Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ROWAN

I’m being an idiot, and I know it.

There are other words that would also fit: asshole, dick, dumbass.

I don’t care.

Kennedy’s lips are sweet, soft, and hungry, and it would take a man in possession of an iron will to push her away. After the way she’s been running her hands up and down my chest, my willpower is as nonexistent as the water in this pool. There’s no question she feels my hard-on through my jeans when I pull her to me, but she snuggles closer, sending more blood pulsing to my dick. This woman makes me lose my grip on reality, and I don’t mind one bit. In fact, it might be exactly what I need right now.

I suck in her bottom lip and let myself trail a hand down her back to touch the curve of her ass. It’s round and soft, and I keep my hand there as she grinds against my dick. It’s obvious she wants to form a better acquaintance with it. Fuck.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I kiss her harder and lift my hand up from her ass, because I’m getting all kinds of ideas about pushing her pants down, and wrap her long hair around my fist. I angle her head to the side and then lean in to kiss her jaw and then her neck, noticing that she must spray perfume there—a soft, floral scent that’s perfect for my princess.

Not yours. She can’t be yours.

I ignore the voice and nip the flesh there, savoring the way she reacts to me, the small sound she makes from the back of her throat, the way she rubs closer, her tits pressing into my chest, her abdomen against my dick.

“Rowan,” she says, her voice breathy and bothered. “I want you.”

I make myself pull back slightly, but I keep my hand in her hair, wanting those silky strands wrapped around my hand for just a little longer.

“We can’t forget why you’re here,” I say.

Or why I am. I’m trying to sabotage the show she’s hoping will be a platform for the business she obviously cares deeply about. Which brings us back to me being a dick.

Hurt flickers in her eyes, and I can’t help myself, I bring her back for another kiss.

When I pull back, she’s staring at me with dilated eyes. “You’re kind of a dick.”

“I know,” I say, almost laughing, because it’s as if she’s read my mind. Again. “I want you too.”

“I know.” She’s stealing my line, and I’m tempted to tell her so, only she grinds against my cock again, taking more blood from my brain.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I say.

“That’s the idea.” She rubs up against me again, making a little low hum in her throat that makes my dick even harder.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed.

This time I do laugh, even though it’s literally painful how much I want to fuck her. “You thought I was the kind of guy who walked around with a party pack of condoms, and you still wanted to have sex with me?”

She looks hurt, and I don’t like myself for having put that look on her face, so I release her hair and lift a hand to her jaw, tipping it up slightly. “There are other things we could do.”

“Oh?” she says again, this time warm and interested.

I let my hands slide down to her hips, then lift her up and set her on the edge of the pool.

“Take off those shorts,” I say. “I’ve been wanting you to all night.”

“Really?” she asks, sounding pleased. Then she lifts up slightly to slide them off. I didn’t ask, but she takes her panties off with them. Her legs are closed, but when I stalk closer, she opens them to me.

A sigh escapes me, because it’s a moment of pure happiness, being here with this woman, her pretty pussy on display for me—her eyes alight with invitation and wanting.

I’m stealing this moment. I’m stealing her , from the men who flew across the country to win her favor, but I couldn’t give a shit. The only thing that matters is that she wants it too.

“I guess there’s something an empty pool is good for,” I say, smiling up at her. Then I spread her legs wider and tug her closer to me. “Lean back, Princess. Let me make you feel good.”

She does as I asked but leans back on her elbows so she can still watch me. I like that she wants to watch, that she wants to see my head descend as I touch and lick and taste her.

I lean in to kiss her thigh, near what I want but far enough away to give her a little tease, then run a finger through her folds, swearing internally when I feel how wet she is for me. “You’re beautiful, Kennedy,” I say as I trace my finger around her clit.

She bucks her hips, and I replace my hand with my mouth, sucking as I curl a finger inside of her, trying to find the spot that will make her buck harder. I do, and I smile as I continue to suck her clit, curling my finger and then pulling it out so I can sweep my tongue through her folds. She tastes musky and sweet, and I could do this for hours. No, I could stand here in this empty pool in a house full of people I hate, pleasuring this woman, for days. But it’s not long before she reaches down to touch my hair, not pushing my head down but running her fingers over my head like she wants to have her hands on me.

“Rowan,” she says, and I’ve never been so happy to hear my name. “Rowan, I’m going to come.”

“Come for me, Princess.” I lift my head slightly so I can look at her, still working her with my fingers. “I want to feel you pulse against me when you come. I want to taste it.”

“Oh my God,” she says as I bury my head between her legs again, and I get exactly what I want, what I need when she says my name again as her body lifts to my mouth. She shudders against me, her whole form going stiff and then relaxing, her taste a balm to my senses.

When I look up, she’s staring down at me, her eyes soft and full of wonder. “Come here,” she says. “Come here.”

So I lift up onto the rim of the pool and then lie down beside her, turning toward her. I lean in and kiss her, soft and sweet, even though my dick is pissed the hell off at me right now.

She leans down and tries to capture it through my jeans, but I move her hand away, thus pissing my dick off even more.

“Not tonight.”

“Then when?” she asks, a frown forming between her perfect brows.

“Never,” I say. “We both know we can’t do this for real.”

She sits up, that frown deepening, and I have a feeling I’ve fucked up again. Still, I have the presence of mind to present her with her shorts.

“I thought you wanted me to take them off.”

“I did. I do. It’s just—”

There’s a noise from beyond the door, and it takes me only half a second to recognize what it is. The door at the top of a stairway has opened.

Alarm beats through my veins, even more powerful than the boner that’s demanding I get my act together so it can get in on the action.

“Kennedy, put them on,” I say in an undertone. “We have to hide.”

Hide, because we clearly can’t leave the way we came in. We’d be seen. Maybe it’s a shitty attitude, since she’s not mine, but I’m not going to let anyone else see her like this. Not while I’m around.

Her eyes widen, and she slides the shorts on and goes for the towels, which I’d forgotten.

“Where’s your shirt?” she asks in a whisper.

Fuck. I don’t have the first clue. After she took it from me, I stopped caring that it existed. Now, it seems to have disappeared.

“Doesn’t matter,” I whisper back, even though it might. “I need to shut off the light, and we need to duck into the changing room. Now.”

The room is against the back wall, with a small window embedded in the top that looks onto a seascape mural painted on the wall directly across from it.

“Go,” I say.

She gives me a look I can’t decipher, but I suspect she’s not happy with me, this interruption notwithstanding. It’s not entirely unexpected. I seem to have an unparalleled ability to piss off women. But she heads for the changing room, much to my relief. If one of the guys comes down, better for him to see a handyman messing with the empty pool than to see a handyman with their television love interest. Or, worse, their love interest alone and by herself in a pair of shorts no larger than a postage stamp.

I’d have to step out if that happened, obviously. No way would I leave her alone with one of those assholes.

Thinking about it, I’m scowling as I switch off the light and pad back into the room, noticing my light-footed approach more now that Kennedy called me on it. I hadn’t even realized I could still walk like that—undetected. At the fire house, or out on a job, there’s never a need to be covert. We all bang our feet around, almost as if it’s a competition.

I step into the changing room, and Kennedy instantly grabs me and pulls me in. When the door swings shut, she doesn’t let go. I’m glad for it. I didn’t like the way things were going before the interruption. She lifts up onto her toes and whispers in my ear. “If you think you’re off the hook because of this, you’re wrong.”

I almost laugh, but she whispers, “I wonder who they are.”

There’s no longer any doubt that this is indeed their destination. There’s the padding of feet from people who don’t feel the need to go undetected. A murmuring of voices.

I can feel Kennedy staring a hole into my head because we both recognize one of the voices: it’s my grandmother’s cold, clipped voice. What’s she doing awake at this hour, let alone wandering around the Labelles’ house?

The door opens, and a light switches on in the room beyond us.

“Why’d you make me wear my bathing suit if there’s no water in the pool?” a whiny voice asks. I’d know that whine anywhere. It’s Jonah. It’s clearly Jonah.

Kennedy and I exchange a what the hell is happening? look as my grandmother scoffs, “If you win, you’ll need to do plenty of photoshoots, including one at the beach. I needed to know you were swimsuit ready.”

It’s a load of bullshit, especially since the show will be airing in March, and there’s no way in hell Kennedy would go to the beach with that tool, even if she chooses him because Harry and my grandmother convince her it’s what’s best for the show and thus for her business. I don’t care to think too long or hard about why my grandmother would lie about something like that.

“I’m cold,” Jonah says stubbornly.

“Be a man,” Nana retorts. “Did you bring her the basket earlier?”

“I did,” he says, perking up. “And I added a framed photo of myself.” He seems pleased with himself, as if doing so clinched him a spot in the top two.

“You what?” she asks, clearly pissed by this. “It was supposed to be the best gift, Jonah .”

“Exactly, I made it the best,” he says steadfastly. “I even included a biography of the first Jonah Highbury.”

“Well, no matter,” Nana tells him. “Harry tells me food poisoning usually passes in twenty-four hours. I’ll have to give Kennedy tomorrow off. But we’ll do the horseback riding date on Tuesday or Wednesday, at the latest. Marcus thinks he’s pulling one over on both of us because he went to horse camp when he was a teenager and didn’t disclose it, but there’s nothing I don’t know about all of you.” There’s a smile in her voice as she continues, “Just like how I know you like older women.”

Then there’s something that sounds like…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .

Kennedy squeezes my hand, looking at me with eyes that shine in the dark, but I can’t even meet her gaze, because fuck .

I knew my grandmother was a bad person. I’ve known since I was a little boy, when she used to make us play ten to fifteen rounds of the silent game in a row, slapping the hands of the kid who broke first with her ruler. But this is a new low. It’s obvious she’s giving Jonah insider information and help in exchange for…

I lower to the floor and spear my hands into my hair, willing this day to end already. Maybe this is my just punishment for being here with Kennedy when I know I should be at the hospital with Jay, or at least at home with my sisters, talking about Jay. It was shitty of me to walk out on him like I did, especially if Kerry has already left him. But even so, what man should have to listen to his grandmother attempt to seduce a man who’s at least forty years younger than her in exchange for professional favors?

Kennedy sits beside me and silently wraps an arm around me. I clearly haven’t learned my lesson because I lean into her, grateful for the comfort she’s offering.

The kissing noises on the other side of the door stop, thank fuck, and I hear Jonah say, “Are those footsteps?”

“They are, you idiot. Put your clothes back on.”

“I didn’t wear anything besides the suit,” he says in a panic.

“Then what’s that shirt under the deck chair?” she asks, frowning.

I can hear some furniture shifting, and he must’ve held it up because she hisses, “Who’s been leaving the house?”

“Well, some of the people on the production team are allowed to come and go,” Jonah says pragmatically. “And you and Harry. And all the guys have snuck off at some point or another.”

“There isn’t supposed to be any sign of Christmas on set,” she says, sounding like she wants to off the entire population of Whoville. “What are you doing?” she snaps. “Put it on. Quick.”

“But it’s not mine,” he says in obvious disgust. “What if I catch a disease from it?”

“You can’t catch a disease from a shirt, you nitwit. Put. It. On.”

I feel a scowl twisting my face because I don’t want that asshole wearing the shirt Kennedy bought for me, but it’s my own damn fault for leaving it out where it could be seen.

“Should we go into that locker room?” I hear Jonah asking, and my back stiffens in preparation to… I don’t know. I’d be perfectly fine with punching him, but I’m not going to uppercut my grandmother. She’s no sweet little old woman, but she’s still family.

Kennedy’s obviously worried—I can feel her worry—but she runs a soothing hand up and down my back. For some reason, it really does make me feel better.

“No, you fool,” my grandmother snaps. Someone switches off the overhead light in the other room. “Then we’d be stuck. Come with me. The children used to break into this house through a window. We’ll break out the same way.”

Kennedy shoots me a glance, and I’m guessing she’s as surprised as I am. My grandmother’s going to climb out a fucking window?

I’d be impressed if I weren’t so disgusted.

There’s some complaining from Jonah, but I can very clearly hear the window opening, some scuffling, then the window closing.

Kennedy turns to me on the floor of the changing room, her arm slipping off my back. “Rowan…”

I run my hands through my hair. I curse. “I’m traumatized for life,” I tell her. “I…I have no words.”

There’s a keening sound from her, and I swivel on my ass to look at her, worried that I’ve offended or upset her, but she’s laughing. Laughing so hard, in fact, that I’m surprised she can also breathe.

Then the light switches back on in the adjoining room, and I only have a few seconds to get myself—and Kennedy—to our feet before the door swings open.