If not him, Roman’s shrug seems to say when my eyes meet his again, it’ll be someone else.
So it wasn’t a threat I soaked him for and more a reminder. Because secrets always have a way of unravelling. Only Roman doesn’t know we’ve barely touched the surface.
21
Roman
PRESENT
SHIRT COCKING
I tip the beer bottle to my lips and drain the last drops. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here, but it’s turned a bit chilly thanks to the lowering sun and a late afternoon breeze. The leaves on the hedge in front rustle and shake, but it doesn’t matter how much I hope for them to all blow away because it isn’t happening. Which means I’m just sitting here staring at the physical barrier between Kennedy’s house and this deck. I tip my head to the sky as I wonder if I’m being fucking pathetic for wanting to be there when she leaves for her dinner date tonight or just a masochist.
I’m a woman with needs. Needs that don’t concern you. She’d spoken with such conviction that I might’ve believed her if I hadn’t been paying attention.
Who am I kidding? I can do nothing but pay attention when she’s near.
I turn my attention to the treeline separating the property from the old girls next door and watch the leaves dancing on the oak boughs for a bit. I must be going soft in the head because even they remind me of Kennedy a little. On second thought, she’s more like bamboo than oak. Slim and elegant but with the sense of strength. She’ll bend when she needs to, but she won’t break. And just like bamboo, she’s fucking invasive because I can’t get her out of my head. I want to catalogue all her expressions, and Jesus, does she have some. Granted, most of them seem to say fuck off when she’s looking at me. But I am undeterred. She can wear her spikey echidna armour for as long as she likes because that’s just what it is. A protection for the real Kennedy beneath. And I remember her—I’ve seen flashes of her since. I see her in the way she looks at Wilder, our son. The way she looked spread out under me.
“Masochist,” I mutter, setting down the beer bottle. That night. I might well wank myself to death, reliving it. Barring our wedding night, it was the hottest experience of my lifetime. I kind of dig her just-for-me scowl, and as my dad used to say, nothing worth having comes easy. So I’ll just continue annoying the shit out of her, though in the future, I might pay heed to nearby water sources.
A perverse quirk tugs at my lips as I remember her expression. Though I was the one left dripping wet, she seemed the more shocked of the two of us. Which just makes me all the more certain the echidna thing is an act.
Not that it matters because I have never felt like this about anyone. Fuck, I’d let her chuck water at me every day if it meant I got to be around her. Because I am undeterred, and I’ve never been so fascinated by anything as I am by that freckle above her lip. It’s like a tiny jewel that I covet, that I want to hide from everyone else because surely, if it’s noticed, I wouldn’t be the only one captivated by it. I reckon most men overlook it because of the shape of her mouth. The highly defined bow and pouty bottom lip that isn’t always turned down. She does smile. Just not for me.
Yet. She doesn’t smile for me yet.
But she does come for me. I allow that thought to spread through me, the satisfaction sweet and the memories heady but short-lived as my phone begins to buzz against the little table. Rafferty’s name flashes on the screen, and I consider ignoring it like I’ve been ignoring my agent’s calls. And Mum’s. Byron’s, too, but I always ignore his. But Tee isn’t likely to chew me out or ask me too many questions. I’m not exactly bored shitless, but I could do with the distraction before I go over and ruffle my little chook’s feathers—be the cat among the dinner pigeons. That made more sense in my head. Basically, I’ll pop in and remind them of my presence and my status before those so-called lovebirds go out for dinner.
I expect it’ll put them right off their food, I think happily.
“Would you piss off!” Tee’s voice bellows down the line as the call connects.
“And you called to ask me that?” I say, quickly adding, “Jesus, Tee. Put that thing a-fuckin’-way.” I press my hand over my eyes because the call isn’t the only thing that has connected as my gaze gets a flash of something I last saw back when we used to share a bath.