Watch Me (Phoenix 1)

“Elise thought that might be the case.” Zoey swallowed that lump back down. Again. “Is her name really Hilary?”

“It is,” Rhys said as the cat purred louder on his lap. “Do you want me to tell you her story?”

Zoey started when a black cat jumped onto the back of the beanbag chair and sat on Zoey’s shoulder. She reached up to give the kitty a head scratch. “Is her story similar to mine?”

“Yes, but it’s not the part about her assault that I want to tell you.”

“Then, what is it?”

“Your bravery was what made her want to come forward.”

Zoey quickly looked back at Rhys. His strong gaze held hers. “It wasn’t bravery, what I did that night,” she countered. “It was the only type of justice I thought I’d ever get. And it was my way out.”

“Still brave,” he retorted.

She shook her head adamantly as the black cat headbutted her for attention. “No, it’s not. It was anger and rage, that’s all. Hilary is the one who wants her story out in public. She’s the brave one.”

Rhys stopped petting the cat and frowned. “Just because you don’t want your story told doesn’t mean you aren’t brave. You confronted the men who assaulted you. Don’t undervalue yourself.”

She just shrugged as her response. Brave was not hiding anymore. “Is Hilary still going to go to the police?”

Rhys nodded. “That’s the plan.” At whatever emotion crossed her expression, he quickly added, “But you don’t have to worry, she’s going to leave you, and your name, out of this. Archer’s heading up an investigation now to help her make sure she’s got a solid case. If there are more victims, Archer will find them.”

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nbsp; “Good,” Zoey breathed. “That’s good.” And yet, she felt like a coward, hiding behind her own fear. But the alternative, going forward, admitting what had happened to her, exposing herself again…

Just as her head began to spin, the black cat swatted Zoey’s face before jumping onto her lap. She startled and laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said to the cat. “Am I not giving you the attention you deserve?” The cat purred, rubbing his head against Zoey’s leg. She hurried to give the animal the scratches he demanded, and he purred even louder.

“If I purr like that, will you stroke me too?”

Zoey shivered at the heat in Rhys’ voice. She glanced up into his knowing, devilish smile. It was as if he knew she needed the mood lightened. She didn’t know how he did that. Like, he knew exactly how to get her out of her head. Always seemed to say the right thing. To be there for her exactly how she needed him to be there. Be so in tune with her. “Purr, no, but growl? Absolutely.”

His eyes flared. “Be careful what you ask for, Zoey.”

Like a switch he seemed to control, all the confusion in her mind slowly lifted, his strong stare an anchor where she attached herself. Drawn into him, she leaned forward, bringing her mouth close to his. “Should I be afraid?”

That smile returned, hotter this time. “Depends.”

“On?” she breathed.

His gaze greedily scanned over her lips before his smoky eyes lifted. “If you want me to take you into the bathroom and fuck you.”

“You wouldn’t do that here.” She laughed softly.

He leaned in, heating up the air around her by a few degrees and said, deadly serious, “Try me.”

Chapter 12

Incredible days had turned into unforgettable weeks. Rhys had spent his days texting Zoey, his evenings getting to know her on dates all over the city, and his nights lost deep inside her, until Rhys’ time with Zoey was coming to an end. He’d expected it, but what he didn’t expect was how torn he’d become about her leaving. In a couple days, he had to say goodbye to Zoey, and he had no idea how he was going to do that. He hadn’t asked if she’d packed. He didn’t want to know. Secretly, he kept hoping she’d see the upside to living in New York City, with him. Ever since he’d tossed the idea out to her at the cat café, he’d stayed silent about it, wanting her to make her own choices, but staying quiet was slowly killing him.

When he stepped out of the shower, ready to start his day, he was certain nothing could make matters worse for him and Zoey, but he was wrong. “Turn on the news,” Archer said by way of greeting after Rhys answered his cell phone.

“What’s going on?” he asked, wrapping a towel around his waist and heading back into his bedroom.

“Just turn on the news, Rhys,” Archer said, solemnly.

Rhys grabbed the remote off his nightstand and turned the television on. In an instant, he completely understood the heaviness in Archer’s voice. Splashed across the screen: Wall Street broker Scott Ross has died by suicide. “When did this happen?” Rhys demanded.