by West, Lara
Now that last one is an unexpected question.
From what I remember, Clint had been all too happy to pose for the photo.
I try to answer their questions as best as I can, without making Clint sound like the narcissistic, stressed-out bursar that he can be.
I tell them: how Clint keeps himself busy, but seems happy enough; how he tried the detox diet but found it ludicrous after a few weeks because he missed carbs and couldn’t understand how anyone can function without caffeine; how I’ve only seen him in a few suits so I don’t think he overindulges (although I think his wardrobe would probably call me a liar); and finally, how he recently became the face of a charity organization that helps kids with muscular dystrophy.
But then a voice speaks, a bolt out of the blue.
“And how did my brother end up with such a lovely PA? Oh wait, don’t answer that.”
I look up to see Ridge standing by the kitchen door. Judging by the last bit of that sentence, he seems to know exactly how Clint and I met.
Could Clint have told him?
No…he and Ridge don’t seem close enough.
But then again, they are brothers. Blood is thicker than water, after all.
He walks over to the counter and picks up an apple, his gaze staying on me as he takes a juicy bite out of it.
Ridge’s eyes are glowing, as devilish as Clint’s.
And with the same hypnotic pull.
No! Stay on course, Lauren!
Being tragically woozy over one billionaire is more than enough. Not to mention the fact that Ridge is even “lordlier” than Clint.
Ha, now there’s a notion I never thought was possible.
“Good Lord, Ridge. It’s still only early morning and you’ve already started on poor Lauren!” Dana groans at him.
“Yes, do hush up, Ridge. Sit. Eat,” Delilah orders.
The Townsend women surely are a spirited team. But then again, look at all the Townsend men.
Even though I never met Lorne, the father, and am still to meet Deacon, I’m highly inclined to think they too, like Clint and Ridge, must be tenacious and authoritative characters. The women of this family would have no choice but to be resilient—or rather, it comes with the territory.
“I haven’t said anything compared to you two hens, bombarding her with questions like that! I wonder what Clint would think if he knew what you were clucking about?”
But Delilah and Dana just disregard him.
“Oh, and save me some eggs and bacon, will you? I’m off for a run,” he then instructs, slinking back out of the room with a sneer on his face like he’s just outsmarted the lot of us.
I know his mother and sister might be used to his superior demeanor, but I’m not. He reminds me of a serpent, a slippery, serpent that has a grudge about something.
Something that involves Clint.
Boy, would I love to know what it is.
It’s another twenty minutes before Clint finally comes down for breakfast.
I turn to see him all decked out in his gym gear: tight black spandex pants, a tank top that shows off the lithe muscles of his arms, some bright orange Nike joggers, and sweatbands on his head and wrists.
When his eyes find mine, I almost melt.
He looks so damn hot standing there.
As if my brain needs another reminder—the sex dream last night was enough.
I need a shower again.
A cold one.
“Good morning, ladies,” he states, sitting down beside me. Then, more intimately, “Did you sleep well, Lauren?”
I look at him shyly, feeling naked and plain without any makeup on. What was I thinking coming down without at least putting on some mascara or foundation first?
“Yes, thank you,” I say with a meek smile. “Are you going for a run this morning too?”
“I guess you could call it that,” he says drolly. “I take it my lovely family haven’t told you yet?”
I look at him quizzically. “Told me what?” I peer over at Delilah and Dana, who are both openly smirking.
“Us? You’re putting it on us?” Dana shrieks flippantly at Clint before looking back at me. “But don’t worry, Lauren. You don’t have to participate if you don’t want to.”
“Participate in what?” Will somebody just tell me already?
“This year,” Clint begins, “the Townsend clan decided to sponsor a South Dakota Mud Run. A similar one took place in June for summer, and part of the proceeds went to a local charity for diabetes. But after all these ice bucket challenges recently, we thought: why not also have a winter one? Only with ours, all the proceeds will be going straight to the fight against motor neuron disease.”
It all sounds very impressive and is aimed at such a great cause.
But I just have one question.
“What exactly is a ‘mud run’?” I ask with slight trepidation, although I do have a loose idea in my head.
“It’s a series of obstacle courses… in mud,” Dana larks. “Nothing too hard, depending on your fitness level. But really, it’s just a bit of fun for a worthy cause. It’s at Sturgis Buffalo Chip Campground, the same place the June event was and the course is the same, about three miles in length with both professionally made and natural obstacles.”
Strange.
Never in a million years would I have thought a family of billionaires would bother with an event like a mud run.
Maybe they really are like an ordinary American family underneath all the hoo-ha.
“But won’t everyone freeze? It’s only like seven degrees out.”
“That’s the point,” Dana reiterates. “People choose to come and do this to raise money for MND. But just in case people get too nippy, we’re going to have a ton of heat lamps and portable showers set up. Plus a few food vans and coffee and hot chocolate booths.”
“I’m not so sure Lauren should be involved, actually,” Clint muses tentatively. “She is quite clumsy.”
I throw him a dirty look and pinch his leg, much to my amazement and his.
I can’t believe I just did that and yet it felt so normal. Like I’d done it before, but I know I haven’t.
“I’m not clumsy, Mr. Townsend,” I playfully spur at him.
“Whoa, it’s Mr. Townsend now, Clint. You must have really upset her,” Dana jeers.
“It’s not hard to,” he replies smartly.
“You’re one to talk,” I then scowl, which makes everyone break out in hysterics, including the kids. “But count me in. Bring it on.”
My eyes narrow on Clint defiantly, his face lit up with the same smile that I had seen him give Preston and Emma yesterday when we’d first arrived.
For some reason seeing that smile makes my stomach go aflutter, like I’ve done something that has made him happy and in doing so it’s made me feel happy too.
But I know he’s probably right about the mud run.
I can just picture it now: me stumbling my way through each course…face planting in mud…Clint seeing me at my absolute worst.
But hey, it’s all for a good cause, right?
And like they say, when in Rome…
Chapter Four
I’m lying on my back in mud.
Thick, cold, and sludgy mud.
It’s in my hair, my eyes, under my fingernails, and squelched in my shoes.
I’m also out of breath, freezing and only halfway through this insidious mud run.
And to think that this morning, I had woken up thinking I could run an entire marathon! Things couldn’t be farther from that truth.
“Lauren, don’t tell me you’re giving up!”
Ridge has suddenly appeared in my peripheral vision, hovering over me with that wide and conceited grin of his. Behind him, the sun drifts behind a cloud.
Ha, what a timely moment.
The sun isn’t happy to see him either.
“Here,” he says, offering me his hand. “We’ll do the second half together.”
What?
Why?
And hell no!
Ridge might be an Adonis, but he’s also a schmuck and the last person I want to finish the mud run with.
“No, it’s okay,” I utter quickly, letting him help me up. “You go on ahead. I’ll only slow you down.”
“Nonsense. And I insist. What happens if you fall over again?”
Damn.
So he did see me slip on that last tire hurdle.
That’s embarrassing.
I give him my fakest smile cloaked in sincerity—he doesn’t know the difference in my expressions yet, so no harm no foul.
I follow him on to the next obstacle, only to find that it’s a wall.
A really high wall.
I’ll be honest: climbing has never been my forte. I had a tendency for always falling out of trees when I was little, and usually long before I even reached the first branch.
“There’s no way I can do that,” I say with a lump in my throat, allowing my eyes to stay on his only for a few seconds.
“Nonsense.”
He sure loves that word, doesn’t he?
“I’ll help you.”
“I don’t think you can, Ridge.”
“Lauren, come on, you could at least try to climb it,” he hurls.
I get the impression that Ridge is an aggressive competitor and sportsman in his spare time. I’m thinking he was either a runner or a quarterback in high school.
Hmm…rich, beauteous, and athletic.
That sounds like Brooke’s type to a tee.
Hey, there’s an idea: I wonder if Ridge is single?
I decide to humor him anyway and tackle the wall, grabbing a tight hold of the rope.
“Okay, now take a few steps back and then lunge yourself onto it, making sure to pull the rope taut, and plant your feet on it horizontally so you can hold your own weight,” Ridge instructs.
I nod, partly to let him know that I’ve heard him and partly because I’m intrigued as to why he’s being so nice to me. If he keeps it up, I might actually think he’s warm-blooded like the rest of us.
I fling myself up onto the wall, expecting to fall back down miserably, but instead Ridge’s advice has actually worked.
I’m on the wall!
I start to slowly pull myself up, maintaining what I think is a good pace until I see Ridge flying up next to me.
“See, you’re doing just fine.” He grins before vaulting up further.
But just when I start to feel proud of myself, I feel my arms and legs starting to burn, terribly.
My strength is waning fast.
This is not good.
“Ridge,” I call up to the top of the wall, which he has easily climbed. “I’m too exhausted. I don’t think I can make it.”
“Yes you can! You’re almost there. Keep going!”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Ironman,” I natter under my breath, only to realize that it’s cost me vital energy.
I fight to pull myself up more—the top of the wall is less than two feet away, but my body is completely spent.
I can’t do it.
I’m going to fall.
I’m going to plummet back down and really break a bone this time.
Fuck.
“Ridge, I’m slipping!” I scream, panicking as my fingers loosen on the rope. But just as they let it go, I see Ridge’s face hanging beside me, his arms secured on mine, lifting me up the rest of the way until I’m safe and standing on top of the wall.
Wow.
He’s strong, incredibly strong.
And quick.
Saving clumsy women from imminent peril must be a Townsend thing.
“See, I told you you’d make it,” he pants, brushing some hair away from my face.
As I stare up at him, I can’t help but marvel.
He’s definitely a Townsend: towering, assertive, and way too easy on the eyes.
But unlike Clint and Dana, who take after their father, Ridge has dark blond hair instead of brown, and gray eyes flecked with green around the irises, just like his mom.
“Not without your help,” I finally say, looking away guiltily. If Clint had seen Ridge touching my face like that…
“Nonsense. You did well, Lauren. You were practically at the top.” He pauses before brushing my cheek again. “You really do have a lot of mud on your face, you know?” he laughs.
I’m about to tell him that I think he’s being inappropriate, but he tilts his head away, peering down the other side of the wall.
“BROTHER!” he shouts, “YOUR PA IS VERY IMPRESSIVE. SHE’S DOING VERY WELL WITH ME.”
I follow his gaze to find Clint standing only feet from the wall, a look of betrayal penciled on his face like he’s just caught Ridge and me in the throes of passion.
Well, I guess that means he saw Ridge touching me.
Great.
I watch Clint look from Ridge to me and back to Ridge again before he jogs on to the next obstacle, disappearing in a commando shuffle under a net suspended over mud.
“It must have been something I said,” Ridge snickers before climbing back down the other side of the wall.
What an ass, antagonizing Clint like that.
Could my life get any weirder right now?
To recap: firstly, I’m currently staying with a family of billionaires with two brothers who are eerily alike and both as stubborn as mules.
Secondly, I’m participating in a mud run with the family of billionaires, in a city I’ve never been in before—South Dakota.
And thirdly, if the first two things aren’t zany enough, I also seem to be now pawned between the two brothers, who noticeably have a deep grudge with each other about something.
But hey, at least it’s all for a great cause.
And that’s about the only thing that’s going to get me through the rest of this.
Chapter Five
I find solace in the warm water crisscrossing over my body, rivers of brown streaming off my skin and down the drain. It almost feels worth it to have done the mud run just so I can be rewarded with this hot shower.
Thank God they set the portable cubicles up.
I couldn’t have borne the forty-five-minute car ride back to Townsend Manor still caked in mud and shivering from head to toe.
I close my eyes and put my face directly under the showerhead, enjoying the pressure of it and the way it purifies not only my skin but also my mind. Today has been so abnormal for me; it feels good to just relax and be by myself for a while.
That is, until I hear the sound of light footsteps outside, coming to a standstill in front of the cubicle door.
“Someone’s in here!” I sing out, making sure to let whoever it is out there know that the shower is occupied.
All the cubicles have locks on them, except mine.
The plastic mechanism for it had broken in my hands when I’d tried to slide it shut earlier, but seeing as there were no other showers free, I figured I would just risk it.
Stupid decision, Lauren.
It better not be a male outside. I don’t want some guy opening up the door and getting a good look at me.
I may not be as toned as Miss Germany, but I still have a nice body with curves in all the right places. It’s only when I think of Elsa that I second-guess myself.
But she’s supposed to have one of those unrealistic, celebrity bodies.
She’s a model; it’s her job.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
I jolt at his voice, rubbing the water hastily out of my eyes just in time to see the door open and Clint jump in, wearing nothing but his shorts.
Before I even have a chance to answer, he steps straight into the shower, not even flinching when he sees that I’m stark naked.
“Clint!” I protest while covering myself up.
But he leans in closer, staring at my lips like he wants to consume them.
“It feels like I haven’t seen you all day,” he utters softly, his lips finding my shoulder and
kissing it provocatively.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for: the moment where Clint and I cross the professional line.
And yet I have no idea how to react to it.
As I stand here frozen in place, his lips travel up to my neck, the heavenly touch of them making me helpless to stop him.
Where is this coming from?
I thought he was upset at seeing me with Ridge?
Or is this just his way of justifying to himself that he knows I’m his?
That he knows I have feelings for him and that I can’t resist them anymore.
His lips steadily find mine, crushing down on them overpoweringly, my tongue interlacing with his as our arms grip each other, the water gushing over us as we propel into arousal.
“Paparazzi on the move, brother! You two better have your clothes on in there!” I then suddenly hear Ridge bellow, giving a loud knock on the cubicle.
My heart skips a beat when Clint breaks away from me, stepping out of the water promptly with one hand on the door.
“We better hurry,” he says with a roguish grin. “We wouldn’t want another scandalous headline now, would we?”
I shake my head at him demurely but then give a coy wink, suddenly feeling indifferent about the fact that he’s in here and every inch on my body is on display.
But just as he goes to walk out, he turns back to me, his countenance more solemn.
“Be mindful of Ridge,” he says, opening the door slightly and peering out to see if anyone is there. “He might be my brother, but he has motives for everything.”
Minutes later, Clint’s words are still drifting in my head.
What had happened with Ridge for him to say that to me?
It was like he was giving me a warning to not stray from him, like he’s worried that I’m going to fall for his brother even though we’re not together.
And then it occurs to me: the grudge. Is that what it’s about? Have they been divided over a woman before, a woman that they both loved, perhaps?
And in the end, could Ridge have been the victor?
Chapter Six
While the rest of us were busy making fools out of ourselves for a good cause at the mud run, Delilah and Rosita were slaving away in the kitchen, making Thanksgiving dinner.
