Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KENNEDY

I’m restless.

My tree is glowing with muted light in its place by the window, and Jester is at my feet, following me as I pace the room, back and forth, back and forth. Has Rowan read the letter? Will he respond?

I hate being cooped up in this house. It’s Monday night. On Friday, after I eliminate one more bachelor, I’ll be leaving for the ski cabin with the three remaining guys and the PAs, but that thought doesn’t comfort me because it means I definitely won’t be seeing him. Of course, even if Rowan did try to visit me here, one of the PAs would turn him away. It’s Jonah’s fault, and I can’t help feeling bitter toward him—and the necessity of letting him stay. It was the right choice because now Harry has a chance to stage his coup, but I still don’t like it. I definitely didn’t like the smug look on his face while he gave a five-minute speech on purity at dinner last night. It was him, me, and Colton, and none of us had much to say afterward. I mean, what is there to say after a man who’s obviously not a virgin has told you, at length, why everyone should be one?

Jester gives my ankle a sloppy kiss, and I pause in my pacing and pick him up, feeling a surge of joy from the sight of his adorable, crinkly face. His short fur is like soft velvet under my fingers.

“I’d be lost without you, buddy,” I tell him, and he licks my nose, wildly shaking his little nub of a tail.

He needs to go out several times a night, but with the new lockdown, I’m told that I can only let him use his puppy pads. I can’t help but wonder if Nana Mayberry did this purposefully—not just to keep Jonah where she can control him but also to keep all of us in assigned spaces and firmly under her control.

I set Jester down and sit on the bed. Maybe I’ll read my holiday romance again. Maybe I’ll give the Labelles’ Mary-Kate and Ashley collection a go. Heck, maybe I’m bored enough that I’ll read Jonah Highbury the First’s biography in full. Last time, I stopped after he divorced his first wife for gaining weight.

She was pregnant.

Jester gives a little yelp, his version of a bark, and wags his nub of a tail as he approaches the window where I have the Christmas tree displayed.

“You like Christmas as much as I do, bud?” I ask.

His response is to whimper.

That’s when I hear a tapping on the window.

Fear spikes through my blood. I live in Chicago, and even though it’s in a nice building—the kind with a doorman—I know it’s not good news when someone shows up at your window in the middle of the night.

There’s that slight tapping again.

Is an intruder trying to break in?

I glance around wildly, looking for anything I can use as a weapon, but there’s nothing. Then my eyes alight on the star on the little tree. It’s small but spiked, and it certainly wouldn’t feel good if I jammed it into someone’s eyes.

“Get back, Jester,” I tell him, then pluck the star and move the tree. The sound is coming from just behind it.

Putting the star in my knuckles like I learned in the self-defense class I took before moving out of my parents’ house, I pull the curtains aside, and gasp, mouth agape.

The person on the other side seems shocked too, and I watch with terror as he rocks back.

I drop the star. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no.

I unlock the window, my hands shaky, and tug Rowan in by his collar before he can fall to his death.

Okay, probably not his death. We’re only on the second floor. But I don’t want him to be maimed either.

“You came,” I say on an exhale as he tumbles in, landing half on top of me. My whole body lights up in greeting. Jester starts prancing around us, making those little yips, his tail nub moving excitedly.

“Were you going to attack me with that star?” Rowan asks.

There’s a feeling of instant contentment, because his warmth and smell have engulfed me. Even though Jester’s made me so much less lonely, it’s still felt like something’s been missing these last several nights.

He gets up, peers out the window, then shuts it and draws the curtains. I watch as he eyes the tree, and my heart expands when he returns it to its spot and even places the star back on top.

“You shouldn’t have risked climbing up here,” I say, even though I’m glad he did. I’m still sitting on the floor, watching him. Soaking in the strong line of his back, his messy dark hair, the bulk and height of him.

His mouth hitches up as he comes to me. “I strung lights on the mayor’s house this weekend. I got up much higher than this.” He lowers down next to me, and Jester clambers over and plops into his lap, as if I’m not the only one who’s been hoping Rowan would visit.

“There are guards at the doors,” I blurt.

“I heard,” he says. “I’ve never let something like that stop me.”

I can’t help but smile, because my mind’s conjuring an image of a teenage Rowan, sneaking out and getting into trouble. Drinking in a barn and making out on hay bales.

Actually, that last thought makes me scowl.

“I’m sorry,” he says, misinterpreting my expression. He takes my hand and stares into my face, his gaze heated. “I’m so fucking sorry, Kennedy. I was a coward to leave you like that, after what we shared. I was…” He swallows, his eyes still on mine. “I was scared.”

It’s a bit stunning to hear a man like this, who climbs the sides of houses, say he was scared, and I know him enough to understand what the admission cost him.

He looks down, pats Jester with his free hand, and my heart swells in my chest at the easy affection he’s giving him. For a man so gruff and big, he’s gentle too.

When he glances back up at me, he forces a smile. “That’s right. You scare me, Kennedy Littlefield. It’s like…my entire life I’ve tried not to feel things, and it’s never given me much trouble, but these last few weeks, it’s all come up to choke me.”

“It’s not just me,” I say. “It’s your father. That situation would be enough to scare anyone, Rowan. I—”

“Maybe so,” he says, running his calloused thumb over the back of my hand, sending a shower of sparks through me. “But if you hadn’t helped me through it, I would have closed back down harder than ever. Thank you for that.” He pulls a face. “And what did I do to repay you? I tried to get your show shut down.”

“That was before,” I say, refusing to relinquish his hand when he tries to pull it back. “And I understand why you felt you needed to do it. Did you read the pamphlet?”

“I did,” he says, smiling. There’s a slight sadness to it, though, and I’m not sure why. “You’re remarkable.”

“That’s not why I sent it to you,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush. “I just wanted you to see—”

“I know what you wanted me to see, Princess,” he says, releasing my hand and lifting his fingers to caress my blushing cheek. “And I see it. I see you .” He swallows, and without really meaning to, I reach up to touch his Adam’s apple. Before meeting him, I hadn’t realized a man could have a sexy throat. He smiles and captures my hand. Kisses it and sets it down on Jester’s head. “But we’re still in the same situation, aren’t we?”

I let out a sigh and give Jester a good rub. “Yes, I guess we’re pretty star-crossed.”

“Star what nowed?”

“You know, like in Romeo and Juliet .”

His mouth quirks up. “Leave it to you to turn to Shakespeare. I was going to say we’re well and truly fucked.”

I laugh. “You have a way with words.”

“Not a good one.”

“It’s a good one,” I dispute, setting my hand on his knee. I feel this weird urge to have a hand on him, like he won’t be able to disappear on me if I’m always touching him. “Our situation isn’t ideal,” I say. “But…what if we just…I’d like to spend time with you, Rowan. Can we do that without thinking ahead? Can we keep getting to know each other?”

He leans in and touches my chin, tilting it up to him. “I’m a simple man, Kennedy. There’s not much else to know.”

“You’re wrong,” I object. “I want to know everything.”

His mouth quirks, and I feel the desire to lean in and kiss it, to memorize it with my lips. “You might change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“I want you,” he says, his throat bobbing. “I want to taste you. I want to feel you come around my cock.” He pauses, his eyes burning into me, his gaze and words making me wet for him. “And then I want to play truth with you in bed until dawn.”

“What?” I ask, showing that I certainly don’t have a way with words where he’s concerned. “Truth?”

“No dares,” he says. “We don’t want you to get caught. But I want to know everything about you too, Princess.”

He gently sets Jester aside, and my little puppy, God bless him, must realize we want to consume each other, because he trots off and curls up on his little plaid bed. Something Rowan must have picked out for him. In my mind’s eye, I can see him doing it. Seeing that plaid and thinking, Kennedy’s a Christmas nut. She’ll like this, even as he internally rolled his eyes.

I don’t think. I just climb into his lap and wrap my legs around his waist, humming with pleasure when I feel that he’s already hard for me. He spears a hand through my hair and claims my mouth, his kiss almost vicious, and I kiss him back just as hard, because I’ve spent so many hours now wanting to kiss him. My chest feels warm, and after a few seconds of his lips on mine, his beard tickling at my face, his tongue in my mouth, it’s not enough.

I pull back, panting, and attack his shirt, because the maniac is wearing a long sleeve flannel, no coat, even though it’s winter and cold.

“There are too many buttons,” I say. “I’m going to need some help.”

“No,” he says, giving me a slow smile, his eyes appreciative. “I like watching you do it.” He pulls away slightly. “But I’d like watching even more if you were naked. And I’d really like watching you get naked.”

I’m wearing a nightshirt again, no bra underneath, only a pair of gold underwear. When he doesn’t reach forward to take my shirt off, I do, inching it up slowly because I like that spark of heat and need and humor in his eyes. Like sex can be hot and fun, something I’ve never experienced with anyone else. I throw the night shirt to the ground, but when I go to lean in and keep unbuttoning his shirt, he stops me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says. “I want to admire you. I want to remember you just like this.”

I don’t like this talk about remembering, as if I’m going to be just a memory, not part of his life. But I don’t say so. I don’t want to destroy the moment. Instead, I tell him, “I’d rather you admired me with your mouth, like you promised.”

His grin is almost painful, and the feeling of need it stokes in me is more so. “As you wish.”

“But let’s get that shirt off first,” I tell him. “I’d like to have a good view too.” So I unbutton it, pausing every now and then to press a kiss to the ridges of muscle on his chest, to admire him, because he’s indescribably beautiful to me too.

Once his shirt is off, he takes off his boots and socks.

“Your pants too,” I say, my mouth dry, and he smiles at me as he undoes his belt and steps out of them.

“And my underwear, Princess?”

“No,” I say, approaching him on my knees. “I’ll take care of those.”

He swears gutturally as I slide a hand under the band of his boxer briefs. I touch him, loving how hard he is for me, and then push his underwear down his legs. He steps out of them.

Still on my knees, I reach for the base of his dick and stroke him up and down once, twice. Gazing up at him, I lower down and slowly lick the tip before taking him in my mouth. His eyes soak me in, but he leans his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he watches me. His hand reaches down and lightly grips my hair.

“You’re going to kill me.”

I respond by taking in more of him, swirling my tongue around the tip as I suck. I cup his muscular butt with one hand, using the other to hold him at the base.

The sound he makes as I bob my head fills me with satisfaction, with heat, because there’s a heady power in bringing someone this kind of pleasure.

“That feels so fucking good,” he says, pulling my hair slightly, just enough that the nerve endings light up. “I like watching you take my cock.”

His words shiver through me. I love that this man treats me like a princess but can also be dirty with me. He makes me feel so sexy, so free, like I can do and be anything I want with him. I use my hand on his butt to push him in deeper, gagging slightly, but it’s worth it for the satisfied groan he makes, for the flexing of his fingers in my hair. Then he’s pulling me up, looking at me with those glittering eyes that make me feel like he sees something in me that no one else has—that maybe no one else never will—and he kisses me, sucking on my bottom lip. “You were going to make me come,” he says gruffly. “But I’m not ready for that. There’s so much more I’d like to do to you.”

Pleasure pulses between my legs. Anticipation.

“You seem like a man of action,” I say, barely recognizing my voice. It’s so full of need for him.

He smiles at me, the smile of a wolf, then leads me over to the bed. He lies down, then says, “Sit on my face.”

“What?” I say, the word coming out like a squawk.

“Sit on my face.”

“I can’t do that! I’d crush you,” I say, even as the insinuation slithers through me, heating me.

“Most of your weight will be on your thighs, but even if it wasn’t, you could never crush me,” he says through a slightly amused smile. “Even if you tried.”

He reaches for my thigh, letting his fingers play over my butt, tracing circles on my skin that send bursts of hot-cold shivers through me.

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Good,” he says through another of those wolf smiles.

I go to him, and I climb onto the bed, feeling awkward as I sit over his face, but the feeling only lasts for half an instant because his mouth is on me, his hands reaching up to cradle my breasts. He caresses them and tweaks my nipples as he sucks on my clit and then circles it with his tongue. His hands keep moving as he pleasures me with his mouth, his tongue sweeping through my folds and then spearing inside, pulsing, before he goes back to my clit. The waves of sensation shooting through me escape my mouth in breathy sighs as I feel bliss working through me—building, building…

“Oh my God, Rowan, oh my God.”

It’s too much as he sucks on my clit again and then returns to pulsing with his tongue, his hands still on my breasts, every part of me consumed by him even though it’s me sitting on his face. The thought of him wanting to do this for me, of him being turned on by it, only spirals my pleasure higher. So does the tickle of his beard against my skin and the heat of his breath, of his mouth, the slight nip of his teeth, and then—

“I’m coming. Rowan, I’m—”

He only works harder, pushing me over the edge as he circles my clit again and sucks. I collapse to one side of him, not wanting to actually crush his head, and he gathers me up to him, my back to his front. I can feel his hardness pressed against me, and even though waves of pleasure are still cascading through me, I whisper, “Now. I need you now.”

He kisses the side of my neck and reaches down, finds my wetness with his hand, sucks in a breath, and then moves himself into position.

I cry out when he thrusts into me—one hard thrust that puts him exactly where I need him, and even though I just came, I feel the rumbles of pleasure coursing through me again, already, as he moves into me, his hand reaching around to play with my clit as he thrusts. His lips are hot on my neck. “You feel so good, Kennedy,” he says in a breathy growl. “Like your pretty little pussy was made for me.”

And it feels like his cock was made for me , because it’s never been this good before, even with Brandon, when I was so blinded by infatuation that I thought he was my soulmate. It never felt quite right. It never felt like this—like someone was giving pieces of me back to myself. It always felt like he was taking something away.

Rowan lightly bites my neck as he thrusts in deeper, moving the top of my leg over his legs to change the angle, and it feels so good, so impossibly good. One of his hands is still caressing my breasts, the other on my clit as he rubs slow circles around it, timing them with his thrusts.

I look back at him in wonder, and find him staring at me the same way, his eyes free of any shutters. They’re full of emotion, and it’s for me. He leans in and kisses me, his thrusts slowing, and suddenly I need to face him—I need to be looking into his eyes as we finish this, so I pull away.

“I want to look at you,” I blurt out. Normally, I might feel self-conscious, like I’d said something needy or stupid, but I don’t feel any of that because he’s gazing at me with such liquid warmth.

He doesn’t say anything. He just pulls out, and turns me so I’m on my back, then slowly, so slowly the anticipation might very well kill me, thrusts back in. We take each other like that, slowly, looking into each other’s eyes, kissing slowly too, and the combination drives me indescribably wild. It’s not long before he pulls another orgasm out of me, leaving me gasping with pleasure.

“I can’t do slow anymore, Kennedy,” he says, breathing jaggedly. “Seeing you fall apart like that, I—”

“So fuck me fast,” I say, the words a surprise to me as they fall out of my mouth.

He thrusts in fast and hard, almost pushing me over the peak again. He finishes in seconds, and after I clean up, we lay together, me nestled in his arms, my head on his chest.

It feels amazing, and we both laugh when Jester, who’s been snoozing on his bed, paws the side of the mattress to be let up. Rowan picks him up so gently it almost brings me to tears, and he nestles in next to us.

“Let’s play truth,” Rowan says after a few minutes, running his fingers along my jaw and then down the bridge of my nose like he wants to memorize me.

“Truth. What’s your favorite part of living in Highland Hills?”

“Being close to my sisters,” he says, and I can’t deny that a pang of sadness unfurls inside me. I’d like that too. Phillip’s still in Chicago, of course, but he never spends time with me. He treats me with the same blank affection you’d feel for a Golden Retriever—it’s more for the role of little sister than it is for me.

It’s always been different with Zach. He can be annoying and overbearing, but he’s also my friend. He knows the adult I’ve become, not just the little girl stuffed into a series of uncomfortable but pretty dresses.

“That must be nice,” I admit, running my hand up his chest, saying hello to each delicious ridge of muscle. “But is there anything you like about Highland Hills itself?”

He looks down at me, grinning. “You ask the hard questions, don’t you?”

I can’t help but laugh. “If there’s nothing you like about it, why don’t you go somewhere else?”

“Because nowhere else would have the iron-grip of a home I didn’t ask for or want but can’t leave because it would kill me.”

My laughter fades a little, mostly because I’ve never felt that way about home. Like it was a part of me I couldn’t quit. The only place that’s come close is Olive’s apartment, where she still lives with Nanny Rose and her brother.

“Plus, my sister just started dating the bartender at Ziggy’s, so I drink there for free. Can’t complain about that.”

“I’ve never been to Ziggy’s,” I say with a sigh. “I’ve hardly been anywhere in Highland Hills. I only got a day to wander around before they said I had to stick to the house. It’s so beautiful, though. It’s like a winter wonderland.”

“You’re not missing much,” he says, blunt as ever, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that suggests he actually loves this town, for all his complaining. He loves it and hates it.

“Tell me more about what I’m not missing.”

“Well,” he says as he runs his fingers through my hair again, the repetition of it soothing, like I’m a cat basking in the sun. “The worst place in town is Christmas All Year Coffee. You’d love it.”

Laughing, I bat at his chest like I’m that cat I was imagining. “Why do I sense you mean that as an insult?”

He smiles at me with wry amusement. “Because you’re one smart lady. They’ve got a Christmas tree in that place from January 1 to December 31, but they decorate it differently for each holiday.”

“Tell me more,” I say, tipping my head to get a better look at him. “I want to know everything .”

“I thought maybe you did. They play only Christmas carols, and they’ve got a drink called the Three Wise Men that tastes like honey going down and gives you a hangover that lasts two days, easy.”

“It sounds wonderful.” I sigh, letting myself think about going there with him, out in the open—two people with nothing to hide. We’d bring Jester on a leash, and if this place is everything Rowan’s made it out to be, then maybe we’d be able to buy my canine baby an ugly Christmas sweater, and—

“It’s hell on Earth,” he tells me, his fingers stroking gently through my hair again. “But I’d take you there and be happy for it. I’d feel like the luckiest man alive.”

My heart cracks open, because I know he means it. Going there would be hell for him, but he’d do it…for me.

“You’re really something, Rowan, you know that?”

“Does this mean I’m going to get laid again?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

I sit up and straddle his waist, feeling a surge of womanly power. “I think we could arrange that.”