The Complete Rixton Falls Series

by Winter Renshaw

  Her breasts press against my chest, her rosy nipples alive and peaked, tracing along my skin as she moves.

  Her skin is nothing but goosebumps, but she’s warming by the second.

  My mouth abandons hers, and I deposit a trail of biting kisses down her neck until her head falls back and her nails dig into the flesh of my shoulders. I devour her sweet skin, lowering myself between her breasts and circling my tongue around a pert nipple.

  The basement is cool and dank, but all the warmth we need encircles us in a cloud of our own lust. My hands crawl up her thighs, working the buttons of her jeans and pulling them down.

  The dryer rumbles beneath her, and she leans back, her hands braced as I drag a finger along the wet crotch of her silk panties. Shoving the soaked fabric aside, I crave her taste on my tongue.

  My head between the apex of her thighs, I drag my tongue along her seam before circling her swollen clit.

  Serena moans, and I lift my hand to her mouth. We have to be quiet. And quick.

  The clock is ticking.

  She takes my finger between her mouth, lightly biting and sucking as I devour her swollen, slick pussy, and my cock throbs when I appreciate the fact that her body wants mine.

  The dryer hums, and Serena’s thighs shake. Her breath quickens, and she drives a hand through my hair, pulling a fistful as she climaxes against my mouth in quivering waves.

  When she’s finished, I rise, tugging her off the dryer and into my arms.

  Her hand presses into her chest, and she’s just as breathless as she was last night.

  “Holy shit, Derek.” Her words are exasperated sighs. “I was not expecting that.”

  “Neither was I.”

  The dryer buzzes, rudely interrupting whatever the fuck this was, and I catch a hint of disappointment in her deliriously satisfied expression.

  I reach past her, yanking the door open and grabbing our warm shirts. By the time we dress and head upstairs, Demi has commandeered our abandoned dish job, working frantically at the sink and avoiding eye contact at all costs.

  Chapter 20

  Serena

  Haven sleeps on the drive home.

  Moonlight emphasizes Derek’s handsome profile, and I catch myself watching him with side eyes.

  We don’t speak, though I’m not sure what there is to talk about. After the basement rendezvous, Derek mumbled some excuse about getting Haven back in time for bed and got us the hell out of there.

  Demi totally knew. How couldn’t she? We came upstairs looking like the cat that ate the canary, or in Derek’s case . . .

  The drive home only takes twenty minutes, and Derek carries his sleeping daughter up to his apartment, tucking her in as I get the lights. She doesn’t wake. Not once. And I’m kind of disappointed because I enjoyed reading her a bedtime story the night before. I’d never done it before, and it was sweet and relaxing, and her hair smelled like peach shampoo, and she wanted to hold my hand.

  “I was thinking,” I say to Derek after he gently pulls Haven’s door closed.

  He faces me, an eyebrow raised, and points to the living room. His hand presses into my left shoulder as he escorts me away from Haven’s hallway.

  “What were you thinking?” he asks.

  “After the conservatorship is dissolved,” I say, “I was thinking I should go back to the city.”

  Derek frowns. “You’re ready for that?”

  “What am I doing here?” I spent all afternoon asking myself this question. “Holing up in your place, hiding from the rest of the world like I’m some sort of fragile. That’s not me. I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to go back to the city, face those assholes I used to call friends and give them something new to gossip about. Page Six would have a heyday if they knew what Veronica did to me.”

  “Serena.” Derek places his hand on my arm and moves closer. “I won’t tell you where to live or what to do, but if you’re going to do this, it needs to be for the right reasons. Going back so you can stick it to those assholes is the last reason you should go.”

  I pull my arm from his hold and collapse into his sofa, staring at a dead TV screen on the other side of the room.

  “Doesn’t it get exhausting?” he asks.

  “Excuse me?” I turn toward him.

  “Living for everyone else. Your life is so magnified and scrutinized. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “It’s all I’ve ever known.” My hands fold in my lap. “I don’t know any other way. I wish I did. I wish I grew up in a big blue house with a bunch of sisters and two parents who were crazy about each other, but that’s not what I had. It’s not who I am.”

  Derek takes a seat next to me. “The past doesn’t matter as much as you think it does. Focus on the here and now. What can you do today, right now, that’s going to make tomorrow better?”

  “Work out?” I bite a smile and sink back into the cushions.

  “I’m being serious, Serena.” Derek’s eyes narrow, and he shifts away from me.

  I reach for his arm, pulling him closer. “I’m kidding. You were so serious, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It makes me sad.”

  “See?” Derek huffs, his head tilting. “You’re running back to the very life you refuse to talk about because it makes you sad.”

  “All right.” I sit up straight. “Let’s talk about my alternatives then. I can stay in this city, where nobody knows me, where I have no friends, no social life, nothing but you. And we can hole up together for the foreseeable future, and you can remind me every day about how you’re this bachelor and you don’t do this and you don’t do that and nothing means anything.”

  Derek leans back, studying me. “Why are you making this about me now?”

  “I’m not. I’m just saying, there’s nothing for me here.”

  “You didn’t come here to find something. You came here to escape.”

  “And I feel just as confined, Derek.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. “I’ve been here two days, and I feel like I’m just as isolated as before. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful. I’d much rather be here than at Belcourt, but I’m still alone.”

  I’m still lonely.

  Derek blows a hard breath through terse lips. “I don’t want that for you. I was only trying to help.”

  I place my hand over his. “I know. I’m not upset. I’m just saying . . .”

  “You don’t want to be here anymore.”

  He says it so easily—the words that have been stuck on the tip of my tongue since this afternoon. I passed a small boutique with a green awning over the door, and it reminded me of the little shop up the street from my old apartment on Lexington. And it made me homesick for the city. For life. For faceless strangers. And excitement. And the kind of energy that made me feel like a million bucks on the worst of days.

  And then I lunched at a little sidewalk café, and the server was the sweetest elderly man in a gray beret. He gave me extra bread, told me I had the warmest smile he’d ever seen, and that I reminded him of his late wife when I spoke.

  You don’t get that kind of service in the city.

  After that, I waltzed into a pet shop and held a puppy. The woman behind the cash register asked if I had a yard, and I thought of the shared rooftop terrace in my building and the small patch of grass shared by all the building dogs.

  I kissed the top of the pug puppy’s head and put him back after that.

  When I left the pet store, I thought about what it might be like to buy a charming, pint-sized house with a big backyard in a quaint little town. The mere idea made me warm from the inside out, and I felt my heart getting too close to that heat, like a curious child drawn to a flickering candle flame.

  So I snuffed it out.

  And then Derek pulled up and invited me to his sister’s house.

  “I like being here,” I say.

  “You don’t have to lie.”

  “But I miss my home.” I glance out the window at the
sweeping view of a sparkling Rixton Falls at night. It’s nothing compared to New York, but it’s almost similar. I go to the window, pull in a deep breath, and wrap my arms around my sides.

  A moment later, the warmth of Derek’s hands slides up my arms, and his body presses against my back.

  I turn to face him. “What are you doing?”

  Our eyes meet, and his hold a storm of emotions. Confusion. Excitement. Boldness.

  “Don’t leave, Serena. Not yet.” His voice is low, his request firm.

  “And why is that?”

  He releases a frustrated groan, although I think his frustrations are self-directed. “I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

  “Goodnight, counselor.”

  I lay low the rest of the weekend, letting Derek spend time with his daughter and burying myself in books I picked up at a local corner shop.

  I also watch no fewer than three Lifetime Movies and binge watch an entire season of House of Cards—Derek’s recommendation.

  In between the shows and the books, I find myself lost in thought, wondering if I should stay—for reasons unknown—or go.

  Derek’s words echo in my mind—not his request for me to stick around longer, but his warning. He’s not what I need. He’s not what I’ll ever need. And the same is true for him.

  We don’t belong together, even if our bodies beg to differ.

  I should go.

  Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this week. But soon.

  Chapter 21

  Derek

  “You’re twenty minutes late.” Kyla storms down the front steps of her Victorian McMansion Sunday afternoon. The closer she gets, the more I notice the ridiculous amount of makeup covering her wind-burned cheeks and the pale outline around her eyes marking where her ski goggles once sat.

  “There was a lot of traffic.” I climb out and go to the backseat.

  “At four o’clock on a Sunday?” Her hand flies to her hip.

  Any other mother would be fawning over their daughter, having not seen her for several days, but Kyla is more concerned with berating me over nothing.

  “Did you have somewhere to be?” I unbuckle Haven and lift her from her car seat.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” She lifts her head. “Herb made us reservations at this new French restaurant in Hawthorne. It’s a forty-five-minute drive, and our reservations are in forty minutes.”

  “Will Haven eat French food?” I deposit my daughter on the grass and she runs toward the front door, stopping once to blow me a kiss. She waits as I pretend to catch it in the air, and then she disappears inside.

  “We’re not taking Haven.” Kyla speaks quickly, eyes darting past me. “We got a babysitter.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Kyla?” There’s a growl in my throat, and I’m two seconds from heading inside, scooping Haven into my arms, and taking her home with me. But I’m not about to get myself arrested because of this fucking twat, so she’s lucky. “You haven’t seen our daughter in four days, and you make me rush her home Sunday night so you can go on a date with fucking Herb?”

  “We’ve been on the wait list for months.” Kyla stomps her foot. “We got the call on the way home. We weren’t expecting it. Completely last minute.”

  As if that makes this any more acceptable.

  “This is un-fucking-believable.” I shake my head, threading my fingers through my hair and pulling, my teeth grinding. I move to the backseat, grabbing Haven’s bag, and I shove it in Kyla’s arms. “You don’t fucking deserve to be her mother, and you know it.”

  Her jaw hangs. “You did not just say that to me, Derek.”

  I climb back in the car, and her expression softens as she moves to the driver’s window.

  “Where’s your pretty little friend?” Her tone is sweet. She’s fishing.

  I start up the engine and shift into reverse.

  “Fine, don’t answer me.” Kyla snorts. “Oh, don’t forget. You have Haven next weekend too. I’m hosting a trunk show for a local designer, and then Herb is taking me into the city for a little bit. She’d just be in the way. And we need to talk summer, because that’s coming up soon. We’re doing six weeks in Europe, and that’s just too much for a four-year-old, so she’s going to have to stay with you. Also, we need to talk summer childcare. I assume you want to help me interview nannies. I just don’t have the patience to spend all day, everyday with a four-year-old. Also, she’s going to be staying with my mother in San Francisco for a month before preschool starts up again.”

  I turn to her slowly, and my mind is made up. “Can you send all of this to me in an email, please?”

  Kyla’s brows arch. “Um, sure, okay.”

  Fucking moron.

  I peel out of her driveway, mentally building my custody case as I drive the long two hours back home.

  “Have a nice drive back?” Serena greets me when I return, though I’m not in the best of moods. She lingers by the kitchen island, studying me. “Everything okay?”

  I groan, mumbling nonsense and swatting her away.

  “Okay, I won’t bother you.” Serena pulls away from me, stepping toward her hallway. “It’s getting late, so . . . have a good night.”

  “You have an appointment tomorrow. Ten AM,” I realize I forgot to tell her that over the weekend, but to be fair, she’s pretty much avoided me since Friday night.

  Serena, who’s halfway down the hall by now, stops and turns. “With?”

  “A local psychiatrist,” I say. “Her name is Dr. Lia Perez. She’s going to clear you, and as soon as I have her statement, I’ll file the papers and petition the courts to cancel the conservatorship.”

  Her face lights, and I think she’d run into my arms right now if I wasn’t so gruff.

  “Thank you, Derek.”

  “I’ll pick you up at nine thirty. Don’t be late.”

  I head to my room, not waiting for her to respond. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about as far as anything else is concerned. She wants to leave, and I sure as fuck won’t try and stop her.

  We’ve said two words to each other all morning Monday.

  Now I’m seated in the waiting room of Dr. Lia Perez’s private mental health clinic, paging through a tattered copy of Men’s Fitness from October of last year. It’s been two hours now. I’d have been better off not waiting.

  “Mr. Rosewood?” Dr. Perez’s nurse opens a hall door. “You can come back now.”

  I follow her down a wallpapered hall with cherry wainscoting. This place used to be a bed and breakfast. Now it’s a place where the locals come to pour their broken hearts out to people who are paid to listen.

  I’ve never found the value in spilling your soul to someone who’s only financially vested in caring, but that’s just me.

  “Right in here. The doctor will be in soon.” The nurse points to a shiny wooden door, and I catch a glimpse of Serena already seated in front of the doctor’s desk.

  Her legs are crossed, her foot twitching and bouncing like she has something to be nervous about.

  Dr. Perez waltzes in by the time I take my seat. She’s a tiny thing, pushing forty, with jet black hair that frames the very face her glasses are trying to hide. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s just as guarded as the next person. Listening to people’s secrets for a living tends to do that to a person, and I speak from experience.

  The doctor shakes my hand. “Mr. Rosewood, nice to meet you in person.”

  “Likewise.” I release her soft hand and flatten my tie as I take a seat.

  Serena watches me, chewing the inside of her lip.

  “So,” she says. “I’ve spent some time with Ms. Randall, and I see no reason she should need a conservator of her estate.”

  Dr. Perez’s mouth spreads into a wide smile, and her eyes relay between Serena’s and mine.

  Serena exhales slowly, readjusting her legs and sitting up straight. She’s relieved.

  “That’s excellent news,” I say.


  “My evaluation should be typed and ready by the early part of next week. I generally request seven to ten business days, but given Serena’s extenuating circumstances, I don’t want her to have to wait that long.”

  “We appreciate that, Doctor.” I speak for the both of us. The sooner she’s gone, the sooner I can get her out of my fucking head. She’s been playing in there like a loop since the day I met her.

  I knew it was a mistake. Touching her. Kissing her. All of it was wrong.

  I wanted to resist.

  But I wanted her more.

  Hell. Now, I’ll probably have to pass her estate case off to someone else. Let them deal with the Veronica Kensington-Randall Shit Show. Wash my hands of this family.

  When I rise from my seat, I realize we weren’t done discussing this quite yet. Dr. Perez and Serena exchange puzzled looks, and I recover by checking my watch and mentioning an imaginary appointment I have at noon.

  “Sure,” Dr. Perez says. “I’ll let you two get going. Serena, I gave you my card. I want you to contact me if you ever need anything. Stopping your medications without doctor supervision was quite risky, but I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay. Call me if anything changes, okay?”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Serena grabs her purse and stands before following me to the door.

  By the time we reach my car, we still haven’t said much of anything to each other. But I’m fine with that. She’s not my girlfriend. We fucked once.

  I don’t need to tiptoe around her. I don’t need to smooth anything over. I gave her the best part of me, and I owe her nothing.

  She should consider herself lucky.

  I don’t open my home to anyone, especially not in the presence of Haven.

  I shake my head, shaming myself because I goddamned knew better.

  Who cares if she’s equal parts beautiful and unpredictable? Who cares if she’s amazing with my daughter? Who cares that she choked down Demi’s spaghetti without so much as a complaint and then offered to clean up afterward?