Chapter 4
“How long has this been going on?” There isn’t even a hint of accusation in my sister’s tone. No, it’s brimming with pure excitement.
Tension tightens Brittany’s shoulders, and her eyes are wide. We’ve finally been caught by my sister. There have been several close calls over the years—most memorably two years ago when Brittany and I disappeared behind a curtain right before the show—but, miraculously, we’ve managed to keep it from her for this long. Not that I want to keep it from her.
Especially now that we’re having a baby.
A baby.
That one word has warmth traveling through my veins.
I’m going to be a dad.
The sharp prick of Brittany’s fingernails against my back brings me out of my thoughts. It’s only then that I remember I’m naked while Brittany, who’s clad in only a towel, hides a full-frontal view from my sister.
“Krista, out,” I tell her.
“But—”
“I promise, we’ll tell you everything.”
Brittany inhales sharply, as if she’s not sold on that idea.
Hoping to ease her fears, I flex my fingers on her hip. I won’t tell my little sister anything she isn’t comfortable sharing. However, I need her to give us some privacy, and that assurance is the best way to do it.
“For now,” I warn Krista, “unless you want an eyeful, go wait with Mom and Dad. We’ll head to you guys when we’re ready for dinner.”
Krista wrinkles her nose, her entire face tightening as my words sink in. “Ew.” She turns around, but the one-eighty quickly becomes a three-sixty spin.
“Kris.”
“I’m going. I’m going. What should I tell Mom and Dad? They’re hungry, so they sent me to get you.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost five,” Brittany whispers against my chest.
I have to fight the shiver that threatens to run down my spine at the way her lips and breath tickle my skin.
“It’s 4:47,” Krista answers.
“You think they can make it until 5:30? If not, raid the minibar in their room. We’ll come to you when we’re ready to go.”
I stress the words since I don’t need my sister barging back in here.
“Can do.” Krista heads for the door.
At her retreat, the tension ebbs from Brittany’s shoulders.
“Wait.” Krista stops with her hand on the door handle.
Jesus Christ.
“What?”
“I just want to tell you I’m totally okay with this. You know, in case it comes up.”
The chuckle that rumbles from my chest is almost loud enough to cover Brittany’s groan.
“So you’ve told me, Kris, multiple times,” I remind her with a pointed look.
“Okay.” She opens the door and steps out into the hall, but just before it slams shut, she pops her head back in.
“I want fresh sheets!”
“For fucking shit. Fine. Now go,” I tell her.
This time when she lets go of the door, it latches behind her.
“She’s gone,” I tell Brittany after a heartbeat of silence.
She steps out of the circle of my arms, and cool air rushes into the space. Finally safe to do so, I step into the bathroom to dispose of the used condom.
“Do you need to shower?” I call into the bedroom.
Brittany steps into the doorway and leans against the jamb. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
With a shrug, I crank the water on in the bathtub to let it adjust. “Not sure what you want me to say.”
“Ugh. You act like you’re okay with Krista finding out about us.”
I approach her, relishing the way her eyes dip down my body and her tongue slicks along her lips.
“I am.”
Pressing a kiss to her temple, I make quick work of the knot in her towel. As the terry cloth drops to the tile floor, I tug her into the shower with me.
“My hair.” In a few deft motions, her hair is bundled up on the top of her head. “I don’t want to have to blow-dry it again.”
“Ah.” I snag the small bottle of generic hotel body wash, uncap it, and squeeze the majority of its contents into my palm. Once I’ve set it back on the ledge of the tub, I twirl one finger in the air to silently instruct her to turn around, then I massage the body wash into her skin, taking extra time to work out the tension in the muscles between her shoulders and at the base of her neck.
Each moan that escapes her makes my dick harden further. In a matter of minutes, it’s ready for round two.
No time.
“You told Krista we were going to tell her everything,” she says, spinning around now that she’s clean.
Body wash in hand once again, I empty the rest of it, then run my hands over myself.
“I would have told her anything to get her out of the room right then. We only have to tell her what you’re comfortable telling her.” I turn to one side and rinse the soap from my body, but I keep my focus fixed on Brittany. “But you and I both know my sister. She’s going to make up whatever details we don’t tell her.”
“So you think we should tell her all of it?”
A corner of my mouth lifts, and I waggle my brows. “Not everything, love.”
She rolls her eyes and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, but she can’t hide her smile.
“You’re terrible.”
“I just wanted to see you smile.” I grasp her upper arm and give it a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t something to stress about.”
She deflates a little. “Says the rock star. Do you stress about anything?”
I do, but I’m not willing to admit to what right now. I don’t want to scare her off.
Coward.
Sue me. I have no interest in sending Brittany running from the room, and that’s exactly what will happen if I admit how I feel about her. The stress of keeping that secret is enough that I stay quiet. At first it was lust, but somewhere along the line, it was more. Not quite love, but more than sex. And now that she’s having my baby?
There are too many emotions swimming inside me to name right now.
I clear my throat. “Are you…” I stumble over the words, wishing I knew how to ask this question. “Have you…you’re keeping the baby?”
“Way to change the subject, but yes. Even if you don’t want?—”
“I do.” I rotate us both through the water to rinse the remaining soap off. Then I turn the water off and wrap her in a towel.
I grab another towel for me and spend longer than I need to secure it around my waist as I gather the thoughts that scatter through my brain like leaves in a strong wind.
“I want this baby, Brittany. But…I want more,” I say, keeping my focus fixed on knotting my towel. “Do you know how many times I picked up my phone, wanting to call you over the last eight weeks? How many times I pulled up our text thread so I could tell you how much I missed you?”
When I meet her eyes, she’s studying me with a mixture of curiosity and doubt.
“You’re sure you weren’t looking for a piece of ass?” she asks quietly.
The doubt there is potent, but it isn’t only directed at me. There’s a healthy dose of insecurity behind it.
“You and I both know it’s more than that,” I tell her.
Lips pressed together, she turns and exits the bathroom, headed for her suitcase.
“We can’t stand each other when we’re not in bed,” she says, rifling through her things. “You think I have a giant stick up my ass.”
I regret saying that to her a few years ago. In my defense, though, I was trying to push her buttons, not trying to hurt her feelings.
I grab my jeans from the floor, then my T-shirt, and turn to her. “How many times have you called me an arrogant asshole?”
“Arrogant rock star,” she corrects with one brow raised.
“Same thing.”
“But you’re saying you missed me?” she asks, her voice tentative. “That you want more? How does that make sense?” Her eyes are luminous with moisture, magnifying the unique color.
I close the distance between us and swipe a tear with my thumb as it crests her lashes. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Hormones.” She gives me a watery chuckle. Then, with a sniff, she steps back.
The loss of her skin beneath mine is visceral. And immediate. It’s a sensation I never once experienced before her.
“What if all that back-and-forth was foreplay? We’ve joked about it often enough,” I tell her.
She’s back to focusing on her suitcase. “I?—”
“We don’t have to figure this out right now. Spend the weekend with me. In plain sight instead of sneaking around. Let me prove to you I’m not the asshole you think I am.”
“So, what?” She studies me for a moment, her lips pressed together. “Forty-eight hours together? What happens if I still think you’re an asshole at the end of the weekend?”
I walk her backward until she’s pressed against the wall next to her suitcase. “Don’t you mean what happens when I prove I’m not?”
Every cell in my body is demanding round two, but a glance at the clock tells me we have ten minutes to get up to my parents’ room before they come looking for us.
Not enough time. Not this time around.
I intend to savor her the next time I kiss her. But I need her to agree first.
“We’ve never spent that long together before,” she tells me.
“No.”
“Maybe…” She swallows audibly and lowers her gaze. “Maybe we hate each other too much to spend the entire weekend together.”
With two fingers, I tip her chin up. “And maybe we don’t. What do you say, Brittany? Will you give us a chance?”