She Needed

In answer, Rhys stood up and held the phone a quarter inch over the piano's soundboard. With his foot he depressed the damper pedal, and his free hand crashed down on the bass keys. Then he hit the button to end the call.

Thunder growled as the storm settled itself over Dallas, and Rhys glanced out the window. One side of his mouth tipped up as Rhett's words about wall clouds and storm heights replayed in his mind. It was one of the things he found refreshing about her, that ability to talk about almost anything. In fact, everything about her was a nice change from the kind of woman he normally dated.

After spending time with Rhett, he couldn't remember why those temperamental princesses with grandiose egos and minds the size of sand fleas had appealed to him. Sure, he found their antics amusing when he was younger, but now he just found them tedious.

Plus, the sex was far from outstanding. What fun was it when there was no challenge involved? All the girls he dated since his second divorce had been quick to fling off their clothes, drop to their knees and perform what he could only classify as perfunctory head. It wasn't flattering since he knew they'd do the same for anyone with his stature and fame. And being inside them was akin to fucking a cyborg since so many of their physical attributes were purchased. Arse implants? Really? Christ, the lot of them were as indistinguishable from each other as a box of Barbie dolls, and just as plastic.

But Rhett...He cast another glance at the door. The only thing she had in common with his usual choice of woman was that lovely blonde hair. Everything else about her was so much more intriguing. For one thing, she possessed a functioning brain and wasn't afraid to use it. And she liked the simple pleasures, things that meant something. The sound of rain, the smell of flowers, the lullaby of crickets. Things that soothed the soul and created memories, where the pounding of synthesized dance music and fake attention just gave him a headache.

Plus, she thought of people other than herself, a direct contradiction to...well, to everyone he'd dated. Ever. In his life. When she took those snaps of that fan at Taco Bell, she put herself in the bloke's place and took pictures that would mean more than just a random shot of some rock singer. And the way she got them to smile by having them say "Fill 'Er Up" was just bloody brilliant. Yeah, she made him laugh, and that was definitely different.

And sex? Christ, he wanted her. Those lovely blushes and the almost shy glances she gave him from under her lashes were clear indicators that she didn't find him objectionable, either. But this wasn't a woman who was going to strip off and get down to business five minutes after they met. He'd have to prove himself worthy of her, and not the other way around. He wanted to prove himself worthy of her before he got her naked.

Rhett naked. A sigh that was more of a groan slipped from between his lips. He'd bet a year's royalties there was nothing plastic about her, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on what was sure to be soft, warm, pliable flesh. Was she blonde all over? He hoped to hell she wasn't running round with one of those disturbingly bare Brazilian jobs. Not that he wanted a Yeti by any means, but Rhys was a man who liked a little mystery, a treasure to be discovered with his hands and tongue. And he'd been close to unearthing all of Rhett's treasures until Ross interrupted with his fucking call.

At the thought of that call, he remembered his P.A. was on vacation and it was up to him to book a flight to Vancouver instead of wondering how Rhett would taste and how she would feel when he plunged himself inside her.

Hot on the heels of those ruminations came the memory of the way she looked when she bolted from the condo earlier. An unpleasant jolt in his stomach accompanied the thought that he might have moved too fast, pushed too hard. She kissed him back that second time, he was sure of it. And the expression in those wide hazel eyes when he pulled back to tell her how much he wanted her? Hunger. So why did she run?

Fuck Ross, fuck mobile phones, fuck bands who canceled their studio time. If not for them he very well might have been fucking Rhett at that moment.

After another almost desperate look at the door, he adjusted the front of his jeans before he ended up with a permanent impression of his zipper on his cock. Much as he hated it, making love to Rhett would have to wait until he returned from Canada. It had been a long time since he wanted to totally lose himself in a woman, and he refused to rush it. No, he was going to take his time with her until they were both so mad for it they couldn't think.

“Think? You had to think about it?" Mel stared at Rhett with a horrified expression, a mascara wand forgotten in her hand. "That's the kind of situation where you're not supposed to be thinking, child. Have I taught you nothing?"

"I couldn't help it." Stung at being spoken to as if she were three, Rhett defended herself. "It just came out of nowhere, and—"

"It. Did. Not." A long, hard stare was aimed at her sister before Mel turned back to her lighted makeup mirror. "The man has been hitting on you since the day you found him on the side of the road."

"He hasn't been hitting on me. Has he?"

"Are you that dense?" Mel asked, mouth open with astonishment. "Let's see, that first day he promised you could count on running into him again, and then a couple of days later he ends up with your number programmed into his phone. He just happens to be right there in the parking garage when you got home from the whole Carl episode so he can take you out and ply you with tacos. Oh, and don't forget that Stones song."

Mouth open in shock, Rhett stared at her sister's reflection in the mirror as Mel batted her eyelashes to judge the effect of the mascara. "How is 'She's A Rainbow' coming on to me?"

"Isn't that the one about the woman's who's coming in colors?" Mel tossed a glance full of exasperation over her shoulder.

"It—” Rhett stopped in confusion. Was that what he meant? He never actually sang the words to the song, but maybe she was supposed to pick up on it. And of course, she didn't. Feeling stupid, she dropped her head. "I just thought it was about my dress."

"Yeah, because navy blue immediately calls rainbows to mind. And wasn't that the night he kept telling you were smokin' hot? It's one thing for a guy to notice that you are, but when he tells you, especially more than once, you can rest assured that's the opening stanza of his mating call. And all those texts while he was in Chicago? Dig your head out of your ass, Rhett. He's been throwing signals at you like a Nolan Ryan no-hitter." Mel rose from the makeup bench and went into her closet. "And then he gets you up there today to listen to the rain. I mean, how flippin' romantic is that?"

"Pretty flippin' romantic," Rhett muttered.

"You bet it is. Hey, come zip me up."

With a sigh, Rhett uncurled her legs from under her and slid from the end of Mel's bed. Rhys's invitation today was romantic, and she responded by bolting from his condo like...well, like Mel would from a marriage proposal. She trudged into the closet and found her sister struggling with the bottom half of the zipper on a sundress in a melting shade of mint green. This was a dress to make someone think of rainbows, not the staid number Rhett was wearing on Taco Night.

She brushed Mel's hands aside and zipped up the dress. "Why me, though?"

"You did not just say that." Mel bent and grabbed a pair of sandals from the shoe rack. "Why not you?"

"Oh, come on, Melanie. I'm not his type. You saw his type that night at the nightclub, and I'm for sure as hell not her." Rhett picked up Mel's white cotton robe from where it had been dropped on the floor. "I'd lay you odds the man has never even dated anyone under thirty. Shoot, when he divorced Hayley Hamilton she was still in her late twenties. He and his first wife divorced when she was barely out of her teens. Of course, so was he but...In case you've forgotten, I'll be forty-three next month. I don't want him to want me just because I'm...I don't know, convenient." She hung the robe on the hook on the back of the door and followed Mel back into the bedroom.

"How old is Rhys?" Mel sat on the end of the chaise lounge to buckle the straps of her sandals around her slim ankles. "And don't tell me you don't know because I know you do."

"Forty-eight." Unwilling to meet her sister's eyes, Rhett busied herself straightening Mel's makeup table.

"So maybe he's tired of the twenty-somethings with their silicone boobs and enthusiasm for the latest trends in music." Out of the corner of her eye, Rhett saw the air quotes Mel put around her last word. "Look, he's been in Dallas for months now. If he wanted one of them then he's had ample opportunity to go find one. Or two. Or three. But, no, he's spent the past couple of weeks wooing you. He's made it clear he finds you sexy and desirable and attractive and go ahead and insert your own adjective here as long as it's not 'not his type.' Don't you want him, too?"