What Happens in LA...

What Happens in LA...
The city of Los Angeles was a jarring, chaotic assault on Rhys’s senses. The noise, the lights, the sheer, sprawling energy of it all was a brutal contrast to Oakhaven’s quiet, misty charm. He’d brought Elara to the heart of his trauma, his modern, impersonal apartment a stark reflection of the life he'd lost. As he unlocked the door, a wave of profound, agonizing regret washed over him. He had sacrificed everything, and for what?

Elara walked into the living room, her eyes wide, taking in the space. The view from the balcony, a breathtaking panorama of the city lights, was a constant, glittering reminder of the life he had lost. “This is your place?” she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice. “It’s… so different from Oakhaven.”

“It’s LA,” Rhys said, his voice flat. “Everything is different here.” He walked to the balcony, his hands gripping the railing, staring out at the city lights. He felt a profound, agonizing regret. He had sacrificed everything, and for what?

He felt Elara’s presence beside him, her hand gently resting on his arm. “Rhys,” she said, her voice soft, empathetic. “It’s okay. We’re here for the case. We’re in this together.”

He turned to her, his eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive gratitude. She was here. With him. In the heart of his trauma. She was his partner, his confidante, his solace. And he wasn't going to let her go.
The sun had set, painting the sky a bruised purple, and the city’s lights had fully come alive. “The meeting with Collins and Diaz is set for tonight,” Rhys stated, his voice firm, turning his gaze on her. “They want to meet at a bar. The Rhapsody. It’s about a block from here. Get dressed.”

Elara’s eyes widened slightly. “A bar? I thought we were here to work, Rhys.”

Rhys’s lips curved into a small, confident smirk. “This is how they work, Elara. We meet, we talk, we drink. It’s a delicate dance of information and intimidation. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper, a familiar challenge in his eyes. “Can’t you handle a city bar, Officer Vance?”

A flicker of defiance lit up Elara’s eyes. “I’ve handled worse, Detective Kincaid.” She nodded, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Give me a minute.” She disappeared into the spare bedroom, leaving Rhys in the living room, the quiet hum of his refrigerator a stark contrast to the thrum of his own heart.

He waited, the minutes stretching into an eternity, his mind replaying the day, the long drive, the playful banter, the stolen touches, the raw, uninhibited desire that pulsed between them. He felt a deep, profound sense of anticipation, a thrilling fear of what she would choose to wear, of the woman she would reveal.

She emerged from the bedroom, and Rhys’s breath hitched in his throat. He had seen Elara in a simple dress at the Founder’s Day Gala, but this was different. She wore a sleek, black top that hugged her curves, a high-waisted leather skirt that left her long legs bare, and her hair, loose and tumbling, framed a face that was both fierce and impossibly beautiful. She was a vision of understated beauty and effortless grace, and Rhys found his gaze lingering on her, his mind consumed by her.

His eyes, however, dropped to her feet, and a familiar smirk returned to his lips. Her boots, sleek and black, were left unzipped, the raw leather open to reveal her smooth, pale skin. She met his gaze, a hint of playful defiance in her eyes, a silent invitation, a subtle challenge.

Rhys said nothing. He simply knelt before her, his hands gently taking her foot. His eyes never left hers, the intense heat of his gaze holding her captive. He felt her breath hitch, a small, soft sound, and the tremor that ran through her body as he reached for the zipper. His knuckles brushed against her ankle, a deliberate, slow caress, and he saw her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting on a soft, silent gasp. He took his time, his fingers tracing the soft curve of her calf as he slowly, agonizingly, worked the zipper up. Her leg was smooth, impossibly soft, and the contact sent a jolt of raw fire through him. He paused as his knuckles brushed the back of her knee, the sensitive skin a torment beneath his touch. He felt her hips subtly tilt, her body arching into his touch, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps. He continued the slow, deliberate journey of his hands, his touch possessive, demanding, a silent promise. When he reached the top, his fingers grazed the bare skin of her inner thigh, and a raw, choked whimper escaped her lips.

He stood, his own body trembling, blood pounding in his ears. He looked at her, breathless, consumed by triumph and a profound tenderness. Her eyes were still closed, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving. She looked utterly ravaged, breathtakingly beautiful, and completely, undeniably his.

The phone in his pocket rang, a harsh, brutal sound that shattered the moment. It was Collins.

“We’re here, Kincaid. The Rhapsody. Don’t take all night, we’re thirsty.” Collins’s voice was slurred, already drunk.

Rhys took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the raging inferno that consumed him. He turned from Elara, his voice flat, professional. “We’re on our way,” he stated, then looked back at her. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and luminous with a desire that mirrored his own. He gave her a small, knowing smile, a promise of what was to come, and a silent plea for her to follow him.

They reached the bar, The Rhapsody, after a brief walk. Elara’s eyes, wide with a mix of awe and intimidation, took in the neon signs, the glittering lights, the sheer, chaotic energy of the city. It was a stark contrast to the quiet charm of Oakhaven.

Rhys led her inside, his gaze sweeping the room. He found Collins and Diaz at a small, secluded table, already three drinks down, their faces flushed, their laughter loud and obnoxious. “Kincaid! You made it!” Collins slurred, raising a glass. “And brought a date! Looks like your taste hasn’t changed.”

Elara’s jaw tightened, but she held her composure. She met Rhys’s gaze, a hint of playful amusement in her eyes, a shared recognition of the absurdity of the situation.

“You weren’t kidding,” she whispered. “They’re wasted.”

“I told you city life was a little different,” Rhys replied, his lips curving into a smirk. He pulled out a chair for her, his hand lingering on the small of her back as she sat. “Let’s just get this over with, unless… you’re scared of losing to them.”

Elara’s eyes flashed, a spark of defiance. “I’m not scared of anything, Detective.”

Their playful banter quickly escalated into a drinking game, a dance of wit and veiled meanings, fueled by alcohol and the consuming heat between them. Rhys watched Elara, mesmerized by her wit, her grace, her ability to hold her own against Collins and Diaz. He saw her confidence, her fierce intelligence, and the raw, untamed passion that simmered just beneath the surface. He felt his own confidence soar, a thrilling mix of alcohol and pure, unadulterated desire.

“So, Vance,” Collins slurred, his gaze sweeping over her body with an unprofessional leer. “What’s it like chasing down missing pets in Oakhaven? You got a lot of experience with the little cases? Kincaid, here, used to work the big leagues.”

Elara’s smile tightened, but she held her composure. “We learn to find patterns where others only see chaos, Detective Collins. And our missing pets usually hide a bigger story.” She glanced at Rhys, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Sometimes, the smallest clues lead to the biggest secrets. A shame some of us are too busy to notice.”

Rhys’s lips curved into a slow, confident smirk. “She’s right, Collins. You should listen to her. She’s got a nose for these things.” He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving Elara’s. Their banter was now a dangerous, intimate dance, each word a veiled double-meaning, a subtle promise.

They ended up on the dance floor, the music a loud, thumping beat that vibrated through their bodies. Rhys pulled Elara close, his hands on her hips, her body pressed flush against his. They moved together, a raw, primal dance of lust and longing. He felt her hips swaying against his, the soft curve of her breasts against his chest, the intoxicating scent of her skin. He felt the undeniable hardness of his arousal pressed against her, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

“Tell me you want me,” Rhys growled against her ear, his hips moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that matched the beat.

Elara’s body trembled. She let out a soft, guttural moan, her hips arching against his, a silent confession. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, her voice a desperate plea, her lips brushing his ear, her body trembling with unsated desire.

They stumbled back to the apartment, their clothes disheveled, their lips swollen. The moment the door closed behind them, Rhys pinned her against the closest wall, his hands on either side of her face, his gaze burning into hers. All the pent-up sexual tension, the drunken courage, the desperate longing that had consumed him for days, exploded. His mouth crashed down on hers, fierce and hungry, a desperate claiming of what was his. He tasted alcohol, and something else, something uniquely her, something wild and untamed.

He pulled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his lips brushing her swollen mouth. “What about the case?” Elara whispered, her eyes wide, a flicker of lucid thought in the storm of their passion.
Rhys kissed her again, hard and fast, a wordless promise. “We can forget it as a drunken mistake,” he growled against her lips, his words a desperate, cruel lie. He kissed her again, more tenderly this time, his lips tracing the delicate curve of her neck, moving lower, to the edge of her top. “Like we lied to Miller, we can lie to ourselves. For the rest of our lives.”

He took her top off, his hands tracing the soft curve of her bare breasts, his lips finding her cleavage, her skin smooth and impossibly soft. She let out a soft, whimpering moan, all reason lost. She buried her face in his neck, her hands clutching his shoulders, her body yielding to his every touch.

Rhys leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a low, husky whisper. “What happens in LA stays in LA?”

Elara’s body trembled. She let out a soft, breathless laugh. “I heard that about Vegas,” she whispered, her eyes dark with pure, unadulterated desire, and then, she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deep, desperate kiss that promised a future that would change both of them, forever.