Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(31)

Chapter Fourteen


It was crazy. Kessen was actually living out the story she’d been obsessing over for the past month.

But it wasn’t real. And the future duke truly was as dangerous as people said. One minute he was as sweet as homemade cookies—the next minute she felt the need to guard her virtue with a knife. Men.

It only took her an hour to pack her belongings and explain to Grandmother she was going to spend some time with Christian at his summer home. She called home to explain to her father what was going on, but was met with nothing but pure joy from the other end of the telephone.

In fact, several times he had to excuse himself, because he said he was catching a cold and needed to blow his nose. After the seventh time, he admitted he was in fact crying tears of joy.

It made Kessen wonder if he had believed she was going to be single the rest of her life. It’s not as if she owned an obscene number of cats, or any woodland creature for that matter.

“Dad,” she said, after he had returned from blowing his nose again. “It’s just a wedding. It’s not a big deal. More of a business transaction.”

He replied by grunting and saying if he conducted business transactions the way she did, he would be in prison—which led her to believe he had seen page six.

The conversation ended with him promising to attend the wedding if she vowed to try as hard as she could not to kill Christian before then. Not because he was afraid for Christian’s welfare—no, he just didn’t want the stocks to drop. Stocks were the highest they had ever been, to her everlasting shame.

After hanging up with her dad and making herself look more presentable, she dialed Nick’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

She dialed Sammy’s number and hers did the same.

What was wrong with her friends? Where were they during her time of need? She dialed Nick again.

“Hi you’ve reached Nick .You know what to do—and if this is Kessen, I saw page six. You get yours, honey.“BEEP.

“Nick, it’s Kessen. Take that blasted message off of your voicemail! And yes, I did say blast. And no, it’s not because I’m trying to prove a point. It’s because I’m in England, and they have no idea how to use swear words here, so I’m stuck with blast and drat, none of which I ever thought to use in my vocabulary until page six. In other news, if you don’t call me back within the next twenty-four hours, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. But it will involve a machete and paintball gun. Use your imagination.”

Kessen threw her phone onto the bed and groaned aloud, another thing she’d been doing a lot of, especially when her grandmother let her know there would be a party held at the country home in her honor. How perfect. A ball. Wasn’t she leaving London so she wouldn’t have to attend any more balls?

She heard a knock on her door and muttered for the person to enter.

Naturally it was Christian, in all his glory. Did the guy ever wear the same thing twice? His tight sweater left nothing to the imagination as it hugged the planes of his abs and chest. He smelled like he just stepped out of a magazine. If he wasn’t already an English lord, he would make an incredible model.

This time his hair was covered with a fedora. It was as if he was channeling Neil Caffry himself. Not that she thought he would even know what show she was referencing, considering it was on the USA network—something she was convinced all of England most likely censored because of its title. Figures.

“You ready?” he asked in a smooth and perfect voice.

“Uh…”She stuttered, sounding every inch the American she fully was. “Sure, yeah. Let’s go.” That was better; at least her voice wasn’t shaking anymore. For crying out loud, it was Christian. Christian! Her future husband. If she couldn’t be in the same room with him without becoming tongue tied, what hope was there for their future? Then again, he could always simply fill those silences with kissing.

Her face reddened.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Christian tilted his head in her direction. It made his face seem angelic. Almost.

“Worse timing ever,” she muttered, shaking away the thoughts of him kissing her.

“Maybe you’ll show me later, then?” He pressed closer to her, closing the much-needed distance between the two of them.

“I don’t remember canceling our no-touching rule.”

He laughed. “I believe that rule was rendered moot the moment you started kissing me in your room this morning.”

“I plead temporary insanity.”

He smirked. “Care to plead it again?”

His breath was hot on her face. Must escape before bad choices are made!

As if reading her mind, he backed off and took her bag. “Later. You shall be mine later, Kessen. I’ll wait a week, and then all bets are off.”

She wanted to offer a snappy retort, but nothing came to mind. Nothing except for the self-indulgent thought that he in fact wanted her so badly, he could barely think straight. But no, that would be conceited … and impossible. He was a marquess. She needed to remind herself of his title—if anything, it kept her sane. He did this all the time; he was a womanizer. He was a Vandenbrook.

He helped her into the car and started driving. She decided to break the silence with questions. “Let’s play a game.”