Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"

Автор книги: Becca Ritchie

Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

[ 9 ]
CONNOR COBALT

When we climb up the stairs to the main level, I find Rose and Daisy talking in hushed tones near the fireplace mantel. Daisy shifts her body to block the camera, sidestepping every single time Ben tries to get a shot of Rose.

I rub my lips as I study my girlfriend. She holds in a breath, her neck stiff as she listens to her sister.

And she actually wears pants, dressed in a Calloway Couture black sweater and a different brand’s skinny jeans. She’s afraid of flashing the cameras, and she’s expressed, more than once, that the only dances she knows are from cotillion. The waltz and foxtrot.

Grinding is out of her repertoire.

Lily suddenly appears and slams her fist into Lo’s shoulder.

He mock cringes. “Ow, what the hell was that for?”

“For making this stupid bet,” Lily hisses, lowering her voice as Brett zooms in on her, a boom mic attached to his steadicam. But it doesn’t matter if he captures her words or not. We’re all wearing microphones that’ll pick up her voice. And the house is littered with sound equipment.

Scott sits on the leather couch. His eyes meet mine, and he plasters on a smug smile.

I hide everything in my features—especially the anger that threatens to surface.

“What is Daisy doing?” Ryke asks.

Lily holds onto Loren’s hand. “Giving Rose advice.”

Ryke’s brows furrow. “You’re the fucking sex addict. Shouldn’t you be giving the advice?”

“Hey,” Lo warns with a glare.

He extends his arms. “It’s an honest question.”

“It’s also rude.”

“I’ll ask nicely then.” He looks back at Lily. “You’re clearly more experienced than your little sister. So why the fuck aren’t you instructing Rose?”

Lo shakes his head. “Pathetic.”

“That’s the best I have.”

Lily touches her chest. “I like club dancing, but I’ve never personally given a lap dance.”

“And Daisy has?” Ryke asks in disbelief.

“She said she did it once.” Lily relaxes against Lo’s chest, and he holds her close.

Ryke lets out an angry breath. “You do realize that ninety-percent of a lap dance is basically the same thing as when a girl fucks on top? You know, riding the guy.”

“I don’t think Rose wants to take the lap dance to that level on camera.”

Our talk is cut off by a scraping noise. I watch Scott drag a dining chair into the living room, the legs scratching the hardwood.

When he places it in the center, he taps the frame of the chair. “Take a seat, Connor.”

I don’t take kindly to orders unless there’s a greater benefit for me. And in this instance, there’s none.

All eyes and cameras hit me, waiting for my reaction, wondering, quietly, if I’ll adhere to Scott Van Wright’s simple request. Rose stands impeccably straight, her bones hardened and stiff. All I see is fear, something that I desperately want to take away.

I stare right at Scott and break the strained silence with a few words. “Take a seat, Rose.” My gaze never leaves Scott, not even as the humor abandons his eyes.

“That wasn’t the bet,” Scott says.

“I’m amending the terms.”

Rose’s heels clap against the hardwood as she struts to the chair. She sits down with her shoulders pulled back and her ankles crossed as if she just took her fucking throne.

My body heats just watching her.

I redirect my attention to Lo, who has his arms splayed over Lily’s shoulders. “You’re still going to see a lap dance. You okay with that?”

“That’s all I want.”

“Wait.” Daisy holds up her hands and then points at me. “You’re giving Rose a lap dance?”

“Yes.” I untuck my black button-down from my slacks.

She smiles brightly. “Okay, we have to record this.” She turns as if she’s going to get a camera, and her elbow knocks into Savannah’s Canon Rebel. “Oh…right…never mind.” Only Daisy, a girl who’s swarmed by photographers for her job, would momentarily forget that we’re all being filmed.

“This I have to fucking see,” Ryke says, settling on the couch next to Scott. Everyone takes seats, ready for the show.

But I lock eyes only with Rose as I approach her. She white-knuckles the side of the wooden chair, afraid and anxious and aroused.

She trails my body as I unbutton my shirt, and her breathing deepens.

The unknown is frightening for her.

But it can be the wildest, most tempestuous out-of-body experience she’ll ever have.

Get ready, darling. This may spin your head.

[ 10 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY

Oh.

My.

God.

Connor slowly pushes the last button through his black shirt, club music blaring in the background from a pair of speakers. He stands confident, tall and domineering, like a perfect marbled statue, never once looking away from me.

I refuse to cower and crumple into a frightened ball. So I sit stiffly, waiting for him to near me. Waiting for—I don’t know what. I have no idea what Connor Cobalt plans to do after that.

“Shake your ass, sweetheart!” Loren yells over the bass.

Connor doesn’t give in to Lo’s wish, and I feel Scott’s penetrative gaze on me as he watches from the couch.

The moment Connor’s legs brush against my knees, all the air tightens in my chest, chained deep inside my ribcage. He places his feet on either side of my chair, still standing and towering above me. I absorb his position, and my heart has decided to dance on its own, clenching and flipping and fluttering. Basically spasming. My heart is doing an idiot dance, the equivalent of shaking stupidly on the floor.

And then he tilts my chin so I look into his bottomless blue eyes.

Power radiates in his motionless stance.

My neck grows hot, and he pries my hands off the chair, guiding them to his ripped abs. I feel him in ways I haven’t before, the lines and hardness of his muscles. I warm the longer I run my hands along his body. I’ve thought about this so much. About what it would be like to be beneath someone as strong as him. I just never allowed myself to give him that victory, in fear that he’d run off with it and leave me behind.

I realize I’m practically eyelevel with his crotch. My ankles hurt as I cross them tighter together, forcing my legs shut.

My panties are soaked. That’s all it took—him standing above me. Really, Rose?

I wait for him to shake his ass in my face or do some silly dance moves on my lap. But he doesn’t perform either.

Scott clears his throat and lets out a laugh. “Connor, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Connor stares right into my eyes and says, “Je sais toujours ce que je fais.” I always know what I’m doing.

He unbuckles the belt to his slacks. And my heart pitches wildly. Really, my heart needs to go sit on the bleachers and take a serious timeout.

“You’re not going to like me very much if you move. So stay fucking still.”

It’s not possible to move anyway. I am frozen to this chair.

He slips off his leather belt, and I fixate on it as he lowers to me. But instead of sitting on my lap, he rests his hands on my knees, breaking them apart, spreading my legs open. It allows him room to sit on the seat with me. The music still thumps loudly in the background, unraveling my senses.

My eyes widen in alarm, and I clutch his biceps. I try to breathe normally, but my lips are sealed shut, afraid, mostly, of any noises escaping. Pleasurable, fearful—all of the above.

He suddenly grips me by the waist, the belt wrapped around his hand. And he slides my back halfway down to a slumped position. One of his hands grips the top of the chair. He now shrouds my face from the cameras, but in the same instance, he dominates me completely.

He unwinds the belt and brings my wrists behind my back. He binds them together, the leather snug on my skin. Connor knots the belt and then cups my face. He begins rocking to the beat of the music.

He grinds his pelvis into mine, following the rhythm and tempo so it’s not just dry humping. He’s giving me a lap dance, and it’s more sensual than anything I could have accomplished.

I struggle to keep my eyes on his. I am so aware of the people in the room, of the cameras, of the fact that he’s on top of me, my legs hanging with uncertainty around him.

As his hardness digs into me, my nerves prickle, and my toes constrict in my high heels. Oh my God…

Is this really happening? In front of everyone? And soon-to-be nationally televised.

What did I get myself into?

His parted lips reach my ear. “Ne pense pas.” Don’t think.

That’s a little difficult, Richard. But I can’t open my mouth to form the words. His movements quicken with the music, rougher, and I grit my teeth hard to hold in a sound that tickles my throat. Oh…God… This shouldn’t arouse me this much. Not with everyone watching.

I shut my eyes for a second, my head tilting back. He still holds my face in a strong, controlling hand. His mouth is so close to my cheek as he moves. I don’t have to look to feel him studying me, watching me, a keen eye on all my needs. He knows me too well.

He grinds hard, and a sharp noise jumps out of my mouth. Shit. Before I can dwell on what just happened, he takes his hand off the chair and slides it to my thigh and up towards my bottom. My eyes shoot open, and I jerk my hands, but they’re caught in his belt restraint.

I glare, and his smile grows, filled with that familiar arrogance.

I am much more aware of what’s going on. I peek behind his arm and spot my sisters. Lily’s mouth is permanently hung open, but Lo covers her eyes with his hand. So it’s safe to presume she caught Connor being wicked in public, which is a rare sight to behold. He’s usually only so uncouth in private.

Daisy sits on the armrest of a couch, and she wears a big grin. Ryke and Lo just watch in curiosity. And Scott…as soon as I turn my head to look at the producer, Connor grabs my chin and forces me back to him.

“Lui donneriez-vous ce qu’il veut?” You would give him what he wants? His eyebrow arches, and then his lips press to my jaw, kissing gently before sucking deeply.

The breath rushes out of me. The moment his eyes meet mine again, I say, “Il ne peut pas m’avoir.” He can’t have me. I should stop there. I shouldn’t add anything else. But I don’t want to lose this battle. I don’t make this easy for Connor. I give him the challenge he craves. “Aucun homme ne peut.” No man can.

His lips find my ear again. “We’ll see.” And then he wraps an arm around the small of my back, melding my body to his, and his other hand slips into my hair.

Before I can think about anything, he kisses me on the lips, his tongue parting mine, his whole body pushing against me. The place between my legs pulses for a heavy force, and my limbs tighten in rebut. Good God…

The music cuts off. And I realize that Connor has stopped rocking against me as soon as the song ended. We’re kissing more passionately than I can ever remember, his fingers grasping my hair, my wrists digging against the leather as I want, so desperately, to touch him back.

“All right,” Scott says. “That’s enough.”

His voice yanks me back into my head. I withdraw from Connor and turn my face before he can kiss me again. My body is flushed and sweaty, and my heart can’t stop pounding.

“Wow,” Daisy says, clapping, “that was hot. Solid 10.”

“How much did I miss?!” Lily cries out, trying to pry Lo’s fingers off.

“It was way too scandalous for your pretty eyes, love,” Lo says with a grin. He drops his hand and kisses her on the temple.

I still try to catch my breath. Connor watches me carefully as he unties the belt. I keep my eyes narrowed at the wall. What just happened?

When Connor stands, I straighten up on the chair, but my muscles won’t cooperate to do more than that.

“We were supposed to see a lap dance,” Scott says. “Not a porno.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Connor asks in his usual impassive voice. He tucks his shirt back in his slacks and begins buttoning it. But he stays close to me.

Scott says nothing in reply.

“Allow me to accommodate your feelings then,” Connor tells him. “There’s the door. You’ll be much happier on the other side of it.”

Loren almost breaks into a giant grin at the diss, but his hot-tempered glare pins to the producer instead.

Scott scratches his scruffy jaw and just nods. Then he heads into the kitchen. On television, I wonder who’s going to come across as the bigger asshole in this scenario.

Ryke stands and says, “Cobalt, were you or have you ever been a stripper?”

“No one would be able to afford me.”

“It was Magic Mike, wasn’t it?” Lily asks. “You had to have seen that movie.” She turns to Lo and gives him round pleading eyes. “Let’s see it just one time. It’s not porn.”

“Channing Tatum’s abs might as well be porn,” Daisy interjects.

 Lo just kisses the top of Lily’s head in reply.

She lets out a resigned sigh, and her eyes trail off in thought. “I do need a shower after watching that.” Her cheeks immediately redden at the slip and her eyes bug. I can practically hear her thoughts: Did I say that out loud? Yes. Yes you did, Lily.

Daisy nudges her arm with a smile. “I totally call it after you.”

Ryke and Lo groan, but Lily relaxes at the idea that she’s not the only one aroused. Hell, I can’t move because I know just how wet I am. Connor basically just electrocuted me with his pants on.

Ryke stands up from the couch. “I’m going to the gym. Anyone want to come?”

Daisy gasps. “You masturbate at the gym?”

He chucks a pillow at her face, and she catches it with a playful smile.

Loren turns to Lily. “You’re really going to take a shower?” His voice is full of disbelief. I’ve heard them arguing about the bathroom situation since we moved in. Lily has yet to bathe, mostly out of fear of Scott walking in. I would coax those fears if I didn’t have the same ones, hence why I shower at five in the morning.

She goes quiet, and Loren drops his voice. “You smell like sex,” he whispers, but I’m still close enough to hear. “You’ve got to take one soon.”

She stares at her hands. “Can we take them together? I won’t do anything, I promise. I’ll feel…safer.”

There’s a long pause before he says, “Only if we wear bathing suits. I just don’t want to tempt you for six months, Lil.”

Her face brightens and she throws her arms around his neck.

I rub my sore wrists, unsure of everything for a moment. Connor suddenly grabs my hand and effortlessly lifts me to my feet.

He stares down at me, and I realize what could have happened today. I could have awkwardly fumbled around him. I could have embarrassed myself on national television. Instead, he made me feel desired and hot instead of mortified and cold.

My eyes blanket in gratitude, the thank you on the tip of my tongue.

But his thumb brushes against my cheek and he says, very softly, “You’re welcome, darling.”

I exhale, glad that I don’t have to struggle to produce the words anymore. The kitchen cupboards clatter loudly as Scott lumbers around.

“You fucked with his plans,” I whisper.

“He’ll wipe his tears and get over it later.”

I’m not as optimistic. “Or he’s going to find something that you can’t screw up.”

[ 11 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY

It’s still dark outside when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I rub my drowsy eyes and check the clock. 4:30 a.m. I reach perilously for my phone in the dark and knock off a bottle of aspirin. It clatters to the floor, and I look over my shoulder to make sure Connor hasn’t woken up.

He remains unmoving on his side of the bed.

We didn’t have sex. We’ve been amicably sleeping together without doing more than I want—which isn’t quite right. I’m not exactly sure what I want when it comes to sex anymore. But I hesitate to give him that part of me—the part that he may take in triumph and then disappear with.

Carefully, I turn on the phone and cup my hand around the screen, blocking the glow.

5 months and 12 days until the wedding – Mom

Thanks, Mom. I text back, knowing she won’t catch the thick sarcasm.

Yesterday, when she sent me the 5 months and 13 days update, Lily opened the text on my phone. She almost needed a paper bag to hyperventilate into. She wants to be married about as much as a dog wants to be hit by a car. Planning the wedding is like shoving her into traffic, which is why I offered my services.

Planning. Organizing. Preparing. These are things I excel in. I even mediate between my mother’s requests and Lily’s wishes. As far as our parents go, Lily has tried to have little contact with them. The guilt of hurting Fizzle is a wound she doesn’t like to reopen often. So I have become Lily Calloway’s middleman—always reassuring our parents that she’s not bingeing on cock.

Although if I said such a thing to my mother, she’d have a coronary.

But every time I ask my sister about invitations or music, she turns pale and mumbles something like you choose. So I’m no closer to planning the wedding than Lily is to wanting to get married. Which infuriates our mother. I’m sure I’ll receive a phone call and lecture about time management later this afternoon.

“Everything okay, hun?”

My heart jumps at Connor’s voice. I roll over to see him wide awake, head propped up by his hand.

“It’s just my mother,” I say in a whisper. “Sorry I woke you.” I’m about to roll back to the far end of the mattress when my phone buzzes again.

Send me the Calloway Couture sales reports from last week. I’d like to have a financial advisor look over them. – Mom

I let out an aggravated growl. “She knows I don’t want her involved in my company anymore,” I say more to myself than Connor. “Why can’t she just back off?”

I don’t reply to her in text again. From experience, I know it’s best not to start an argument over the phone. Especially one at four-thirty in the morning.

“So you do want to talk,” Connor says with the raise of his eyebrows.

“No.” I blink and shake my head. “Sorry. It’s too early…” I go to turn and Connor catches my arm.

“I have time for you,” he says. I watch him sit up, fluff his pillow and lean against the headboard. He waves me on. “Let’s hear it.”

I rise a little, my legs tucked in front of me, and I tug the hem of my royal-blue silk nightgown. “When I told her I wanted to do a reality show to help Fizzle and Calloway Couture, the first thing she said was, it’d better work, and if it doesn’t, then I have two daughters that have ruined the Calloway name.” I stare at the sheets and shake my head. “Who says that to their own daughter?”

Connor is quiet as he patiently lets me vent. Usually, I wait until therapy to unleash my aggravation. But at the end of those sessions, I’m always prescribed anti-anxieties, whereas Connor usually ends our conversations by calming most of my worries.

I continue as I think about her texts. “And even though I’ve reminded her a hundred times that I have Lily’s wedding under control, she insists on butting in. You can’t have red velvet cake, Rose. Make the color scheme gold, like Fizzle, Rose. That venue is too small, Rose. Oh, but that one is too large.” I throw up my hands after imitating her. “I can’t do anything right.”

“Have you tried ignoring her?” Connor asks.

He knows I haven’t. I crumble at my mother’s persistence. And even if she becomes overbearing and a little too much to handle, there is a part of me that loves that she cares. That she’d rather spend her time thinking about her daughters than worrying about mindless matters.

“I love her even if I hate her,” I say, not entirely responding to his question.

“A paradox,” Connor muses. “I like those. They make life interesting.”

My eyes flit to his. We don’t have these heart-to-hearts often. It’s much more fun to debate over Freud’s misogynistic theories. But we’ve spoken about Connor’s relationship with his own mother a couple times. She’s not cold or maternal. She just is. At least that’s how he’s always described Katarina Cobalt. As if she’s nothing more than his boss.

I’d love to meet her, but Connor has lied to me about her being busy for over a year. He doesn’t want me to see her for whatever asinine reason, and even if he won’t tell me why, I respect his opinion. So when she called me a couple days ago, I brushed her off with the same excuse Connor has been using. I’m too busy for coffee and definitely too busy for brunch. It was rude, but if she listens to gossip and socialite mutterings, she’d know I’m a bit of a bitch.

“Mothers are all slightly insane,” Connor says with a small smile. He just quoted J.D. Salinger, and he waits for me to say so. But I keep my lips tight like I lost him somewhere. His smile fades. “J.D. Salinger.”

“Really? Most mothers are instinctive philosophers,” I shoot back.

He grins again. “Harriet Beecher Stowe. And I couldn’t agree more.”

“I wasn’t trying to stump you, so don’t gloat.” I want to hear the truth, not someone else’s words. “Tell me something real.”

And in one swift motion, he tugs my ankle, pulling me flat on the mattress. My nightgown rises to my belly, revealing my black cotton panties. Before I can fix it, he startles me by placing his hands on either side of my body, hovering above me. There’s challenge in his eyes. To stay still. To not be afraid of him.

I inhale, fire brewing inside of me. I don’t shift my nightgown, and my eyes narrow, finding my combative side. “You didn’t answer me.”

His eyes dance over my features. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“I don’t care. Just tell me anything.”

“As long as it’s real?”

“Yes.”

He smiles. “Where do I even start?” His hand skims the bareness of my knee, up towards my thigh. “Besides what I’d love to do to you right now and tomorrow and for the rest of my life, I hope that someday, I’ll watch you grow big and round…” He kisses my belly, and his mouth trails a line to my hipbone, dangerously close to my panties. “…and I’ll hold you in my arms…every…” He traces the skin above the fabric. “…single…night.”

I become so absorbed by his words, and I react how he probably predicted. I put two firm hands on his chest and push him to a sitting position.

His eyebrow arches. “Yes?”

“You want children?” I gape. I wasn’t sure what he really wanted. But the fact that he’s not onboard with me—that we have diverged somewhere has my heart rate at a hundred-and-five. I thought Connor was the male-version of me. But I realize I’m not dating myself. I’m dating someone much different. Whether that’s better is to be seen.

“I told you, you weren’t going to like my answer. You said you weren’t going to care. One of us lied.”

I glower. “You want children.”

“Does saying it twice make it more real?” he asks, his fingers touching his jaw. He’s smiling, loving this way too much.

“Why would you want children? You’re…you.”

“You’re right. I am me. And me wants eight screaming kids, who will bounce on our bed in the morning, who will beg you to braid their hair, who have your beautiful eyes and your brilliant mind. I want it all, Rose. And one day, our children will have it all too.”

“Eight kids?!” I fixate on this. “I can’t even stomach having one kid and you want me to birth a lineage? I’m not the Queen of England procreating to secure our empire with an heir.”

He grins into a bright laugh, his teeth almost too gorgeous to stare at. He wrestles me back to the mattress, and he kisses my cheek. “But don’t you want a son and daughter to succeed you,” he asks, “to raise them as your own, to know that your legacy will still remain long, long after you’re gone?”

“It’s still all about you,” I say, understanding completely now. “Could you even love your children?”

His smile fades again, and he becomes impassive, poker-faced. “I’d love them.”

I wish, more than anything, he wouldn’t try to lie to me. That angers me more than hearing the truth. “You only love yourself.”

“I love you.” He’s practically mocking me.

I push him up again, and I rise to my knees. My lips find his ear, my voice hot and cold all at once. “I don’t believe you.” I scoot to the edge of the bed, to climb off. He catches my arm again.

“I meant what I said,” he tells me seriously, “before you brought love into the equation.”

“That’s the thing, Connor.” I untangle from him. “Love should always be in the equation when children are involved. You’re just lucky I don’t hold that stipulation.” I step off the bed and straighten my nightgown.

“Where are you going?” he asks, worry creasing his brows. We fight often. And we make up even more. It’s not as though my storming off is out of the ordinary.

“To take a shower.”

“It’s five in the morning. Come back to bed.”

“No,” I say. “I want to shower before anyone comes into the bathroom.” I head towards the door.

“Rose…” He starts but he stops himself before he gets that far.

I feel like I’m eighteen again.

And Connor’s that nineteen-year-old boy who lent me his college blazer.

I wait for him to speak, but like back then, he just stares at me with those deep austere eyes, with shadows of the truth hidden behind pools of blue.

So I say, “I don’t mind that you don’t love me the way I do you.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thank you for at least trying.”

And I leave.

But he knows I’ll be back.

In nearly ten years of knowing Connor, we always seem to return to each other—even when we were thousands of miles apart, on two separate planes of existence—even when it seemed like our futures had strayed.

He may not believe in fate, but I do.

And I know I’m fated to be with him.