Page 23 of One Weekend in London

A disappointed, anxiety-riddled mess—that’s what I’ve now turned into. Everything is catching up to me at once. The consuming attraction, the unmet need, the almost-kiss, and our unexpected audience. It’s just so much and as hard as I try to stop it, I still spiral.

Rhys notices immediately.

With us now alone, he backs me against the sleek black wall, his big body caging me in. One of his palms cups my jaw, his thumb brushing my burning skin.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, stepping in to help stop my chest-splitting panic. “In and out, just like that.” His other hand grips my hip, squeezing slightly. “Focus on me, love. Only me.”

I nod, silently doing as he says.

“I have you, Sadie. You’re here with me, where nothing will ever touch, much less hurt you. I’ll die before I let that happen.” Well then. Is what he just said morbid? Yes. But is it also so sweet? Yes, times two. At least it is to me, further proving I’m likely losing my mind. “You’re safe with me.”

His words work like magic.

They give me the strength I need.

Working to push the unnecessary alarm down, I match my quickened breaths to his, the gentle command and his addicting scent soothing my frazzled nerves in record time.

Ever since I was a little girl, anxiety has been something I’ve struggled with. A beast that rears its ugly head whenever it pleases and usually when I least expect it. And until now, Papaw has always been the one to anchor me, exorcizing the fear and panic I sometimes can’t.

Rhys just changed that.

When the elevator dings, I expect Rhys to step back, giving me space before pulling me out the door. He doesn’t. In fact, he keeps me caged against the wall, his much larger body shielding mine from the outside world.

Seconds, minutes, I’m unsure which, pass. Then, I’m ready. I smile, though shakily. “I’m okay.”

His eyes search mine. “You sure?”

Again, I nod. “I am.”

Despite my answer, he still doesn’t step back as I expect. Instead, he lingers, as if his mind is warring between the need to let me go and the desire to hold me close.

“I’m okay,” I repeat. “Promise.”

Seeming to break free of the mental battle he’s immersed in, he backs away before pulling me into his side, banding an arm around my lower back. Without speaking, he guides me through the lobby, oblivious to the many curious stares aimed our way.

Me though? I don’t miss a single one. It’s like I’m back in Garrison all over again. Except now, being watched while tucked into Rhys’s side doesn’t bother me.

At all.

The exit is in sight, just thirty feet away, when a petite older woman in a smart blazer approaches, a genuine smile gracing her face. “Mr. Kensington, Ms. Winslow’s charges were processed per your request. And a team is enroute to pack her belongings for the penthouse.”

Penthouse? Now hold on.

“Excellent. Thank you, Caroline.”

Caroline. The name suits her, I decide, studying the woman who reminds me so much of my beloved mamaw. Polished and professional, but with a glimmer of warmth and kindness that instantly sets me at ease.

Her words, though, they jolt me.

As if I’ve run smack-dab into an electric fence.

“Pack my belongings? But I didn’t...”

Dropping his arm, Rhys turns to face me fully, his expression implacable. Resolute. Clearly, whatever he’s about to say, he fully expects me to fall in line with.

We’ll just see about that.

“I had Caroline, my assistant, settle your account with my credit card and check you out. Within the hour, you’ll be moved into my penthouse, in a room of your choosing. Though I admit, I selfishly hope you choose mine.”

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