Page 113 of No Strings

My eyes grow wide, and I stand up getting closer to him so I can whisper yell at him. “Oh my god, want to say that any louder? Don’t think Mrs. Anderson heard you.”

He then yells, “Morgan killed a man! She killed her abuser!” Turning it down and talking at a regular volume. “And she has never been so beautiful, taking charge of her life. Reclaiming a piece of her.” He then wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. “And I’d gladly clean up all the bodies she leaves in her wake.”

“What did happen to Ethan’s body?”

“The less you know, Princess.” He says, his hand cupping my cheek.

I narrow my eyes, but hum. I guess he has a point.

His hand moves from my cheek, and brushes my hair behind my ear. “I missed you, more than you know. According to Brent, Beau, and even Dani, I was a miserable fuck to be around.”

“Not Davis?”

“No, I annoyed him as well. But you know what he’s like, doesn’t speak unless it’s important.”

Davis reminded me of Shane when I was there; both talking exclusively in grunts.

Rhys leans down so our lips are almost touching. “You took a part of me when you left.”

Then his mouth is on mine, in a searing kiss, making up for the three weeks we have been apart. When we pull away, I tell Rhys, “You have a way of making me feel whole. Like I’m worthy of love.”

“Princess, you are worthy of love.” He cups my cheek, once again. I lean into his rough palm, missing the way his hands feel. “I love you; it took you leaving for me to realise that. I’m an idiot for letting you go.”

“You love me?” It comes out softer than I intended.

“Why are you surprised?”

I look at his chest, not wanting to face him. “Because you let me go...”

“You told me to call your brother.” His finger is under my chin, lifting my gaze to his.

The tears are back. And I hate them. “You should have put up more of a fight, for me, for us.”

He might have let me go, but I pushed him tothat point.

“Hey,” he clears the tears from my face. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have called Shane. When you left, you took something with you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“A place to call home.”

I rest my forehead on the centre of his chest, and silently allow a few more tears to slip free. My arms tighten around his waist, not waiting to let him go. He wraps his arms around me, holding me to him, and I feel his lips kiss the top of my head. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in. I have missed that one simple gesture so much. It was subtle, but had a way of making me feel cared for. Like I was safe and loved and...

“You’re my home, Rhys Donovan.”

“And you’re mine, Morgan Elliot.”

We start to slowly sway, as Rhys hums something, a song. “Is that the song we danced to at the rodeo?”

“Yes.”

I look up at him, and I see my future with him. But as much as I love it up there; I can’t live there. So, my next words are going to hurt me just much as him,

“Rhys,” I drop my hands to my side, and he releases me. “As much as I love you, because I do. I really do love you, I just can’t—” Hurt etched into his features, and I hate that I’m the cause. “I can’t live so rural.”

I turn and walk away from him.

But his hand clasps my wrist, halting my movements. I look from his grasp to his face. “I have a plan. But the plan involves you.”