Chapter 26
26
I never imagined what the aftermath of hot sex on the hood of a car would be. I never imagined I would have hot sex on the hood of a car.
But if I’d guessed, the follow-up wouldn’t have included wandering around the grounds of a gorgeous villa.
“This place is incredible,” I tell Charlie.
Steps descend from the patio surrounding the pool, leading down to a dock that calm water laps against.
Charlie walks past me, toward the detached structure designed in the same style as the gigantic main building. It’s a pool house or a guesthouse, it looks like.
“You know the owners?” I call after him.
A question I should have asked when we first got here, but I was … distracted. Charlie has this unique ability to wipe logical reasoning from my brain, which is incredible and inconvenient.
I follow him into the guesthouse. It’s an open floor plan, one wall the kitchen with an eating nook against the opposite wall. A cozy seating area is past it with two open doorways revealing the bathroom and bedroom.
It’s beautiful. Also messy.
And I say this as someone who currently has clothes draped over every surface of the room she’s staying in.
“Um, wow.”
Dirty dishes are stacked in the sink. Beach towels are draped over the backs of chairs. Books lie open on the couch, partially played board games on the floor. Pillows are lopsided. Even the paintings hang crooked.
Charlie is scowling, turning around in a slow circle in the center of the room.
“Blythe,” he mutters darkly.
“Your sister?”
“Yes. I knew she was upset, but I didn’t think she’d …” He shakes his head.
I pull the pink elastic off my wrist, twist my hair into a bun, and secure it the best I can without looking in a mirror. Hopefully, there’s not a chunk I missed.
There’s no dishwasher, which isn’t ideal. No dish gloves either. But it’s a small miracle the manicure I had done for Chloe’s wedding has lasted this long. It had to start chipping sometime.
“What are you doing?” Charlie asks as I flick the faucet on and rummage under the sink for a sponge and some soap.
“Washing the dishes.” I let an unspoken duh dangle.
“Leave it, Lili. I’ll deal with this.”
I don’t reply, just continue scrubbing.
“ Lili .”
“Those books aren’t going to put themselves away.”
Charlie heaves a sigh before walking over to the couch. I set the first plate in the drain rack, then pick up a second one. It’s kind of cathartic, sudsing and rinsing. Satisfying to set the sparkling, dripping dish down.
This is not my first time washing dishes. But as much as it makes me sound like a spoiled rich girl, it’s not a frequent occurrence.
We clean in companionable silence.
It’s weird.
Not the quiet. That’s comfortable—the rustle of couch cushions and trickle of running water from the tap.
The domesticity is strange. From the club to cleaning.
Every time I think I have Charlie figured out, he surprises me.
He went from barely looking at me on the boat to confiding about the accident that made him decide to pursue a medical degree.
Fucking me on the hood of his car to fluffing pillows.
He acts like a duke—distant, dignified, reserved—one minute, then tosses me over a shoulder the next.
That contrast does something dangerous to me, especially since I’ve only seen that shift take place around me.
I set the last clean dish down, then dry my hands on the towel hanging from the fridge door.
Charlie’s tidied everywhere else. Everything’s tucked or fixed or straightened. He’s in the bedroom now, stripping sheets, so I duck into the bathroom to pee and wash my hands. Wipe the counter and hang up the towels while I’m in there.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Charlie is leaning against the kitchen counter, talking on the phone. I have no idea who he’s talking to or what he’s saying because the conversation is taking place in French.
I had no idea Charlie spoke French. Another hidden facet to this man.
I wander past him and back out to the pool. More exterior lights flicker on, activated by the movement.
The light doesn’t extend far enough for me to see the ocean, but I can hear the muffled crash of water against the shore. I take a seat at the top of the pool steps, swishing my feet in the cool water. It’s lagoon-like, appearing carved into the stone ground like it sprang into a natural existence.
A few minutes later, I hear Charlie’s footsteps approaching.
“Sorry,” he says, sitting down beside me. “Just taking care of a couple of things.”
His arm brushes mine as he slips off his leather loafers and dips his feet in the water too. The hems of his pants dampen in the water, but Charlie doesn’t seem to notice. He stares straight ahead at the main house, seeming lost in thought.
“So … you own this place?”
That’s the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for why his sister would have been here and his apparent unconcern about trespassing.
“Yes.”
“It’s nice.”
A conspicuous understatement. I thought the Beaumonts’ place was big. This villa makes their house look like a fisherman’s cottage. Not to mention its jaw-dropping location, right on the coast with private water access.
“Yeah.” He exhales.
I bump his knee with mine. “If this whole duke thing doesn’t work out, you could start a cleaning company.”
Charlie huffs a laugh under his breath. Glances around, like he’s registering where we are for the first time. “I haven’t been here in years.”
“I love the cypress trees. And I’m pretty sure that’s a fig.” I point it out.
“Do you work on projects like this?” Charlie asks. “Design gardens at private houses?”
“I have, yeah. Last spring, I worked on Christian Davis’s house.”
Charlie’s expression is blank.
“The actor?” I prompt.
He shrugs. “I don’t watch a lot of movies.”
“Okay, well, he’s pretty famous in the US.”
“Did you date him?”
He sounds jealous, and it’s more thrilling than him stalking across the club was. Because I wasn’t trying to make him jealous this time, but I think he still is.
“No. His wife hired me for the project. They’d just gotten married and bought their first house together. She wanted the yard to feel like home.”
Charlie’s nod is slow. “This villa was my dad’s wedding gift to my mom.”
“Oh.”
I can see the resentment in his expression now, like he gave me permission to view it by uttering those words.
“I don’t know why he didn’t sell it after they got divorced. But he didn’t, so now, I have to.”
I don’t fully understand what he means by that. Why he feels like he has to sell it. Because of the memories, I guess? It would be hard to look at a physical symbol of your parents’ relationship, knowing the relationship itself is permanently wrecked.
His parents didn’t just get divorced; his dad died. They’ll never be a complete family again, and that would be hard enough to accept without additional reminders.
Asking more questions doesn’t feel like my place, so I just whisper, “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. Then, softer, “ I’m sorry. I’m dropping a lot on you today.”
“I don’t mind.”
More than that, I like it. I’m not sure who else he confides in. If there’s anyone else he confides in. He reminds me of an ancient god, some iteration of Zeus, ruling the sky, or Poseidon, the sea. Powerful. Unique. Alone .
I flick some water with my toes. “What was your dad like?”
“He was …” Charlie exhales. “He was a hard person to describe.”
“Oh.” I focus on the ripples disturbing the surface of the water, giving him the out.
“He blamed me.”
I glance over, the glimpse of his profile reminding me of the man I met in Atlantic Crest’s polo stable what feels like forever ago.
It’s so bizarre how life unfolds sometimes. A little less than a year, and it feels like decades since we first met.
Most of my life, I didn’t know Charles Marlborough existed. And now, it’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t cross my mind hourly.
“Blamed you for what?” I ask.
“For everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough. At some point, I stopped trying to live up to his expectations. But I still wanted his approval. He’d take me for these long rides around the fields at Newcastle, and whenever he said something to annoy me, I’d get Kensington to gallop. Papa would get annoyed, but he’d also be proud. He wanted to control me. He also wanted a son who was strong enough to stand up to him. I realized I couldn’t be both. I don’t think he ever did.”
My chest aches. I assumed Charlie was still grieving his father. But I didn’t realize how … unresolved things had been between them. That their relationship had been complicated in addition to getting cut short.
Something else occurs to me.
I quirk a brow at him. “Kensington?”
It’s hard to tell for sure, but Charlie’s cheeks look a little ruddier than they did a second ago. “He’s named after the palace.”
“Uh-huh. It’s a good name.”
“Yeah, it is.” He pauses. “Hell of a lot better than Lexington.”
I smile, experiencing a sudden burst of nostalgia at the memory of our first meeting. Would we still be sitting here if I’d introduced myself as Elizabeth Kensington from the start?
“You’re a good polo player,” he adds. “Not sure I ever told you that.”
“I was going to be an equine vet. Back when I was going to be a vet, I mean. After that changed … I kept riding for a while. Polo was more fun than just cantering around in circles.” I slide a glance his way. “You’re good too.”
He’s better than me, but that’s as magnanimous as I’m going to be. I can still picture his smug smile when he accepted that trophy.
“Maybe we’ll have a rematch.”
“Does that mean you’ll be visiting New York soon?”
I sound hopeful. I’m not sure if he can hear the hope. If I want him to hear it.
Charlie runs a hand through his hair. His elbow grazes my shoulder. “Probably not. I, uh … things with my mom have never been great. She left when I was ten. Blythe was only five. I’ve tried to see it from her perspective. Tried to move past it. But this last trip, I spent more quality time with Ellis, my cousin. Don’t see myself showing up for another visit anytime soon.”
“She’s not the only person who lives in New York.”
Subtle, Lili . I might as well hand him a key to my penthouse.
“I have a lot going on here,” he says. “In Britain, I mean.”
It’s a gentle letdown, but it still prickles unpleasantly. “Right. Balls to attend and carriage rides to go on.”
He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “What about you? Do you know what project you’re working on next?”
“Not yet. I have some interviews next week.”
“All in the States?”
“The interviews are over the phone. If they make an offer, I’ll go visit the sites in person before accepting. Two are in the US. One’s in Canada. And one’s in Ireland.”
“Ireland?”
I think there’s more than polite interest in his voice as he mentions the location closest to England, but I could be imagining it.
I kick the water again, sending more ripples across the surface. “Yeah. There’s a university in Dublin that’s expanding its campus. They need a landscape architect for the exterior space.”
“Have you worked on a campus project before?”
I shake my head. “But the Canada job would be as part of the design committee for the Toronto Olympics. I want that one more.”
“Wow, Lili.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just an interview. I haven’t gotten it, and even if I do, I’d just be?—”
“It’s a big deal, Kensington. Whether or not you get it, you should be proud.”
I swallow. “Thanks.”
His praise does something strange to me. It’s overwhelming, a sensation I want to savor yet also run from.
I stand on the stairs, my fingers finding the hidden snap beneath the tied back of my silk Prada minidress and tossing it toward one of the terra-cotta lounge chairs. My bra flies through the air next. My thong got left by the car.
I stroll around the perimeter of the pool, adding an extra sway to my hips because I can feel his eyes on me. As soon as I reach the deep end, I leap, cool water closing over my head. I sink until my toes brush the slick tiled floor, then kick back to the surface.
Charlie hasn’t moved.
I start to float on my back, staring up at the starry sky. My thighs drift open gradually. I’m not sure how much Charlie can see, between the water and the limited light. If he can see anything, he’s getting one hell of a view. Not that he hasn’t seen it all before.
“Wanna race?” I call out without looking his way.
About a minute later, I hear a loud splash. I let my legs sink until I’m treading water again, staring straight at Charlie’s smirk. His hazel eyes are focused on the swell of my breasts.
“And add to my perfect record of beating you? Sure.”
“I’m an excellent swimmer,” I inform him.
Five of my six records at Dalton Academy are still unbroken, seven years after I graduated. I decided not to swim in college.
“I heard. Team captain.”
My eyes narrow at his nonchalance. “Did you swim at Oxford?”
“No.” He pauses. “They tried to recruit me though.” His smirk grows. “Never told you where I went to university.”
I duck under the water to avoid responding, swimming to the far end of the pool as fast as I can. My lungs are burning by the time I emerge.
I’ve never swum naked before. It feels strange in a scintillating way, the smooth glide of cool, chlorinated water refreshing and arousing as it drips off my face and rolls down my neck.
Charlie surfaces next to me, and I shout, “Go!”
I have a bad feeling that he’s as good at swimming as he is at polo and driving. And sex. I’ll take whatever slim competitive edge I can get.
I breathe away from him and toward the wall on the lap down, smiling underwater when I execute a perfect flip turn. Still got it .
When I breathe for the first time on the return trip, he’s even with me. I dig deeper, muscles burning as I propel myself through the water as fast as possible. I screw my eyes closed, pretending he’s ahead because that’s a very real possibility.
My hand hits concrete, and I bob upright, glancing to the right.
He’s there.
Damn it .
“Did you win?”
Charlie shrugs, his broad shoulders glistening with water. “I just got here.”
“You did?”
“We’ll call it a tie.”
“Does that mean you really won?”
He swipes a hand across his forehead, clearing the water dripping from his hair. “Dunno. Honestly.”
A smile spreads slowly. “Your poor perfect record,” I tease.
He moves so fast that I don’t see it coming, arm wrapping around my waist and tugging me down. I barely have time to close off my airway and shut my eyes before I’m submerged, my hair floating around me.
It’s a few feet here, shallow enough to stand but deep enough to plunge if you want to. We wrestle underwater, Charlie fighting his way to the surface first. I bob up a few seconds later, gasping for air and reaching for his shoulders. He evades me, and I end up grabbing his forearm instead. I think he lets me drag him toward me because he’s got at least a hundred pounds and six inches on me.
We’re both laughing, the sound mixing with the splashing water and buzz of the cicadas.
The shift from playful to charged is gradual. Hands linger. Caress. We stop breaking eye contact.
And then he’s kissing me, his lips bruising as he hungrily demands entrance to my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, forgetting we’re both naked until the rough hairs of his happy trail tickle sensitive flesh, still tender from our last round of sex.
I only have one day left in Saint-Tropez. We’re flying straight back to New York while Chloe and Theo return to London separately.
I have no idea when I’ll see Charlie again after this trip, and that sends a spiral of panic spinning through me. A stab wound couldn’t keep me from fucking him, let alone a sore vagina.
He’s hoisting me out of the water, forearms flexing before my ass lands on the hard tiles decorating the perimeter of the pool.
“Lie back,” Charlie says huskily.
I do, the rough stone of the patio scraping my back. Charlie kisses a line upward, starting at my knee, teeth sinking gently into the soft flesh of my inner thigh before moving even higher.
This isn’t the wild, untamed sex we had earlier. It’s tender and intimate, his tongue licking and swirling and teasing until my insides liquefy. I slip back into the water, he climbs out to grab another condom from his pants, and then he fucks me against the slick wall.
Another first for me—sex in a pool.
Charlie carries me into the outdoor shower after I admit I’m not sure I can walk. Least he can do in exchange for that ego boost.
I smile dreamily the entire short trip, my system still swimming with endorphins.
There aren’t any walls to the shower, just a circular wire frame that’s covered by climbing greenery. It makes me feel like I’m standing in the middle of a rainforest.
“I like this,” I murmur, gesturing to all the plants.
“Yeah, I thought you might.” Charlie sets me down to turn on the water. It’s warmer than the pool was, the spray like a heavy mist falling around us.
“Maybe you shouldn’t sell this place.” The words come out easily, my tongue loosened by the dopamine hit and the way it feels like we’re the only two people in the world right now.
Charlie tenses next to me, and I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. He’s clearly sensitive about the topic of this place.
“It’s already done,” is all he says, turning the faucet to the right.
The water cools a little. Or maybe that’s just the effects of my orgasm continuing to fade.
We finish rinsing. Charlie grabs two towels from the guesthouse for us to dry off with.
I comb the tangles in my hair out the best I can with my fingers, then ask, “Will you braid my hair?”
He clears his throat before replying, “Sure.”
While he does, I ask a question I’ve wondered about for a while. It feels like we’re in a bubble right now, both drunk on sex, secret thoughts slipping out more easily in the late-night air.
“Why’d you walk away in the hallway at my grandparents’?”
“Because I was losing control.”
I smirk as his talented fingers sift through my hair. “I had all my clothes on.”
“You wreck my control just by existing, Elizabeth Kensington.”
My smile freezes on my face, those words suspended in the air between us like some shimmering force.
I swallow hard. “That’s either the nicest or the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He kisses the top of my spine, then lets my braided hair drop. “You’re welcome.”