CHAPTER TEN
KENNEDY
The Ole Aces has had a glow-up since Austin took ownership. He replaced the scuffed bartop with a gleaming new one that accentuates the rustic wood and metal light fixtures made by Suitor’s Crossing’s local blacksmith, Rhys.
Since Austin’s upgrades, the bar is constantly crowded—a local hotspot for friends and family to hang out.
My brothers commandeer two tables and shove them together to form a mega section big enough for the four behemoths, Wyatt—a giant in his own right—and myself. Ezra and Beckett still look disgruntled after the afternoon’s ambush, but now Soren and Griffen have joined them to voice their displeasure at my secret relationship.
Is it any wonder I kept it under wraps with these theatrics?
“When were you planning on telling us about him, Ken?” Soren asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He dropped his daughter off at Grandpa’s before he and Griffen made the drive here to interrogate me, and I wish my niece were here as a buffer. At eleven years old, Sara Beth can hold her own against my brothers—they’re firmly wrapped around her finger—and they’d temper their sour dispositions with a kid around.
“When I had something concrete to share, Sor,” I mimic his grumpy demeanor with a raised brow.
Wyatt shields a cough of amusement then covers my hand with his, causing my brothers to stare at the gesture with varying degrees of suspicion. God, why do they have to be so distrustful? Is it so crazy to believe that an attractive military veteran like Wyatt could be interested in me?
“We weren’t hiding our relationship,” he says. “I’m not ashamed to admit my feelings for your sister.” Wyatt’s firm announcement elicits a rush of butterflies in my belly. “But this is the first time we’ve met in person. You’ll forgive us if we want some privacy to figure things out before opening ourselves up to the opinions of others.”
Ezra harrumphs, slouching back in his seat as two waitresses dole out our meals. With plates of steaming food in front of us, the next few minutes are blissfully quiet except for the occasional grunt of approval for The Ole Aces’s simple but delicious fare.
As our dinners slowly disappear, another round of questioning begins, but this time I let Wyatt field the inquiries and revel in his patient but stout defense of me and my decision to keep my brothers out of our relationship for the time being.
Soren, Ezra, Beckett, and Griffen have always had my back.
Growing up as the youngest child and the only girl, I had my own company of knights in shining armor to fight my battles—whether it was Harry Gaston in the third grade after he stole my Power Rangers lunch box or the slick car salesman when I went to buy my first car at eighteen.
They’ve always formed a staunch protective line, but having Wyatt pick up the mantle and stand between me and my brothers’ wrath is something altogether different.
Maybe it’s because he’s choosing to protect me.
He’s not obligated by family ties.
Instead, Wyatt wants to step into the fray that is the Caldwell siblings because he cares. He desires me. The memory of our earlier kiss swoops in, and I chug my water to cool off. The rough texture of his beard, the spearmint on his tongue… I’d rather be back in that moment than placating my overbearing brothers.
He wants to protect me, not because he views me as his weak little sister, but because I’m his woman.
Or at least, I hope that’s where this is all leading.
Because I want to be his. Not just for the holidays.
For forever.
***
The pool area is empty at this time of night as I lead Wyatt to the enormous outdoor hot tub that overlooks the back of the lodge. Trees form a sea of black that leads into the mountains rising majestically into the night sky—the perfect setting for a romantic midnight rendezvous.
“Are you sure it's alright to be here? I don't want you to get in trouble.”
“We'll be fine. Employees get special privileges; family owners even more so.” Though I doubt my brothers would appreciate me taking advantage of lodge perks to get laid.
But I couldn't care less about their feelings after the inquisition Wyatt and I endured at dinner. The moment we were free to leave I suggested returning to the lodge to relax after we picked up his rental. And what better way to unwind than a sexy dip in the jacuzzi?
Once we’re at the stone steps leading down into the large tub, Wyatt grabs the back of his sweatshirt and pulls it over his head to reveal thick slabs of muscle from his chest, abs, and the enticing vee leading to the bulge in the swim trunks picked up in the gift shop.
“Everything okay?” he asks with a smirk, spying my cartoon-like jaw drop.
“F-fine…” I stutter and turn to shed the light layers I threw on top of my bathing suit. The vintage style highlights my breasts and hips. High-waisted bottoms suck in my belly while the slightly cropped top exposes a strip of skin around the smallest part of my middle.
When I bought it, I felt sexy—a modern-day pinup girl—but this is the first time I’ve worn it, and now I’m faced with Wyatt’s toned physique, which has insecurities roaring to the forefront.
“To be clear, I don’t expect anything tonight. The hot water will be good for your back, and we can relax and talk. That’s it.”
My heart melts a little more under his warm, understanding expression, especially with his consideration for my back pain, but I want more than an evening of chitchat. We’ve done enough of that tonight by braving my brothers’ questioning.
Gathering my courage and shoving body insecurities down deep, I adjust the dial to start the jets and recline on the bench across from Wyatt. The sturdy bra cups of the bathing suit push my breasts high to gently bob in the water, and it doesn’t escape my notice how fixated his gaze is on the sight.
“Thank you for saying that.” My voice is huskier than usual. “But I’m expecting more tonight.”
He wades into the water, the bubbles bursting against his abdomen, and a different kind of heat blooms between my thighs.
“How much more?” His voice is low and gravelly, barely audible over the roar of the jets.
“As much as you’ll give me,” I admit, then tentatively unhook the halter strap around my neck to let the ends fall. The bra cups remain on my chest, but the implication is obvious—finish the job, strip me, fuck me .