Chapter Nine #2
This is juvenile, unexpected, and exactly what I need. “What does the winner get?”
He considers this, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Wiggling his brows, he says, “A kiss?”
Another surprised laugh escapes me. I expected the infamous Thorne Blackstone to be many things. A villain. Cold. Boring. But not playful.
“Do you think that’s wise?” I ask.
“I never said I was wise.”
“How about bragging rights?” I counter. “And the loser has to answer one question. Truthfully.”
Thorne is an enigma that leaves me with so many questions. Like, is it true that he slept with Sebastian’s ex-wife? Is he as heartless as the rumors say he is? Did he actually bet all his inheritance on a horse during the Derby? Or would he be willing to do that thing again with his tongue?
No. Bad girl. No foreplay or sex with Thorne Blackstone.
He grins as if he can read my x-rated thoughts, but all he says is, “Deal.”
I position myself at the wall. “On three.”
We count together, then push off hard. I’m a strong swimmer. Years of competitive swimming in high school and college kept me in good form. But Thorne is powerful, his longer reach giving him an advantage.
We hit the far wall almost simultaneously, flip, and power back. I pull ahead slightly, lungs burning, then he surges beside me. We slap the wall within a fraction of a second of each other.
“I won,” we both say, breathing hard.
Our eyes meet, and unexpectedly, Thorne laughs. It’s a rich, genuine sound I’ve never heard from him. “Tie?”
“Tie,” I agree, unable to suppress my own smile. “So we both get to ask a question?”
“Seems fair.” He rests his arms on the edge of the pool, his body close enough that his heat radiates from him despite the cool water.
“Ladies first,” he offers.
I consider carefully all my earlier questions swirling around in my head, along with a few new ones. I want to ask about his relationship with his family, especially his dad. Or why he left Kentucky for Canada. But the question that comes out is simpler.
“Why do you workout every day at 6 a.m.?”
He smirks. “Someone has been paying attention to me.”
My cheeks heat, but I reply, “Says the guy who knows I’m in the library every morning at this time.”
His chuckle is warm, relaxed. “Guilty.” He pushes wet hair back from his forehead.
“I work out every morning and most nights probably for the same reason you came here today. To quiet my mind. The repetitions of lifting weights or swimming help. Used to use bourbon for that.” He pauses, like he's testing how much to reveal. "Didn't work as well."
I study his face. “But you still have it at dinner.”
"One drink. Every day. No more, no less." He looks away and then back. "Turns out you can have bourbon in your blood without letting it drown you."
The honesty surprises me. This isn't the cocky man from the train or the cold businessman from the conference room. This is someone trying.
I nod in understanding. “Your turn.”
His eyes study mine, and I brace myself for something painful and personal. Instead, he asks, “Why did you become a lawyer?”
Not what I expected. I was prepared for him to ask about why I'd taken him to bed that night on the train. Or about Madison. Or something cutting about my mom. But this? This is genuine curiosity.
“That’s your one question?”
“It is.”
I go with the truth. “I like stories, and cases are stories. Plus, I wanted a career that pays well so I’m never dependent on a man.”
He tilts his head. “Like your mom?”
“Yup. If I’m with someone, it’s because I want them, not need them.” I say. “Childish, maybe, but there it is.”
“Not childish,” he counters. “Noble. If a bit idealistic.”
“What’s more idealistic than love?”
“Yup. It is idealistic and unrealistic.”
“Wow, spoken like a true cynic.”
“And you’re not? Your parents’ marriage was no happily ever after.”
“My grandparents have been married for fifty years—”
“That doesn’t mean they’re happy.”
“Believe me, they are.” I smile. They still hold hands and light up when the other enters the room. “My dad is incredibly happy with his second wife. Your brother also seems smitten with his wife.”
“He is,” Thorne agrees. “And if I were still a gambling man, I’d put all my chips on them.”
His wording catches my attention. “Used to be a betting man? No longer? Why?”
His expression shutters, something dark flickering across his face before he smooths it away. “That’s three questions,” he says. “You only earned one.”
He pushes away from the wall, floating onto his back, eyes on the tiled ceiling. The position exposes the long line of his throat, the breadth of his chest. “Another race for another question?”
I laugh despite myself. “No more races this morning. I need to hold onto some of my mystery.”
He rights himself, and we’re suddenly closer than before, the water gently pushing us toward each other. I can see droplets clinging to his eyelashes, the faint stubble along his jaw, the pulse beating in his neck.
“Madison,” he says, his voice lower. “You’re her guardian now.
You know she’s going to want more than three months.
Not with me. I’m a very bitter pill to swallow on a normal day.
But when I lean into being difficult..." He stares directly at me with those arctic blue eyes. "And I will lean into it."
Ah, there’s his blunt honesty that cuts.
“But she will want to stay in Kentucky,” he finishes.
“I know.” My throat tightens. “And I can’t blame her. She lost everything when she lost our mom, and starting over in another state isn’t ideal. But it’s where I work. My friends and family are there.”
Not that I see either very much. My dad’s place is outside the city. And with my ungodly work hours, I rarely see him or friends. I’m determined for the misogynistic law firm I work for to see me as more than a skirt. I will make partner.
“I get that. There’s nothing here for you.” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes. The air between us charges with an undeniable tension, a dangerous undertow that threatens to pull us both under.
I should move away. Put distance between us. Instead, I take in the curve of his lower lip, remembering exactly how it felt against mine.
“We should probably get a start on our day,” I say, not moving.
“Probably,” he agrees, equally stationary.
“Oh!” comes Madison’s startled voice from across the room. “Sorry, I’ll go.”
I stumble away from Thorne and turn to my sister. “No, come in. Swim laps with us.”
Thorne heads toward the latter. “You two enjoy, I have a meeting at seven-thirty.”
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask as he reaches for his towel.
No. No. Time alone with him isn’t a good idea. I face Madison. “You can join us.”
She looks at Thorne, waiting to see what he’ll say. And I swear, if it’s something even slightly shitty, I don’t care how good he looks in his swim trunks, he’s going from a ten to a three. Yes, it should be one, but the man looks really good wet.
“Sure. It’ll be fun to kick your ass in a race too.” He doesn’t smile, but I see he’s fighting it when he glances at me.
“It was a tie, Thorne.”
His parting shrug says, “if you say so.”
Madison slides into the water, her eyes following the door where Thorne just exited. She turns to me with a thoughtful expression that seems too calculating for a fourteen-year-old.
"He's actually nice to you," she observes, studying me. She dips under water and resurfaces with slicked-back hair. "He's never like that with me. With you, he's almost human."
She studies my reaction with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. Something is brewing behind that innocent look. It's the same expression she wore right before dropping her blackmailing bomb.
"What?" I ask, suddenly wary.
"Nothing." Her smile is all innocence, but her eyes gleam with mischief. "Just thinking how nice it is that you and Thorne get along now."
The way she says it makes my stomach drop. Whatever she's plotting, I have a feeling I'm not going to like it. And judging by that scheming little smile, Thorne might be in trouble too.