My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) (39 page)

EVERY INCH OF MY BODY ACHES,
but I slice through the warm water lap after lap until my arms and legs burn with exertion. Today I got another taste of what I’m meant to do. Just the tip of a glorious iceberg that is my destiny, but it was addictive. The lights. The cameras. The music. Even though I wasn’t the star. The dance moves challenging me to the edges of my ability and discipline.

The dance wasn’t as salacious as Rhyson assumed it would be. It was sensual, but not trashy. I think once the video is finished, it will be something I can be proud of. Dub thinks it will definitely get me noticed and booked for other jobs. Maybe I can quit The Note soon. I wouldn’t even be able to entertain the thought if Rhyson hadn’t paid off my mother’s medical bills.

In retrospect, I overreacted about that. I jeopardized our relationship holding onto my fears and insecurities about the past. Rhyson is not my father. I am not my mother. I want to depend on him, and I want him to depend on me. I can
trust
him. We can trust each other.

Our argument on set today did nothing to calm my other concerns about our career paths clashing and the speculation from others about his involvement in my career.

I reach the pool wall, ready to collapse. My arms tremble when I pull myself up, resting my elbows on the lip of the pool, heaving harsh breaths in through burning lungs.

A long body slices up through the water behind me, muscled forearms bracketing my shoulders. A warm, hard chest flattens to my back. Panic grips me for a second, accelerating my already-rapid heartbeat. Then firm lips skitter down the back of my neck, leaving a familiar tingle I’ve only felt with one person. There’s only one match that lights me like this.

“Rhyson?” I whisper, even though we are the only ones in the backyard, with its towering wall protecting us from prying eyes.

“Better not be anyone else,” he laughs, his breath heating my neck.

I lean into him, tipping my head back until I can look into his eyes upside down, barely illuminated by the lights rimming the pool.

“You’re home.” My smile melts under the heat of the look he’s giving me.

He nods, his fingers working at my back, undoing the clasp on my bikini top. His hands slip beneath the cups, and he brushes his palms over my nipples, sending desire spearing down my middle and tightening at my core. My breath comes fast and shallow. Underwater, my knees liquefy, barely holding me up. Rhyson slides one hand down my side, slipping beneath the band of spandex sheathing my hip. He slides the bikini bottoms down my legs.

“Rhyson, the cameras,” I pant, my eyes picking out the shiny glass lenses I noticed when I came out earlier to swim while I waited for him to come home.

“I turned them off.”

He presses into my back, hard and naked. Stiff and erect, he nudges between the exposed cheeks of my butt.

“Well, look at you thinking ahead.” I can barely speak. I can barely stand. I can barely think. The need to have him buried to the hilt possesses me. I push back against him, feeling him slick and ready.

“Are you wearing a condom?” A startled laugh breaks past my lips, swollen and trembling waiting for his kiss.

“I knew I couldn’t wait.” He sucks at my shoulder and slips his fingers between my legs, squeezing my clit and penetrating me with his middle finger. My hips thrust in time with the cadence of one finger, two fingers, three buried inside of me, his thumb occupied with caressing the button of flesh where all my pleasure has centered.

“I could barely concentrate in that session thinking about your ass in that non-existent outfit on set,” he says, and I go limp against him. “I’ve been hard all day.”

His fingers leave me, and the void left behind draws a tortured moan from my lips. He cups my butt, one cheek in each hand, lifting me until my feet leave the pool floor. He bends me over the edge, my elbows supporting me, giving me leverage. He squeezes and separates my cheeks, making room for him to slide in, like hot steel. We both gasp at the tight fit. At the perfect friction.

“Where has this been all my life?” Rhyson groans into the curve of my shoulder.

He pumps into me from behind, every thrust rasping my bare stomach against the smooth edge of the pool. My head drops back, the pleasure too much. One hand comes around, toying with my nipple while he slams into me, hitting a secret passage no one’s ever found, over and over until the sky above is spinning. The stars blur, melding into one bright celestial ceiling overhead. I slide my hand up and into his hair, gripping, holding on, and tethering myself to this world when everything inside me would spiral out of control.

“Pep, yes.” He grunts behind me, sliding one hand down my stomach and into the throbbing space between my legs. “I love you, Pep. I love you, baby.”

I can’t even answer with words, only managing a frantic nod as he shudders against my back, long and violent. His passion reverberates through my skin, through my bones, through my soul, shaking me to my heart.

“At least we made it to a bed the last time.” He laughs, slowly pulling out and bending behind me to scatter kisses between my shoulder blades.

I laugh too, my hands roaming through the water, searching for my bikini.

“Leave it.” He picks me up by my waist, turns me and sets me on the pool’s edge. My legs fall open, and he steps in until our bodies are flush. “No clothes.”

“Rhyson, we can’t—”

“No cameras.” He grins, running one finger from my ear, between my breasts and over the top of my thigh. “I want you naked.”

“It’s January.”

“January in L.A. . It’s not even that cool tonight.”

“You’re crazy. Okay, I guess I can be naked a little longer. I can’t be hungry though. You gotta feed me.”

Twenty minutes later, we devour the bounty of chicken breast, cheese, nuts, hummus, and vegetables Sarita left in the refrigerator.

Rhyson reclines on the patio lounge, one long leg folded under him, and the other planted to the side. I face him, naked and cross-legged, chomping on the food on platters between us.

“So how’d the shoot go?” He glances at me from beneath his lashes, dark hair flopping into his eyes.

“S’good.” I roll my eyes. “Long, but good.”

“You felt good? You did well?”

“I guess I did okay.” I shrug, dipping a cucumber into the hummus.

“Pep, it’s me.” He leans forward and grins. “You can tell me. You were amazing, right?”

I love that he doesn’t condemn my ambition or my confidence. How could he? The guy who’s been working toward his dream in one form or another since he was three years old? A deep laugh rises from my belly through my chest and erupts in the quiet of the night.

“I was freaking amazing!”

We laugh together until he grabs me by my nape, tugging my face to his.

“You are so damn talented, Pep,” he whispers against my lips. “It’s dangerous to be as gifted and beautiful as you are in this town.”

I draw back just enough to look into the dark eyes that aren’t laughing anymore.

“Why?”

“You’re a goldmine, and everyone will want in.” His eyes harden, the muscle in his jaw flexing beneath the skin. “But I’ll crush anyone who tries to take advantage of you.”

“Rhyson, no one’s trying to take advantage of me.” I pop a handful of almonds in my mouth. “I can take care of myself. I don’t want you fighting battles for me, okay? That will only play into people thinking of me as Rhyson Gray’s girlfriend.”

“You
are
Rhyson Gray’s girlfriend.” His eyes dare me to deny it.

“Of course I am, but I don’t want to be
just
that. I don’t want that to be the first thing people think about when they see me. When they work with me. I—”

My phone ringing beneath the lounge chair chops into my sentence.

“Don’t answer it.” Rhyson frowns, placing a hand over mine reaching for the phone. “We’ve had no time together.”

“I know, and I want an update on your dad. We haven’t gotten to really talk about how he’s doing.”

I glance at the screen.

“It’s San.” I lean forward to peck a kiss on his lips. “It’ll be quick. Promise.”

I grab the phone, turning away from Rhyson to plant both feet on the flagstones.

“San, hey. What’s up?”

“I promise it wasn’t me.”

“What wasn’t you? What are you talking about?”

“
Spotted
just broke the story about you and Rhyson. The pictures are out.“

“The story broke?” I ask. “Pictures from New York you mean?

Rhyson’s fingers, tracing lines up and down my naked spine, go still. He jumps up and strides over to his pile of clothes near the pool, naked, digging around in a pair of cargo pants for his phone.

“Yeah.” San heaves a sigh. “We aren’t the only ones who ran it. Apparently that pap sold those pics to several outlets.”

“Is the . . . I mean, it’s not bad or anything, right?” The knot in my stomach tightens.

“You look great, actually.” San laughs. “It’ll probably make folks want to see Luke’s video even more.”

“Video?” I push my fingers through my still-damp and tangled hair. “What about his video?”

“There’s pictures of you and Rhyson on the set of Luke’s video from today.”

I press the phone to my chest and close my eyes. Before I’ve even had a chance to prove anything, my abilities will be called into question.

“You there, Kai?” San’s voice echoes from the phone pressed to my breastbone.

I pull the phone back to my ear to respond, needing to end the call and see it for myself.

“San, yeah. I’m gonna go.”

“You aren’t planning to come home tonight, right?”

“No, I’m staying at Rhyson’s.” Something in San’s voice prompts my next question. “Why?”

“Our place is crawling with paps. Get used to it.”

As soon as we hang up, I go to the
Spotted
website. No need to search because we’re the front page story. There are pictures. The picture of Rhyson and me in the tree house. Me straddling him and looking over my shoulder, my face clear as day. We knew those were coming, but the pictures from today on set floor me. We’re standing close, intimacy and affection apparent between us. Rhyson’s face is buried in my hair for one shot, our hands clasped. In another I’m looking at him like some lovestruck puppy, my adoration clear.

“I don’t care, Bristol.” Rhyson’s voice breaks my concentration. “I told you those pictures from New York would surface sooner or later, and I have no idea who took the pictures today on set. I guess it could have been anybody.”

He nods, listening to her response, dressed now in cargo pants, feet and broad chest still bare.

“Don’t tell me to be careful, Bris. Fuck careful. I don’t care who knows. You can tell them that . . . hold on.”

He walks over to me, squatting at my feet by the lounge chair, setting the phone down on the ground.

“Bristol’s getting calls and texts about the story. About the pictures. About us.” He tips up my chin, studying my face. “Can she confirm?”

I didn’t think we’d have to do this so soon. We just got back from New York. He popped up on set, we fought, we made up, he came home, we made love in the pool. Cheese, hummus, chicken, nuts. Now I’m splattered all over the interweb. Things are moving fast. Things have broken the speed limit. Things are traveling at the freaking speed of light.

“Pep?” Rhyson flips the length of hair over my naked shoulder, his warm hand cupping my jaw. “I
want
to confirm. Can I?”

Our eyes lock. A lot hinges on this moment, on my next words.

“Remember I’m yours and you’re mine.” He leans up and kisses me, one hand slipping under my hair. “I kinda want the world to know.”

A part of me wants that too. Other parts of me want time to get used to this. Time to adjust to adjacent fame. Time to create my own. But it looks like I won’t get that now. Every time he kisses me, I fall deeper. Fall further. My reasons for resisting him disintegrate.

“Baby, can I confirm?”

I press my forehead into his, nodding and running my fingers through the wet, silky hair clinging around his ears. He grins, giving me one more kiss before returning to Bristol on the phone.

“Confirm, yeah,” he says.

I slip on his long-sleeved T-shirt, looking back to my phone to read the story beneath the pictures.

“Notoriously media-shy rocker, Rhyson Gray, isn’t hiding his new relationship with aspiring singer-dancer-model, Kai Pearson.”

Model? I’m five foot two. I couldn’t model my way down a grocery store aisle.

“Sources close to Gray confirm that he has been seeing Pearson secretly for months”.

No sources close to Rhyson have confirmed anything. The only “close source” is the one he’s on the phone with now. Load of crap reporting.

“Pearson, a Georgia native, recently moved to Los Angeles, teaches dance classes at a Los Angeles rec center, and works at L.A. eatery, The Note. Some speculate the two met through Gray’s uncle, Bentley Gray, who is also Pearson’s vocal coach. Pictures were obtained today on the set of Luke Foster’s new video, in which Pearson stars as a dancer. Pearson has appeared in one other music video, Drex Martin’s single, ‘Candy.’”

“You were in Drex Martin’s video?” Rhyson stands over me, scrolling through the same story on his phone, a frown puckering his face.

Drex hasn’t entered my mind in months. Seeing my name linked to his in print rattles me, floods my mind with fractured images from a dark night I’m glad I barely remember.

“Yeah, it was a fluke, but yeah.”

“Fluke?” He tosses the phone onto the lounge chair and returns his eyes to my face. “How do you mean?”

“It was my first month here.” I pick at a few chunks of cheese, but my appetite is suddenly gone. “I was taking a dance class at the rec center, and one of the instructors was booked for Drex’s video, but sprained her ankle.”

I shrug, giving up completely on the food and lying back in the lounger, crossing my ankles.

“She’d seen me dance and recommended me to take her place. It wasn’t a big deal. Didn’t get much attention since the song didn’t do that well.”

“His songs never do.” Rhyson’s voice is heavy with disgust.