Chapter Four
Kenzie
The worst part of my job is the number of parties I'm expected to attend. I'm a homebody, far more in my comfort zone when I'm cuddled up on the couch, watching junk TV or reading a good book. I know how to socialize. I get along with people. But so much of it just seems so fake. I hate that part of it.
I don't like when people pretend to love me to my face, only to start gossiping the moment my back is turned. Fake friends are the worst kind of friends. In this world, there are a lot of those. Everyone wants to be seen supporting the curvy girl because body positivity is all the rage right now. But no one actually wants to give her a seat at the table.
At least not when she is me.
By the time we pull up outside the gates that afternoon, I'm a ball of stress. I just want to go home and spend a few more hours pretending to work from the kitchen table while Zion pretends he isn't staring at me. He did it all morning.
"You nervous, angel baby?" he rumbles from behind me as we stand at the bottom of the steps leading to Club Za's content house which is a flashy mansion in one of the best neighborhoods in Nashville. His breath brushes my ear, lifting little hairs all over my body.
"Nope. Just trying to mentally prepare myself." That's a lie. I am nervous. I'm in nothing but a bikini under this dress and I've never worn one of those in public before today. I've especially never worn one with a gorgeous giant hovering over me.
"Want my advice?" he asks, his lips practically at my ear. All I'd have to do to melt into him would be to lean back a fraction of an inch. Would he pull me up against his chest? Would I feel his erection against my bottom?
I have a feeling the answer to both of those questions is yes.
"What's your advice?" My voice shakes slightly. It has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with him. I like him far more than I should. Following his orders should piss me off. I didn't even follow orders when I was a kid. I don't need anyone barking them at me now. And yet every time he tells me what to do, it only makes me burn hotter.
He's started a fire in me that I'm not sure I know how to quench. It's only growing bigger. Soon, I think it might rage out of control. And that's terrifying to me. Not being in control. Not deciding for myself what happens. It's a little exhilarating too.
"Fuck 'em," he growls, wrapping one arm around me. His hand splays across my stomach, searing me all the way to my womb as his lips actually touch my ear this time. "They can't compete where they don't compare, and these motherfuckers won't ever compare, Makenzie. You've got something they'll never have."
"W-what do I have?"
"Fire, angel baby. You've got enough fire to set this whole goddamn world ablaze if you wanted to do it." He grazes his nose down the side of my neck, groaning faintly. "Goddamn, you smell good."
"Zion," I whimper. Yes, whimper. It's a sound I've never made, but it's the only one I can utter with his hands on my body.
His hand tightens on my stomach, his erection digging into my back as he plasters himself to my body. His teeth sink into the shell of my ear. He growls worldlessly and then mutters something that sounds like too fucking sexy before he reluctantly steps away from me.
I peel my eyes open, my cheeks blazing when I see half a dozen people climbing the stairs ahead of us. I never even heard them arrive, let alone go around us. They probably think I'm a trollop or something.
Screw it. Let them think what they want. They will anyway.
I suck in a breath, forcing my mind off of Zion and the desire churning through me like a tsunami. I can worry about that later. Right now, I have a job to do. I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and paste a bright smile on my face.
Zion grabs my hand before I make it even a step.
I glance over my shoulder at him to see him staring at me with this expression that's light and dark, heaven and hell. It's Lord, if he doesn't belong in Asgard, no one does.
"Don't say my name like that again unless you're ready to give all these people a show, Kenzie," he says, his voice a dark rumble. "Next time, I'll be fucking you over the railing while everyone sees just how much of a fucking good girl you can be when you're coming on command."
Oh. My. God. He did not just say that.
My entire body erupts in flames this time, desire flaring so hot and hard it's like a mini heatwave rolls through me. I stumble in my heels before I manage to right myself with a hand on the railing.
Madden didn't send me the annoying brother. He sent me the freaking Sex God brother.
Sweet baby Jesus.
There's only one sane option here.
Saying his name like that again, a little voice whispers.
I shove it down into a little corner and then slam a door on it. No way am I giving him what he wants. Hell no. If he wants to play dirty, then I'll play dirty too.
"My body, my choice, Zion."
"Say my name like that again and you'll have made your choice, angel baby."
I give him a haughty look, my chin in the air. "If you put your hands on me, I'll bite them off."
A slow, sexy smile spreads across his face. "I've got a whole list of things you can do with that smart mouth, baby. And biting ain't one of them."
I pointedly ignore him, choosing instead to march my butt up the stairs before I bite off more than I can chew. With him, I think I might just be outmatched for once in my life. This man isn't intimidated by me. Nothing I say rattles him. He's cool, calm, collected, and completely freaking filthy.
God help us both, I think I might love it.
"Oh my gosh. There you are!"
I barely make it through the front door before Olive has her arm looped through mine, dragging me deeper into the house. She's dressed in a cute little sundress, her hair up off her neck.
"I've been waiting for you for the last hour," she says. "What took you so long?"
"Ask your husband," I mumble, peeking over my shoulder to see Zion right behind us, standing like a wall of muscle at my back. The glower on his face grows every time he locks eyes with someone.
Is he uncomfortable?
He doesn't strike me as the socially awkward type.
Olive peeks over her shoulder at him too. "Holy crap," she whispers. "Madden left out the part about him being hot."
"Did he leave out the part about him being a giant pain in the butt too?" I ask.
Olive laughs. "So I guess I don't need to ask how it's going?"
"Great!" I enthuse. "Just two minutes ago, he threatened to fuck me over the railing in front of everyone."
Her sky-blue eyes practically bug out of her head. She looks at me and then at him and then back to me. "Um, I just have one question. If he's offering to do that, why are you standing here with me right now? Are you insane?"
I groan, pulling her into a luxurious, gray-tiled bathroom as soon as the door opens.
Zion opens his mouth to say something, but I quickly shut the door, putting up a barrier between the two of us. I need a minute to think. Preferably before I let him do exactly what he threatened because Olive isn't asking me anything I'm not already asking myself.
I'm ungodly attracted to him. He's attracted to me. Why not scratch the itch?
Oh, right. Because I've never scratched an itch before. As in, ever. I'm a virgin, and Zion Carmichael looks like the kind of man who might itch deeply enough to leave scars if I start scratching now.
"You're freaking out a little bit, aren't you?" Olive guesses, leaning back against the door.
I hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
"What's the problem?"
Where do I even start?
"I'm in a freaking bikini under this dress. Lyle Taggert is threatening me. Your meddling husband decided to send freaking Thor, God of my panties to watch my back." I press my hands to my overheated cheeks. "He's hot and bossy and he says the sweetest things." I exhale a sharp breath. "And I think I like him."
"Well, first of all, you look gorgeous in a bikini, so I don't know why you're freaking out about that," she says, looking at me like I've lost my mind. "Half of the women here may be thinner than us, but that doesn't mean they're more beautiful, more worthy, or any more deserving of success than you. You taught me that."
"Did I? I must have been off my game that day."
She sticks her tongue out at me, not buying my crap for a minute. Olive never does. She knows me too well.
"Secondly, Lyle Taggert can go kick rocks. Third, my meddling husband only hired Thor, God of your panties we're going to talk about that in a minute, by the way because he cares and he's worried. Fourth wait. What was next? Oh, right." She snaps her fingers. "Fourth, he wasn't looking at you like you're just a job. And you definitely didn't look at him like you're annoyed by him. So if you like him, good. There's no rule that says you aren't allowed to like the man protecting you."
"Yeah, but "
"There's no rule saying you can't fall for him, either."
I gulp audibly. That's easy for her to say. She hit the lottery with Madden. And she didn't grow up with a mother who picked apart every little flaw, making sure she knew exactly how unattractive everything about her was to the opposite sex. I did. Everything about me was wrong to my mom. And for someone who thought she needed a man to survive this world, that meant there was something wrong with me in general in her eyes.
I grew up terrified of dating, terrified of becoming dependent on someone else. Terrified of becoming her. The funny thing about fear, though? No matter how loud it screams, it never silences the little voice in the back of your mind whispering that you still aren't enough. I've done everything in my power to ensure I'm nothing like my mother and yet I'm still afraid I haven't done enough to guard against becoming the same sad caricature of femininity she became.
I've just never had to face that little voice until today. Until Zion Carmichael was standing in front of me, telling me what to do, and I didn't hate it.
"You aren't your mom, Kenz," Olive says softly, reading me like a book. She knows all my secrets, all my fears. They spill out between us and have since the day we met. "You're allowed to let yourself be loved."
She's right. I know she is. But where do I even freaking start when I'm starting with him? Zion. The man who set me on fire with a single touch.
I think I already know the answer to that question. I start with removing my dress and setting him ablaze too. Because what's underneath it is the only weapon in my arsenal at the moment. And I think I might be declaring war.
"Go get him, Kenz!" Olive hisses as I step out of the bathroom five minutes later dressed in nothing but my bikini, my heels, and a fresh coat of lip gloss. Surprisingly, Zion isn't standing outside the door.
I set off to find him, my cheeks blazing as I squeeze past small groups of people dressed the same way I am. Some smile at me. Others don't even look in my direction. I hear the whispers as I pass by, though. I make it all the way across the living room before a blonde pixie pops up in front of me.
"Damn, girl," Bianca Callaghan, a photographer who works a lot of the same events I attend, whistles, a giant smile on her face. Like Olive, she's one of the few people here I'd count as an actual friend. There's nothing fake about her. "You look stunning." She brings her camera up, waiting for me to pose before she starts snapping photos. "These are going to look so good on your feed!"
My smile threatens to wobble at the thought of putting them up for everyone to see. It's one thing to wear a bikini to a pool party. But wearing one on social media for the whole world to stare at my body? I'm still not used to the fact that people pay me to wear their clothes or pose in their magazines or to be seen at their parties. I am nowhere near prepared to strip down on the 'Gram.
"Put those on your social media and I'll turn your gorgeous ass red, angel baby."
I jerk my gaze up to find Zion standing behind Bianca, glowering. His eyes lock on mine, possessive jealousy stamped across every line of his face. Oh, he's big mad.
Why do I like that so much?
"Um, who are you to tell her what she can and can't put on her social media?" Bianca lowers her camera, ready to wade into battle on my behalf. And then she catches sight of the giant looming over her shoulder. "Zion Carmichael."
"Bianca." He doesn't even look in her direction. His gaze doesn't deviate from mine an inch. "You didn't tell me this was a pool party, Makenzie."
"You didn't ask."
I purposefully left that part out. It was a brat move, but I wanted to watch him squirm a little. Except now I'm the one squirming. Because he's looking at me like he wants to fuck me up against the wall again.
"You didn't mention that you'd be half naked either."
"It's a bikini, Zion." I roll my eyes.
His eyes climb down my body, taking in every dip and curve and roll. I don't hide them. Two minutes ago, I wanted to flee back into the bathroom. But with his eyes on me, I don't feel awkward or out of place in the retro two-piece. I feel powerful. Sexy.
Good Lord, this man is a deadly weapon.
"Believe me," he says wryly. "I'm well aware."
"She looks gorgeous in it," Bianca says, her voice firm, as if she's daring him to disagree. I don't know how they know each other, but she clearly knows enough about him to know he's a pain in the butt.
"Oh, absolutely. That fucking bikini is the sole reason I won't be able to walk out of here anytime soon," he growls.
"Oh." The stubborn lights in Bianca's eyes wink out, replaced by humor. "I guess I'll leave the two of you to sort that out then." She laughs quietly before dancing forward to kiss the air beside my cheek. "Good luck, girlfriend."
She disappears into the crowd, leaving me and Zion alone in a little bubble of space no one seems willing to fill. Is it just my imagination or is everyone here giving him a wide berth?
"You know Bianca?"
"Not well. Met her a few times on jobs."
"Oh." I bite my lip. "I guess you probably know quite a few people here. You've probably worked with a lot of them."
"Worked with a few."
Did he look at them the same way he looks at me? The possibility has jealousy crawling up my throat. I swallow it back, refusing to ask. His life isn't my business. If he slept with half the women in here, it wouldn't be my business.
But I hate the thought anyway.
"Like you far better than any of them, angel baby," he says, taking a step toward me. "You look good enough to eat in that fucking bikini."
"I feel like a slab of meat on display," I admit.
"Who made you feel that way? Tell me."
"No one."
"Tell me."
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious why he cares.
"Need to know what motherfucker's eyes I need to remove from his head first," he growls, eyes narrowed as he looks over the other influencers scattered around the room. "I already kicked Lyle's sorry ass out of here."
"You did what?" I gape at him, eyes wide.
"Kicked his ass out," he says it as if he's delivering the weather report.
"Lyle was here? And you made him leave?"
"Yep."
Oh, he's going to hate that. No one tells Lyle what to do. Except this giant, apparently.
"He actually left on his own?"
"More or less."
I press my hands to my cheeks, groaning. So that's why everyone is giving him so much space. "What did you do?"
"Nothing he didn't deserve."
"You aren't going to tell me, are you? Oh my gosh. It's that bad, isn't it?"
"I didn't lay a finger on him, angel baby," he promises, reaching out to wrap his hands around my wrists. He uses his grip on me to gently steer me closer to him. "I simply suggested that he not come anywhere near you ever again if he didn't want to find out what his own cock and balls taste like when I'm force feeding them to him covered in barbeque sauce."
"You I " I faceplant into his chest, laughing despite myself. That's exactly what I needed to hear to get through the rest of this party.