Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

KENNEDY

I creep out of the room, following Rowan with my heart hammering in my chest. He released my hand so he could lead the way, and I miss the way he held it—firm and capable, but gentle, as if he was aware of the physical power imbalance between us and wanted to make me comfortable within it.

I can’t believe I told him we’d go skinny dipping, but he said he wanted a distraction, didn’t he? I don’t want to pretend I’m doing this just for him, though, because that would be both wrong and inaccurate. In truth, I know I will have limited opportunities to spend time with Rowan Mayberry, and even fewer to potentially get him naked. After seeing what happened to Jay earlier, remembering what happened to Olive’s grandmother, I have a new appreciation for how short life is—and for how much of it I have yet to experience.

And, fine, I really, really want Rowan to at least kiss me. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before, and I’d like to know what it feels like.

Another excuse, Kennedy. Admit it, you just want to kiss him.

All right, I do.

“Where are we going?” I whisper to him as he leads the way confidently through the house’s winding hallways, into the back, where we haven’t done any filming.

“The servants’ quarters,” he says glibly. “There’s a back stairway I’m pretty sure no one will be using.”

“Good thinking,” I murmur, hefting the towels in my right hand. “Why do you know this house so well?”

Something passes over his expression, but I can’t read it. Possibly because he’s peering straight ahead, looking to the left and right every so often, as attuned to his environment as if he’s on a top-secret mission.

“I helped out a bit while they got set up here,” he says. “And I grew up in this town. Everyone’s seen parts of ‘Labelle Manor’ as they’re calling it these days.” A small smile flits across his lips. “We used to dare each other to break into the basement when we were high school kids.”

“But wouldn’t you get in trouble?” I ask, scandalized, even though I know that’s exactly what he expects, and maybe wants.

“They used to go to Aspen every winter for a skiing trip. The challenge was to swim a lap in the pool without getting caught, then leave.”

“And you did this?”

“I never got caught,” he says, glancing back at me with a smile. “You’re in good hands.”

“I don’t know about that. You just admitted to breaking and entering.” The look on his face suggests I’m a goody two-shoes, which is probably an accurate assessment, but it also annoys me, so I continue, “If you’re going to break in somewhere, it’s smarter not to admit to it.”

A laugh escapes him before he swallows the rest of it, obviously trying not to make much noise, even though I know the guys are quartered on the opposite side of the house. The production assistants and cameramen are all staying here too. Only Nana Mayberry and Harry are allowed to come and go.

He glances back at me before facing forward again. “I’ll bet you’ve never broken any rules, Kennedy Littlefield.”

I make a sound of affront. “Not true.”

“Oh, yeah?” He peers around a corner, then nods and motions me onward. “What rules have you broken?”

“My parents didn’t want me to come here,” I say.

“Them and me both,” he says, with a smirk. But he must have seen the stricken look on my face in his peripheral vision because suddenly he’s turning toward me and taking my shoulders in his hands. Heat soaks into me from his palms, burning through the thin material of my shirt. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I wish we could have met under different circumstances. Like, if you came to town to visit Zach.”

“You think he’d be cool with you flirting with me?”

“Absolutely not,” he says with a smirk. “But we’ve already agreed that I’m not intelligent.”

As if to punctuate the remark, he shifts his hand from my shoulder to my jaw, tipping my chin up to him. I have a moment to take in his eyes—deep blue and full of heat—and then he lowers his lips to mine. It starts out exploratory, but there’s an instant spark, like something lost has clicked into place, and I let the towels tumble out of my other hand so I can wrap my arms around his neck and draw him closer. His hand sifts through my hair, using it as a way to grip me closer. His lips are demanding, just like the man, and his short beard rasps against my skin in a way that will probably leave a mark. Is it wrong of me that I’d like it to?

He pulls back, looking at me. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Are you saying you regret it?” I ask, annoyed…because I don’t regret it.

“No. That brings us back to me being stupid.”

“I wish you’d stop calling yourself that.”

He kisses me again, softly this time, then lets me go and stoops to pick up the towels. To my amusement, he folds them. “We’d better keep going. Don’t want to get caught by the hall monitors.”

I nearly snicker because it does feel like we’re children being naughty, and I can’t say I don’t like it. I wasn’t given many choices as a child—I was told which schools I’d go to, what I’d wear to them, and who I was allowed to invite over. It’s nice to have this stolen experience gifted to me, a present nearly as welcome as the Christmas tree that brought tears to my eyes. I feel them pricking at me again while I look at him. Because Rowan’s stepfather had a heart attack today, and he still took the time to think about me.

“You’re right,” I say, trying to take the towels from him. He holds on. “We don’t want to get caught before we even get to the pool.”

He gives me a weighing look. “It’s my dare. You don’t have to do it.”

A laugh tears out of me, then my eyes widen, and I lift a hand to cover my mouth. “You want to skinny dip by yourself?” I ask in a whisper.

“There’s no point in whispering now,” he says in an undertone. “You’ve already laughed loudly enough to wake up the bones this house is buried on.”

I’d be offended, but there’s a thread of amusement running beneath his words. Besides…

“Bones?”

He smirks at me. “That’s what they say. It might be a scurrilous rumor, but…”

“Wait a second, you got on my case about using the word strumpet, and here you are saying scurrilous?”

His smirk widens. “So I have bad judgment and I’m a hypocrite.”

“Why would you want to go skinny dipping by yourself? Why would anyone?”

“I don’t,” he says, “but I’m not going to use it as an opportunity to corner you into it. If you want to skinny-dip with me, Kennedy, then you’re the one who’s going to get in that water. I’m not throwing you in.”

It’s half challenge, half vow, and he’s peering at me in the dark house with an intensity that makes me wet. I can’t remember the last time anyone ever affected me like this—with just a glance. No, that’s a lie, I’ve only ever felt this kind of attraction with my ex, Brandon. So I know just how dangerous it can be. Still, instead of arcing away from him like he’s a flame that might burn me, I take a step toward him.

“Okay. But what are you waiting for? I was promised a pool.”

“What Princess wants, Princess gets,” he says.

I don’t quite like the words. It’s reminiscent of the way he acted toward me the night we met, after he zipped up my dress, but I don’t call him on it. I just follow, feeling the warmth of his big body, remembering the way his lips felt against mine, his scruff. I shouldn’t want more, but what harm would it do?

He’s certainly not looking for a relationship, at least not with someone like me, and I’ve already decided that I can’t see myself with any of the guys on the show. They’re not here for romance anyway. If they were, they wouldn’t always be so concerned about the presence—or lack thereof—of cameras. I won’t be breaking any hearts if I let Harry choose the “winner” and only act sweet to him on tape.

I follow Rowan to a lush carpet, then into a back hallway that’s not nearly so nice. It’s quiet back here, almost oppressively so, and I hear every one of Rowan’s soft steps—and every one of my own, although I’ll be the first to admit that I’m less graceful than the man in front of me. How did a big man get so soft on his feet?

“You don’t hunt, do you?” I ask in sudden horror.

His laugh rumbles through me. “No, Kennedy. Not every bearded mountain man is a hunter.”

“I wasn’t stereotyping you,” I say, feeling a touch of righteous indignation. “Though you certainly like to stereotype me . It’s just…you’re really light on your feet. I wondered if you learned that from hunting.”

He stops and turns toward me, contrition and something else in his eyes. “You’re right. Do you want me to stop calling you Princess?

“No,” I admit. “I kind of like it.”

He laughs, then rubs his chin. “I’m light on my feet because my grandmother didn’t like noise,” he says. “All of us kids are, except for my sister Holly, who got louder because she doesn’t like it when people tell her what to do. And Ivy, I guess, because she didn’t have to spend much time at our grandmother’s place. The rest of us got left there a lot. Like I said, my mother’s not much of one.”

Sympathy grips at me, but he’s already shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not a dick because I had shitty parents. That part came naturally.”

Still, I reach out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry all the same. I wasn’t allowed to run around either. Kids should be allowed to be kids, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s clearly eager to drop the subject because he turns and keeps walking until he reaches a door. Opening it, he reveals the back staircase. It’s dark, with only a faint glow coming from the bottom, presumably from some sort of nightlight. It provides enough illumination for me to see the enormous spiderweb waving in the top right corner of the doorway.

I squeal.

“Seems to be a theme of our day,” Rowan says lightly, but his expression darkens, suggesting he’s thinking of the other part of his day. I wonder if I should encourage him to leave, to go to his stepfather and his sisters, but for all I know, he’s not allowed to stay over at the hospital anyway. He’s not a blood relative, or even a legal relative anymore, whatever the heart might have to say about it.

Not your place , whispers a voice in my head. Besides, if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t want him to leave. I want this moment with him—this distraction for both of us. Later , I decide. I’ll tell him later.

Rowan grabs one of the towels and uses it to brush away the spiderweb.

“That’s your towel,” I say.

His smile is barely illuminated in the blackness. “We already established that I might be the only one going in.”

But we’re both going in. He knows it. I know it.

He leads the way down the stairs, and when I close the door behind me, he illuminates the path forward with his phone, which makes the whole undertaking less intimidating. Through another few corridors, we finally reach a closed door labeled “pool room,” as if the people who live here need it to identify where to go.

“Ready?” he asks me, his brows winging up.

“Ready,” I confirm.

He opens the door and flicks on the lights. I step inside, shutting the door behind me, only to find a pool that’s been drained down to the concrete.

“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” he says.

I’d laugh, but the sinking feeling inside me tells me just how much I wanted to see Rowan Mayberry swim naked.

“Still,” he throws the towels down, then shrugs his shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. The sight of his bare chest makes me gasp. A few of the men I’ve dated have worked out, but none of them have looked like this. He’s tan and muscular, his chest sprinkled with dark hair. He’s every bit a man. “Dare’s a dare.” He takes another few steps toward the ladder, toeing off his shoes, then pauses to take off his socks.

“You’re not really going to get naked and go in there, are you?” I ask, even though I kind of want him to.

He stops, his hand on the button of his pants, and starts laughing. “No. But you should have seen the look on your face.” He retreats to grab his shoes, then his socks, but before he can go for the T-shirt, I grab it.

“You know, I think I’ve decided I’m taking this back.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, eyebrows cocked, his shoes hanging off the fingers of one hand, the socks now stuffed inside. “That’s a dirty trick. If a man did that, you’d say he was a dick.”

I feel myself blushing, because he’s absolutely right, and I hold the shirt out to him.

“I was just fucking with you,” he says, waving it off. “I like that you want me to walk around shirtless.” He takes my hand—the one not holding his shirt hostage—and tugs me toward the ladder leading down into the empty pool. “What do you say we go sit down there to finish our game?”

“I say yes,” I tell him.

I let him lead me to the ladder. He goes down first, then lifts up his arms for me.

“You think you can bear my weight like that?”

He gives me a look that questions my intelligence, and he probably has a point. He has the muscles of someone who uses them for work and play, a thought that makes my mind take a deeper dive into the gutter.

So I get down and let him lift me into the pool with seemingly zero effort.

“We should have brought the scotch,” I say as he sets me on my feet. I don’t particularly miss it, but I want it because my nerves are rubbed raw, being down here with Rowan, remembering his mouth against mine and wanting it to explore other places.

“No, I think we made the right call about the scotch. Jonah’s family should have stuck to their generational wealth. Work isn’t for them.”

I laugh, but I’m very aware that he hasn’t backed away from me. Looking up at him to make sure it’s okay, I lift my hands to touch his chest. It’s hard and hot beneath my palms.

He hisses in a breath.

“I think it’s my turn for Truth or Dare,” I say.

“Let me guess,” he says, making no move to shift my hands as they slowly explore the expanse of his chest. “You want a dare. I can see it in your eyes.”

“No,” I say as I continue to glide my fingers over his bare skin, unable to stop myself. I look up into his eyes and find them scrutinizing me. There’s a flame of need in them, and I feel an answering one inside myself.

You know where this kind of wanting can lead…

Still, I can’t bring myself to care.

I hold his gaze, then say, “Truth. You wouldn’t dare me to do what I want to do. You’d probably ask me to give Jonah peroxide shampoo or something.”

His laughter sounds surprised. “That would be pretty damn funny,” he says finally. “But what makes you think I’d ask you to do that and not to take off your shirt? It would be no more than you made me do.”

I smile at him. “You’re right, but you still wouldn’t.”

His expression turns serious, maybe even a little annoyed. “I’m no saint, Kennedy. I can’t have you thinking that.”

“I should hope not,” I say, my heart beating out of my chest. Maybe that’s why I lay my palm flat against his heart. His eyes are like black holes as he reaches up and holds my palm in place. I can feel his heart beating fast too. Relief courses through my veins, a tonic. I’m not the only one who’s affected by what’s happening between us. I’m not the only one driven half mad by it. “ Truth ,” I repeat.

“What are we doing here?” he asks, his hand still holding mine, his eyes pinning me.

“I know what I hope we’re doing,” I say. And I reach up onto my toes and kiss him.