Under Wraps
Page 1
Under Wraps
The Travel Boys, Book 3
Louisa Keller
This one goes out to Winston the cat, who greeted me when I rented a room at a farmhouse very similar to Abshire Manor. Thanks for a memorable vacation, buddy!
Contents
Prologue
Flashback
1. Carson
Flashback
2. Ainsley
Flashback
3. Carson
Flashback
4. Ainsley
Flashback
5. Carson
Flashback
6. Ainsley
Flashback
7. Carson
Flashback
8. Ainsley
Flashback
9. Carson
Flashback
10. Ainsley
Flashback
11. Carson
Flashback
12. Ainsley
Flashback
13. Carson
Flashback
14. Ainsley
Flashback
15. Carson
Flashback
16. Ainsley
Flashback
17. Carson
Epilogue
Fragile Ground
The Limelight (The Travel Boys Book 1)
Passing Stranger
Playing Along (The Travel Boys Book 2)
Guarded Hearts
Want More?
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 by Louisa Keller
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Ruthie Luhnow & Kay Simone.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
author@louisakeller.com
www.louisakeller.com
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Prologue
Carson
My heart was pounding as I navigated my way down the long, dark driveway, Ainsley sitting silently in the passenger seat beside me.
It was taking all of my effort to focus on driving—and not crashing into any of the trees that encroached on the driveway—when my mind and body were going haywire. Because Ainsley was drawing my attention, scrambling my brain in the best possible way, just by being there.
I had met him just a couple of hours ago, and already he was all I could think about. What the actual hell?
This was out of left field.
I didn’t believe in love at first sight or fate or anything that might explain how I felt about Ainsley goddamn Stapleton.
So.
There I was, fumbling with feelings that had blossomed in an instant and were refusing to go away. Feelings I had already professed in the private dining room he had snagged for us at the fancy French restaurant where we ate dinner.
The door’s open if you want to walk through it, I had said to him, as if that was a totally normal things to tell a complete stranger.
A gorgeous, kind, intelligent stranger who paid for an extravagant meal right after meeting me.
I cut the engine and turned to smile shyly at Ainsley.
And, yeah, he was just as stunning as he had been the last time I looked over at him—those high cheekbones, chocolatey brown eyes, the dark hair just starting to go grey at the temples. I wanted to devour him.
Fuck.
Nerves surged through me, that all-consuming rush of excitement and possibility and fear that accompanies making a move on someone you really want to be with.
“Well, uh…we should probably go inside,” I said, and immediately wanted to kick myself.
Real smooth, Powell, I thought.
Flirting wasn’t really in my lexicon. And feelings definitely weren’t.
But my desire was making a valiant effort to make up for my inexperience with romance. Something deep inside of me was thrumming, urging me to hang in there, to try to salvage this.
“Right,” Ainsley said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger side door.
“Right,” I echoed, biting my lip.
I led the way to the farmhouse, trying not to let my cacophony of emotions show. That would scare him off for sure.
Maybe I should just take some time to think about this before I make a move, I thought. Ask Leo for advice or something. Yeah, it’s better not to rush it.
Making my way up the porch steps, I let my eyes fall to the front door. We would be sharing this house for the next week. Sure, his whole family was sharing it with us too. But there would be plenty of opportunities to pull Ainsley aside once I figured out the best way to show him how much I wanted him.
I was reaching for the doorknob when Ainsley’s voice startled me into turning back around.
“Carson, wait.”
He was bouncing up the steps, his eyes bright and determined.
Oh shit, I thought. I’m a goner.
“You don’t have to say anything, Ainsley,” I said seriously.
My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my toes.
“You’re right,” he said, and my heart sank. But then he added, “I don’t have to say anything. But I do have to do something.”
And that warmth blooming in my chest?
Yeah.
That was hope.
“What do you have to do?” I asked, and it came out all breathy and eager.
He didn’t say a word.
Instead, Ainsley reached out to place one warm hand on my waist, and the other tipped my chin up so that I was looking into his eyes.
God, the anticipation was palpable as I waited for him to kiss me. I had never wanted anyone’s lips on mine so badly in my entire life.
He pulled me in—good god I enjoyed being manhandled—and nuzzled his nose against mine. It was so unexpectedly sweet in the charged moment, cooling down some of the electricity crackling between us and replacing it with a deep, steady affection.
My lips parted as he moved to close the last of the distance between us, just a millimeter of space separating our lips and then—
Bang!
The front door crashed open and we leapt apart, startled.
Dom charged out onto the porch, oblivious to what he had just interrupted, and all at once the moment was shattered.
My eyes flicked to Ainsley’s and another pulse of affection went through me.
I turned to Dom, plastering a polite smile on my face, and ignored the fluttering in my stomach.
Later, I promised myself. We’ll pick up right where we left off.
Flashback
I remember that day in technicolor.
It was as if someone had taken my memories and put them through a shitty Instagram filter, skewing them into something dreamlike and overwhelming.
The sky was a bold, bright cerulean, an endless expanse punctuated with bone-white clouds. Glancing out over the bay I could see the shamrock-tinted water, little waves capped with ivory foam, and a hundred sailboats painted headache-inducing shades of every color in the rainbow.
The sun burned a fiery yellow, its heavy gaze warming the skin on the back of my neck as I grinned.
Sunglasses, flipflops, a snapback.
I was the epitome of lazy summer, basking like a lizard on a rock, so content that it never occurred to me that I might lose anything that day.
Is there a technicolor version of black?
Hell if I know.
But, god, do I remember the colors fading away. A slow slip as the initial fear zipped through me, and then a deep, silent retreat into utter darkness as my consciousness was stolen.
<
br /> They don’t tell you how quiet darkness can be, when your mind shuts down to protect you from things you can’t handle. Footsteps would echo in that darkness, if anyone could penetrate it to reach you.
I don’t like the dark anymore. Not one bit.
1
Carson
“Yo, Carson!”
I smiled at my roommate Finley as he bounded into my room like an over-excited puppy, practically throwing himself onto the bed beside me. I was in the middle of painstakingly packing my suitcase, and the interruption was more than welcome.
“What’s up, Fin?”
He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me in for an affectionate little hug.
“Dom’s on his way over. He wants to make sure you packed everything he told you to,” Finley informed me.
I rolled my eyes, smiling.
“I don’t know where he got the idea that I don’t know how to pack for a week away. We’re not even flying, I’m driving us down there. I can literally stop at Fred Meyer on the way if I realize I forgot anything.”
“Well,” said Finley, “try telling him that. You know he made me unpack my entire bag before I went to Vancouver last month, just so he could see if I had enough underwear in there?”
We smirked at each other and said in unison, “Control freak.”
“Did I hear my name?” came a voice from the hall.
Dom stepped into the room, trying to look stern. What with his thick-rimmed glasses, bright floral button-down, and khaki shorts, he failed miserably.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I lied serenely. “Rumor is you’re worried I’ll forget something.”
“God, Finley, you’re such a gossip,” Dom groaned.
Finley, who was maneuvering himself into some complicated yoga pose, flipped him off.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it all,” I said, stuffing the last t-shirt in my bag and zipping it up.
“Shorts?” Dom asked.
“Check,” I said.
“Shirts?”
“Check.”
“Underwear and socks?”
“Double check.”
“Toiletries? Keys, wallet, phone? Chargers? Swim trunks? Sandals? Hiking boots? Meds? Weed? Pajamas? A book?”
“I’ve got it all, man,” I assured him.
Dom sighed, perching on the corner of my bed.
“Sorry, I’m just kind of dreading this whole thing. I really don’t mean to be a pain in the ass.”
I made a sympathetic noise.
“What are you dreading, dude?”
“Seeing Alistair again,” he said, scrunching up his nose. “He’s just so…so bougie. Not in a normal person way, in a billionaire way. You know?”
I nodded.
“I mean, he was perfectly nice when we were in New York, but I get what you mean. He comes from a completely different social class than we do. It was pretty crazy when we found out how rich he is.”
Finley untangled himself and said, “I still can’t believe your mom bagged a billionaire. And she wasn’t even trying. I’ve gotta find myself a sugar daddy.”
“He’s not her sugar daddy,” Dom spluttered, flushing bright red.
Stifling a laugh, I said, “We know that.”
“Do we though?” asked Finley, waggling his eyebrows.
Dom ignored him.
“It’s just awkward as fuck, hanging out with some guy whose net worth is more than I’ll ever make in my entire life.”
“Well,” Finley reasoned, “when he dies you’re probably going to get a massive inheritance.”
“Not the point, Fin,” I said, elbowing him in the ribs.
We all sat there silently for a moment, Finley sulking and Dom trying to rein in his nerves about the upcoming trip. I tossed my suitcase onto the floor and leaned back against my pillows, my right hand coming up to caress my left collarbone absentmindedly.
“Okay, I think I know what’s really bothering me,” Dom said at last, looking up.
“What’s that?” I asked, encouraging.
“It’s Alistair’s sons. I don’t think they’re going to show up or anything—thank god—but apparently, they’re estranged and just really resistant to any attempt Alistair makes to get in touch. I hate the fact that my mom might get wrapped up in all that drama, especially with her bad heart. And I sure as hell don’t want to touch that situation with a ten-foot pole.”
A year earlier, Dom and I had ended up speeding to New York when Sydney had a life-threatening heart attack. She pulled through—thank god—and had spent the intervening months working to improve her overall health. She was strong, and according to her doctors, she was in great shape. But that didn’t stop Dom and I from constantly worrying about her.
“What are their names again?” I asked, a nearly-imperceptible ache blooming across my clavicle.
“Ainsley and Beauregard,” Dom said, rolling his eyes.
“Beauregard?” Finley asked, cracking up. “Who the hell names their kid something like that?”
I kicked him, tamping down on my own laughter.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Dom pushed on, working himself up.
Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to reel him back in until he’d gotten it out of his system.
“No wonder they’re estranged,” Finley quipped, grinning. “I wouldn’t want to talk to my dad if he’d named me—”
Dom wasn’t even listening.
“It’s not like I like Alistair or anything,” he added. “But Mom said that they showed up at his late wife’s funeral and Ainsley refused to talk to him. Not a single word. Who does that?”
My heart ached at the thought of a family feud at a funeral.
If anyone knew how rough those long hours in viewing rooms and at gravesites were, it was me.
“Has Sydney even met them?” Finley asked, flipping upside down and balancing in a sturdy tripod, knees on his elbows—quite a feat on my squishy mattress.
Dom shook his head.
“They obviously weren’t at the wedding, and they haven’t made any effort to reach out even though they live in the same fucking city.”
“If they’ve spent this much time not speaking, it’s unlikely that they’ll start now, right?” I said.
“That’s the thing, though,” said Dom, “Mom said that Alistair asked them to come to Ponderosa with us this week. He hadn’t heard back, last I heard, but he’s trying to be part of their lives. Which is, you know, a good thing. I get that. But I’m just so worried about Mom.”
I nudged him with my foot, shooting him a soft smile.
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for,” I pointed out. “And she thrives in adverse situations—just look at your childhood. You grew up in that swanky neighborhood after she inherited the Brownstone, even though she had to work multiple jobs just to support you. It can’t have been easy, being poor in a wealthy neighborhood, but she thrived, dude. Sydney may have a compromised heart, but she sure as hell isn’t weak. She’ll survive whatever her new stepsons throw at her, should they come back into the picture.”
“Ew,” said Dom, though there was a smile playing around his lips. “Don’t call them her stepsons. That makes them my stepbrothers, and I’m definitely not ready for that.”
“Family is relative, dude,” I said softly.
Dom let his hand rest on my calf, squeezing lightly.
“I know, bro. Thanks for…you know, keeping me sane.”
“That’s what family’s for,” I said, shrugging. “You know that.”
Finley made a strangled retching noise.
“Enough Lifetime Movie shit, you’re making me gag,” he complained, flipping neatly down from the tripod.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love us, Fin,” I said, slugging him lightly on the shoulder.
“Oh, I love you,” he assured me, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to you get all mushy. Let’s go outside and find Leo.”
Dom and I exchanged a grin, and I stood slowly. My left clavicle and right ankle ached in protest, and I gritted my teeth.
“You okay, man?” Dom asked, concern etching itself across his face.
I fumbled with the outer pocket of my suitcase, pulling out a pill bottle and shaking out a single pill.
“It’s nothing,” I said, “just the usual. Don’t worry about it.”
He eyed me critically, watching as I swallowed the pill dry.
“You remind me of Hugh Laurie when you do that,” he told me seriously. “At least wash it down with some water.”
I barked out a laugh.
“Pretty sure House was taking something a little more intense than high-dose ibuprofen. Save your references for the days when I pull out the big guns.”
“I’m being serious, dude,” Dom said, reaching out to touch my arm. “You sure you’re up for driving all day? I can take over if you just want to pop some oxy and chill out in the passenger seat.”
I sighed heavily.
“Dom, bro, I appreciate you concern. I really do. But I suffer from chronic pain, it’s not like this is new, and it’s certainly not going away. If I spend every day numbing the pain with opiates, I’m going to lose my entire life to those drugs. I’ve told my doctor this a million times, I save it for the really bad days. I’ll take a persistent ache over a fuzzy mind. Plus, I can’t smoke weed with oxy, dude.”