Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

half apron accentuating his trim waist, it was a killer combination.

      “Couldn’t resist my offer?” He held the door open and motioned for her to enter.

      “I couldn’t resist the offer of a comfy couch. I think mine was home to a family of raccoons before I got here.”

      “If that’s what brought you here, I’ll take it.”

      Wren had been in Rhys’s apartment before, but she’d been more focused on her bleeding hand and his half-naked state the last time she was here. Now she had the opportunity to take in his space.

      It was tidy to a fault, not a single cushion out of order. Next to the big-screen TV, he’d hung a shelf that was lined with books arranged by height. A set of hand weights rested in a rack near the window. They, too, were arranged by size. On top of the solid coffee table was a fancy-looking remote.

      “You may be the tidiest person I have ever met,” she said, gazing around the apartment and feeling slightly inadequate. “Seriously, I want to fling some paint across your floor just to mess things up.”

      “A clean space is a clean mind,” Rhys replied as he headed back to the kitchen. “I can’t think if there’s too much clutter. Besides, it doesn’t take much effort to keep something clean. I have a system in place.”

      “A system?”

      “Yeah, a routine, you might call it.”

      “Stop. This conversation is becoming way too adult for me.” She leaned against the kitchen counter as he gathered up a handful of chopped onions and tossed them into a pan on the stove.

      “I guess I shouldn’t tell you about my cleaning routine spreadsheet, then?” Laughter rumbled in his chest at her widened eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

      “I get the impression you’re one of those people who’s totally in control at all times.” She watched as he added green peppers to the frying pan and stirred them with a wooden spoon.

      “No one is in control of life at all times.” He thought for a second. “But I do try to keep a firm hand on things.”

      I wouldn’t mind if he kept a firm hand on me.

      Wren stifled a smile as she watched Rhys work the kitchen like a pro. He had his back to her, granting her a secret moment to openly admire his ass. The man wore a pair of jeans like nobody’s business.

      Why had she come here? To torture herself, apparently.

      A deep ache built within her. It had been so long since she’d had sex, and with the stress of her fleeing her hometown and getting herself installed at Ainslie Ave, she hadn’t made much time for self-appreciation, either. Her hands twitched with the desire to knead the firm muscles beneath his jeans. She could almost imagine how it would feel to clutch that ass as he plunged deep inside her.

      “Wren?”

      “Huh?” Her cheeks were as hot as an open flame.

      “I asked if you’re allergic to anything? I should have checked before I decided what to cook.”

      “Oh no, I’m healthy as an ox.” Physically, anyway. Emotionally…not so much. “I’ll eat pretty much anything. When you’re raised in a tiny town, you don’t always get a lot of choice.”

      “I’m sure small-town living has its perks.” Rhys cracked a few eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. “Not that I would ever consider leaving the city.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “I like being able to keep busy.”

      “And I like the anonymity of the city.” She watched his deft hands making their dinner as gracefully as if he were conducting a symphony. You could tell a lot by watching people use their hands—and it was clear he knew exactly how to use his. “It’s so freeing to be able to leave the house without people gossiping about your every move.”

      “That happen a lot to you at home?”

      “Oh yeah. It’s kind of like being famous without any of the perks.”

      “Sounds awful.”

      “It truly is.” She sighed. “The worst thing is that people don’t hesitate to make things up.”

      “Why let the truth get in the way of a good story, right?” He shook his head. “I really don’t get why people thrive on gossip. There’s so many more interesting things out there in the world.”

      “Couldn’t agree more.”

      Within minutes Rhys had put two perfectly formed vegetable omelets onto pristine white plates. The scent of garlic, cheese and eggs made Wren’s mouth water. She realized then that she’d barely eaten all day. Too busy worrying about the fate of her internship…and the possibility of what might happen if she saw Rhys again.

      Time to find out.

      “So, do you have any idea who might be behind the security issues at the gallery?” They took their seats at a small table with two chairs. The space was cozy and her knees brushed against his.

      “Not yet. Today was just a preliminary meeting. Quinn will be running the investigation, so she’ll most likely be back to ask more questions and help Sean set up a proper security system.”

      “A proper security system?” The omelet seemed to stick in her throat. There went her hopes of trying to break into the storage room again.

      She’d found out during her first week that he didn’t have any security cameras when she’d asked if there was a backup procedure for the camera tapes. She’d dodged suspicion with a false story about her duties at the community center back home, and he’d told her that he didn’t believe in keeping an eye on his staff in that way.

      “Yeah, I can’t believe he doesn’t have a proper security monitoring system in place already. If his paintings are worth that much, it seems crazy not to have cameras.”

      Wren chewed slowly. She was positive Sean had the money for security cameras. Which meant he chose not to have them because he didn’t want footage of the inside of his gallery. All the more reason to suspect he was doing something illegal or, at the very least, unethical.

      “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Rhys said. “We’ll find whoever did this. And if they’ve committed a crime, we’ll hand them over to the police.”

      Had she committed a crime? Did going through someone’s emails count as an offense?

      All the more reason for her not to say anything to Rhys. She couldn’t risk getting fired and possibly fined—or, God forbid, arrested—just for the sake of a romantic fling.

      “That does seem crazy. Well, I hope you find whoever is doing these things.” Guilt twinged in her gut, but she reminded herself why she was here—to help her friend. The usually confident and bubbly Kylie had come home a shell of her former self, and she deserved payback. “This omelet is incredible, by the way. Thanks for cooking.”

      He reached for the bottle of wine and topped up her glass. “I’m just being neighborly and returning the favor.”

      “You patched me up when I cut myself—that debt was already paid.”

      “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

      The sound of their silverware clicking and scraping filled Wren’s pause. “I’m surprised, given what happened. I shouldn’t have kicked you out like that. It was rude.”

      “That night has been on my mind.” He sipped his wine and Wren watched him, transfixed, as the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. Everything about him was so strong, so sure. So powerful and yet controlled. Restrained. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”

      “You’ve thought about that night or just my painting?”

      “All