“Please,” I jeer with a dramatic eye roll. “I’m an eleven.”
At first, his eyes widen in shock. I’m pretty surprised I said it myself. But slowly, his gray irises turn molten, and a sexy smile curves his whole mouth.
“Indeed you are, Love. Indeed you are.”
So my comment has the opposite effect I almost have myself convinced I truly intended, only amping up my breathing and the desire in his stare.
“Kingston…” I whisper in warning—to both of us.
“Right.” He shakes his head as though to clear it. “I’ll go get you a towel.”
~~~~~
Kingston brings me a towel then disappears into the bathroom immediately, where I hear water running. Is he taking a bath?
Annoyed, I’m tempted to beat on the door and ask. One would think it’d be obvious to let me take a shower first, but it sounds like Kingston beat me to it while I stalled in my room, avoiding…well, everything. And I’m certainly not going to change clothes before I get to really clean up, considering the “hosing” didn’t do that good a job—which leaves me standing here, unsure of what to do until he’s finished with his selfish soak.
So I brave something I haven’t in far too long: I open the double French doors and step out onto the balcony connected to my room. I’ve always thought it “whimsical” to have a balcony, even though I never took advantage of it.
It’s turning into a beautiful evening—not too hot or cold, the darkening sky filling with brilliant spots of post-rainstorm light. I inhale a lungful of air and send a silent thought to my brother, who’s out there somewhere, hopefully navigating his way through these new arrangements better than I am.
“Done so soon?” I say with a soft laugh, somewhat surprised to find myself not only so attuned to his approach but comfortable with it. “I heard you sneak up this time. Not so stealthy without your water hose.” I speak into the darkness, my back still to him.
“That was my intention. I thought it best not to scare you, arse over tit, off a balcony.” He closes in, and my body responds immediately. He touches my shoulder gently, persuading me to face him. “I’ve sorted a surprise for you. Come with me.”
My mind goes hazy as I take him in, barefoot in only pajama pants, and I follow him without hesitation or argument.
He leads me by the hand into our shared bathroom, where a drawn bath awaits: one complete with heavenly scented bubbles up to the rim, and several lit candles surrounding it.
“W-what’s all this?” I stammer, heavy-tongued.
I lower my eyes, but that only serves in letting my gaze slide down his toned chest and arms—as well as his flat stomach, adorned with a single line of dark hair disappearing into his waistband—so I raise them right back up again.
He smirks, not having missed what just happened. “It’s a happy ending. I wanted our day to go well, but I somehow managed to get you trapped in a storm, on your arse in the mud, and then attacked you with a water hose. I’m hoping this,” he says, spreading out his arms, “makes up for all that, and salvages ending the day on a happy note.”
The ambiance is provocative, and it takes me longer than it should to respond.
“Th-thank you, Kingston. This is very nice. I, uh…appreciate it. And believe it or not, I actually had a lot of fun today.”
We both stand in silence for an awkward amount of time. The next move seems obvious to me, but I guess not to everyone in the room, since he’s not moving.
“You can, um…go now,” I try to say as politely as possible.
Those full lips of his curl slowly, the resulting sexy smile setting a tone I don’t think I’ll be able to resist for very long.
“I have a better idea, if I may?”
“What?” I ask quickly and quietly, past suddenly dry lips and a racing pulse.
“I thought I could stay…keep you company? If you were to wear that little pink bikini you have, anyway.” He arches one brow, his eyes alive with mischief. “You wouldn’t be lonely, and I’d finally get to see you in something pink. Seems a win-win to me.”
“Did you go through my drawers again?” I ask calmly, far too engrossed in this prelude to be offended.
“No, I did a thorough check the first time. But you no longer seem too upset at the thought that I might have.” He grins. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Hell if I know,” I lie, shrugging in time with his hearty laugh. “Okay, my bath’s getting cold. You can sit on the counter and talk to me, while I wear a bathing suit, but you are not getting in with me. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“My brother would snap you like a twig if he knew about this,” I mutter as I head for my dresser.
“Let’s not tell him then, shall we?”
“Ya think?” I snort, wincing at the unladylike sound. “Shut the door while I change.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Nope, total lie—yes I can.
I just need to justify it in my head. I won’t be naked, and honestly, some of my performance outfits are far more revealing than a bikini—especially if you consider how I’m moving my body while wearing them.
And we still have quite a while before my parents get home; Sammy will draw out their stay as long as possible, and my mom will help his cause, talking with the other mothers. This will be no different than if Kingston and I had a conversation while going swimming together.
There. It’s now perfectly placed on a mental shelf of legitimate, innocent rationalization.
I walk back into the bathroom. If Kingston were a puppy, his tail would be wagging. I can’t help but laugh when he eyes me up and down, then frowns.
“Why are you wearing a robe?” he literally pouts.
“Because I’m not stupid, naïve—or a tart.” I twirl one finger in the air, signaling him to look the other way. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll—”
“Tell your brother,” he responds as he turns around. “I am more than aware.”
“No.” I throw off the robe and climb quickly into the tub, covering myself with bubbles. “I’ll handle it myself, which is even worse for you. Be afraid…be very afraid. And you can turn back around now.”
He does—so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t sprain something. His gaze flies down to my body immediately, of course.
“Too many bubbles?” I tease.
A low rumble sounds in his chest, and I throw back my head and laugh. He’s just so…I can’t explain it, but I don’t think him a pervert. More adorably aggravated.
“So, you wanted to keep me company. I assumed that would entail delightful conversation.” I rest my head against the tub ledge and close my eyes. “Wow me, Mr. Hawthorne.”
When he doesn’t say anything after several long seconds, I crack one eye open and peer in his direction. He’s staring at me, seemingly dazed.
“No chance of this many bubbles dissolving anytime soon,” I say through a snicker, “so you might as well start talking.”
“I was just pondering.” He raises his eyes to snare my own, a flirtiness playing on his mouth. “Is this the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done, Echo?”
“Yes,” I answer faintly. But I don’t move, terrified to disrupt even a single bubble.
“I figured as much.” He nods. “How does it feel?”
A simple “naughty” in reply would disappoint us both, so I take a deep breath and form my response on the heavy exhale.
“Vulnerable, but exhilarating—not like you’re thinking, though.” I grin. “I’m excited that you turned out to be decent and we’re friends…comfortable around each other. I could’ve been stuck sharing a bathroom with some jerk. But I like you, Kingston. You’re a good guy. And I’m rarely wrong about people.”
“You flatter me, and give me far too much credit.” A shadow moves over his face, and his shoulders slump. “I’m not what you think.”
I laugh. “Kingston, I figured out you’re not really interested in ever becoming a priest a long time ago
.”
He shakes his head and chuckles softly. “I still can’t believe my father wrote that rubbish down. I’m sorry he lied to your family.”
“Don’t be; his lie, not yours. And if it makes you feel any better, I doubt my parents actually bought it, either. My father just chooses to let himself believe it, so he doesn’t have to worry we’re up here taking baths together.” I toss him a clever smirk.
He laughs again, but it’s shallow and short-lived. “My father is a very important man back home—a military attaché. I wasn’t acting very militant…not enough to suit him, anyway.”
“So it was more than speeding. What’d you do?” My ears perk up—as does my body, out from under its shield of bubbles.
He moans and does that running-his-hand-through-his-hair thing that he does so well, his eyes pinched closed.
I look away and slide back down beneath the foamy cloak. “Sorry, I’m covered again. You can open your eyes.” He lifts his lids slowly, the lazy sensuality in his gaze scorching into me. “You know, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I think maybe bath time’s over. Can you hand me my robe?”
“Of course.” He doesn’t argue, setting the robe close enough for me to reach before making his way toward his room. “Good night, Love.” He sounds defeated as he closes the door behind him.
I brush my teeth before hurrying to my room, trading the wet bikini for shorts and a comfy sports bra and slathering my arms and legs in my favorite lotion. I make sure the doors to my balcony are locked, fluff my pillows…and realize I’m tinkering. I’m restless—filled with adrenaline and unresolved yearning, creating ways to try and release it.
I slip my robe back on, and after double-checking the knot at my waist, it’s as though my feet guide themselves. Perhaps I’m dreaming, I try and kid myself, as I raise my hand to knock.
“Come in,” he says, with what I suspect is a tiny edge of wonder, from behind his bedroom door.
I turn the knob and push the door open slowly, both frightened and thrumming with expectancy at what I might find.
Kingston sits on the edge of his bed, both arms propped up on his knees. The moonlight highlights the uneasiness on his face.
“Don’t worry.” He pats the bed beside him. “Come. Sit.”
I rush to do so before I can change my mind, and he chuckles as I bounce off the mattress a bit with my hasty landing.
“‘What makes resisting temptation difficult for most is they don’t want to discourage it completely,’” he grumbles.
“Huh?” I ask dumbly, understanding perfectly well what he said—and, even more so, what he meant.
“It’s a quote I heard once. Thought nothing of it…until now.” He lets out a long, labored breath. “Why’d you come in here, Echo?”
“I…” I stumble over my reply, feeling my cheeks beginning to sport a blush I pray he doesn’t notice in the muted light. “I’m not sure.”
“I believe that.” He shifts, bending one leg up on the bed to sit sideways and face me. There’s a magnetism, a chemistry, between us that’s making it hard for me to think straight, breathe steadily, or stop inserting myself into situations I know I shouldn’t.
“Turn around,” he orders sternly as he takes my shoulders and assists in pivoting me to face the window, putting my back to him.
But his hands don’t release me once he’s done. And he must feel me tense, because he leans in, his mouth finding my ear.
“Just a massage, to relax you enough to sleep. It’s the least I can do after getting you wound up so tight.”
He pulls my robe down off my shoulders just a bit, and begins to knead the muscles there with a firm, fluid touch.
“Feel good?” he asks, and my head bobs in reply. One hand moves to rub the back of my neck, and my head falls forward. “Your hair is lovely,” he hums, “but I’ve often wondered how beautiful it would look grown out, long and flowing.”
My mother had cried when I cut off all my dark hair into the short pixie cut I wear now. I whisper the same explanation I’d given her to him.
“It fell in my eyes when I performed.”
“Makes sense. Like I said, it’s nice this way too. And your performance—”
“Thank you,” I finish for him, already knowing he enjoyed my routine and unsure whether I can handle hearing him describe his reaction while his hands play along my skin.
My robe falls lower, down around my waist, and his hands follow its descent. His touch zeroes in on the dip of my lower back, and I absorb the tingle each of his fingertips ignite with every glide.
“Echo,” he rasps, deep and gravelly, just as I moan and arch into his touch. “You’re exquisite. I can’t—”
His words cease and his hands disappear, replaced now by his lips. Hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses rain across my shoulders, then lower along my back as his heavy breathing fills the room. I silently curse the band of my sports bra when it prevents his lips from trailing lower.
I abandon all senses, the throbbing between my legs unbearable, and turn my face to find his mouth. His lifts his head as I do and it’s a blur, our mouths crashing together.
Oh, God. I can’t stifle the moan I release into our hot, ravenous kiss, and our tongues tangle frantically as if they might never have another chance. His hands come up to grab both my cheeks and he positions me to his will, angling my mouth so he can delve deeper and faster—a hunger I match stroke for heavenly stroke.
I pivot my body quickly and let my hands roam along his chest, exploring each sinewy muscle, every firm ripple. It’s sensation overload, and I fear I could pass out at any moment.
And then it’s gone as he stands abruptly, letting out a roar filled with pain and frustration, his glorious chest heaving faster than my own.
“You should go now.” He turns away from me, his hand rubbing the back of his neck vigorously. “Now, Echo. This was a mistake. Never should’ve happened. Good night.”
I fumble to put my robe back in place, wavering a bit as I stand. I feel like a fool—a slutty, dismissed fool. Had I done it wrong? It was my first kiss, and the thought of having messed it up so badly that he’s demanding I leave shatters me.
But I don’t ask. Instead, I rush silently from his room back to mine, flopping onto my bed face first. The last thing I remember before I fall asleep is his stupid warning about temptation.
And my tears.
Chapter 19
It’s Sunday morning and not a public-performance week, so I dress and make my way to the pavilion early enough to catch the calming transition where night and day still blur together. I want—no, need—to find an escape in my music and routines. I want to get so lost in them that no one can find me, not even myself.
Well, my current self anyway. I’m searching for the old Echo: the young woman I was before Kingston Hawthorne came to stay. The level-headed version of myself who didn’t put on a bikini and kid herself into believing it was innocent, only to then make a mockery of herself.
It can’t possibly be even noon yet when my solitude is butchered by obnoxious sounds of giggling and squealing. Hanging high in the air from the static bar, I look down, ready to ask for some privacy, when I’m stunned silent.
Clay, Kingston, and a guy I recognize from the football game have just joined me—and they’re not alone. There’s a girl for each of them, draped all over the guy she’s claimed. I don’t know any of them, but I know I don’t like them in my pavilion.
Since when are Clay and Kingston buddies? And better yet, where’s Savannah? She and I may not be talking, but I thought she was a staple clinger on either/both of them now.
Kingston walks over and turns off my music, then tilts his head back to look way up at me. “Hello up there, mate. Your parents said I could have a few people over. Hope you don’t mind—I didn’t realize you were in here. We can go elsewhere.”
The trio of tartlets giggles—at my expense, no doubt.
I don’t point out that the music should’ve been a bi
g clue I was in here. And if he’s going to revert back to calling me “mate” and parading other girls around my pavilion less than twenty-four hours after kissing not only my mouth, but my body, I’ll be damned if I’m going to act like the awkwardly confused one.
Maybe I really was a terrible kisser. Or perhaps I read too much into it—after all, he’d know far better than me about the situation I’d thought we’d found ourselves in, along with the day-after protocol.
I smile so widely the corners of my mouth ache.
“It’s no problem. I was just finishing up.” I drop and tuck, landing safely in the net and taking no time to climb out and stand before the group. Part of me itches to be snarky and tell them not to touch or break anything, but Clay knows better, so I just grab my stuff and start to rush for the exit.
“You all have fun!” I call over my shoulder.
“Echo, you don’t have to go, baby girl. Stay and hang out with us.”
Clay’s words slow me down, but it’s Kingston’s addition that stops my steps completely.
“Yes, Echo, why don’t you?” I turn to face Kingston dead on, unable to read the intent behind the grin he’s wearing. “We interrupted you. You shouldn’t be the one to leave.”
“Yeah,” the brunette wrapped around Kingston agrees insincerely, the contempt in her eyes betraying her words. “Stay, please.”
Kingston’s brows rise in curiosity, anxious to see how I’ll respond. I suspect I disappoint him when I say, pleasantly with no hint of bite or sarcasm, “Thanks, but I really was finishing up. I have homework to do. See ya later!”
But before I leave, I hold up one finger—this time, it is my middle—and pretend to use it to scratch my nose. The meaning isn’t lost on Kingston, who releases a short, breathy laugh.
I force my head to remain held high as I walk away at a normal pace, telling myself it’s impossible to be the outsider I was just made to feel like in my own home.
And I keep convincing myself of that the rest of the week when Kingston has company over two more times. I don’t bother to rate any others; it’s no longer fun, and neither is he. But this is, in effect, his home now too, and he should be able to have “friends” over.
Filthy Foreign Exchange Page 14
