Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter 4 

“….
In the World
.”  I vaguely register Jeremy Clarkson’s voice declaring the worst car in the world, eyes closed, breathing deep and even, on the edge of sleepy oblivion when I am roused by a soft rap on the door.

“Room Service
.” With a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I pull the door open, a protest already passing my lips.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t…” Before I can get the words out Rhys peers around the corner and dismisses the room service waiter.

“I’ll take it from here, chap.” Pushing past the dumbstruck waiter, he rolls the silver cart into the room, turning and slipping the young man a tip before closing the door, turning his attention to me. “I thought perhaps a midnight snack,” revealing an array of snacks from underneath the shiny silver serving dome. Plump, ripe figs, green globe grapes and Chevre accompanied by a sliced baguette and shaved prosciutto.  My stomach growls at the sight. Realizing I haven’t eaten since brunch, I momentarily forget to question what he is doing in my room, yet again. I pick at the grapes mindlessly watching him move about the cart, he is fidgeting. Is he nervous? What on earth for? 

“What are you doing here, Rhys?”
quizzing as I nibble on grapes, pushing the sleepiness back.

“We should talk.” His tone is pensive and unsure. God, I hate those words, we should talk. Nothing good ever comes from that phrase
, I hate those words.

“OK.” I am unsure of his motives, but intrigued and a little hungry come to think of it. He moves into the room, scanning his surroundings, looking anywhere but in my eyes.

“You’re a good girl, Sophie.” Was that a question? It sounded like a declaration. Whatever it is, I am immediately defensive.

“You don’t know me.”
With only five little words this man has got my back up.

“I know enough to know that I don’t want to hurt you.” He moves to sit at the edge of the bed
. “And if this happens… Us. You will get hurt. I don’t do relationships.” I stand above him, arms crossed, trying to hide the growing anger in my eyes.

“Wow! Does your ego know no bounds? We have known each other for a minute, and you think I want to be in a relationship with you? You don’t know anything about me, Rhys. You have made assumptions about me, but you are very wrong.”

“Fine,” he says. “Are you a good girl, Sophie?” His wide eyes wait. My mind rages and I open my mouth to respond with a bite, but quickly snap it shut. 

“I. What is wrong with that? Why does it sound like an insult? What does it even mean?” I am exasperated. Why would being good be a bad thing? He stands, resting his hands on my shoulders, sending a spark across my skin, looking down on me with soft, pity filled eyes.

“It means you are good and sweet. You are Olivia’s friend and I hope you will be mine.” I push away from him and cross the room. I need distance, moving into the corner, closer to the open windows and fresh air, air that is not riddled with his scent.

“So, now you want to be my friend?” Frustration at his judgment boils over and I lose control of my tongue, while Olivia’s words echo in my head, ‘Be careful, he is a force.’ “
I see what you do Rhys. You like to keep women off balance. Well, you won’t rattle me. Just because my bed post isn’t whittled to a toothpick from all the notches doesn’t mean I am a good girl! Just because I am not sexually hyperactive or walk around with my body on display, like your contemporaries doesn’t mean I am not a grown woman. You have misjudged me and overestimated your effect, I might add.” I move back into his orbit. “It is one thing that I have had to listen to these women talk about you like some prized stud while they leer at me, assuming already that I am your latest victim.” I jab my finger into his chest, his hard, unyielding chest. “But it is another for you to stand before me and proclaim it for yourself. I have some dignity, Rhys. And if you think I was just going to fall flat on my back for you, you really don’t know anything about me.” He throws his hands up and takes a step back, backing up against the bed.

“OK, I’m sorry. Let’s start over. Can we start over, please?” He pleads. I take a deep breath and watch him fill his lungs with a deep breath. His face softens and the edge in his stance wavers. I don’t want him to go, and I didn’t want to come across so angry. I take a deep, cleansing breath and smile at him, taking a grape to fill my mouth and still my tongue.

“Fine, let’s start over,” I offer, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

“Good. I brought snacks. I thought we could get to know one another, Sophie.” His lips caress my name. His eyes are wide and hopeful. “Get friendly.” His crooked smile wins the day, helping me to shake off the last ropes of frustration.
Sure, it was a product of the scotch, sleepiness and his intoxicating proximity. His intentions were painfully clear in the way he kissed me outside, like a silly young girl with a crush, he gently dismissed me. Now that I know where we stand why should I not demystify and get
friendly
with this enigma? I look up at his waiting face, dark lashes framing emerald green eyes, freckles dusted across the bridge of his straight nose. There is warmth in his face that was not evident before now, his grin is eager, no intimidation in his manner. I offer a warm smile and climb to the head of the bed, pulling the comforter up over my legs, clearing space for Rhys and his meticulously arranged platter of nibbles. He offers me a glass of Perrier, kicks off his shoes and lowers himself onto the bed next to me, careful to sit on top of the comforter.

“Are you watching Top Gear?”
His voice betrays surprise and awe.

“I forgot the TV was on, you can change it if you like, or turn it off.”

“No, no it’s good, leave it on.” He tilts his head in curiosity and turns back to the TV. “They drive some beautiful cars.” I watch him take a bite from a fig, his lips full and soft. The smallest action, so bewitching, and before I can regain myself and look away he catches me. Slowly, he rolls his tongue along his lower lip, reveling in the sticky drops of nectar from the fig then offers me the succulent fruit. All reason is shattered the moment he wrapped his lips around that damn fruit. Every cell in my body is pulsating, a fire rising in my abdomen. A dull hum fills my head and my pulse quickens, threatening any amount of control I convinced myself that I wielded. His long slender fingers hold the delicate fig, careful not to bruise or damage the tender flesh. I can’t help but wonder if those fingers are always so careful and agile. The thought is rattling. I have to kick this man out of my head. The fog clears from my eyes in time for me to see his crooked, triumphant grin. He knows what he does, there is no question about that. I have to shake him off and look away, denying his offer.

“Why did you leave the bachelor party?” I ask, a seemingly a safe topic to distract myself from his overtly sexual energy and the sting of his earlier rejection.

“It was about to get dirty.” He is very matter of fact.

“I thought the dirty bits were the part men loved the most.” I can’t help but be playful.
There is an energy between us that makes it almost impossible for me to hold my tongue, we have a verbal chemistry and my sharp tongue has been in desperate need of a counterpart. 

“I prefer a…..hi
gher caliber of entertainment.” His eyes hold me in a death grip, refusing to let me go. Raising the remainder of the fig to his mouth, he slowly licks the soft pink center, his eyes never leaving mine, he pops it into his mouth with a low groan and a wicked smile.               “Like debutantes and socialites?”

“You twist my words. And you shouldn’t place any value on idle chatter, Sophie, women are wicked and ruthless,” he says flatly.

“I am a woman.”

“I suppose there are exceptions to every rule,” he offers warmly, the cynicism quickly melting from his face. “The women in these circles have too much time on their hands and too many fetishes and secrets to count.” His elusive language tickles my ears, commanding my full attention. 

“Fetishes and secrets, huh? That sounds eerily like the conversations that were floating around about you this afternoon.” The words just sit there, I don’t know what to expect.

“Fetishes?
No, I am devoid of any kink you may assume, Sophie. I'm as vanilla as the next guy.” I raise an eyebrow in total disbelief. “Perhaps
French vanilla
would be a better descriptor.” He winks and sends a pulse through my belly. “But nonetheless, don't let them fool you. I possess certain talents, talents that make me a popular topic of conversation apparently. But I acquired those talents by paying attention, by listening and adapting.” Humor flashes in his eyes while he watches me squirm. My mind is swimming in a cocktail of confusion, thoughts of heart pounding, sheet ripping, sweat drenched sex swirling in my empty head. I am suddenly gripped by frustration and anger at being played with.

“What is this?” My tongue is slightly sharper than I had intended, a scowl painted on my face. His eyes betray no emotion as he reads my face and then returns his attention to the platter of fruit.

“Well, these are figs and those are grapes…”

“Rhys, what is this? Is this how you make friends?” I wave my hand between us, waiting for an answer but all he offers is that crooked half smile. “What are you doing here? Why are you taunting me? It seems beneath you.”  I can see the mirth in his eyes, turning up the wattage on his grin to full panty busting power. My god he really is sexy. That grin has a direct connection to my center, burning me up from the inside.

“Sophie.” His lips curl around my name, a whisper of promise. The lines of his face change, harden, all joking gone. He sits up carefully and turns to face me, our knees touching through the comforter. He squares his shoulders with mine and traps me with his clear green eyes like a doe in headlights. “Sophie, you are Olivia’s best and oldest friend. That makes you my friend, besides, she talks about you constantly. I feel like I do know you and can I just say that she did not do you justice.” His face is soft now, expectant, waiting. “I just…like you.” I release the breath I have been holding in frustration and my shoulders drop from relief. Sitting face to face with Rhys, the air is electric, his scent hanging like a spell, intoxicating and unmistakably male. His eyes are disarming and genuine with anticipation, but my tongue is twisted. His eyes are so deeply green, it is like being lost in a deep forest, he has wiped my mind clean.

“I am sorry that I cannot say the same about you. Olivia has never mentioned you.” His face falls momentarily, realizing that I truly know nothing about him.

“Never?” He mulls the reality momentarily. “Perhaps that was for the best, I wouldn’t want you to have the wrong impression.”

“And what impression would that be?” My curiosity peaked. I know the impression I have gotten from others and it is one that I cannot soon forget.

“I think you had a taste today. Did you not say that I was a popular topic of conversation?” The arch of his eyebrow is sharp and knowing. “Never mind that.  I rarely have the opportunity to make my own first impression. What a concept,” he quips to himself, lost in the impossible idea of his anonymity. The carousel that is his revolving mood is exhausting. His mercurial nature ever changing and confusing, keeps a girl on her toes. With a renewed energy he bounds off the bed and goes to the mini bar.              

“Let’s toast to getting to know each other, Sophie and Rhys, fast friends.” The emphasis falls on friends, as he pulls two crystal rocks glasses and a crystal decanter of amber liquor from the bar, adding ice cubes to the glasses from the silver bucket on the room service cart. Climbing back on the
bed, he hands me a glass with a smile that makes him look so young and carefree. He pours one finger for me and then for himself before placing the crystal decanter on the bedside table. He raises his glass to me. “To Us, Sophie, new friends and first impressions.” I don’t take my eyes off of him as we toast, waiting for his mood to shift.

“Why is it so important to you that I didn’t know who you are?” 

“Clearly you do not read gossip columns. I grew up in a bubble.  Everything was dictated by my father and his standing, our name. From a young age, I have been in the public eye, I have never been anonymous. People know about me and think that they know who I am. They see pictures of me and think they know me. People project who they want you to be and then are disappointed when you don’t measure up. Women can smell the money from a mile away. They always want more. I learned from a young age how to give people what they want, without giving them a piece of me. It can be exhausting,” he reveals himself without hesitation. “It is refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t know me, or better yet, want something from me. I can truly be myself.” Relief emanates from his body, he is visibly relaxed. He has removed his mask.              

“So, the idle chatter and general excitement that you rouse in these women is what, unwarranted?”

“No, I am aware of my reputation. And I have earned it,” he quips with a sly grin. “I am not opposed to the occasional casual encounter. I enjoy the company of women and have cultivated a very healthy set of skills. But, it has been a very long while since I have dated. I prefer to keep things light. One night, any more than that and people start to get the wrong idea. What they do once they have moved on is not my concern.”

“So you collect virgins?”