Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
I never do what I’m told.
Lew Elliot's house is full of surprises.
We have lots of time left.
I nestled into John's back, replaying last night's memories.
The first time it was frantic, his hand covering my mouth again as I broke apart. The second time, lazy and delirious, no words exchanged, just breathy moans. Two bodies melting together. At some point, between yesterday and today, we must have fallen asleep.
I was still naked, gloriously bruised and alive all at once. I glanced around the room, trying to get a sense of the time. When I couldn’t, I resigned myself to slipping out of John’s room, hopefully unseen.
I grabbed the first item of clothing I could find and pulled it over my head.
On all fours, I searched for my underwear. It was aggravating how tidy this room was, even under the bed. But then—
A box. A clear plastic one filled with what looked like kids' drawings and crafts. I frowned. When I tried to reach for it, I hit my head on the bed frame.
"Shit."
"Morning."
I glanced over the side of the bed, where John was sitting up, chest leaning against the headboard, watching me like I was crazy.
Which, fair enough.
John’s eyes flicked down, and I realized I had put on his shirt. I could slap myself—it was so cringe-worthy.
"I can't find my clothes," I said defensively, rubbing my head. "Some wild beast must have torn them off me last night."
"Sounds positively dreadful."
"It was."
"Yeah?"
"The worst." I rose and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him. I’d never get out of this room if I did.
He smirked, his dimples attacking me unfairly. "Really? You didn’t sound like it."
"How this small room can hold your entire ego is a real mystery to me."
Raven curls brushed his forehead in the perfect "I just woke up like this" tousled look. His gaze sharpened as he leaned closer. I was like a deer in the headlights—knowing the danger was imminent, but unable to pull away.
Something buzzed beside me. John’s alarm clock. It was 8 a.m.
"Shit."
"What?" John asked, watching me like he wanted to eat me. Again.
"The meeting is about to start. I better—"
Before I could finish, John was on top of me, pulling the white duvet over our heads. A cocoon of morning light and just the two of us, like we were in that damn 1996 film version of Romeo and Juliet.
"What are you doing, Mr. Bestselling Author?" I raised an eyebrow, but I couldn’t hide my smirk. Hoping I had the morning breath of a Disney princess.
"Giving you a reason to stay." He bit into my collarbone playfully.
I arched my back, feeling exasperated at how quickly I was ready for him again. "I can’t."
He nipped at my neck. "Why not?"
"Gotta win. Kick your ass." I gasped as he tugged on my earlobe with his teeth.
John licked the side of my neck, slipping a hand beneath the shirt I was wearing.
"I...really...gotta...oh, shit." Words disappeared into a cloud of want as he nudged my legs apart and lowered himself between them. My fingers found purchase in his silken hair.
"We're compromising the mission," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. Trying and failing. "We don’t want to forget that we loathe each other." I didn’t want to go. Not one bit. Even if every fiber of my being shouted at me to run.
"Right. I loathe you, so, so much." John’s expression was serious, but his pupils were blown wide.
"Right." I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
I wrapped my legs around him and spun him onto his back.
He let out a delighted laugh, catching me off guard.
How playful the stern, fancy John Kater could be.
Now it was my turn to cover his mouth. He nipped at my fingertips, and warning bells rang in my head.
I needed to leave, now. Because this version of him—his wild smile, the crinkly corners of his eyes, the messy hair, and unguarded laughs—this man could ruin me.
I pulled my hands free. "Let’s get to work."
He let his head fall back onto the pillow, dark curls spilling around him. He swallowed. "Right."
I stepped off him, pointedly ignoring the bulge in his boxers as I gathered my things.
"Keep the shirt," he said when I found my top.
I looked over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow before lifting the hem of his shirt off me. His eyes darkened as he studied the lines on my back, the curve of my ass, the ink contouring my waist.
"Never doing what you're told."
The sheet slipped down his back, over his legs. He was still bare. Red marks spanned like trophies on his skin—marks my nails had left. I wished to trace them now, make them permanent.
I sucked in a breath. When he looked up at the sound, I pretended I had received a message.
While I typed a good morning to Otis, the problem dawned on me.
Slid into my brain on clever tentacles, growing bigger until it squeezed aside deadlines, Otis, and even the hunger I had felt just moments ago.
Once it found hold, there was nothing left but it.
It took hold of me, seized me entirely, and shook me to my core. It was a revelation so big there was no going back from here.
I. Had. Feelings. For. John.
Not the usual feelings I had grown accustomed to—like wanting to strangle him, or throw my coffee in his face, or replace his toothpaste with hemorrhoid cream.
Or even the occasional stupendous lusty moment where I wondered how his biceps would fit in my hands, or how the place just beneath his ear smelled if I dragged my nose along his neck.
No. These were real feelings.
No, this feeling wasn’t something fleeting—it was the kind of thing that could ruin lives. Talk about compromising the mission.
By the time I left his room, thankfully unseen, and took a shower, I had gathered my thoughts. We had an agreement: it would end with the competition. There was no way around it. No Nora and John after all of this. So what if I felt more than I had planned to?
Feelings fade. They always do. I’d get over it eventually.
We’d mostly managed to keep our hands off each other—if you don’t count the spontaneous make-out session in the bathroom, the accidental brush of lips on a hike, or his hand creeping up my skirt under the dining table.
Okay, so we’d failed miserably, but no one but Jeremy seemed to notice. Jeremy, who swallowed his comments, blushed, and carried on with his day.
After we submitted our three chapters and handed off the finished books to Charlene, that was it.
The working part of the competition was done.
Now came the waiting. One week of waiting, to be exact.
Seven days of biting nails. Seven days of wondering if we could keep Skye’s open for another year. Maybe even another month.
John drove me and Jeremy back to Middleton. I waved at my British competition as he slipped into Skye’s, planning to spend the day with Otis like it was second nature.
Then it was just me and John. And Mom.
I saw her too late. John and I had lingered a little too long. Me, leaning against the door of his fancy car, him with an elbow resting on the open window. Our fingers nearly brushing.
“Some lady is waving from a window at you,” John said, pointing over my head.
I turned and cringed. Then I had an idea. Obviously for Mom’s benefit only.
“What are you doing now?”
His brow rose. “You?”
I snorted. “Tempting.” I glanced over my shoulder again, to where Mom had her face pressed against the window. She couldn’t possibly see him from this angle.
“What do I have to do in exchange for you to play my boyfriend tonight?”
“Show me your secret drawer.” His answer shot out quickly, like he’d been thinking about it for a while.
I laughed. “Pardon?”
“You told me about a secret drawer in the store. I wanna see it.”
I bit my cheek, trying not to smile. He’d remembered. “Fine.”
John locked his car and offered his arm. “Let’s charm your mom.”
I didn’t take his arm but nodded toward the door next to the store’s entrance. “Not too much, though, or she’ll never let it go when we break up.”
I could’ve sworn I saw the light in John’s face dim. “Right.”