Page 59 of Just What She Needed

They left the bus and hurried toward the building. "Does he get pissy a lot?"

"No, it's rare if any of them do." Sara gave her a wry smile "They've been at this so long they just mostly let everything roll off them. It'd have to be something really major to fire any of them up like that."

Rhett couldn't stop looking at her pass as they entered through the backstage door. If it made her look like a teenaged fangirl, so be it. She sure as hell felt like one at the moment.

"This is one mean looking car," she said. Not a Tucker, and definitely not a '59 Edsel like Ross had threatened.

"Awesome, isn't it? Ross told me it's a Lamborghini...uh...Vented Door, or something like that."

A guy passing by with an armful of cables snorted out a laugh. "Aventador, honey, not Vented Door."

"Whatever." Sara waved a languid hand as she rounded a corner, Rhett hot on her heels. Halfway down the cinderblock hallway, Sara paused at a door. From behind it came the sounds of an epic car race complete with snarling motors, squealing tires, and men cheering and groaning.

"Fuck," Sara muttered. "Ross just has to drag that damn gaming system everywhere." She opened the door and pulled Rhett in after her.

The five members of Illicit stared with rapt absorption at a 52-inch flat screen television set. Each of them held a game remote which they twisted this way and that as they "drove" NASCAR stock cars around a track. Rhys and Ross were perched on the edge of the cushions of a black leather sofa along with Parker McKay, the band's bass player. Behind them stood rhythm guitarist Drew Cooper and the drummer, David Moore. As she watched them, Rhett hid a smile behind her hand at the thought that they were giving that game the same serious attention they'd show the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. Beside her, Sara cleared her throat in an over-exaggerated manner. None of the men stirred.

"Who's winning?"

Without bothering to look over at his wife, Ross replied.

"Who do you think?"

Despite the abundance of sheer male beauty in the room, Rhett only had eyes for Rhys, so she saw the devilish grin light his face at Ross's statement.

"Yeah, this is an American sport," David growled. "How come Rhys always manages to kick our asses?"

"I've lived in America for twenty-five years." Rhys twisted his controller which made his car do something that elicited sighs of admiration from the other guys. "I'm almost a native by now." Finished with whatever mind-blowing race move he just executed, he cut his eyes toward Rhett for a brief second.

Just that tiny look from those dark blue eyes was enough to send Rhett's heart hammering against her ribcage. In the months since she'd last seen him, his hair had grown longer, flowing halfway down his back in those sun and honey streaked waves. The front and sides were pulled back which threw his face into breath-taking relief and emphasized his sculpted cheekbones and beautifully molded lips. Even the faded flannel shirt and seen-better-days jeans he wore couldn't take away from his raw sex appeal.

As Rhett stood there quietly melting into a puddle of goo, he cast another, longer look at her. All of a sudden, his shoulders relaxed, and a small smile curved his mouth. With a decisive motion he tilted his game controller hard to the right. The sound of a major explosion came from the television, along with exclamations of surprise from the band.

"Dude!" Drew appeared scandalized. "You just blew the fuck up against the wall, man."

"You have a tire go low or something?" Ross asked. His demeanor was as serious as if Rhys had just crashed an actual car.

"Must've." Rhys stood and tossed his controller onto the couch. "I'm out."

"Well, get the fuck out of the way," David commanded as he climbed over the back of the couch to take Rhys's vacated seat. "I've got a chance to win this mother now."

Eyes locked onto Rhett's, Rhys walked around the couch and stopped in front of where she leaned against the wall. He glanced at Sara with a smile.

"Thanks for picking her up from the airport."

"Anytime," Sara replied. "But don't you ever fly her in at rush hour again, hear me?"

An apologetic grimace wrinkled his nose. "Sorry about that. I didn't even think about it when I had Kevin book the flight."

"Well, now you know. See you later, Rhett."

As Sara sauntered off toward her husband, Rhys looked back at Rhett, a small smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward and brushed his face through her hair.

"Hi, Beautiful," he breathed.

"Hey, Sexy."

With a sound of amusement, he looked down at himself and shook his head. "Some poor idiot with one of the local college papers bumped into me and spilled his cola all over my clothes. I just threw these on for now."