Under Wraps

by Louisa Keller

  >>LEO: and honestly you don’t have to tell him

  That option hadn’t occurred to me.

  Was it possible to carry on a torrid little affair in a farmhouse full of bickering family members?

  I had to admit, it sounded kind of hot—sneaking around, coming up with excuses to get away from the house together…

  >>CARSON: how would i even keep something like this a secret?

  >>CARSON: this is nuts

  >>CARSON: and it feels…kind of wrong

  >>CARSON: like I’m breaking the rules or something

  God, I sounded like such a square.

  But I knew Leo would forgive my good boy sensibilities.

  >>LEO: it’s called being naughty

  >>LEO: and most people find it hot as hell

  >>LEO: just come up with a reason to talk to ainsley alone

  >>LEO: get that kiss you missed out on tonight

  >>LEO: and see if he’s up for keeping things quiet

  >>LEO: you’re not doing anything wrong, carson

  >>LEO: i promise

  >>LEO: and it’ll be fun

  My heart was thudding in my chest as I considered it.

  Yes, I could pull this off.

  And Leo was right, Dom was an adult. He could—maybe even should—handle his new family without my interference.

  It wasn’t like Ainsley and I would be hurting anyone.

  Fuck, I was into him. Just thinking about him, his face, his voice, the way he found casual little excuses to touch me…I was getting hard.

  >>CARSON: fuck it

  >>CARSON: i owe it to myself to see where this goes

  Just typing those words out felt daring.

  I could only imagine what it would feel like to actually carry them out.

  Flashback

  Physical therapy is hard work.

  It’s not just hard on your body—although, believe me, it is hard on your body. It’s also hard on your emotional and mental state.

  When you’ve had a series of surgeries on various parts of your body, there are never any guarantees about the outcome.

  They knew from the start that I would be able to walk again, but they weren’t sure if there would be a persistent limp.

  They predicted chronic pain, but couldn’t tell me how difficult it would be to manage.

  They told me that I would be immunocompromised with the loss of my spleen, but couldn’t give me definitive answer about how much that would impact my life.

  I got the same vague answers over and over again.

  We’ll just have to wait and see.

  These things take time.

  Be patient.

  It was one blow after another—first the very ground beneath my feet, and then the medical system. Worse than those betrayals, however, was the betrayal of my own body.

  8

  Ainsley

  I deliberately took my time getting ready in the morning, not feeling any compulsion to abide by Alistair’s schedule. My room had a cozy little en suite with a cramped shower and a baffling number of soaps and shampoos stuffed on shelves made of reclaimed wood. Soaping myself up beneath the warm spray felt amazing, and I hummed aloud, enjoying the novelty of hot water and the promise of a hearty meal. It was so much more than many people in this world had.

  Dressing myself took longer than usual, and I realized after a few minutes that I was thinking idly of Carson, and what he would think of my clothes. It was still somewhat disconcerting to remember that I was having these thoughts, these feelings, about a man. Disconcerting, but not upsetting. I was perfectly comfortable with the concept of bisexuality in others, and somehow this felt like stumbling across a foregone conclusion about myself rather than falling down some jarring and unexpected rabbit hole. Certainly, I was older than most people having this sort of revelation, but Carson was just so wonderful, so captivating, that I had very little energy leftover to put towards having some kind of gay panic crisis.

  I had loved Callie, truly and deeply. Now, I had feelings for Carson. That was all that there was to it.

  When I finally got downstairs, clad in a pair of jeans with ripped knees that I often wore to outdoor service projects, and a t-shirt from one of my most successful fundraisers, I found the kitchen empty save for a smiling woman.

  “Hello there,” she said brightly, and I felt myself warming to her at once. Then I remembered that she was Dominic’s mother, and I frowned. It seemed to me that she could have used some lessons in childrearing.

  “Good morning,” I said, feeling cautious.

  “You must be Ainsley. I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to meet last night. I’m Sydney.” She held out her hand and I shook it carefully, trying to parse out whether she was really as friendly as she seemed. Having only my own mother as a sample size, I was inclined to believe that Alistair went for cold, detached women. But perhaps my intel was out of date.

  “Very nice to meet you,” I said, my boarding school manners kicking in automatically.

  “I know Alistair was hoping to keep everyone together all week, but I convinced him to ditch that schedule when he told me about your reaction. Forcing you to spend time with him twenty-four hours a day won’t do any good for your relationship. Would you like something to eat?”

  My eyes widened. “You mean to tell me that Alistair will not be spending the whole week haranguing me for skipping meals and horseback rides?”

  “It was silly of him to think that would result in anything other than a fight,” Sydney said with a shrug. “He’s a really smart guy, but when it comes to you and Beauregard, I think all the water under the bridge makes him a bit stupid.”

  I had had no intention of liking Sydney up until that moment. And frankly, I resented the fact that she was winning me over so quickly. It made me suspicious.

  “Well, in that case I might head into town to grab some food,” I said, straightening up.

  “Obviously you can do whatever you want,” she said with a smile, “but I’m more than happy to make something for you. Cooking is my happy place. Probably because Dominic and I used to do it together when he was little, now that I think about it. Do you like breakfast sandwiches? I was going to make one for myself. Let’s see, we have eggs and bacon—although Dominic will kill me if I have any bacon—avocado, cheddar, tomatoes, I can probably dig up some other ingredients if none of that sounds good.”

  “You really don’t have to cook for me,” I assured her. “I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

  “Well I should hope so,” she said, laughing cheerily, “seeing as you’re a fully-grown human being. I’m not trying to mother you, I promise. Just making sure everyone’s got a full stomach before the next battle of the billionaires.”

  For some reason, it was that little joke that won me over completely. I ended up sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, chatting with Sydney as she fried eggs and melted cheese, admiring her ease at the stove. One of my greatest delights in life was cooking up a hearty vegetable soup, but when I tried to make literally anything else, it always ended in disaster. I watched her technique carefully, assessing.

  “What are you planning to do today?” Sydney asked, setting my plate down before me and slicing my sandwich in half, sending a cascade of gooey yolk flowing.

  “I suppose the world is my oyster,” I said thoughtfully. “Now that I don’t have to worry about that ludicrous schedule, I might just do some exploring. This is supposed to be a beautiful region for hiking.”

  “It is,” she replied, biting into her own egg white and avocado sandwich.

  “Hiking is one of the few extracurricular activities I indulge in with any regularity,” I admitted, not quite sure why I was telling her any of this. “My foundation puts on several hiking fundraisers each year, and I like to keep in shape so that I can participate.”

  Sydney nodded, her eyes bright and attentive. “Where do the fundraisers take place?”

  I shrugged. “All over the world. I have hiked K
ilimanjaro, the Inca Trail, Everest, the Fitz Roy Trek…”

  She let out a tinkling little laugh, which ingratiated her to me even more. “So, you’re not just a casual hiker then.”

  “I do not see the point of doing things casually,” I told her.

  It was true, the word casual was hardly even in my vocabulary. I liked to do things full force or not at all. That had been true since I was a child, and remained one of my most quintessential traits.

  “Well, I admire that in you,” Sydney said, nudging me with her foot. “And I also think it might be worth loosening up a bit.”

  I had no experience with motherly wisdom—my own mother had represented nothing more than a financial contributor in my life—and this took me aback. It was clear that Sydney was trying to be kind to me, but beyond that I had no idea what her motivations were.

  “Excuse me?” I said, politely skeptical.

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Take this with a handful of salt, but I think that only doing things if you’re willing to give it your all can be very limiting. How can you figure out what you enjoy if you’re afraid to try anything you can’t fully commit to?”

  “I am not afraid,” I said coldly, bristling. The mood in the room shifted drastically. “Who said anything about fear?”

  “Oh, Ainsley, I’m sorry. That was careless wording. I just mean that it’s okay to try things even when you don’t know if they’re going to work out.”

  I expected Sydney to sound contrite, but instead she sounded just as warm and friendly as she had before I snapped at her. Ducking my head, I took another bite of my sandwich. Navigating this conversation was like walking through a minefield; Sydney was far too perceptive for her own good. Luckily, that was the moment when Carson padded down the stairs and made his way into the kitchen.

  “Sydney!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. “Good morning. It’s so good to see you, I was bummed we didn’t cross paths last night.”

  “Back at you—god, Carson, have you grown since the wedding?” She pulled back to look him up and down, grinning.

  “Pretty sure my last growth spurt was in the eleventh grade,” he said, laughing. “I’ve doubled my distance in the pool each day though.”

  “Must be those muscles making you look bigger,” she teased, punching him lightly on the bicep. “I’m glad you’re feeling up to swimming so much. The ankle’s not bothering you?”

  I glanced down at his ankles, wondering what she was talking about, but he was wearing Adidas joggers, which didn’t give any clues.

  “Nah,” Carson said, shaking his head. “Not enough to keep me from swimming at least. Low impact exercise actually helps reduce flare-ups.”

  “Good,” Sydney said, nodding firmly. “Need something to eat?”

  “I actually grabbed some breakfast before I showered. I was thinking of tracking down this waterfall that’s supposed to be walking distance from here. Wanna come?”

  “Hmm…I appreciate the invite, but I think the hot tub is calling to me,” she said. “I’m halfway through Tana French’s new book and I’m absolutely hooked. Have to figure out who committed the crime.”

  “Fair enough,” Carson said, smiling.

  I certainly didn’t mean to say it, but the words were out before I could stop them. “I would be willing to hike to the waterfall with you.”

  Sydney and Carson both turned to stare at me—albeit with very different expressions on their faces. Sydney looked pleased, as if she were proud of me or something, while Carson looked…devilish. His eyes lit up, heat flooding them, and the smile on his face tightened into something more intense. He was as excited as I was about the prospect of being alone together once again.

  “Sounds good,” he said after a moment. “You ready to go?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I took my dish over to the sink, rinsing it off before sliding it into the empty dishwasher. Then, with a quick thank you to Sydney, I was following Carson out the backdoor. It led us out to a huge deck with a hot tub that could easily fit ten people, the jets bubbling merrily. Alistair was sitting in there, nose in a magazine, but he looked up to wave at us as we made our way down the porch steps. We both returned the wave, Carson jovially, while I was rather more stilted.

  But once we were out in the vast backyard, I forgot about Alistair. Carson was walking a few paces ahead of me, and I took the opportunity to admire his body. Athletic legs tapering down to sturdy ankles, encased in the tightly-fitted joggers; wide shoulders and a narrow waist beneath his form-fitting t-shirt; sandy hair that I yearned to run my fingers through again and again; tan skin that looked impossibly smooth. I wanted him.

  I expected him to start talking once we were out of earshot of the manor, but we continued on in silence. The yard eventually made way to thick woods filled with Ponderosa pines and Douglas firs, a well-worn path cutting through the trees. The crunch of our hiking boots on the forest floor was the only sound. It was relaxing, and I found the tension in my shoulders melting away as I followed him. I never would have guessed that I could feel so at ease with someone I had only just met, but Carson had a calmness about him that was infectious.

  My mind wandered peacefully as we meandered deeper and deeper into the wilderness, and I barely noticed that it had been half an hour by the time the sound of rapidly-moving water reached our ears. The waterfall had to be close by—the noise was getting louder and louder with each step we took. We turned a sharp corner and all at once, there it was: a twenty-foot fall cascading down into a brilliant green pool surrounded by large jutting boulders. It looked like some kind of fairytale hideaway. All at once, I wanted to be in that beckoning water, bathing myself in the majesty of the Deschutes National Forest with Carson at my side, becoming one with nature.

  As if he were reading my mind, Carson nudged me in the ribs with his elbow and asked, “Want to go for a swim?”

  “God, yes.”

  For once in my carefully-regimented life, I was unconcerned about logistics. Neither of us had brought swim trunks. I had no idea about the water quality. It was probably far too early in the morning for a civilized person to engage in a wilderness swim. But none of that mattered, because Carson was kicking off his boots and dragging down his joggers.

  It is impolite to stare, came Alistair’s voice from the back of my mind. Absent as he had been in my childhood, he had still found time to chide me for my many social faux pas. I pushed the thought firmly aside.

  Concentrating on keeping my breathing steady, I pulled off my t-shirt, folding it carefully before setting it on a nearby log. I leaned down to unlace my own boots, my heart racing in my chest. God, I wanted Carson. And I was about to see a whole lot of him.

  “You good with skinny dipping?” he asked, and a blush crept across my cheeks. I pointedly did not look up. “I don’t want to have to hike back in wet underwear.”

  “Of course, whatever you like,” I said, keeping my voice carefully even. I slid off my socks and tucked them into my boots which were sitting side-by-side against the log.

  “I don’t, uh, usually do things like this with people I just met,” he said, sounding almost shy.

  My eyes were glued to the ground as I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off. My tight black boxer-briefs were the only thing separating my half-hard dick from the outside world. What would happen when I took them off? Would Carson be horrified by my low-level arousal? Would he judge my size, my girth, the fact that I was cut? Would he even be looking?

  “I have not been skinny dipping since I was a teenager,” I admitted, slipping my thumbs beneath the waistband and beginning to tug my underwear down.

  “They let you go skinny dipping at boarding school?” he teased.

  “The staff was unaware of that particular after-hours activity,” I said stiffly. My boxer-briefs were on the ground, and I was completely naked. Ten feet from the man who made my body sing, neither of us wearing a stitch of clothing. What the ever-loving fuck was I doing?
>
  “Well, sounds like good practice for sneaking around. I have a feeling our families wouldn’t be too impressed if they knew what we were doing right now,” he said. Then I heard him walking carefully over to the water. “You coming, or what?”

  I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and spun around to face him. A split-second too late, as it turned out, because Carson had dived neatly into the pool, nothing but a ripple to suggest he had been there at all. Counting in my head, I waited for him to resurface. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand…

  Up he came, his head breaking the surface. He was smiling beatifically, like a literal ray of sunshine, and all at once my heart was in my throat. Carson was beautiful, magnificent, a sight to behold. I wanted him in every possible way.

  “Wow,” he said, blinking up at me, transfixed. “You’re…wow.”

  The flush was still solidly covering my skin, and I had to fight the urge to cover myself. But Carson clearly wanted to see me, it was all there in his captivating green eyes. He wasn’t ashamed of his desire for me, wasn’t surprised by it, wasn’t even thinking about it. He simply felt it. I envied him for that, deeply.

  “Carson…”

  His name hung between us, two syllables that invoked a million complex emotions in me. And he could see it all. I was utterly exposed.

  “Come in the water,” he said, beckoning. I could see that he was treading water—it must be relatively deep—and I was glad of my extensive swim lessons as a child. It wouldn’t do to drown before I could get my hands on that beautiful man.

  I dipped a foot into the water and shuddered. “It’s freezing.”

  “You’ll warm up,” he said, smiling at me. “Plus, it’s like a million degrees out. You’re sweating from the walk out here.”

  “So, you think I’ll find this refreshing?” I asked, quirking one eyebrow.

  “I think you should get in the water.”