Chapter 16

PEN

She could smell him from here, that sweet, rich scent of coffee, the slightest of musk lingering on his clothes. She'd tried desperately to forget that scent, but it was impossible. Clearing her throat, Pen turned to the door, her hands tightening around the doorknob. They needed to get out of here.

"Maybe if we work together," she offered, not daring to look at him.

What was happening ? Pen was about to have a full-on existential meltdown.

You know what's happening.

And damn it, she wanted it to happen. She'd shoved him down to the snow and straddled him. She'd nearly let him kiss her in the study. There was something between them, now that the air had been cleared and their pasts could stay their pasts, but the part of her that kind of wanted a future, too, desperately wanted this .

He took a step closer, the heat of him along her back. Pen's nerves buzzed with his nearness. She tried to focus on the fear of being trapped, on the thing that had shut them in, on the anger she'd felt for him just last night, but he reached around her, a finger skimming the back of her hand before wrapping around hers.

Without even realizing it, she was leaning back, melting into him, breath coming faster. What in the actual fuck was happening? Pen didn't have words to describe this tightness in her chest, but she knew what that slickness between her legs was, the ache building as he pressed closer.

And she could not ignore that.

Twenty-four hours ago, she would have never imagined talking to this man, let alone having an honest conversation, but in the time since they'd met up in Edinburgh, she and Storm had laid bare all the nastiness between them. After reading his manuscript, she'd finally understood where he was coming from, why he'd made every decision.

Though it didn't fix everything he'd done, Pen was willing to forgive him for his past mistakes if he was willing to forgive her for hers.

But this had not been on the agenda.

Not this morning, at least.

"What are you doing, Storm?"

She knew he knew very well that she was aware of what he was doing, but fuck, Pen was going to self-combust. She was hot all over, and everywhere he touched, everywhere they aligned was on fire.

He bent close until his nose skimmed her jaw, the hard angles of him pressing against her side. His breath blew across her skin, and she wanted to turn in to his warmth, capture his mouth with hers.

"I thought about kissing you at the ruins," he whispered.

"You did?" Her voice was small, too small, and Pen wished she could swallow the words.

Her hold on the door loosened, and she pressed back into him fully, relishing the feel of him against her, the scent that flooded her senses. When she'd woken this morning with her muscles clamped tight and the place between her thighs slick with want, she'd been thinking of him, and he certainly was having the same effect on her here.

"I didn't understand it until you and I talked," he said, his fingers trailing from her hand up to her arm, "until we were honest with each other, but I'm starting to wonder if there was always something else here, waiting."

"Storm," she said breathlessly, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Yes, Skinner?" he asked, lips brushing against her cheek. His thumb swept across her waist, and damn it, she was ready to give in, to turn in his arms.

But last night she'd hated him still. No, she'd loathed him. Penelope Skinner had loathed Neil Storm, so why did she want to turn and kiss him? She wanted him to wrap his hands around her waist like he had the day before and press her into the door. She wanted to reach down and feel his length against her, wrap her legs around him and drag him close and pull him in . She wanted to run her hands through his wild hair, wanted him to undo her braid and tug her sweater over her head, and just—

The latch to the door popped open, and Pen breathed out. Face flushed, she ducked her head and slipped out from the circle of his arms before reaching for her laptop. Her hands shook as she closed the lid and wrapped her fingers around it. Ignoring the look of hurt on his face, she hurried toward the door.

"Penelope!" he called as she thrust open the door and he stumbled back.

Pen took the stairs two at a time. She didn't trust herself right now. She'd wanted to kiss him.

Neil Storm.

Penelope Skinner had wanted to kiss Neil Storm.

She screamed as she flung the door to the passageway shut and locked it, tossing her laptop to her bed. How? How? She came here to take control of her career, to fucking write, not to, well, fuck around.

"Penelope, please?"

Why was he using her first name? He wasn't allowed to say her name like that. He wasn't allowed to make her feel things for him.

Storm knocked on the door, and she swung toward it, heart in her throat. Waiting.

"Please, we need to talk." His voice was thick with emotion, low and sultry, and goddamn it, just the sound of his voice was making her horny.

"No, we really don't."

"Penelope."

Damn it, since when did he call her by her first name?

Hands planted on her hips, Pen paced. This wasn't possible. There was no alternate reality where she wanted Neil Storm to kiss her. Sighing, she turned and slammed her hands against the tapestry. She could imagine him on the other side, cramped in the narrow stairwell, hands on either side of the door as he leaned close and waited for her to give him a chance.

So close, they were so close. The only thing that separated them were these two inches of wood.

Pen shook her head. "I can't do this."

Between him and the strange things she'd seen and heard, Penelope Skinner had outstayed her welcome in this castle.

Pressing her lips into a flat line, she crossed the room and shoved her things into her bag. She didn't belong here with these people. She never had. And Storm trying to kiss her, the closure she felt when they'd both apologized for their fault in that dreadful panel, was enough to convince her that she was done writing.

Which was fine. She'd go home, move in with her mom and Apawllo as the disappointment she was always meant to be. She would continue her editing work, making other people's stories beautiful and polished while she abandoned her own. She'd live a semi-comfortable life and stay in the shadows, away from whatever new mess she and Storm had nearly started.

"Penelope, please!"

She jumped in surprise, her array of plain, albeit practical black underwear flying in the air.

"You have to be fucking kidding me," she spat, picking them up one by one and shoving them into the bag.

"Penelope, please ."

She spun toward the tapestry and the door that was hidden behind it, guilt churning in her gut. But Pen was done. She was so done letting her emotions rule her.

Pen grabbed her backpack and bag and ran from her room.

She was good at hiding; she always had been. She'd wiped all her social media accounts and avoided the world since she'd ruined her career. Whether or not it was for a good reason, she could have approached it a million different ways.

But she'd chosen violence.

"Pen?" Laszlo called out as she thundered down the stairs. "Pen, what's going on?"

Ignoring him, she crossed to the front door and tugged her boots on in the entry.

"Penelope!" Storm called from near the kitchen.

Damn it , she thought, he must have realized the stairs led down to another secret door on the first floor.

Pen cursed under her breath, pulling her jacket from one of the hooks. Her fingers shook as she buttoned it up, racing against the sound of Storm's approaching steps.

"Penelope, please!" Pen turned toward Storm as he stopped in the hall, hands on his knees. "Please," he wheezed, holding up a hand.

Shaking her head, Pen made to leave, but Storm reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist, long fingers engulfing it. His grip was not tight, but the feel of his warm fingers was… it was…

She decided she didn't want to think about what it was. Because if she did, they'd be heading in an entirely different direction. Her eyes met his before flicking to his hand. A beat. Then two. Finally, he let go, swinging around to block her path with an arm instead.

"Storm," she hissed. "Let me go."

"Where?" He shook his head, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Where are you going? You said it yourself: We're snowed in."

"I'll figure something out. I always do, but I can't be around you right now."

"Because you wanted to kiss me."

"Did not."

"No?" He leaned close, and Pen felt the zing down her stomach, the sharp, almost painful throb between her legs as he stepped closer. "I have been trying to deny my feelings, Penelope, but I can't any longer. This feud, this thing between us, has been over since we agreed to step foot in this castle. Can't you see that we could be more?"

Honesty was too damn hot, and he was too damn hot, and god, she was sweating in her jacket now. Face heating, Pen made to move past him.

"I know you felt it too, Penelope!" He straightened, brow creased with concern as he reached for one of her hands. "Come on, let's talk."

"I've had enough of talking!" Pen shook her head and swung under his arm, but Neil dove forward and blocked the door with outstretched arms.

She froze, taking him in. There was something in the movement, in the way his shirt had been rolled up to expose a soft brown forearm with a tattoo of a quill that she'd never fully seen that had her blood singing. She said nothing, eyes glued to his arm, tracing black ink.

"But we can't keep pretending—" he started.

"I will go on pretending as long as I want." She blinked, breaking from the trance, and surged forward until she stood in front of him. "You can keep trying, and we can pretend that you haven't spent a better part of the time since I met you being too good for everyone, but there's nothing here ."

"But just now—" he argued.

"Just now, what?"

"Earlier in the study," he started.

"Nothing."

"And the snow?"

She leaned up on her tiptoes, ignoring him. "We made our apologies. We are working to be better. What more can you possibly want from me?"

"I want—"

"Is everything okay here?" Laszlo asked, appearing around the corner.

Pen sighed in relief. "Laszlo."

"We were just talking," Neil said, dropping his arms.

Pen turned to stare at Neil. At the mess of his hair, the bags beneath his eyes, the wary way he glanced between them. With anyone else, she would talk, and she would listen. But not with him.

Not anymore. She didn't trust herself alone with him. So far, being alone with Neil Storm had done more harm than good.

With a sharp inhale, Pen stared up at Neil. She could feel it still, that same strange buzzing energy between them. It was too like that unexpected moment at the ruins, too like those lingering touches in the turret. And silly little Pen wanted it. God, she wanted him to touch her, she wanted him to—

Breathing hard, Pen whirled around to Laszlo. Her friend raised a brow, lips puckered in thought, eyes asking a question she refused to answer. Pen shook her head, teeth grinding.

"Pen, why don't you put the bags down?" Laszlo asked, reaching out toward her. "He's right; we're snowed in. There's more than a foot of snow on the ground, and there is no way in hell that van is getting out of here."

"See, even Laszlo agrees," Storm said.

"Shut up if you know what's good for you, Neil," Laszlo groaned.

"Actually," she said, raising her voice, and tossing aside the bags carelessly, "I was only going for a walk."

They stared at her.

"In the snow?" Neil asked slowly, not stepping away.

"Yeah, what he said," Laszlo echoed, taking two steps toward her.

"I need some fresh air."

"Please go!" Daniela called from down the hall. "Some of us still have a hangover."

"Just you!" Laszlo bellowed. Sighing, he rolled his eyes before pulling on his boots and jacket and following Pen outside as she threw open the double doors and hurried down the steps to the driveway.

"Okay, it's fucking cold," she admitted, wrapping her arms around her middle. Her teeth chattered as she and Laszlo wandered out into the snow, the fresh powder crunching and compacting beneath her boots.

The cool air was a reprieve, her cheeks flaming, her everything flaming. Her hatred was dissolving into an entirely different kind of heat, and Pen didn't know what to do about it.

Well, she did, but kissing Neil Storm needed to be the last thing on her mind.

"So," Laszlo drawled, tilting his head at her. "You and Neil, eh?"

She scrunched up her nose. "There's no ‘me and Neil,'" she said. She squinted up at the sky. "It's weird, though. I assumed he was an asshole, this guy that didn't care about anyone but himself, and yet…"

"Not an asshole?" Laszlo offered after a beat of silence.

"Not really, although he seems a bit rusty on human contact and all that. But just when I think we're getting along, he does something weird."

"Like get all cozy with you?" She shot him a bewildered look, and Laszlo laughed. "What? Everyone sees it. And by everyone, I mean Daniela and me. Hate is a strong emotion, and so is—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence."

Laszlo shrugged, grinning. "Listen, I know you both really well. And I know it's been rocky between you, but isn't it also good that your relationship is changing? You two have had this animosity toward each other for so long. What's wrong with change?"

She shivered, the thought sending a trail of familiar fingers down her spine as she turned to the castle. Her attention went to the east tower, to the place where all pretenses, all walls had crumbled down to her feet. Flirting was fun when there was no end game, but a kiss… the honesty.

Pen couldn't handle that.

Laszlo raised a brow, steering them back down the drive. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it? I mean, come on, the guy's hot."

"He's not hot." Why was she lying?

"Mm-hmm, like anyone would believe you." He tapped his chin. "If I recall, you told me at a conference a few years back that ‘Neil Storm has no right looking that good in a tweed jacket.'"

"I feel differently now," she said, ducking her head.

"You love tweed jackets."

"But I hate them on him ."

"Liar. He just gets better with age. He's like a good whiskey. I should know, I kissed him once."

Pen blanched. "You what ?"

Laszlo rolled his eyes. "It was ages ago, back when we first met and I hadn't decided how I felt about him, and he hadn't decided how he felt about me, yet, but that's beside the point. I might not be his type, and he's certainly not mine, but you two?" He whistled.

"Whatever you say, Lasz," she said, waving her hand in dismissal. "I don't have a type."

"You don't have a type? Oh, my dear, sweet Penelope." He laughed, stopping in the snow to face her. She sighed, her shoulders slouching as she met his eyes. "In all seriousness, how long has it been since you've dated someone, Pen?"

She kicked the snow.

"Two months."

"Are you still lying to me?"

She flung her head back as she groaned. "Fine," she relented. "Seven."

"Years?"

"Months!" She laughed, smacking him on the arm. "Months."

Laszlo shrugged, motioning to the castle behind them as he rubbed absently at his arm.

"Look—and hear me out," he said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "You may have hated Neil. He's not always the most transparent or straightforward person, but have you ever thought, maybe, that there was more to it? I mean, why did you start hating him in the first place?"

Pen puffed out her cheeks. "It started when he personalized a book to ‘Penny' instead of Penelope."

"See!" Laszlo threw up his arms, turning away. He paced, shaking his head. "Isn't that childish? And because of that, you turned him into some rival. You made it your life's goal to take him down ."

"Lasz, you don't understand. Maybe that's what made me look at him closer, but it's not just that. That moment only instigated my doubt. He had this standing in the book community. He had everything I wanted, and he wasted that power. He should have stood his ground and workshopped it to other publishers if he was so worried about losing power over his books. He took advantage of—"

"His advantages?" Laszlo raised a brow. "I love you, Pen, I truly do, but people change. And until you get to know someone like Neil, you'll never understand why they do the things they do."

"Laszlo, no offense, but you're white. You don't get it."

"I know I'm white. I know I have my own advantages, especially in a space like publishing, but shouldn't that make you understand why he did the things he did? Don't you see it? I've been friends with Neil for well over a decade, and I've seen what these choices have done to him. Maybe he's a sellout, letting his publisher walk all over him, but he had reason to, and you know it. Was he supposed to say no to the only publisher who offered?"

"I… didn't know that."

"No one does. They don't talk about what it took for him to get to where he is, Pen. They only talk about his successes. He simply hasn't corrected them."

Pen paused and looked up at her friend. Neil had never been her enemy. She'd turned him into a vessel to direct her anger, because of what? Because her book didn't do well? Because she couldn't figure her shit out? There were already so few Indigenous authors, particularly in horror. What had she been doing turning one of them into her enemy for something he felt powerless about?

"I guess I should have seen it. I just wanted someone to blame for my own problems, for my lack of success. Is that petty?"

"Maybe."

Pen sighed and nudged Laszlo's side. "How did I go all these years and not see it?"

"Because the publishing industry wants you to fight. They want there to be one of you, and you two were scrabbling for that spot, for a place on the shelf. Your names are literally ‘Storm' and ‘Skinner.' You had to battle for a spot on the same exact shelf, Pen."

"Wait, what?"

He made a strange, alarmed sound. "Alphabetically, you two are literally next to each other on a shelf. Wait, are you telling me you never thought about that?"

"No, and now I can't believe I never saw it."

Laszlo laughed. "Oh, my dear, sweet Pen, do you know how many times I went to a bookstore to mimic your books yelling at each other?"

"Please tell me someone has video evidence of this."

"No such evidence." He waggled his brows. "Also, can I once again point out that he's hot, and there's clearly something going on between you two? Feelings change, circumstances change, and maybe this is what you two have been waiting for. Why not take a chance?"

Pen shoved her hands in her pockets and swiveled toward the castle. She spotted Storm's face in one of the windows of the study, looking down at her. Laszlo laughed.

"Look at him, Pen. I don't know how you managed to do it, but in a single day, you went from hating each other to this ."

"That's the problem. I don't know what this is."

Laszlo shrugged before hooking his arm through hers. "You won't know until you find out."

They walked for a moment, and Pen reached out to run her frozen fingers over a crystalized branch. "Why do you put up with me?" she asked.

Laszlo chuckled, the sound deep in his chest. "Pen, you are the strangest person I've ever had the honor to call a friend. And through my sage advice—"

"Someone's humble," she mumbled.

"I have saved you from a multitude of terrible decisions. And just the knowledge that you never went through with any one of the fifty-seven different ways you could have murdered Neil Storm is enough to leave me satisfied."

Pen straightened her glasses, clearing her throat as her face heated. "I still think the library idea would have worked."

"Neil Storm is probably immortal. He would have survived three bookcases falling on him."

"Would have been worth a shot," she muttered.

"I'm glad you don't show this side of you to the public. It's terrifying."

"Good, it's always been a lifelong dream of mine to terrify someone twice my height."

Laughing quietly, they meandered down the drive. Though Pen was cold, and her socks were soaked through with melted snow, she was glad they'd gone out. She'd desperately needed to clear her mind and breathe some crisp, cool air.

And get away from Neil. She knew where he'd been going, where they'd been going, what he was going to say, and try as she might, she wasn't ready to confront the part of her that had enjoyed the close press of him.

In twenty-four hours, her vision of Neil Storm had been turned upside down. Before, she'd wanted to strangle him, tear apart his books, and prove him wrong, but now… well, she wanted to kiss him. She'd wanted him to pick her up and crush her against that locked door at the top of the turret. She wanted to feel his hands on her hips, she wanted him to kiss her between her legs.

She wanted to feel him everywhere.

Whatever the outcome of the weeklong retreat, her view of the man who'd fueled her hate for the last few years had been changed completely. All it had taken was some honesty, a little heart-to-heart, and the willingness to listen.

Pen stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the castle's entrance.

Laszlo touched her arm gently. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I just need a few minutes out here to myself."

He frowned. "Don't stay out here too long! It's freezing." Shivering as if to prove his point, Laszlo hurried up the stairs and back into the castle, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

And they were dangerous thoughts.

Sighing, she crossed to the garden and settled on a frozen stone bench. She admired the wilted flowers and abandoned plants as she brought her knees to her chest, teeth chattering from the cold.

She saw a flicker of movement across the yard, and when she glanced up, she spotted Fanny among the trees. The groundskeeper was bundled in a large jacket and boots. Fear creased her face, and Pen angled her head back to see what had captured the groundskeeper's attention, but there was nothing. When she turned back, Fanny was already gone.

Pen was too scared to go inside because she was afraid of all the things she'd seen, and even if she wasn't, the idea of facing the man who'd played such a huge part in her own downfall was enough to make her hesitate. She knew Neil Storm could, if she let him, change her life in other ways. Perhaps for the better. But Pen feared change, feared allowing someone in past her formidable walls.

And it scared her to want something—or someone —so much.