Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sierra
The men's hot tub is bigger than ours—because of course it is—with tiered seating that descends into the center like a very wet, very testosterone-soaked amphitheater.
Roman helps me over the dividing ledge with a dramatic bow. “M'lady.”
“Do that again and I'm drowning you.”
“And that folks, is where her love of history ends,” Roman says with a laugh.
Everett slides into the water and settles on the bench just below mine where I rest my feet. Directly across from my brothers, he leans back, his thick biceps stretched to either side under the water.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough that no one can quite see the angle of his arm where it rests along the submerged ledge.
“So.” Roman claps his hands together, water droplets flying. “The festival. Where are we at? Numbers, projections, the show situation—”
“You sure you want to talk about that? I’m not a partner.” The words slip out before I can stop them, a little sharp, and a whole lot bratty, but I can’t stop myself. Champagne and girl talk. What can I say?
My brothers all lock eyes on me.
Roman blinks. Caleb's eyebrows shoot up. Nolan's mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile.
But Everett—
Everett turns slowly. Deliberately. His dark eyes find mine, and something in them narrows.
Sharpens.
Oh, you want to play?
The look says it all. Challenge accepted.
“You're still family,” Roman says, oblivious to the silent war that just ignited. “Your input matters.”
“Besides,” Caleb adds, “you're the one who has to make us look good on camera. Least we can do is keep you in the loop.”
Lucky me.
“Fine.” I cross my arms, leaning back against the tub wall. “Loop away.”
Nolan launches into the numbers—bookings up thirty percent since the Mountain Daddy incident, occupancy through New Year's maxed out.
I'm barely listening.
Because under the water, hidden by bubbles and steam, Everett's hand brushes my ankle.
Don’t you fucking dare, Morgan.
I hold my breath and close my eyes.
He wouldn’t. It was nothing.
Rough fingers, softening a fraction from the water, curl leisurely around my ankle. Flexing around the joint as though he's steadying himself.
But I know better.
This is payback for that bratty little comment.
This is war.
His thumb traces a slow circle against my skin.
Once. Twice. Three times.
I don't react. Don't give him the satisfaction.
Two can play this game, Morgan.
“—and Tara's been hinting about a follow-up special,” Roman continues. “Something about 'where are they now' content.”
Everett's hand slides higher. Past my ankle. Over my calf. His fingers trailing up to the back of my knee with agonizing slowness.
Every nerve ending in my leg lights up like a warning flare.
My breath hitches. I force myself to breathe normally and grip the edge of the tub.
“She's hunting for something,” Nolan says. “I don't trust her.”
“Nobody trusts her.” Roman shrugs. “But she's got reach. The exposure is worth the risk.”
Everett, the picture of absolute attentiveness, nods, keeping his eye contact on my brothers at all times. Even as he drags the backs of his fingers up the side of my thigh. Feather-light. Almost innocent.
Almost.
His knuckles graze higher. Higher. Tracing the curve of my outer thigh like he's memorizing the shape of me.
I suck in a breath and bring my knees up toward my chest, resting my heels on the ledge next to me, effectively out of his reach.
Ha. Try that, Mountain Daddy.
“Sierra?” Nolan's watching me. Of course Nolan's watching me. Nolan watches everything. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Too tight. Too fast. “Water's hot.”
“That's... kind of the point,” Caleb says slowly.
“She's had champagne,” Everett offers helpfully. Leaning back, flexing his arms across the back of the tub like he owns it. Like he owns everything in it. “Probably just the heat mixing with the alcohol.”
No sooner than the words leave his mouth, his fingertips graze under my thigh, and I realize my tactical error.
Drawing my knees to my chest didn't protect shit. Not when pulling them up left a pocket of space leading straight to my—
Shit.
His fingers don't hesitate. They slide into that gap like they were invited. Like he knew exactly what I'd do and planned for it.
I cover my surprised whimper with a cough.
“Maybe some water?” Roman reaches for a bottle from the cooler. “Here, Bug. Hydrate.”
I take it with trembling hands. Sip. Try to breathe.
Everett's fingers trace lazy patterns on the inside of my thigh. High. So dangerously high. The water swirls around his movements, hiding everything, but I feel every millimeter of contact like a brand.
He's not even looking at me. He's nodding along to something Caleb's saying about merchandise opportunities, his expression engaged and professional, while his thumb draws slow circles against skin that hasn't been touched by anyone since—
Nevermind.
Too long. Long enough that my body is staging a full rebellion against my brain's very reasonable objections.
“The key is authenticity,” Roman's saying. Somewhere. In a dimension where I'm not slowly losing my mind. “People can smell a cash grab from a mile away.”
“Agreed.” Everett's voice is steady. Calm. Meanwhile, his fingers inch higher, brushing the edge of my bikini bottoms with a touch so light I almost convince myself I imagined it.
I didn't.
He traces the elastic. Slow. Deliberate. Following the line of fabric where it meets my skin like he's mapping territory he intends to claim.
Never slipping under.
Just… reminding me he could.
My thighs clench involuntarily.
His lips twitch. Just barely. Just enough for me to catch.
Bastard.
“Sierra, you're being quiet.” Nolan again. Watching. Always watching. “You usually have opinions about the marketing stuff.”
“Just listening.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. Breathy. Wrecked. “Taking it all in.”
The conversation flows around us. Marketing strategies. Tara's angles. The Christmas special and how to manage it.
And Everett keeps touching me. Light strokes brushing the crease of my thigh. Never quite crossing the line. Never quite giving me what I'm starting to desperately want.
It's maddening.
It's torture.
It's working.
By the time Caleb starts pitching his “sexy Santa photoshoot” idea, I've almost convinced myself I can handle this. That I can sit here and endure his teasing and walk away with my dignity intact.
“Absolutely not,” Roman says to Caleb's Santa pitch.
“Why not? The Mountain Daddy thing worked.”
“The Mountain Daddy thing was accidental. And embarrassing.”
“Embarrassingly successful,” Caleb counters.
Under the water, Everett's finger hooks under the elastic.
Just barely. Just enough to make a point.
I can. And if I want to, I will.
That's when I make my second mistake.
“Can we focus?” I snap, the tension making me reckless. Bratty. Stupid. “Because I have actual thoughts about the heritage content, if anyone cares.”
Everett's fingers stop moving.
“Let's hear them,” he says, voice silk over steel. “We're all ears.”
Something in his tone should warn me. Something in the way his hand has gone still—predatory still, like a cat before it pounces—should make me stop.
But I've never been smart about Everett Morgan.
“First of all—” I start.
One thick finger slides beneath the elastic and sinks into me.
I choke on air.
“First of all what?” Roman prompts.
I scramble for the thought. Force words out through the fucking horny explosion in my brain. “First of all—the historical documentation needs to be centralized. Everything's scattered across three different archives.”
“Fair point,” Nolan concedes. “What else?”
Everett's finger curls. My vision wavers.
“Second of all—” My voice is strained now, but I'm in too deep to stop.
A second finger joins the first.
“The timeline for the preservation assessment is completely unrealistic. You can't rush a proper survey.” The sound that escapes me on the heels of those words is so not human.
“You okay?” Roman frowns. “You sound like you're choking.”
“Swallowed wrong.” I'm dying. I'm actually dying. “I'm fine.”
“You said there was a third thing,” Nolan says, because Nolan never misses anything and apparently wants me to suffer.
Everett glances at me over his shoulder. Dark eyes meet mine—the challenge in them?
Unmistakable.
Go ahead. I dare you.
“Third of all—”
His lips twitch with just a hint of a smirk.
Three fingers. All the way in.
I huff out a breath. My heart climbs into my throat, the frantic beat hammering in my ears.
“—I—”
He curls his fingers, the pressure firm, almost arrogant.
Words. What are words. “I forgot.”
“You forgot.” Nolan's voice is flat with suspicion.
“The heat.” I'm gripping the tub so hard my knuckles turn white. “It's... really hot.”
Everett's thumb finds my clit.
“Is it?” His voice is perfectly casual. Perfectly innocent. “I hadn't noticed.”
“The heritage angle could work,” Roman's saying. Somewhere. In a universe where I'm not slowly losing my mind. “Sierra's been documenting the historical stuff all week. We could tie that into the rebrand.”
“Sierra.” Everett's voice pulls me back. “What do you think?”
What do I think?
I think you're a bastard.
I think I hate you.
I think if you stop I'll scream.
“About what?” My voice is strained. Breathy. I clear my throat. “Sorry, I—the heat's really getting to me.”
“The heritage rebrand,” he says, calm, smooth, the words practically melting on his tongue. “Whether we should lean harder—” he pushes deeper “—into the historical angle.”
“Yes. God. Yup, that.” Too eager. “Definitely. The heritage stuff is—” He flexes his fingers, teasing me with what he’s capable of, but coming nowhere close to delivering. I swallow a moan. “—important. Very important.”
“See?” Everett turns back to my brothers with an easy smile. “Even Sierra agrees. And she's the expert.”
The expert at not screaming while you finger me in front of my family.
What a goddamn skill.
Caleb's circles back to the hairbrained “sexy Santa photoshoot”—shirtless but classy, like firefighter calendars but with more pine trees—while Roman shoots it down and Nolan looks like he wants to drown himself.
Normal sibling chaos.
Meanwhile, Everett's hand shifts. His fingers finally—finally—slide exactly where I need them.
And then he presses.
The orgasm detonates without warning.
I slam my mouth shut so hard my teeth ache. Every muscle in my body locks. The world goes white at the edges, and I'm drowning, flying, dying—all while my brothers sit directly across from me, not five feet away, debating marketing strategies.
Three seconds. Five. Ten.
An eternity of silent screaming.
When I finally come back to my body, Everett's hand gentles. Stroking now. Soothing. Like he's proud of what he just did.
His expression is perfectly neutral.
But his eyes—his eyes are blazing with triumph when he looks over his shoulder at me.
I risk a glance at the women's tub.
Holly's jaw is on the floor. Charlie has her hand pressed over her mouth. Eve looks like she's witnessed a crime. Dixie is gripping her champagne glass so hard it might shatter.
They can't see what—the bubbles hide everything below the surface—but they can see my face. My flushed cheeks. The way I'm gripping the tub edge like it's the only thing keeping me from flying apart.
They know.
Charlie mouths something at me.
I think it's oh my god.
It might be is he—
I look away before she can finish.
“I need to get out.” The words scrape out of me. “I'm overheating.”
“Already?” Caleb pouts. “We just started the good stuff.”
“Too much champagne.” I'm already pushing myself up, legs trembling so badly I nearly slip. “You guys keep talking.”
Roman frowns. “You sure you're okay? You look—”
“Fine.” I snatch a towel from the rack and bind the fucker around myself. “Just need some air.”
“There's air right here,” Nolan points out. “We're outside.”
“Different air.” I'm backing toward the lodge, refusing to look at Everett. “Colder air. Air that's not—”
Air that's not saturated with Everett and his hands and the fact that I just came in front of my brothers.
“—so steamy,” I finish weakly.
I don't wait for a response.
I flee.
At the door, I risk one glance back.
My brothers have already moved on—Caleb gesturing wildly about how to follow up his Santa idea, Roman vetoing it, Nolan wearing his long-suffering expression.
But Everett's watching me.
Still lounging in the water. Still perfectly calm. Still looking at me like he owns me.
Like he just proved it.
And maybe he did.
I glance at my friends, Charlie raises her thermos in a silent toast. Then mouths Holy. Shit.
I press my back against the cold glass and try to remember how to breathe.
He's going to destroy me.
And the worst part?
I already want him to do it again.