Chapter 4
Jack
Sweat rolled down my skin between my shoulder blades as I entered the cabin with my jacket in hand.
Harrison and I had chopped and carried wood for nearly an hour.
If we were going to do it, we wanted to make sure we wouldn’t have to do a repeat in a day.
The incoming storm could make a turn for the worse just as easily as not hitting as hard as was expected.
I was just happy I’d made it to Creekside in time. The rental company’s chains they’d tossed into the back of the Jeep would have worked just fine, but it didn’t mean I wanted to go through the trouble.
When Harrison had wanted to stop with the first two stacks of wood, I’d been adamant we needed more. Sure, it was part desperate need to cool off, but it was also part need to work off the brewing sexual tension in my pants.
Images of Kennedy’s round ass in the air was flooding my mind and stirring my cock. The damn woman was tempting me like no other woman ever had.
Hanging the jacket on the coat rack, I sucked in a deep breath and forced thoughts about deadlines into my mind.
Kennedy was Harrison’s sister and the granddaughter of the owner of the house where I was a guest. I repeated the facts to myself a few more times, hoping it was enough of a reminder to keep temptation at bay.
A small growl drew my attention in the direction of the dining area off the kitchen. As if summoned by my thoughts, I found her at the table. Head bent over her laptop, she shoved one hand into her hair and rubbed her forehead with the other.
I recognized the feeling well. It was a wonder I hadn’t ripped my hair, root and all, from my scalp. Bald was beautiful though; at least that was what I’d heard.
Quietly, I moved to the bathroom to freshen up before grabbing my bag from where I’d left it.
I slung the strap over my shoulder and went into the dining room with confidence I wasn’t feeling.
I managed to unpack both my laptop and printed manuscript without disturbing Kennedy. Her concentration was rather epic.
Did she focus on everything so thoroughly? I wondered, my stupid cock twitching as I hoped she did.
“Oh, good. You’re back!” Gran said, entering the kitchen. “I was just about to get lunch started.”
Kennedy’s eyes focused, seeing me for the first time since I’d sat at the spot near her. “Gran, I’ll get lunch started. Go relax!”
“Yes, Gran. Relax and I’ll help Kennedy with lunch,” I said, pushing up from the chair.
“Are you both sure? I mean, a nap would be nice,” Gran said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“We got it,” I said before Kennedy could shoo me off.
Gran disappeared from sight as I padded into the kitchen. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I really don’t need your help.”
Turning from the pantry, I flashed her the grin that usually got me laid. “I know you don’t need my help. I want to help you, and I know your Southern hospitality won’t turn your guest away from what they want.”
Kennedy growled. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s a new way to pronounce amazing.”
“Pig head.”
“Brilliant,” I said, and before she could say more, I asked, “What about chicken noodle soup to warm everyone up with the incoming storm?”
Kennedy rolled her eyes and squatted in front of a cabinet. “We’ll want the Instant Pot to speed it along.”
I grabbed seasonings and set them on the counter before opening the fridge and grabbing a package of thawed chicken. “Does Gran have a bag of frozen vegetables we can add to it?”
“I’ll look.”
“What were you working on earlier?” I asked as I gathered the other ingredients.
Kennedy shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing. You were quite invested and equally frustrated.”
Time passed without her answering my question. We moved around each other, small touches igniting the lust boiling in my gut. At this rate, I wouldn’t survive the holiday with the family without blue balls or attempting to bend her over and feeling her soft pussy squeezing around my cock.
With the food in the pot, I returned to the table, hoping some time away would cool my overheated engines. The woman was scrambling my brains. There was no way I’d be able to concentrate on my novel. I pulled up my email on my laptop and set out to reply to my literary agent.
“A Queen’s Move, really? I’d never have guessed you for a romance reader,” Kennedy said, laughter lacing each word.
I followed her line of sight and spotted the paperback, then pulled the fabric over and covered the book. As usual, my hackles rose at the ignorant belief that men didn’t read romance, let alone write it. “Am I not allowed to read a book?”
Kennedy scoffed. “I didn’t say that. I guess I’m just surprised you have a popular romance author’s book in your bag. Maybe OnlyFans not doing it for you, so you’ve had to turn to mommy porn?”
My nostrils flared. “Mommy porn? Have you read this one?” I asked, knowing full well she hadn’t because the release wasn’t for another two months.
“I don’t read smut.”
With that, I pushed up from my seat. I didn’t bother replying to her but rather grabbed the jacket I’d hung up only an hour earlier and escaped the room.
Societal stereotypes blatantly described men as inept at romantic gestures. When I’d managed to garner the attention and acceptance into a large publishing house, they’d persuaded me into using a female pen name because of the stigma associated with male romance writers.
How many times had I seen screenshots of sex scenes written by males passed around social media?
Hundreds if not thousands of times. They were never in a positive light or even pointing out how sexy the scene was.
Each time, the post was made to describe males as incompetent creatures.
Don’t get me wrong; there were cringe-worthy scenes out there, but they could have been written by a woman just as easily as a man.
If my fans only knew the love scenes they often referred to as sexy-as-fuck in my reader group had been written by a man, they’d blow their tops—figuratively of course.
Then there was the usage of the word smut.
I personally had never been a fan of it, which made me think of dirty taboo things.
My books had plots and open-door sex scenes.
For some of my readers, they were the only intimacy they got to experience.
For others, it was a positive image of sexuality they unfortunately hadn’t either experienced or seen in life.
I applauded the industry for taking back the word, but it didn’t stop my knee-jerk negativity associated with it.
One day I hoped it provided the positive shining light women’s sexuality deserved.
The sore spot Kennedy had jabbed her figurative finger into bled with each step I took around the property.
For a moment, I debated chopping more wood, but I didn’t want to risk injuring my wrists ahead of a deadline.
I was merely one man in a vast pool of injustice against my gender’s standing within the romance community.
At the thought, I envisioned a boxer romance. Perhaps the man was pigeonholed as a dumb-as-rocks athlete as opposed to the literal genius he was. The idea spun its intricate web, spurning me to pull out my phone.
I opened my voice note app and proceeded to dictate every angle I could consider about Manny, my fictional boxer. Wandering the property, I became lost in the words and the fictional world I was creating.
Sometime later, I peered up at the sky and noted daylight was waning at an alarming pace.
More time had passed than I’d thought in my pursuit of fresh air.
If I stayed out in the elements much longer, it wouldn’t matter how many layers of clothes I wore.
Growing up in Connecticut would only get me so far.
As I pushed open the cabin door, heat enveloped me as the delicious aromas of pasta sauce and bread greeted me.
I hung up the jacket I’d donned at some point during my dictation and set my boots on the waterproof mat in the mudroom.
I made my way to the fireplace and stretched my cold hands toward the heat.
“Where the fuck did you go, man?” Harrison asked. “Kennedy said you took off without eating lunch. The soup was fantastic by the way.”
Turning my head slowly, I peered from the fire to my friend and back to the flames licking the brick stones of the fireplace. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Fine, don’t mention what put you in a mood. Gran seems to think it’s something Kennedy said or did.”
“Jack!” Gran called. “Oh, good. I was beginning to worry. Would you like some hot tea before dinner? You must be a frozen popsicle by now.”
Flashing her my charming grin, I said, “I’m good, Gran, but thank you.”
“Okay, well Harrison couldn’t tell me if you liked red or white sauce, so I made both to go with rotini pasta, chicken, and a can of sweet rolls I found at the grocery store. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to make biscuits from scratch—”
Dropping my hands to my side, I shook my head. “Sweet rolls are perfect. I’m glad you didn’t go through the trouble. It’s your Christmas vacation, and you should be relaxing.”
“I’ll relax when I’m buried six feet in the ground. Come on, I’m sure you’re starving after your little adventure,” Gran said.
After glancing at Harrison, I followed Gran into the kitchen. She dished me a little bit of everything and passed me the plate.
“If you want more, take it, because I made plenty.”
“You’re determined to fatten me up, aren’t you?” I asked, rubbing my flat stomach.
“They tell you that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I’m past my prime for you. If I were twenty-five years younger, you wouldn’t have seen me coming. Or I hope you would...”
Harrison groaned while I processed her words. There was no way she said what she said, right? “Granny! Let’s not scare Jack away,” he said.
“Who said I was scaring him away? If there was anyone in the house who’d be rooting for a sexually liberated woman, I’d suppose it would be Jack.”
I chuckled. “There’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants, no matter her age.”
Gran patted the side of her hair. “Ain’t that the truth...”
Harrison ran a hand down his face. “Gran.”
“Harrison Maxwell Baker! Do you think this old lady can’t get some, like you kids say?” Granny asked before leaving the kitchen, and it took everything in me not to react.
“No, because I don’t think about you... about you getting some.” Harrison finished by gagging and shaking his head rapidly.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” Kennedy asked, padding into the living room.
Gran rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t appreciate the fact I have sex.”
Kennedy laughed. “You clearly haven’t heard about Gran’s burlesque days.”
My brows shot toward my hairline. “Burlesque? This I have to hear.”
Gran patted my arm and flashed me a saucy grin. “Another time with a glass of wine.”
I watched her walk out, an extra shimmy to her hips. My grin couldn’t be avoided. The woman was rather spectacular, which explained her granddaughter.
“Burlesque? Why does that sound familiar?” Harrison asked.
Kennedy shook her head. “For such a smart guy, you’re rather naive.”
“It’s a sexy-as-fuck, even classy, striptease,” I said.
“Granny was a stripper?” Harrison yelled before his attention moved to his phone. “Damn, there goes my evening plans,” he muttered as his fingers flew along the screen before he slipped the phone back into his pocket and said, “Stripper?”
Kennedy and I burst into laughter at his incredulous expression.
Harrison dropped onto the couch as Kennedy said, “Have fun with that,” and walked out. Her hips swayed side to side, and my cock twitched unlike when her granny had done the same.
I scrubbed my face, not wanting to continue any form of thought involving her grandmother. “You okay?”
Harrison shook his head. “I-I’m going to need a moment. This new information explains a hell of a lot about her.”
I scrolled through social media on my phone while I gave him time to process everything. My thumb paused on a post by a popular blogger. She’d hopped onto her proverbial soapbox about male romance writers.
I managed to read half the post before shutting the app and tossing the phone to my side.
“Everything okay?” Harrison asked.
My huff became a growl as I shook my head. “Just another asshole with an opinion about males who write romance.”
“I’m sorry, man. If it’s any consolation, I’m damn proud of you. I can’t imagine it being easy having readers judge you before reading your books.”
“It’s exhausting, to say the least.”