Page 21 of One Weekend in London

Our stares meet and hold, the air thickening with unspoken desire.

The mossy green that swirls in his bourbon-stained irises darkens to a smoky emerald, as he eyes me with bold appreciation, taking in every showcased dip and swell of my frame.

It’s now I notice the same man from last night—a member of his security team, I presume, judging by his hawkish eyes and take-no-crap expression—standing at one side of the elevator, stoic as can be.

He’s silent, looking everywhere but at me, yet I don’t miss the slight quirk of his lips. Like he knows exactly why Rhys is looking at me the way he is.

As if he wants to devour me whole.

“Hi.”

The lone word I speak comes out unsteadily as I clutch my purse to my runaway heart. All the confidence I’ve spent the morning fighting to summon evaporates, dissipating into the air like vapor.

“Hello, love.”

His rough timbre sends goosebumps racing across my skin. That voice, darkly erotic and unapologetically masculine, makes me want to melt into a puddle right at his boots.

“You look...”

He prowls forward, moving out of the elevator until he’s near enough for me to touch him, to feel his breath against my skin.

I inhale sharply, catching the intoxicating scent of his daytime cologne—a rich, earthy blend that screams “worship me” instead of “worship this brand.”

“Jesus,” he groans, drinking me in with hooded eyes. “You’re exquisite, Sadie. So soft and sweet and utterly delectable.”

The blush staining my cheeks has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the dagger of desire spearing low in my belly at his compliment.

There’s no denying the truth—I want him.

Badly. Desperately. Right here and now.

Every feminine instinct surges, a siren call demanding I close the scant distance between us and plaster myself against him, winding my arms around his neck as he slants his mouth over mine in a kiss hot enough to ignite flames, the sure start of a five-alarm blaze.

“Is... I mean, is this okay?” I ask, sweeping a shaky hand down my front, gesturing to my sundress. “If you want, I can change into something dressier, something more—”

“Don’t you dare.” His clipped response is an almost growl. Scorched and dripping with something primal. “You’re the most beautiful bloody thing I’ve ever seen.”

His words hit their mark.

One by one, they steal my breath, sparks erupting in my veins. Anticipation thrums through me, lighting me up from the inside as he closes the scant distance separating us.

His hand skates up my bare arm to cup the column of my throat, the subtle flex of his fingers sending a gentle but possessive message.

Mine.

Just like last night, his intensity should scare me.

But it doesn’t—not even close.

Sensing the charged moment transpiring between us, his security steps out of the still-open elevator and heads down the hall. Far enough away to give us privacy while remaining close enough to intervene if needed.

But Rhys? His gaze remains on me.

Completely and unequivocally unfaltering.

“Sleep well?”

I swallow. Hard. “Eventually,” I admit, my voice a needy rasp. “You?”

---