From the compressed line of her lips and the raised schoolmarm brow, I knew I was going to have to talk. I just didn’t know what the hell I was going to say.

Parker

As soon as Rhys disappeared to use the bathroom, Mr. Fairchild lost all interest in me. A red-haired woman with impressive breasts was clearly far more intriguing. He walked away toward her without saying a word, demonstrating beyond a doubt that I needed Rhys by my side to stay on the jerk’s radar.

It baffled me that a man wearing a white linen suit and purple slippers with gold embroidered initials held the fate of my future in his tiny little billionaire hands.

Rhys, and his not-so tiny hands, was currently off somewhere, freaking out.

He might be more stoic about it than most people, and Fairchild was too self-involved to have noticed, but the subject of Rhys’s retirement appeared to be a sore one. I was worried about his pallor when he strode away. Throwing out polite smiles to anyone who met my gaze, I hurried to follow in my fake boyfriend’s wake.

My concern was disconcerting.

Rhys was a big boy. One who showed up on a Harley to take me to a formal event. Not that I was complaining. I mean, I’d have to research its emission levels, but aesthetically the bike was delicious. It felt sexy. Really pleasantly sexy with my inner thighs pressed against Rhys’s hard thighs and the machine purring beneath me as the wind blew the tantalizing scent of Rhys’s spicy cologne around me.

Yum.

Who knew?

I threw that thought away. I could not have sexy thoughts about a man who would never have those kinds of thoughts about me in return. And I could not be hot for a guy who required a swear jar.

It wasn’t him, I reminded myself. It was the bike! The bike made everything hot.

I really hoped it had low emissions.

Still, I followed my curiosity to the bathroom Fairchild had directed Rhys to and waited outside for him. As soon as he opened the door, I blocked his path.

He sighed just before his expression shut down.

Uh-uh.

Answers were needed.

“The whole reason I agreed to this deception was because Fairchild was interested in Rhys the Widowmaker.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

And not snapping in that playful, antagonistic banter thing way we had going. This time he meant it.

What had happened here?

Sympathy softened my tone. “Rhys, if there’s a reason you find it difficult to talk about your boxing days, maybe we shouldn’t do this. I don’t want to put you in that position. Especially not with someone like Fairchild.”

He lifted his chin, his features taut. “I’m fine. There’s nothing to see here.”

“I disagree.” I gave his arm a squeeze, and he tensed at the gesture. Feeling awkward for touching him when he hadn’t invited it, I took a step back. “Something is going on with you. Is it… about your dad? Does your retirement remind you of why… of him?”

With an exasperated sigh, he stepped out into the hall. “He’s not the real reason I quit. Someone died. It wasn’t one of my matches, but I knew the guy, and it was a wake-up call. No sport is worth leaving your little brother behind with no fucking family to speak of. My career didn’t end the way I thought it would. That’s it. But”—he pushed into my personal space and I felt warm tingles between my thighs—“I can do this. There’s no getting out of this contract, Tinker Bell, so forget about it.”

He was deflecting, and I was going to let him. There was more to his story, I knew it, but I was also aware that I didn’t have his trust yet. That was fine. I could deal with that. It wasn’t as though I trusted him completely. Or that we were even about sharing personal information. Rhys wanted to keep this all business—why should I argue?

“I wasn’t attempting to get out of the contract. Unfortunately, I need you.” I made a face. “As soon as you left, Fairchild spotted a pair of breasts across the yacht he fancied more.”

Rhys snorted and slipped his hand into mine. “Then let’s go find him and show him how wrong he is.”

A spark of awareness shot up my arm. He had big, strong hands with calluses on his palms. I’d never dated a man with calluses before. They were surprisingly appealing.

Not that we were dating.

Needing to distract myself from whatever was happening to my body, I blurted out, “Did you know super yachts are bad for the environment?”

Rhys shot me an amused look. “There’s a surprise.”

“It’s true. However, last year an eco super yacht was launched in the Netherlands called the Black Pearl. The Black Pearl – you know, like from Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s got these big black DynaRig sails so it uses wind power. A true zero-emissions boat—”

“Is there a reason you’re rambling, Tink?” Rhys asked, laughter in his voice as we walked onto the upper deck.

It was annoying to consider he might be perceptive enough to know the difference between one of my rambles and when I was merely being informative. “Of course you’d consider anything related to environmental awareness as ‘rambling’”

He spun on me suddenly, forcing me back against the upper deck railing. Bracketing his hands on either side of the rails, he bent his head toward mine. Rhys frowned, as he seemed to search my face for something. “Let’s get rid of whatever stuck-up idea you got in your head about me. I might not be marching through the streets with my fucking Greenpeace sign, but I watch wildlife documentaries and I care that our selfish shit is devastating the planet’s ecosystems. Princess, I like animals more than I like people, so I definitely don’t like what we’re doing to their planet. Did you see the documentary with the walruses?” Rhys shook his head, genuine anger lighting his eyes. “I’m a grown fucking man, and I nearly bawled like a baby watching that shit.”

Rhys’s sincerity caused a tightening of attraction deep in my gut. He watched wildlife documentaries? I did bawl like a baby at the walruses and was strangely turned on that he was compassionate enough to admit to feelings on the matter.

I might have emitted a moan.

His eyebrows rose toward his hairline, and then a wicked grin flashed across his face.

Yup, I definitely emitted a moan.

If I were Hermione Granger, I could make the railing behind me disappear, thus plunging me into the waters below. A far more efficient equivalent to praying for the floor to open beneath my feet.

His eyes danced with delight. “Did I just push one of your hot buttons?”

I flushed bright red, and Rhys threw his head back in laughter. The big jerk. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to shove his arm away from the railing to free myself, but he wrapped his arms around me instead.

“What are you doing?” I huffed, staring up into his smiling, cocky, too-handsome face. My hands were braced on his powerful chest, his were pressing deep into my spine, and the tingles I’d felt earlier were now progressing to pivotal erogenous zones.

It was disconcerting to say the least.

“Caring about wildlife gets you hot. Good to know.”

I squirmed in his arms. “Does this conversation really require cuddling?”

His grip loosened, his hands coasting down my waist to my hips. “We’re supposed to be a couple, remember. Couples touch. In fact—”