12. Her Everything

12

HER EVERYTHING

" H ave you had enough?" Kelsey asked two hours later. It was barely seven, they'd eaten half a pizza and she'd been going through the financials for all three of the hotels in the past year.

"Yeah," he said. "My eyes are crossing. How the hell do you do this?"

"Years of practice," she said. "Numbers never lie. It's just trying to find the best way to the present. Plus they don't talk back."

He grunted. Back to his manly noises.

"Unlike some blondes with a sharp tongue and a potty mouth?" he asked. "How do you keep it in all day long?"

"I shut my door and play the music when I can. Loud rock that has my head banging up and down as if I'm in a mosh pit. When my staff hear that they enter with caution."

"You're something else," he said.

"Why, thank you, sir."

She bowed her head for him with a flourish of her hand.

"We can call it a night on this," he said. "Considering I've gotten some nice deposits into my account the past few months, it's safe to say your father is doing well for my business ventures."

"Yours?" she asked, grinning.

She was happy he was taking ownership. Maybe her father was right and he needed time.

Regardless of what happened between the two of them, her heart broke for Van and what he'd gone through.

Her family was her everything.

She'd be devastated if she thought they'd betrayed her, let alone she couldn't trust them.

Van needed something in his life that he could anchor himself to.

If she was hoping she'd be one of those things he'd attach to, she'd keep that little tidbit to herself.

"For now," he said.

"Do you think you might sell?" she asked.

"I don't want to," he said. "But I think it's best to not make any promises right now."

She read that in more ways than one, but she'd push it aside.

"Promises are overrated. Actions are better in my mind."

He pushed back from the desk. "Why don't we close this down? There is a wine cellar in the basement I discovered. I'm not much of a wine drinker. There is some damn good scotch I opened this week though."

"To feel closer to your grandfather?" she asked.

He held her stare and just nodded his head. Sometimes no words were needed.

He got up and walked out of the room so she followed after she snatched up their two paper plates.

The second half of the pizza was still on the counter.

"Want anymore of this?" he asked. "Or something else? I've got a shit ton of snacks."

"I happen to love snacks. More so the shit ton kind."

He shut one eye at her and grabbed the pizza box and just tossed it in the fridge. She was going to ask if maybe he wanted to wrap it up and kept the comment to herself.

"Here are your choices for a night on the deck and then we can find the wine that might pair with it. Unless you want that scotch? There is whiskey too."

She'd seen the bottles of it displayed in the office they'd been in. Some that she enjoyed and that her father drank.

"Wine sounds lovely," she said primly.

She followed through the kitchen where he opened the pantry and she burst out laughing. It looked as if it was the snack aisle in the store.

She grabbed pretzels and salt and vinegar chips, then she'd put them on the counter.

He moved to a door off of the kitchen. When they went into the basement she realized it was completely finished.

It was a teenage boy's wet dream down here.

Huge bar in the corner, massive TV mounted on the wall, leather furniture around it.

They moved past that room to a hall and she popped her head into a theater room.

She'd had no idea Barry was like this.

"I don't think he ever used this space," Van said as if he read her mind.

More and more she started to think that this house was done and staged for a bachelor grandson in the hopes of making up for not being in his life.

No way she'd give her opinion right now.

When they got to the end of the hall, she'd seen another bedroom and a bath.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," she said when she saw the wine room. It was stunning.

There were beautifully carved walls of wood shelving on three walls. Lots of empty spaces, but there were easily over a hundred bottles of wine here.

Each bottle was displayed in a slot for her to see the labels.

She soon realized they were organized by type.

"I know very little about wine," he said. "This is all you."

"This Chardonnay will work," she said. "Don't feel as if you have to drink it with me."

"I don't plan on it," he said.

"Well then," she said, tongue in cheek.

He pulled the bottle out of her hand. "I wonder if good old Gramps was an alcoholic."

"No," she said. "He'd have an occasional glass of whiskey or scotch with my father when he came for a holiday or they were celebrating something. Nothing more."

"Then why all this wine?" he asked.

"I have a theory, but I doubt you want to hear it," she said.

"No reason to keep quiet now," he said. "You haven't yet."

"Good point," she said. "Maybe the wine will loosen my tongue up more."

He found glasses and poured her one once he opened it in the kitchen. She'd opened the two bags of snacks and pulled some out to munch on.

She didn't need fancy plates or serving platters. Not that Van was going to offer that.

"Well now," he said, once they returned to the deck and took their seats "Our butts are in a spot. How many sips do you need to loosen your tongue?"

They'd sat in silence for a few minutes while she waited to see if he was really interested in knowing.

"I should keep quiet."

"Or not," he said.

"If you insist," she said, sending him a bright smile. "The Barry I knew didn't live like this. If I had to guess his style, I'd say dark wood and brown leather. Old Victorian style. This is light and bright and modern. Staged like one of those homes redone on HGTV that everyone drools over and wishes they could have."

"I suppose," he said.

"I think that Barry might have wanted to make it a place you'd not want to leave. But if you did, then he'd make it nice enough to sell at top dollar."

She knew this house had to go for four million easily . It was huge. On the water and modern.

Hell, four million would still cause a bidding war.

She'd kill for this house and could tell that an ex-detective from Wichita was completely out of his element and yet still trying to make it his own.

"You're probably right," he said. "Not sure why he cared enough though."

"Do you want to talk about this?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"Then we can drink and look at the view and enjoy the place you get to call home."

"We can do that," he said.

After five minutes of silence she was ready to launch herself out of the chair and shake as if she had cooties crawling on her. Silence bites.

"How do you feel about the rules of dating?" she asked. She had to talk. She couldn't hold it in another second.

He turned and lifted his eyebrow at her. "You stayed silent longer than I thought you would. You've got some control."

"Oh boy, you have no idea," she said, laughing. "Answer my question."

"What is there to think about?" he asked. "I'm not sure I know what the rules of dating are. I'm not the one that has been on dating apps."

"Touché," she said. "And yet here we are in the same position with our pitiful dating lives."

"Pitiful?" he asked. "I'm also not the one that was thinking of getting prison pen pals."

"I wasn't thinking of doing that. Just making a point that if I wanted a pen pal I could do that."

He put his beer down on the table between them. "What is your point, Kelsey?"

"My point is there is an old rule. The third date rule."

"That one I know," he said, grinning.

"There is a smile. Damn. You are really attractive when you do that."

The smile dropped. "I haven't had a ton to smile about in life."

She put her wine down and got up to sit on his lap. "I want to change that for you. Maybe for me too."

"Why?"

"Beats the shit out of me. Maybe I'm just horny."

"Are you now?"

"Very," she said. "I don't follow the third date rule with anyone else. It's been a looooong time."

She looked into his dark eyes and saw a bit of something she couldn't put her finger on. He had a rough beard going but not always. She got the impression he shaved when he felt like it. Just like he did most things in life—what he wanted when he wanted.

"Why me?" he asked. "Did the house turn you on like all those women when they see the final reveal on TV?"

"Did you just make a joke, Van?" she asked, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.

"A poor one," he said.

"Nope. It was funny. And no, that didn't turn me on. You did. You have been."

"I'm not into pity sex," he said.

She tried not to be offended. "Me neither. Do you feel sorry for me that I haven't had it in over a year? Maybe more?"

"Nope," he said.

"Well then, I guess this decision is yours."

The fact she could feel his dick shifting under her lap told her what he was thinking. She grinned to prove it too.

"This is your chance to say no before I stand up and carry you to my room."

She twisted an invisible lock in front of her lips.

He stood up fast and carried her through the house and to his room, his mouth crushing hers before he came down on top of her on the bed.

Her hands slid under his shirt, over his back, up his shoulders and felt a lot of muscles.

Damn, she needed to get his shirt off and started to tug it up and over his head.

He had to break the kiss to do that but then went right back at it.

His hands slid into her shorts and cupped her heat, then under her underwear and started to slide around her wetness.

She let out a squeal when a finger quickly invaded her and then bucked up for more.

She was lifting and lowering her hips as if he was fully embedded inside of her and coming faster than she wanted.

Her body sagged on the bed, her hands to her sides.

"That wasn't what I was thinking of," she said. "But thank you."

He let out a half laugh. "You're welcome, but we aren't done."

"Thank God," she said. "Drop your shorts."

"You need to lose your shirt first," he said.

She sat up on the bed and started to undress as fast as she could.

She was wiggling her shorts off and then stopped while he was watching her. "Catch up."

He smiled again and the heat pooled right between her legs.

Jesus, she was losing her mind with him.

When his shorts were down, he turned to open a drawer and pull a condom out. Her eyes landed on the scars on his side from his stab wounds.

He must have caught her. "Don't look," he said.

She couldn't pull her eyes away.

But she grabbed his hand and pulled him on the bed on his back. She climbed on top of him and slid down, her finger tracing the scars.

"These make me sad."

"Don't think that," he said. "I'm fine."

"I think the scars inside of you are worse than these," she said softly. She leaned down and kissed each puckered piece of his pink skin. The ragged edges. She heard him suck in his breath.

Then she moved up and kissed him gently.

He didn't want to be tender. She wasn't sure where it came from in her either.

"Fuck me," he said. "Or I'm going to do it to you. It's your chance to make that decision."

Yeah, he was turning her on and making her focus on what they really should be doing in here.

What he might need more than he'd ever admit.

She reached for the condom he'd put on the pillow, opened it up, scooted down and covered him.

Nice and thick. She was dying to feel it inside of her and didn't hesitate to lift up and drop down.

She rose up and slammed back down twice before he wrapped his hand in her hair and roughly pulled her down.

The slight sting to her scalp was just more fuel they both needed to get them through.

Their tongues were dancing, their hips lifting and dropping in sync.

She was building up again and shocked to know that it was happening.

She didn't want it to end, at the same time she wanted to feel that magical release at the end that always came when she was coming.

She pushed back and he released her hair.

Her hands went on his chest, which she used for leverage to lift up and down more on him.

Her breasts that she'd always felt were just average in size were bobbing up and down as if they'd weighed ten pounds a piece and she was on a jog down the street.

"That's it," he said. "Keep it up. Fuck me hard."

She wasn't sure any man had ever said that to her. Talk about a turn-on.

All those grunts that Van normally made she felt herself emitting as she worked up to find that damn pleasure she was dying for.

Then it hit her. Just as if she was smacked upside the head without warning.

She sat up straight trying to get him as deep as possible as she was throbbing around his cock.

He grabbed her hips, held her in place and was rising into her hard and heavy, let out a few grunts, then pulled her down to land on his chest.

The two of them were breathing faster than she'd ever heard two people do.

"I'm not sure I could go much harder than that, but I'm willing to try if you are."

He laughed. A true honest-to-God laugh that might be coming from his belly.

"I don't know why you're good for me, but you are," he said.

"Fate of the island," she said and was shocked those words slipped out of her mouth. "Sorry. Didn't mean to say that."

"Don't be sorry for saying what comes to you," he said. "My mother used to tell me that. Maybe I need that reminder in my life too."

"Now that we've got a good understanding of each other, we should at least plan date four, don't you think?"

"Sure," he said. "We can do that."

This night turned out better than she could have ever expected.

Which was a good thing because three dates in, she was wondering if she just fell in love.

How the hell was that possible?