Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(48)

As per their earlier arrangement, Nick was lying across the floor in front of Christian’s door. And Duncan, bless his twisted little heart, was sleeping with his paintball gun across the threshold of Kessen’s door. Both of them snoring in unison as if they had been spent many years as an old married couple.

Christian’s sluggish mind began mentally calculating how long it was before his coming nuptials. Five days didn’t seem far away, and the ever-present panic began welling up inside his chest before he had time to stop it.

Marriage was inevitable, love was—oh no. It always came back to love, didn’t it? His chest suddenly constricted. He felt as if Kessen had shot him three times in the front rather than the back. Whatever this feeling was, he needed to keep it to himself, or she would be on the first flight back to Colorado. He was just panicking, that was all.

He carefully stepped over the sleeping guards, opened Kessen’s door, and peeked in.

“Kessen,” he whispered “Kessen, are you in here?”

No response.

He looked toward the made bed then glanced at the bathroom door just as she was coming out, with only a towel on.

He panicked, not because of the towel, but because he didn’t want her to think poorly of him for sneaking in her room twice within the past twelve hours.

“What are you doing here?” she squealed. “Nick’s a light sleeper. If you don’t watch out, you’ll have more paintball welts than you can count.”

“Your concern for me is endearing,” he drawled. His mouth suddenly went dry as he noticed the sunlight reflecting off of her shiny skin.

He slowly turned his head to fully face the water nymph, clad in nothing but a giant towel and a scowl. Both of which looked more brilliant on her than anything he had ever seen in his life.

“Uh,” he started to say, eloquently. “I was just looking for you.”

Kessen grunted. “I figured you weren’t lost.”

He bit his lip, silently praying the pain would take away the already increasing desire to see her out of the towel and onto her bed.

His thoughts were not his own.

She lifted a questioning eyebrow in his direction as if to say, “Are you going to speak or just sit there and stare at me like an animal in heat?”

“I wanted to apologize and say I’m glad we came to an agreement last night.” He suddenly felt twelve years old, which was further proven by the fact he broke eye contact and suddenly found grand interest in the way his shoe rubbed against the carpet.

His averted eyes didn’t slow the ramming of his heart within his chest. Could she at least put on a robe or something?

Christian swallowed convulsively when he noticed the shadow on the floor creep toward him. She was moving closer; he began to smell the lemon soap she had so expertly applied to her body. He closed his eyes for a brief second before holding his breath.

“I need to get dressed.” Her lips were inches from his.

Now she was just being cruel. He was obviously stronger than her; all he needed to do was take her by surprise and—

“Stop,” she said, half smiling. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh dear girl, you have no idea what I’m thinking. If you did, you’d lock yourself in that bathroom and pray for my black soul.” He broke into a wide grin, obviously throwing her off balance.

“Well, I—” She cleared her throat. “Nevertheless, I need to get dressed, and you shouldn’t be in here. All I need to do is scream, and Nick and Duncan will implant paintballs into your already damaged back. We wouldn’t want an accident now, would we?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged.

She cleared her throat again and opened her mouth.

Christian slapped his hand across it and whispered into her ear, “Scream, and I’m pulling your towel off right now; I don’t care who sees.”

Her eyes molded into tiny slits.

“Good girl. Now get dressed. We have a big day ahead of us.” He strolled out of the room, leaving a bit more confident than when he arrived.

He had the upper hand; he just needed to keep it that way.

Christian left Kessen’s room and carefully maneuvered himself so his foot would smack the top of Duncan’s head. It worked splendidly. Duncan cursed as Christian removed the boot, and before anyone knew what was going on, Christian had shot the gun in the direction of Nick’s chest. He only meant to graze him, but unfortunately his thoughts had been elsewhere, same as his aim.

It ended up knocking Nick in the arm, sending a stream of expletives into the air that Christian silently hoped nobody else could hear.

“What’d you do that for?” Nick yelled.

Christian laughed. “Duncan, I can’t believe you would shoot a sleeping man!”

Duncan just stared between the two, flabbergasted as to what just happened. He was still rubbing his head when Nick lifted his paintball gun.

“Not in the house!”

Duncan’s speech was cut off by a howling of gigantic proportions. Nick’s shot was spot-on. And Christian figured by the looks of it Duncan would be walking funny for about a week; hopefully the bruising to his kneecap wouldn’t be substantial. But then again, both of them had interrupted his sweet interlude with Kessen the night before.

And one of them had had the audacity to call him a raw-boned high schooler, as if they hadn’t ever had an impure thought in their lives.