Chapter 15 I want you But I can’t have you
Chapter 15
i want you but i can’t have you
Wes wasn’t going to make a senior citizen sleep in a chair, which left two options: sleep on the hard floor or bunk with Summer. Neither choice was optimal, and one had the possibility to cause more trouble than the other, but the decision was easy.
I must be a masochist , he thought, as he walked up the steps. Then again last night he’d achieved zero sleep on the too-short, too-lumpy couch.
The lights were off but there was a soft glow from a phone coming from the bottom bunk. The faint shine illuminated her face, which was scrunched up in complete concentration. He didn’t think she even knew he was there.
Without moving an inch, her eyes shot up and narrowed directly in on him. “What are you doing?”
“Seems your dad is in the doghouse too.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“Now it’s an us problem, because your family has some kind of weird talent for rock-paper-scissors.”
He walked in and kicked the door shut behind him. Knowing it would piss her off to no end, he tossed his pillow and blanket on the bottom bunk—her bunk.
Fast as lightning she wadded it up and threw it in his face.
“Is this your way of saying you want a pillow fight?” he asked. “PJs or not? I’m open to either.”
“You wish. And this”—she pointed between them—“is not happening.”
“Strong words from someone who almost ‘happened’ just a few hours ago.”
“It was the wine,” she lied. “I wasn’t clear-headed.”
“You hadn’t drunk since before dinner.”
“Maybe I had some down on the dock,” she challenged.
“Did you?” He flashed his trademark smile that had a ninety-nine percent chance of her panties hitting the floor. She appeared completely unaffected.
“No,” she begrudgingly said. “And that...”—she pointed to his smile—“doesn’t work on me, so you might want to save yourself the time and give up now.”
He took a few steps closer, and both of their phones chimed. She rolled her eyes.
“Someone thinks we’re a perfect match?”
“A stupid algorithm says that. And my mother told me to never trust an algorithm with sketchy intentions. They’ll always disappoint in the end.”
“I don’t disappoint, love. I can give you a list of references if you’d like.” She ignored this and went back to studying her phone. “You might think that it’s a stupid algorithm, but I noticed you have yet to delete the app.”
“Neither have you.”
“I just like to see the way your face scrunches every time it goes off. But if it offends you so much, here.”
He reached for her phone and she clutched it to her chest. Whatever was on her screen, she didn’t want him to see. Which made it all the more interesting. “What’s wrong, love? Were you looking at my profile?”
She scoffed.
“Then what?” He reached for it again, and again she dodged. “Stalking me online?” This time when he reached for it, he snatched it. They struggled for a moment, then he wrestled it from her hands.
He looked at the screen and froze. What the actual fuck? She was cyber-stalking someone. Just not him. “Why do you have Randy’s Instagram page up?”
“None of your business.” She snatched it back and then sat on it.
Like hell it wasn’t his business. They’d just played tonsil hockey earlier that night. Had she been thinking about his brother? “Why are you scrolling through Randy’s stuff?”
“Not that I owe you any explanation, but I can see where your mind if going and it’s a hard no. I’m stalking him for Autumn.”
“Why would Autumn ask you to look into my brother?” he asked and her cheeks went red. She didn’t answer. “Summer?”
“I was trying to find out what kind of man buys a house for someone they’ve known for a month.”
Wes had been thinking the same thing all night, but he didn’t want her to know that. “Maybe a man in love?”
“Or a serial proposer. That’s who. Did you know your brother has been engaged before?”
“Yes.”
“Twice?”
“Well, it seems like Autumn might be in it because he’s also the kind of guy who buys a woman a house a month after knowing her. So if anyone should hire a PI, it should be me.”
“My sister would never marry for money!”
He laughed. Summer lived with her head in a book and thought the best of everyone. Except, of course, if their surname was Kingston. “Everyone has their price.”
“So the second fiancée was a gold digger too? How convenient to blame the women when the common dominator is a man.”
Wes didn’t know what to say because he’d never known there was another fiancée. What did that say about him? That he didn’t even know his kid brother had been a breath away from marriage twice . With an ocean between them, and only summers and DNA connecting them, they’d never been all that close, but he’d thought their relationship had been worthy of a call about something as important as marriage. That the engagement hadn’t lasted wasn’t the point. He’d been left out of a huge moment. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised—that pretty much summed up his childhood—but a rusty and forgotten pinch started in his chest.
He tried to bury his disappointment but, intuitive as ever, Summer picked up on his emotions.
“You didn’t know?” she said softly.
“Like I said before, Randy and I are getting to know each other properly. We’ve been in touch over the years. Birthday calls and such, but not close. It wasn’t a possibility when my father was alive but with him out of the picture...” He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Who knows?”
“So you really want to stay for him?”
“Yes.” That was part of the reason. The other part was looking at him with tangled bedhead, glasses perched on her nose, and so much compassion on her face it was hard to maintain eye contact.
“Then I won’t let our personal issues get in the way. As long as you promise me something.”
“Anything” popped out before he could stop it.
“If you discover Randy has even an inkling of cold feet, you tell me.” Disappointment flooded him that the favor had nothing to do with him. “I don’t want her to give up her home, her job—heck, her life—and move to New York only to be left with nothing.”
“As long as you promise to give my family a fair chance.”
“Deal,” she said, and he grinned because Wes was part of the Kingston family, which meant she was willing to give him a chance too. At what? He didn’t know. But he was giddy all the same.
“Now, scoot over.”
“I said I would give you a chance, not that we’d sleep together.”
“It’s the only free bed in the house. You wouldn’t expect me to sleep on the floor next to your dad and his snoring, would you?”
She grimaced and he saw the first crack form. “Sleep in the recliner.”
He lifted a brow. “Love, I’m six foot three. That would look like a preschool seat with me in it.”
She snickered, as if she’d like to see that sometime.
“And your aunt and uncle don’t strike me as the throuple type, which leaves here.”
“Fine, but you get the top bunk.”
“Again, six-foot-three.”
He tossed his pillow and blanket on the other side of her and started to crawl over.
“What are you doing?” She was batting at his head, his shoulders, his jaw, anywhere her hands could swat.
He rolled over her completely and made a big show of getting comfortable before lying down.
“Nope. Not happening.” She shoved him but he didn’t budge. “You are not sleeping there.”
“Okay.”
He rolled back over her making sure all their good parts lined up, and held still for a moment until her breath caught, then he shoved her into the depths of the bed, with him on the outside, stretched out and taking up most the mattress.
“What are you doing?”
“Making myself comfortable.”
She shoved at him and again he didn’t budge. She growled. “This isn’t even your room. Look at the nameplate.”
In the moonlight he could see, hung on the door was a chalkboard, with SUMMER & AUTUMN scribbled in bubble lettered chalk. He climbed out of bed, walked casually over to the sign, then simply erased AUTUMN and wrote ASSHOLE.
It was barely there, but he saw it. The slightest ghost of a smile tilted her lips. Which amused him.
“My dad made it really clear no boys in the bedroom after dark.”
“Funny, because your dad told me to come stand my ground.”
She leaned back against the headboard and crossed her arms, which told him that she was a) pissed, b) not wearing a bra, and c) closer to caving than kicking him in the nuts.
“This is the hill you want to die on?”
“No, but this is the bed I’m going to sleep on, and since I’m a big guy there’s no way I’ll fit up top.”
“Well, the floor looks nice.”
“Scooch.” He shoved her by the shoulders and she rolled over. He took the now-empty space and sprawled back out. “Be sure to keep your hands to yourself.”
“It won’t be a problem. Trust me.”
“You do realize you’re on the inside, which makes you the small spoon.”
“I don’t spoon.”
“But do you fork?”
Summer woke up all tingly. From her fingertips to her toes and everywhere in between. It didn’t take long to figure out why. She was wrapped around a hard, delicious, jerk of a man. He was fast asleep on his back and she had one thigh thrown over his, and her right hand was a scant inch from what appeared to be a massive top-of-the-morning-to-you.
His breathing was deep and steady, the breath of a sleeping man—thank god! If he saw the way she was full on groping him, he’d never let her live it down. It would erase any advantage she had in this bookstore war of theirs.
Remember, he’s going to put you out of business.
But he is so freaking hot!
Hot-headed is more like it.
And entitled.
And prideful.
And sweet when he’s vulnerable.
Irritating when he was breathing in your space.
But right now, they were sharing the same breath of space and she wasn’t irritated. She was—ohmygod! She was turned on. Like tingles and flutters and little vibrations in her southern region. It felt exactly how she imagined one of the heroines in a romance book feeling .
She chanced a quick glance that turned into a string of inappropriate sneak peeks. Who could blame her? Even through his T-shirt she could see the ropes of sinew and muscle. His long lashes fell on his cheek and his lips were full and kissable. And the stubble that defined his already defined jawline made her fingers itch to run their way through it.
Then there was the way he smelled. Spicy and adventurous, like buttery leather and the Kama Sutra . Without moving much, Summer nuzzled her nose against his chest and sniffed him. And those flutters flitted awfully close to foreplay. Just one more sniff, then she’d sneak out of bed and take a cold shower. Or maybe a hot one, and think about him while she found some much-needed release.
First, she had to find a way to detangle herself, then crawl over him, and slip out of bed without waking him. She took in one last sniff and closed her eyes, because he also smelled like every woman’s walking sex fantasy.
She removed her leg first and he didn’t budge. His breathing was still so rhythmic and reliable she nearly jumped out of her skin when he said, “Did you just smell me?”
“No!”
“Then what were you doing?”
“Welcoming the morning with a yawn. You just happened to be there.”
He chuckled in a raspy, sleep-rough voice that made her panties wet. “And your hand? Is that headed to my kind of good morning? I mean, another inch and you’re at the promised land.”
“It’s not my fault you pulled me on top of you in the middle of the night.”
“Love, your hands are cupping me like you own me and mine are tucked respectfully behind my head.”
How horrifying. He was right! In fact, he wasn’t touching her at all. She was the one instigating the cuddle. She jerked her hands back and sat up so fast she banged her head against the underside of the top bunk.
“Ow.” She cradled her head.
Eyes closed, chin to her chest, she held her injured head in her palms.
“You okay?”—his tone one of genuine concern. “That sounded bad.”
Her pride had taken the biggest hit. Summer had a hard head. But then she felt his fingers slip into her hair, and she really played up the bonk. With a sigh she let her head fall back onto his strong shoulder.
“There we go. Isn’t that better?”
It was his voice, that I-am-a-sex-god-and-you-want-me tone that drove her nuts. She turned around and batted him. “Get your hands off me.”
“You’re the one clinging to me a like I’m a stripper pole. Plus you were the one who had the sex dream about us.”
“I did not.” But she totally had. And the heated cheeks were proof for all to see.
“You said my name,” he pointed out.
“Because I was smothering you with a pillow.”
“But you moaned.”
“In your dreams.”
“That was your dream, love. But I’m game for swapping our dream stories. Mine starts with you in those sexy librarian glasses, those mile-high heels you always wear, and nothing else.”
“You’re wrong about all of this.”
“Your nipples seem to disagree. And what did we say about lying?”
She smacked him. “Get out of my bed.”
“Ladies first.”
She realized she was in nothing but a short T-shirt and a thong. “A gentleman would let the lady choose.”
“You did choose. You chose to go pants-less to bed. Plus, it’s more than I saw you wearing when you were changing. Hell, or at the shop. Is this becoming our thing?”
Refusing to let him make her uncomfortable in her own room, she threw back the covers. “Get over yourself!”
She rolled over him and he gave her butt a little pat, which sent a zing of unwanted interest up her spine. She crawled out of bed so fast she nearly fell, then she stormed off to the bathroom acutely aware of the weight of his stare. She closed the door and sank against it, equal parts pissed off and turned on because she’d caught a silly glimpse of his not-so-silly, impressive morning glory.
She knew he felt something toward her, but she wasn’t sure what that was anymore or what side of the hate-to-love equation his feelings fell. Even worse, her treacherous hormones seemed to be switching sides with each encounter.