Page 20 of One Weekend in London

Breathe, just breathe.

I smooth shaky hands down the soft cotton of my most beloved sundress, eyeing my reflection with a critical gaze. The soft yellow floral print, both my favorite color and pattern, hugs my curves in the right places and hangs loose in others. It’s simple but beautiful, and best of all, it makes me feel attractive.

Only, I’m not sure if that’s enough.

Simple in design, even when dressed up by a pair of strappy wedges, it’s a far cry from the elegant dresses I’ve noticed other hotel guests wearing. Most of them sport high-dollar labels my family, despite being financially comfortable, would never buy.

My stomach clenches as doubt creeps in.

Is it too informal for a day out with Rhys?

Too... American small town?

He exudes sophistication, from the tips of his fancy-looking shoes to the tailoring of what I suspect was a custom suit. Every inch of him oozes refined elegance and high-class pedigree. Worlds away from a middle-class Georgia peach like me and my inexpensive outfits.

I glance at Mamaw’s slim gold watch that hugs my wrist—an eighteenth-birthday gift slash early inheritance from Papaw, making it one of my most prized possessions.

Only ten minutes until our agreed meeting time.

Deep breaths, Sadie Lou.

No matter how out of my element I might feel, today is a fresh start. I refuse to let my messy past and the wounds left on my heart ruin what could be.

I don’t quite understand why I feel such a draw to Rhys, much less my glaring lack of anger over him invading my privacy by running an FBI-worthy background check. Yet, here I am, still more than ready to explore whatever this electric connection between us is.

You only live once, right?

My pulse kicks up, mimicking a pounding drum, by simply remembering the way he checked me out during our FaceTime call last night. The rough rasp of his smooth accent as he murmured those wicked, wildly inappropriate promises, followed by the way seeing my bare flesh seemed to nearly rob him of his carefully leashed control.

Every moment was delicious.

Thrilling. Earth-shattering.

And it was all new territory for me, especially considering I’ve never been so bold and reckless with a man before. Never acted with such brazen disregard for propriety or wanted someone so badly, craving their touch as a marathon runner’s starved lungs do air.

Clearly, I’ve gone plum dang crazy.

With a carefree shrug, I scoop my hair off my neck, letting the blown-out locks tumble down my back in what I hope is an artful tousle. Snatching up my wristlet clutch, I head for the elevators, my sandals sinking into the plush hotel carpet.

Ten seconds later, it arrives.

I’m already a bundle of nerves, my pulse ratcheting even higher when the silver doors open revealing a familiar, powerfully built figure. And just like that, with only one glance, all the breath whooshes from my lungs in a stuttered exhale.

Rhys.

As if sent by Satan himself to seduce me to the depths of Hell, he stands just inside the metal box, looking like sin incarnate. His dark hair is tousled as if he’s been running his fingers through it, the expensive suit he wore last night MIA.

In its place, he wears a tight black Henley, his sleeves pushed to just below his elbows, and faded dark jeans that cling to his muscular thighs. His feet are clad in expensive-looking leather boots, the rebellious counterpoint to the rest of his devil-may-care look.

Sweet mercy.

If Tasha were here, she’d faint.

Rhys, though, with tension lining his frame, looks seconds from giving himself a coronary. His body practically vibrates with coiled tension, and even his chiseled, clean-shaven jaw is ticking.

Is it because of wanting to see me?

If so, no one’s ever been this way over me. This eager for my presence or this affected by the mere sight of me. It makes my belly swoop and flutter as fire licks down my spine.

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