5. Moonlight Reflections
Moonlight Reflections
O nce again, Peter’s mercurial moods were giving her whiplash. Since arriving in the Never Lands, he’d acted like a hyper teenage boy, lost his temper, banished Belle, and groped her. Wendy had no clue which version was the real Peter. Perhaps they all were.
As they entered the house, she shivered under the central air pumping through the vents. The house smelled of freshly washed linens, furniture polish, and something deliciously masculine with a touch of earthiness.
The men anxiously awaited. “Which room?” Peter asked, his tone impatiently curt.
The twins pointed to the left, and Peter took her arm, hauling her that way. Her bare feet slapped noisily on the porcelain tile as she rushed to keep up.
The nervous one who spoke up at the pool apprehensively rubbed what she suspected was a lucky rabbit’s foot. “I’m sorry we threw you in the pool, miss Wendy. We were only playing. If we knew you couldn’t swim?—”
“Tate!” Peter snapped, and the man silenced.
Shocked by Peter’s rudeness, she yanked her arm free and touched Tate’s hand that rubbed the rabbit’s foot. “It’s okay, Tate. It was a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
He looked instantly relieved, then bashful as he smiled. “You forgive us, then?”
“Enough.” Before she could answer, Peter tugged her into the room.
“Peter, stop.” She yanked her arm free again. “What’s gotten into you? We were in the middle of a conversation.”
“A boring conversation.” He dove onto the tower of ruffled pillows. “Oh, look. A bed.”
Turning back to the Lost Boys, she thanked them, “The room is lovely. Thank you.”
“You like it?”
“I picked out the pillows!”
“I found the blanket!”
“I picked the flowers!”
“I swept the floor and got rid of that— umph .” One of the men elbowed Tate in the ribs. “I mean, there was nothing gross in here whatsoever. It was totally clean when we started.”
She figured it was better she didn’t know what biohazards or creatures they removed. “Well, it’s perfect now.”
They turned their attention to Peter, fishing for more praise that did not come.
Peter lounged on the bed, appearing bored and disinterested in what the rest of them were doing. She didn’t understand their dynamic. Why fawn over someone who paid them no mind and scolded them like children? Who made him their leader?
“Perhaps now is a good time to learn your names. I’m Wendy. And I know you’re Tate.”
Tate grinned and nodded happily, twin dimples winking in his round cheeks.
She moved down the line to the bare-chested one wearing a necklace of entwined antlers. “And you are?”
“I’m Nibbs,” he said cheerfully, liveliness buzzing from his impressive physique as something fearless and reckless danced in his blue eyes.
“A pleasure to meet you, Nibbs.” She turned to the tall one. He leaned against the wall, radiating arrogance. “And you are?”
“They call me Bayne.” Something untrustworthy flashed in his eyes. “The Never Lands can be a dangerous place for a woman. It would be wise to watch your back.”
So far, he seemed the only true danger she’d stumbled across. “Thank you for the warning. I will.”
Peter slipped his arm around her, and Bayne’s jaw ticked. As Peter nuzzled her neck, his eyes narrowed on her another degree.
Not needing another enemy, Wendy shouldered out of Peter’s grip. But Bayne continued to glare at her. Was he jealous? She didn’t quite understand the dynamic between these men yet. There was a sense of hero worship but also an extreme sense of territorialism.
“How long is she staying?” Bayne asked, clearly put out by her presence.
Peter scowled at his rude friend. “As long as I want her to stay.”
The other man stormed off in a huff.
“Ignore him,” Nibbs said, rolling his eyes. “If Bayne’s not the center of attention, he’s in crisis.”
How sad that a grown man could be that reliant on his friend’s attentiveness. His narcissism and neediness were obviously caused by deep-seated insecurities, and while he tried to appear powerful, his dramatic exit only left the impression of bratty self-doubt. She pitied him.
“I’m Cassian,” the burly one said as he stepped forward. “Friends call me Cass.” A wide smile flashed beneath his fuzzy beard, giving the impression of a big teddy bear.
“Lovely to meet you, Cass.”
“I stashed some of my extra flannels in that bottom drawer there. They’re long, so they’ll probably fit like a dress on a little thing like you.”
She appreciated his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”
“My Pleasure. I also put some extra blankets on the shelf in the closet. It can get cold at night, especially when the seasons change.”
“Oh, I only plan on staying one night, but thank you.”
“Only one night?” Tate looked alarmed.
“What’s the benefit to one lousy night?” one of the twins asked.
“Why rush home?” Peter asked as if her plans were news to him. “The Lost Boys made you a good room. Don’t you like it?”
“Of course I do, but, Peter, I have responsibilities. This was only supposed to be a short trip.”
“I never said that.”
Stunned that he thought it could be anything else, she gaped at him. “Well, I’m saying it.”
He waved away her words and lounged on the bed. A damp spot formed under his wet clothes. “People always say they need to do this or that when, in reality, they don’t need to do anything. If something needs to be done, someone will do it.”
“I don’t want someone else to do everything for me. I like having responsibilities. People are counting on me.” It was a matter of integrity. Her eyes narrowed at the sprawling wet spot. “You’re getting my covers wet.”
“So? You’re not going to sleep for hours.”
Maybe she would need the blankets Cass left after all.
She turned her back on him. “You must be Tristan and Thayer.” The twins stood side by side like a mirror image of each other and beamed under her attention.
“That’s us,” they said at the same time. “We did good, didn’t we, Pete?”
They showed more interest in impressing Peter than meeting her, but there was something innocent and sweet about their hero worship.
“Yeah, yeah, the room’s great. Whatever,” Peter said, once more waving away their need for praise. Then he jumped off the bed and corralled them toward the door. “Everyone out. Wendy’s cold, and I need to warm her up.”
The Lost Boys laughed as if understanding exactly how Peter planned to accomplish the task. “Let us know if you need a hand,” the twins called.
Wendy gaped, and Peter shut the door. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
“Hold on.” She held up a hand and glanced at the connecting bathroom. “I think I want to shower.”
“Great.” He peeled off his wet shirt, exposing washboard abs and a tan chest sculpted with muscle.
As soon as he unsnapped his damp pants, she clarified, “Alone.”
He paused from stripping. “What fun would that be?”
“It’s not about fun. It’s about avoiding hypothermia.” She opened the bedroom door. “So, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. But can you wash my nightgown so it’s dry tonight?” She could wear one of Cass’s flannels when she got out. And maybe she could make a late supper for the Lost Boys as a thank-you for setting up her room.
“Gonna have to take it off if you want me to wash it.”
“Well, yes.” She eyed the door, but he didn’t budge. “Fine. Turn around.”
He turned, and she quickly peeled off the wet nightgown, careful to keep her body covered with the towel. She flung the sopping wet fabric over his shoulder.
“There.”
He turned and faced her with a smirk. “The boys did a nice job placing that mirror there.”
Her eyes darted to the wall where Peter had been staring, and she scoffed. “Jerk!”
He laughed and kissed the tips of his fingers as he opened the door. “Lovely tits and a juicy ass. Enjoy your shower, darling.”
She slammed the door at his back and groaned, her face burning. “It’s like living with a fifteen-year-old.”