Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

      “If you finish that sentence I’m going to come home and throttle you,” Wren threatened. “And don’t start again with the ‘I’m a doctor’ BS.”

      “You’re so mean.”

      “No, I’m setting boundaries. It’s a healthy thing to do. You should try it sometime.”

      Debbie huffed. “Well, I guess I won’t bother telling you the real reason I called, then.”

      Her sister could be a little melodramatic sometimes. Crocodile tears had been her best weapon as a child, her ability to wrap their parents around her little finger far surpassing Wren’s natural openness. Part of her used to resent Debbie’s way of doing things, but now Wren saw honesty as something to be wary of. Something to be used wisely. Like a currency.

      “Spill,” she demanded, wandering into the kitchen and flicking on her coffee machine.

      “I checked in on Kylie today.” Suddenly Debbie’s tone was heavier, burdened with emotion.

      “How is she?”

      “Not good. She’s lost a lot of weight.” And that was saying something since Kylie was already on the thin side. “She said that someone called her today asking about her work at the gallery.”

      “Did she say who it was?” Could it have been Rhys? It surely wouldn’t take him too long to connect Kylie to Wren. Their hometown was small enough that it would be easy to assume they were acquaintances, at the very least. Perhaps Sean had said something.

      “Some girl. Kylie was so flustered by the call that she didn’t think to get her name.” Debbie sighed.

      It must have been Quinn. “Right.”

      “She was seriously shaken up. They were asking about whether or not she had a relationship with the gallery owner.”

      “Why would they want to know that?”

      “I have no idea.”

      Wren rubbed her hand over her face. “Did Kylie catch where they were calling from? Was it the police?”

      “No. A security company, I think she said.”

       Definitely Quinn.

      Debbie paused. “Tell me you’re safe, Birdie.”

      The concern in her sister’s voice made a crushing weight land on Wren’s chest. “I’m fine, I promise.”

      “Kylie was asking about you again. I told her you were probably being brainwashed on your ‘art retreat’ into some tree-hugging, plant-eating hippie as we speak.”

      She could practically hear her sister rolling her eyes. “Good.”

      “In all seriousness, though, you should come home soon. I’m doing my best, but she’s closer to you and I don’t think she’s telling me everything about what happened.”

      “I’ll email her. But I don’t have any results yet, so I can’t come home.”

      “What exactly do you think you’re going to find? This seems like a wild freaking goose chase.”

      Wren swallowed and reached for a mug from the rack next to the sink. The floral design had a chunk taken out of it from when she’d accidentally knocked it over while cooking dinner one night. Her fingertip traced the imperfection.

      “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But there’s something up with this Ainslie guy. I can just…feel it. He’s doing something bad, and I’d bet my last ten dollars that what happened to Kylie wasn’t a first.”

      “Please be careful.”

      “I’m fine, Debs. Cross my heart.” She poured her coffee and hoped that the false confidence in her voice was enough to placate her sister.

      “Okay. I’ll leave you alone, but I’m calling again in a few days and I don’t want you to give me this ‘I need boundaries’ bullshit. I’m your sister and I will find you so I can whip your ass, if necessary.”

      “You’re getting all Liam Neeson on me,” Wren teased. “Are you going to threaten me with your ‘very particular set of skills’?”

      “Damn straight I am. Now swear to me you’ll check in more often?”

      “I solemnly swear to check in more often.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Hand on heart.”

      They finished the call a moment later after Debs gave her another “pep talk” about her sex life. The woman couldn’t seem to go one phone call without bringing it up. She was twenty-three, though. So perhaps being at college meant she had sex on the brain.

      “You have sex on the brain,” she said to herself with a shake of her head.

      The last few days had been a giant waste of time. Instead of being able to concentrate on her work, her head had been full of Rhys. Not just because the sex had been amazing, but because she’d felt amazing afterward.

      With Christian, sex had been like a field of land mines. Sometimes she’d navigated it safely, sometimes not. It was impossible to tell what would set him off—it might be that she suggested something he considered “dirty” or that her body didn’t respond the way he’d expected.

      He was a product of his uptight, guilt-focused upbringing. His messed-up views on sex—and now, with space from him, she knew they were messed up—had caused her a lot of angst. Which often made it hard for her to fully enjoy sex. And that meant she often couldn’t relax during the act itself.

      But Rhys was different. With him she was free to be herself. For the first time in her life she felt sexy and beautiful. Amazing as the orgasms were, it wasn’t the most important part. It was laying in his arms afterward, feeling safe and secure and wanted. Not feeling judged.

      A tiny voice in the back of her mind niggled at her. Why stop at one night?

      She wasn’t going to be in New York for too long, so that meant there was no risk of anything long-term. No risk of him getting the idea that he had some claim or control over her.

      But there was the slight problem of the fact that he was the one person she should keep at a distance. Her desire for him battled with her desire to get revenge for her friend. He was the one person who could put a stop to her helping Kylie. And she wasn’t yet sure she could trust him to keep her secret and not hand her over to the police.

       Then you’ll just have to keep your lips shut and talk with your body. It’s about time you took what you wanted without worrying about anyone else—you’re done with that!

      BY THREE O’CLOCK Rhys was driving himself to distraction. With Quinn out of the office and working on the Ainslie Ave assignment, he felt disconnected from his job. He wanted to know what was going on—but checking in too often would only lead to trouble. Either Quinn would get suspicious, or she would think he doubted her.

      Neither of which he wanted.

      But knowing that didn’t help him focus on work. After rearranging his already-neat drawers, wiping down his desk and alphabetizing his books, he’d had enough. Now he was jogging upstairs to his apartment, craving a run. His nervous energy had to be burned off.

      Ever since Monday night his body had been wired. Electrified. Buzzing.

      As he bounded up the last few steps, he caught sight of Wren’s door. His feet carried him toward it without his brain having a chance to react. This had been his game the last few days, wanting to see her but resisting. His willpower slowly wearing down until now it was merely a whisper.

      Maybe he should check if she was home, just in case.

      “Just in case what?”