My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) (29 page)

“Cold?”

The deep rumble of Rhyson’s voice behind me dents the quiet of Christmas night.

“Li’l bit.” I don’t turn to see him, but I’m already smiling. “Got a coat?”

“Nope.” He walks farther onto the porch bringing a smile with him. “Got an arm though.”

“I’ll take it.”

I shift on the step to make room for his wide shoulders beside me, and notice for the first time the step doesn’t move under my bottom. I wiggle again, frowning when the step doesn’t wobble.

“Something going on with your hips?” Rhyson laughs and settles beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“This step has wobbled for years, but—”

“I fixed it.”

“Why?” I can’t explain the fist tightening around my heart, but it’s squeezing until I’m sure blood will leak through my dress. “Who told you to do that?”

Rhyson pulls back to stare at me, his arm dropping from my shoulder.

“It was dangerous.” His words start out slow like he’s still figuring out my crazy. “It was loose, and we had a hundred people coming up these steps for Christmas breakfast.”

“Yeah, I mean . . .” I run a finger over the step like I have a million times sitting here, looking up that road, waiting for Daddy to appear. “I’m sorry. Thanks.”

“Did you
want
the step loose?”

“No, of course not. I just . . . it’s stupid.”

“All the more reason to tell me.” Rhyson bumps shoulders. “Your perfection is exhausting.”

God, he’s great.

He’s the most unexpected gift I’ve ever received, and he treats me better than any guy ever has. And I’m whining because he fixed a step I could have tripped and broken my neck on waiting for my daddy to come home and repair it?

“My mama would never fix that step because it was the last thing Daddy said to her. I had a dance recital. He said I’ll fix that step when we get home after the recital, but he never showed up.”

I palm my knees, squeezing them until I can finish.

“He never came home.” A one-sided smile cracks my face. “She wouldn’t touch that step for years, but would never say why. I knew though. And this is where I’d sit on birthdays and Christmas, wondering if he might show up.”

My fake laugh sounds harsh even to my ears.

“The first few years, when I was still young, I’d sit right here wearing my ballet shoes so I’d be ready when he came back. Somehow, I convinced myself that if he had just seen me dance, he would have stayed.”

It shouldn’t still hurt that he never came back, but especially at Christmas, especially this first Christmas without Mama, it does.

“I’m sorry,” Rhyson says. “Not that I fixed the step. That was a hazard. I’m sorry he never showed. Sorry he ever left and missed out on you and your mom. I can tell she was something special.”

Enough talk about my sorry excuse for a father. He doesn’t deserve any of a day that has been as close to perfect as it could be without Mama here.

“You know what was special?” I drop my head to his shoulder.

“Aunt Bea’s Rudolph sweater?”

I laugh until I snort.

“Admit it,” Rhyson continues. “If I went up to your closet right now, I’d find a dozen Christmas sweaters.”

“I was much younger and it was a long time ago.”

“Sure it was, Rudy.”

“Would you be serious for a minute?” I’m still laughing. Can’t help it.

“Okay.” He reaches down to caress my hair. “What was special?”

I want to lean into him until he absorbs me and I can’t tell where he ends and where I begin. But that’s what’s so dangerous about Rhyson. I need to
begin
somewhere. I need to be my own person with my own goals and my own dreams, not get lost in his breadth. Our dynamic could get really complicated, but tonight it’s simple. Just a boy and a girl who love being together.

“You coming here was special.” I laugh a little. “You serving pancakes was special. This whole day was special.”

“For me too.” Rhyson puts one hand over mine on my knee. “It’s been the best Christmas, maybe ever.”

That makes me happy.

“It’s gonna be hard to go,” Rhyson says.

That makes me sad.

“When are you leaving?” I study his profile in the dim porch light, the hard lines of his jaw and cheekbones softened only by the curve of his full lips.

“Probably tomorrow.”

“Why?” That sounded whiny. “I mean, I thought you could stay a little longer.”

“I gotta get ready for New Year’s Eve.”

“New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah, I have this little performance in Times Square.”

“You’re performing in Times Square for New Year’s Eve?” I squeal. “Oh my gosh. That’s incredible. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, it’s Bristol’s doing.” He quirks his mouth and rolls his eyes. “They invited me, but I’m bringing Marlon so we can do that song from his album we’re releasing soon. Build some buzz. We need to start rehearsing this week.”

“I’ll make sure to watch.”

“I’ll give you another shout out.” He tugs his ear twice the way he did when he performed on Fallon. “Or you could come with me?”

He tempts me with a look from under those long, girls-would-kill-for lashes.

“Nah, not this time.” I shake my head. “I probably won’t see Aunt Ruthie again for a while, and I promised her this whole week.”

“So the next time we see each other, it’ll be a new year.”

“Yep.”

I’ll see him in a week, so it’s foolish how my heart sinks at the thought of him leaving tomorrow.

“Pep, I know you wanted to take things slow and to make your own way before we took things to the next level between us.” Rhyson slides away and squats on the step below me, catching and holding my eyes. “But next year can’t be like the last few months.”

I gulp, pulling back from the intoxicating heat and scent of him.

“Rhyson, I—”

“Nope,” he interrupts, trapping my eyes with his. “I’ve let you take the lead for a long time, Pep. I’m doing this.”

“Doing what exactly?”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his phone, and turns it around so I can see the screen before suspending it over our heads.

I don’t know whether to laugh or pass out.

“A mistletoe app?” My voice is small and uncertain. “Digital mistletoe?”

“Yeah.” Rhyson shrugs like this is normal. “Guess Pops inspired me. This way I can keep mistletoe around all the time too. And always have an excuse to kiss you. Starting tonight.”

“Rhyson, I think we should—”

“Any last words before we have our first kiss?”

“We’re not going to—”

“The hell we aren’t.”

He sets the phone on the step, captures the back of my neck, and pulls me so close his breath invades my mouth. The kiss starts slow, a brush of our lips together. A catch and release, him pulling back and running his eyes over my face before pressing my breasts back into his hard chest. He’s kissing me again, his tongue stroking mine, sucking gently until my toes curl in my boots. He’s imprinting his taste into the lining of my jaw, into the underside of my tongue, into the skin inside my lips. A sweet heat is trapped in my mouth, like lightning in a bottle. Exploding and suffusing the sensitive tissues with delicious fire.

His thick hair curls around my fingers as they dig into his scalp. My hands drift down to cup either side of his face. I stretch my mouth wider over his, pulling his tongue in so deep it whispers across the entrance of my throat. We pant into each other’s mouths, and we’re so tight together, his heart slams into mine.

I’m standing at the edge of flame. Singed, not yet burned. If I don’t break this kiss, there is no way back. I’ll find a way to have him. Even with Aunt Ruthie upstairs, even with Mama’s memory lingering in every room, even with the family Bible on the living room table—I’ll have him tonight if I don’t put a stop to this.

“Rhyson, please stop,” I beg against his lips. “Not yet.”

He pulls back a few centimeters, pressing our foreheads together, hard breaths against my mouth, palms at my throat, fingers at the back of my neck.

“Pep,” he whispers against my lips. “When?”

How do I answer? My heart and my body scream
right
now
! I thought I could hold out until I made it big, till I got my break, and stood on my own two feet. Had my own accomplishments separate from Rhyson’s fame. My own career. But asking myself to wait is like asking my heart not to beat. Or my eyes not to blink. Rhyson is my involuntary response. I can’t help but to want him, and not just physically. To want everyone to know he’s mine and I’m his. To wake up with him on my mind and in my arms. I don’t know how much longer I can resist him. As a matter of fact, I’m forgetting why I should, so I lay my lips against his softly and whisper the truth.

“Soon.”

IT’S A NEW YEAR, AND I’M
going to Rhyson’s house.

I mean, technically, he invited me to see his home studio and sit in on a session for Grip’s new album. But still . . . I’m going to Rhyson’s house. I’ve lost count of the times he’s been to my apartment, but I’ve never been to his place. I drive across town in San’s beat-up Toyota, letting Google maps lead me to Rhyson’s Calabasas address.

If Google maps girl could comment on the changing landscape, she’d probably say something along the lines of, “Holy crap.” The closer I get, the more exclusive the scenery becomes. Everything is gorgeous and gated. When I reach Rhyson’s community, the first thing I notice is the photographers parked alongside the road, poised to jump in their cars and give chase as soon as someone famous rolls through those gates. They probably assume I’m delivering pizza or something.

The small structure housing the security guard intimidates me, though Rhyson promised to leave my name up front. Sure enough, when I show my ID, I’m buzzed right in. The closer I get to Rhyson’s home, the more tangled the knots in my stomach become. I haven’t seen him since he kissed me on the porch over a week ago. Between Times Square, his other commitments in New York, and all the hours I’ve been putting in preparing the girls for their next dance competition, we’ve barely spoken. And when we did, it wasn’t as natural or as easy as I’m used to. I think we’re figuring out what’s next. I’m not sure, and Rhyson feels like he already knows. Will we compromise? That doesn’t seem to be something Rhyson’s especially good at.

We’re at a turning point. I know we can’t keep doing this, but I’m not sure I’m ready for what a relationship with Rhyson means. Am I ready to be chased all over town, followed because of who I’m dating? Splashed all over the media any time we go out? Potentially not taken seriously in auditions, or given a chance only because I’m Rhyson Gray’s girl?
Am
I ready to be Rhyson’s girl? To trust him with everything? Because when he looks at me, eyes already possessive, I know he’ll settle for nothing less.

A gigantic house looms ahead with its gate standing open. I park in the cobblestone driveway, San’s compact car dwarfed by the beautiful Mediterranean architecture of Rhyson’s home. After a few deep breaths, I get up the nerve to ring the bell.

The short, round woman who answers the door offers me a warm smile.

“Ms. Pearson?” she asks in a soft voice with a heavy accent.

“Yes.” I step in when she opens the door wider. “But please call me Kai.”

“I’m Sarita.” She leads me through the foyer with the stone-slabbed floors and the modern chandelier glinting overhead. “Mr. Gray told me you’d be coming.”

We walk down the long, wide hall with art-splattered walls and down a flight of stairs until we reach an open room with pinball machines, arcade games, a gargantuan plasma television, and a pool table, where Rhyson leans, holding a cue and grinning.

“Welcome to Chez Gray, Pep.” He walks over and grabs my hand.

“Will that be all, Mr. Gray?” Sarita asks.

“Yeah, thanks.” He looks down at me as Sarita walks away, his eyes devouring me. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a week.” My cheeks heat and my belly somersaults under that look.

“I’ve gotten spoiled seeing you all the time.” He sets one hand at my waist and one at my neck, dipping to brush his lips over mine. I enjoy the warm contact for a few seconds before pulling away, my pulse slamming against my wrists.