Page 96 of Flare

He chuckled. “Listen to you. Cool design? People are going to start thinking you actually give a shit about fashion.”

“I give a shit aboutyourfashion.”

A pleased smile stole over his face. “Thanks. And just so you know, you’ve inspired me, Mister Northcott.”

“Me?” I snorted.

“Yes, you. I’ve decided to up my size range to cater for more body types. Taller men.Biggermen.” Something flashed in his eyes that had been missing for a week. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, raked his gaze over me, and... yep, yep, my dick was all about that.

I narrowed my gaze. “You just want to see me wearing your clothes.”

He waggled his brows. “Abso-fucking-lutely. But don’t go thinking that means I’ll be adding any drawstrings or catering to your ‘room to move’ preferential. If you’re gonna wear my stuff, baby, your body is gonna be on full display, front and centre.” He reached across and slipped his hand inside my jacket, his fingers grazing my nipple.

I shivered. “Dear god, I’m gonna need to carry oxygen just to breathe in them, aren’t I?”

“You got it.” He tweaked my nipple and I threw up a protective hand.

“Quit that. And hang on. Doesn’t that make me some kind of creative muse?” I caught his eye-roll in the headlights of a car pulling into the car park and added,

“That means you have to fuck me regularly to keep your creative juices flowing, right?"

“Dear god.” He reached across and fisted my shirt, pulling me over the console to stick his tongue down my throat. “If you’re not careful, you’ll have so much creative juice coming your way, you’ll be swallowing for a bloody week.” He nipped at my lips.

“Promises, promises.” I turned to check on Jack and— “Shit, get down! They’re looking.”

We ducked and Rhys cracked up laughing.

“Shut up.” I peeked above the dash. “Okay, It’s clear.”

Rhys shuffled back into his seat, still laughing.

“I seriously cannot believe I’ve become this person,” I grumbled, switching up the demist to clear the fog of our breath from the windscreen. “I can understand why parents won’t let their kids out the damn door. I’ve even thought of putting a tracker on his phone.”

Rhys thumbed his cherry gloss off my lips and laughed. “Youare,to all intents and purposes, Jack’s parent right now. Do you think Serena would have done any different? She seemed pretty chuffed when he called to tell her how he looked. And when he Skyped your dad, it was like looking at an older version of you. The same gorgeous hazel eyes. You’re gonna age well, Mr Northcott.” Something soft and full of promise floated in the words and I just fucking knew I was blushing... again.

“As will you,” I said roughly. “Have I told you how much I like you, Mr Hellier?”

“Not in the last few hours.”

“How very remiss of me. Well, I do. I like you a whole lot.” I hesitated. “Even if the words feel completely inadequate.”

Rhys gave a soft, shy smile, one that said I’d caught him off guard, and the moment stretched into silence. And just as he finally looked like he might reply, a burst of laughter from Jack and his friends had us both turning and the moment was lost.

“Look at that gorgeous red-head across from Jack.” Rhys reached for my hand and I took it, not wanting to lose the connection of the almost-said things. “Her gaze keeps tracking down. I told him those skinny trousers would work.”

“Where?” I scanned the group till my gaze landed on a pretty girl who was definitely giving Jack the eye. “He’s equally smitten. See how he keeps smiling at her.”

Rhys snorted. “Oh, and you’re an expert on the flirting practices of the heterosexual human genus now?”

“No, but that’s exactly what you do to me.” I cupped his cheek. “‘You have captivated me, let me stand tremblingly before you. / Lion, I would be taken by you to the bedchamber.’”

Rhys stared, eyes glistening and dark on mine. “Jesus, who wrote that?”

I shrugged, trailing a finger down his soft cheek—late evening and barely a hint of stubble. I wanted to lick him all over. “No one really knows. It’s Mesopotamian, thought to be one of the oldest love poems ever written.” I ran my fingers across his brow and then tunnelled through his hair. His eyes fluttered closed. “Historians calleditThe Love Song for Shu-Siand think it could’ve been written two thousand years before Christ.”

“Is it weird that it makes me hot?” Rhys opened his eyes, leaned in, and pulled my lower lip between his teeth before letting it go. “Also, a lion, Beck? A dragon and now a lion. Way to set some high fucking standards, babe. No pressure, right?”

I rubbed my nose against his. “You aren’t aspiring to those standards, sweetheart,” I said evenly. “You fucking set them.”

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