Page 50 of Salvaged Hearts

“I need my wife to know I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting her, least of allmy family. I never meant to be the one to rattle you,” he said with a gentle shake of his head. Deftly smoothing my hair behind my ears, he added, “Ashcroft is clever. I enjoy his company on the golf course, but I don’t trust him with you. In retrospect, I can recognize how my actions were perceived. That wasn’t my intention.” When I just nodded, he softened his expression, making sure my gaze was locked on his as he wrapped my fidgeting hands in his, keeping me from peeling my fingers raw. “You are now the most desirable woman in any room—socially as well as physically. Don’t forget that.”

The rest of the week went off surprisingly smoothly as we coordinated details and kept things business as usual in the office. Home was much the same, and I took his words to heart. Ieven gave in and started sleeping in his room, but that presented its own challenges, all of which I chose to ignore.

The hidden blessing of his freakishly robotic life was that outside of his in-home staff, not a soul speculated anything out of the norm with us only holding hands in public. On his request, my wardrobe was restocked with boujee clothes that all fit me like gloves, although I absolutely combed through the donation totes until I could fish out my ratty sweats to hide for pajamas. Who the hell wants designer butt floss on under silk nighties? Not this girl, that’s for sure. Though something was empowering about walking into Greyson Hart’s bedroom dressed in the aforementioned silk night things and watching a dark-haired Adonis squirm. But waking up and discovering that your subconscious thirsty-bitch brain had transported you across the thirty-eighth pillow parallel and into the warm embrace of yourmaddeningly-attractive bosswas…less than ideal. After that first night, I opted for my big brothers’Grizzly Grindsweatshirt, or Paxton’s college jersey in lieu of the delicate unmentionables that had been sourced for me. Besides, us Rhodes were a proud bunch, and like hell was anyone throwing away anything that celebrated our family, especially each other’s achievements. The fact that Rhyett built the best coffee shop on the island and that Pax played pro were highlights for all of us. I might not get to see them regularly and certainly didn’t pop into the family text thread as often as I should’ve, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t just as invested in them as the others were. It was just…a lot to process all the time.

By Thursday night, I was primped professionally, draped in a Grecian-style dress that matched the color of the Caribbean Sea crashing against my ankles, with butterflies in my belly. Most of my siblings weren’t able to cover the distance with basically no notice, but my parents, Leighton, our sister Elora and her husband Broderick, Paxton, and our oldest brotherRhyett, along with his wife, Brexley, and daughter, Quinn, were all due to arrive tomorrow morning, andthathad my intestines tying themselves into many, many knots. Lying to staffers and reporters was one thing, but my family would be entirely different.

Mattie and Leighton were building castles with little Beau in the sand while Ollie watched on from a pretty blue lounger, his tattoos peeking out of his open shirt. His preferred photographer and Stacy, the reporter, would be here in a matter of minutes, and we had to paint the picture of the perfect American family.

I felt Greyson approaching before I heard him. The man was like a planet I’d unintentionally begun orbiting when I transferred to his office. That familiar gravitational pull had me turning over a shoulder, the sand squishing beneath my toes and rubbing against the pretty gold jewelry they’d given me in lieu of shoes like some life-size doll.

Fuck. Me.

The man was sinful in a suit, but airy white linen pants and an open, lightweight button-up that exposed his tan torso, his gorgeous, meticulous hair a bit windblown? I could blame the fact that I was ovulating, but the reality was this man was walking sex appeal—all lean lines and a smattering of dark hair over a few stray, speckled scars. Some paradoxical tug of war between hero and the billionaire he was born to be.

But those hazels—now a warm gold-green in the bouncing sunlight of the beach—caught my attention. Maybe it was the intensity. Maybe it was just the fact that they were trained on me with some concocted fire in them. His beeline through the gentle surf led him straight to me, and every scrap of air in my lungs rushed from my ribs as he scooped me into his arms and settled his forehead against mine.

Oh. Dear. God.

He smellededible, with his breath hot on my face and his warm hands on my bare back, just above where the dress cut across the curve of my ass.

“What are you—” I started to ask, but with my current lack of oxygen, the words weren’t even audible before he unintentionally cut them off by moving one hand to my neck, pushing away the strands sticking to my skin in the summer humidity.

“You can’t tell me that’s not how a bride wants her groom to greet her when she wears a dress like that.”

“Greeted—” I whispered as my heart raced up a dozen flights of stairs, impossible goosebumps winning out against the persistent sun on my skin. Hormones be damned because those fuckers don’t know the difference between healthy chemistry and performance.

“Your sister is here early,” he calmly announced, entirely oblivious to the fact that his thumb stroking over my pulse point had me ten kinds of flustered. “With her husband. They seem to have shared a ride from the airport with Stacy.”

“Stacy,” I panted.Panted. Like a dog in heat.

“Our reporter,” he reminded me, but every synapse in my brain was occupied by his nose tracing the end of mine and that methodic circle his thumb kept drawing over my carotid artery. My head was a tilt-a-whirl of warring logic and attraction when his next words ghosted over my mouth, “You should probably touch me back, Belle.”

Blinking, it took a solid four pathetic pants for my brain to buffer what he’d just said to me.Belle. Like the beauty to his beast. I was just bursting out laughing, my hands flying to his chest, when a familiar voice cut through the solid wall of water that was Caribbean air.

“Alice!”

“Oh, you’re good,” I admitted breathlessly, turning to face the music. Greyson didn’t take his hands off me, instead leisurely shifting me in his grasp, his hand staying in a possessive hold around my neck as his other palm found its way to my belly, pulling my ass against his groin as my eyes found El and Broderick, hands clasped between them as they descended the beach with cautious eyes. Pulse suddenly a ten-pound hammer, I forced in a breath and looked up at him over my shoulder with what I hoped would pass for adoration.

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Thanks for wearing the dress,” he whispered, nuzzling against the side of my face like I wasn’t already on the brink of folding like a damn lawn chair. I couldn’t remember the last time someone held me like that. Hell, I wasn’t sure if anyone hadeverheld me with the possessive intent of Greyson Hart.

Each hammer of my pulse was a reminder, chanting ‘not real.’Not real, not real, not real.This was a business arrangement, at best. Like two warring kingdoms, although mine had nothing to offer beyond an adequate face and average body. Belle, trading her freedom for the betterment of her family. Only, I was saving Mattie’s and walking away like a very well-paid sex-less hooker.

Forcing my eyes back to the beach, I slid free from his disconcertingly appealing hold on my body, pulling up my dress to keep it free from the splash zone as I rushed to meet them in the middle.

“Elly,” I breathed, practically collapsing into her open arms as Broderick chuckled knowingly behind her. I’d grown up with Brod in our house—he was best friends with our two oldest brothers—so he was all too acquainted with how close us sisters were, even if we upset each other. “You came!”

“Hey, sissy,” she chirped back, crushing me against her. “Of course.”

“Don’t squish baby,” I protested.

“Baby Allen is well insulated in there,” she laughed back. Still, I pushed her away to examine her still-flat stomach. She was only a few months along, and with this being her first, there was no sign she was incubating a tiny human. Even her skin was still glowing, although maybe that was just humidity.

“You don’t have a single pound of insulation on you,” I argued. It was true. El was a little brick house of honed muscle. Long dark hair and gray-blue eyes, just like mine.

“He might’ve had to make do with organs for cushion, but I promise he’s fine. At least, according to the doctor. Now. How’s his auntie?”

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