Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(26)

The rest of the afternoon was spent with each of them awkwardly avoiding any sort of bodily contact. It would have been funny had it been her watching it or reading it, but not while living it. Living it was complete torture. The anticipation or anxiety was nearly killing her. By the time the car came back to pick them up she was exhausted.

Consequently, they had succeeded in getting to know more about one another. Favorite foods, colors, sports, et cetera. Why did the man have to be so interesting? Every time he talked, his eyes lit up. She wanted his eyes to light up when he talked about her.

The thought was humbling. She’d never vied for any man’s affection until now, and he was in all respects her soon-to-be husband. How humiliating.

If Nick and Sammy found out, which they probably already had, considering they didn’t live under rocks, they were going to come unglued.

Nick would tease her mercilessly, while Sammy shook her head apologetically. It would be awful.

No paparazzi were waiting at her grandmother’s house. She grabbed her purse and clothes, which had made their way back into her clutch, and ran inside.

By the time she reached her room on the second level of the house, she was wiped out. Her clothes were soaked from the earlier rain. Mascara was running freely down her face, and her hair was matted to the top of her head, thanks to Christian insisting she remove her hat.

“He didn’t have to be so forceful about it,” she grumbled, picking at her hair. It would take an entire bottle of conditioner to get the tangles out. The tangles he put there. It wouldn’t have been a problem had he been able to keep his hands to himself.

Why couldn’t she shake the obvious attraction she felt for him?

It was bordering on dangerous, exciting and saddening her at the same time, because it was just one more thing pulling her towards London and away from her mother’s memory.

Kessen shook her head; if she tried hard, she might convince herself it was merely a high school crush, a flirtation, but when she remembered his hands on her body, all she could do was shiver, and the room temperature was anything but chilly.

Then again, he could be playing her for a fool. He obviously had lots of girls he could choose from, and no matter what he said, she wouldn’t believe he hadn’t jumped on the opportunity to date hundreds of women, regardless of his inability to commit. Just how many women had he dated? Not that she wanted to ask him, because naturally he would assume she cared, which she didn’t … or so she told herself.

Too tired to shower, she collapsed onto her bed. Confusion made it impossible to do anything except over-analyze every single thing which had happened that day.

She was marrying a future duke. One of the most powerful men in England. She shook her head to clear the fuzz that had descended on her brain. If he weren’t such a good kisser, it wouldn’t be an issue. She didn’t ask for this; she didn’t ask to fall for the first British guy who stole a kiss.

Since it was forced on her, she could only gather it would be a marriage of convenience. The only problem was that her blinding attraction to him made it nearly impossible for her to reconcile to that fact. All she could think about was how big and warm his hands were.

This was not going to work.

She let out a moan and closed her eyes.





Chapter Twelve


Christian felt like he had just been run over by a train repeatedly, and it had nothing to do with alcohol sickness. Actually, he would welcome any sort of liquor which would push thoughts of Kessen from the forefront of his mind.

Alas, that was not going to happen. His fingers still burned where he’d touched her skin. And her hair—oh, for the love of all that was holy and good—her hair was like sunshine and incredibly silky and soft. In all actuality, he could very happily just marry that beautiful head of hair and be done with it.

What was he thinking? Marry her hair? Who thought things like that?

His sanity was slowly declining ever since their first meeting; he hated to think about what would happen once they were married, and he could take … certain liberties. Certain liberties? His thoughts were nearing impure, when he heard a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said gruffly. It was late and he needed sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was think about certain liberties with Kessen before dozing off. No doubt she would torture him in his dreams as well.

He was just beginning to bang his head against the wall when he heard a male chuckle behind him.

“Ah, Duncan, how good of you to come by and see how I am faring.”

“You’re a bloody mess.” Duncan eyed Christian’s wet clothing and disheveled look. He also wisely covered up his laugh with a cough. “Is, uh, everything well?”

Christian contemplated throwing a shoe at his head. If anything, it would erase that smug grin from his face. “Fine,” he said, teeth grinding.

“Ah … how was the cottage?”

Christian refused to make eye contact but felt his face growing hot. “It was perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” Even he was impressed by the evenness of his voice.

“You don’t seem to be in such a good mood. Perhaps I should return in the morning, when I’m not worried you’ll strike me with a blunt object, eh?”

“Out with it.” Christian groaned, half wanting to hear what he had to say, the other half wanting to find the suggested blunt object and throw it.