“It’s past my bedtime, Adams,” she told him.
Memphis dropped the brochure on the island and frowned.
“Listen, Kennedy, I’m sorry about the mix-up with the rooms.” He nodded at the couch, saying, “I’ll just crash out here.”
“No, Memphis, that’s stupid,” she argued, even though she knew she should just accept it and go to bed. “Have you seen that bed? You could fit Santa and all his elves in it.”
Memphis chuckled and met her eyes.
“I don’t feel right about you sleeping on the couch.” She dropped her eyes to the floor.
“All things considered, I don’t think it’s . . . right we share a bed.”
“Do you mean Brooks?” She hated herself for hating her boyfriend in that minute.
“Partly.”
Kennedy lifted her eyes back to his face, seeing dark and dangerous back in his eyes.
“What other things then?” she asked just above a whisper.
Memphis stared at her, silent for a minute before cautiously reaching out and cupping her cheek, brushing his thumb along her chin and then her lips. She closed her eyes, tilting her face into his palm, and sighed.
“You really have no idea, do you?” he said below his breath.
Kennedy’s eyes snapped open and she stared up at him. He quickly dropped his hand and took a step back.
“I really have no idea about what?”
“Nothing.”
“Memphis.” She reached for him when he turned away from her. When he refused to turn around she stepped around to face him, holding onto his arms so he wouldn’t move away again. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Talk in riddles and expect me to follow.”
He flashed a smile that brought out his dimples and reached for her jeans. Hooking his fingers through the belt loops, he gave her hips a gentle shake.
“Are you saying you can’t keep up with me, Kennedy?”
His voice was low and husky and sent a tingle down her spine as he whispered the words.
She swallowed and shook her head.
“Don’t do that, either.”
“Do what?”
“That!” She pointed her finger at him accusingly. “You change the subject and use that raspy, sexy tone and—”
“Raspy, sexy tone?” His grin widened.
She mentally kicked herself while trying to look at him sternly.
“Tell me.”
Memphis lost the grin, and he turned serious.
“I can’t. Not right now.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not the right time.” He released her belt loops and pulled out of her grasp. “It’s late and we’re both tired. We’ve been on a plane for most of the evening. Let’s just go to bed and talk about it later, okay?”
“Memphis—”
“Go to bed, Kennedy. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She wanted to argue, to refuse to go to bed or let him sleep until he spilled his guts and stopped dancing around the subject. She wanted to tell him he was being a complete idiot for sleeping on the couch when there was more than enough room for both of them in the bed, but his tone made her swallow back her words.
She nodded, whispering a quick good night and fled the kitchen. She closed the bedroom door and leaned against it, closing her eyes as her heart hammered in her chest.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
The words made her heart pound faster, and she felt like she was going to break out into a cold sweat.
What the fuck?
She pushed away from the door and grabbed her suitcase, hauling it onto the bed to fish out her pajamas. She tore off her clothes, leaving them in a pile by the bed as she quickly changed, dropped the bag back to the floor in frustration, and crawled into bed.
She stared at the ceiling, her eyes unwilling to close no matter how badly she wanted them to. She looked over at the empty side of the bed, imaging Memphis in there with her.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
No idea about what?
Chapter 7
Kennedy woke the next morning to the sound of Memphis rummaging around in the bedroom. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up, squinting at him in the still-dark room.
“What are you doing?” She sounded like a frog, sleep making her voice hoarse.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, pausing in his search.
“S’okay.” She reached over to turn on the little nightstand light. The light was bright, and she blinked, trying to make the spots disappear from her vision.
“I was looking for my bag so I could shower before I went out to get some shots of the sunrise.”
“What time is it?” she asked, glancing to her left where her clock at home sat. She frowned when she remembered she wasn’t at home.
“Seven-thirty,” Memphis said, grabbing his duffle bag off the floor.
She blinked at him, positive she had heard him wrong.
“You said you were going out to get shots of the sunrise,” she said.
“Yep.”
“But it’s seven-thirty.”
He chuckled and threw a grin her way before heading to the bathroom.
“Sun doesn’t rise until after nine. Welcome to Alaska, Miss Monroe,” he called to her before shutting the bathroom door.
Nine?
Kennedy groaned and fell back onto the bed, throwing the covers over her head. If it didn’t rise until nine, what the hell time did it set?
She uncovered her head, intending to yell the question to Memphis, but the sound of the shower turning on distracted her from all thoughts of the sun and was replaced by one of her best friend naked.
Kennedy swallowed, craning her neck to listen to anything that might signal he was getting undressed. Impossible, of course, considering the running water blocked all sounds out. She shook her head, appalled at herself and her thoughts. She had to contain the sexual attraction she was feeling for him. Had it been so strong all along? No, not until . . . not until that kiss.
Yes, that damn kiss was the root of her current obsession—fantasizing about doing wickedly dirty things to him in many bendy positions. The one man she had avoided doing anything sexual with was now the only man she wanted lying on top of her, below her, behind her . . .
She frowned, remembering there was already a man waiting for her at home who was supposed to be the only man she fantasized about and needed.
But he’s not waiting for you, is he? whispered her devilish subconscious voice. He failed you, fought with you, accused you of having an affair with Memphis, and then left you. What kind of man would do that?
A man you still love, her logical side reminded her. If you didn’t then you would have already ended things. He deserves the same commitment he’s giving you, flawed or not.
He’s not giving you all you need, though. He’s ignoring your needs, your wants. He makes you feel as if you don’t matter. Memphis would never do that.
Memphis has never had a committed relationship in his life. He’ll end up hurting you more than anything Brooks has done.
At least you’d be happy for a while.
By breaking not only Brooks’s heart but yours, as well, in the process.
“Oh, would you shut up!” Kennedy screamed at herself.
The bathroom door cracked open and Memphis stuck his head out. Water dripped from his wet hair, landing on the floor.
“Did you say something?”
“Um, no?” It came out sounding like a question, and Kennedy cringed. All she needed was to be caught screaming at the voices in her head. That would look fucking fantastic.
“Oh. I thought I heard you yelling.”
Kennedy lifted her hands and forced a smile.
“Just me in here. Who would I be yelling at?”
“Right.” Memphis tilted his head toward the inside of the bathroom. “Why don’t you get in here and shower so we can go to breakf
ast.”
“Now?” she squeaked. “You’re still in there.”
His forehead furrowed.
“I’ll be out in a second,” he said. “Kennedy, what’s up with you? Since when does it bother you to shower with me in the bathroom?”
Since I want to rip the towel from around your waist and haul you in there with me.
Assuming he was wearing a towel.
He was hiding behind the door making it impossible to know for sure. However, if he was hiding, then there was a pretty good chance he wasn’t wearing a towel. Who needed to hide when you were already covered up?
He was right, though. Even though they had never actually seen each other fully nude, being around each other when one was—like in the shower—had never bothered either of them. They didn’t walk around naked in each other’s company, but they were comfortable enough with each other and their friendship that that sort of thing wasn’t an issue.
Kennedy licked her lips, still staring at the door that hid his goods.
“Kennedy?”
She snapped her eyes back to his face and flushed.
“Um, sure. Shower. Breakfast. Sounds good,” she said.
Memphis gave her one more confused look before pulling his head back into the bathroom and shutting the door.
Kennedy mentally scolded herself as she crawled out of bed. She needed to get a grip, and not on any part of Memphis’s body. She squatted next to her suitcase and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to wear. She dug around in the bottom, trying to find the underwear she had stashed in there somewhere, all while lecturing herself on how she was not going to drool over Memphis or have dirty thoughts about him anymore. Enough was enough.
She stood, grabbed her clothes and toiletry bag off the floor, and waited by the bathroom for him to hurry up.
Kennedy leaned her head against the wall and repeated the mantra “no more fantasizing, no more illicit thoughts, no more drooling” over and over in her head.
Memphis opened the door, and Kennedy opened her eyes and looked at him, instantly wishing she hadn’t.
He stood there, dragging a towel through his wet hair, wearing blue jeans that sat low on his hips and no shirt. She watched as he dried his hair, the muscles in his arms and back bunching and rolling with his movements. She dropped her eyes to his stomach and pressed her lips together to stop herself from dragging her tongue over his skin. He didn’t have a six-pack —Kennedy couldn’t remember Memphis ever stepping foot into a gym, unlike most men his age—but his stomach was still flat and the narrow line of hair running from his navel southward almost made Kennedy swoon. Happy trails were her weakness.
Of course she’d seen him without his shirt on before, but things were different. Now she really saw him. She tried to swallow, but her tongue felt thick and her mouth was desert dry. Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about drooling. In that moment, staring at Memphis’s gym-virgin stomach, she thought well-defined abs were definitely overrated. He was naturally built.
“I feel like I should be in a butcher’s shop,” Memphis suddenly said.
Kennedy reluctantly dragged her eyes away from his stomach and glanced at his face.
“What?” She squeaked at getting caught ogling.
“The way you were looking at me . . . like a cheap piece of meat.”
Kennedy’s face flamed in embarrassment, and if it wasn’t for the teasing grin that widened with every second, she would have thought she’d offended him.
“I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t . . . I was just—” She swallowed back her ramblings and shook her head. “I wasn’t gawking at you.”
“I don’t think I said gawking,” Memphis pondered with amusement. “But now that you mention it, gawking was more like it.”
Kennedy opened and closed her mouth, finally giving up on words. She huffed in annoyance and pushed past him into the safety of the bathroom, slamming the door in his laughing face.
She tossed her clothes and bag on the counter. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she rolled her eyes at her pathetic self.
“Nice one, Monroe,” she said to the image. “Nothing sexier than looking like a complete moron.”
She tore off her Snoopy top and matching bottoms, scowling at the adolescent clothing. No, nothing sexier than looking like a complete moron while dressed like a twelve-year-old. She had packed the pajamas because she loved them. They were comfortable and a lot more her style than the stupid lacy teddies Brooks liked her to wear. It wasn’t like she was here to impress Memphis with her nightwear, anyway. Besides, he’d seen her in all her cartoon glory before—had even bought her a few pairs himself—so why should it bother her now?
She cleared her head and stepped under the warm water. She washed quickly, knowing they were pressed for time if Memphis wanted to make it to breakfast before venturing out to take pictures of the sunrise.
She grabbed one of the towels off the rack and wrapped the soft cloth around her while she brushed her teeth. Her hair hung in a damp mess around her face, and she grimaced at the sight. Wet rat was just about as sexy as complete moron.
She grabbed the hair dryer, rushing through her morning routine. Women who wanted curly hair were crazy. It was nothing more than a pain in the ass—at least she thought as much. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was wavy, but no, she had tight curls, the kind you couldn’t brush or comb but had to use one of those annoying little picks. She kept it as short as she could, hanging just past her shoulders. Any shorter and it ended up one big poof, and she looked like an electrocuted poodle.
She had even straightened it once when she got sick to death of the curls. Two hours and a few singed ends later, she came out of the bathroom feeling like a totally different woman. Brooks had loved it, but Memphis had told her even though she looked great, he preferred her natural look. She never straightened it again.
Kennedy snorted at the memory as she pulled the boy shorts up her legs and over her hips. She wouldn’t even change her hair because of him. Pathetic. Really pathetic. She snapped her bra in place, then tugged her jeans on, and pulled the gray hoodie over her head.
She stuffed everything back into the small bag, picked her clothes up off the floor, and gave one last look in the mirror before stepping out.
Memphis was no longer in the bedroom, and she gave a small sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to face his all-knowing grin right away. She dropped her clothes on the bed, placed the toiletry bag in her suitcase, and snatched her forgotten socks off the floor, sliding them onto her feet.
Kennedy left the bedroom and found Memphis kneeling by the front door, tightening the laces on his winter boots. He looked up when she approached him and nodded toward the living room.
“Your phone went off a few minutes ago.”
“My phone?” She wrinkled her nose and looked behind her. “I don’t remember leaving it out here.”
He shrugged, pulling the laces tighter.
“It’s with your purse.”
Kennedy moved to the couch and grabbed her coat off the back, eyeing her cell warily. She shoved her arms through the sleeves and zipped up the parka, all while staring at the phone.
If it was Brooks, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say at the moment, not after storming out of her apartment the last time she saw him. Her vacation hadn’t even really started yet and talking to him, or listening to a voice mail he left, would only frustrate her. If he had indeed apologized, she’d be upset that he couldn’t have done it before she left. If it was an I-wanted-to-check-in message, she’d be pissed he wasn’t apologizing and acting like what he did was fine.
Either way, listening to that message in her current frame of mind wouldn’t do any good.
If it was even him who called.
She scowled at the little voice and sighed as she walked over to the coffee table, grabbed the cell, and stuffed it in her pocket.
Kennedy turned around and saw Memphis watching her.
“What?
” she asked.
He shook his head and shoved his hands in his gloves.
“Did I say anything?”
“You didn’t have to.” She moved to where he stood and pulled her boots on.
“You’re not going to check your messages?” he asked.
She straightened and pulled her gloves on also.
“I thought we were going to breakfast.” She fiddled with the gloves to avoid his eyes.
Memphis opened the door and let in the chilly morning air as he ushered her out. Kennedy buried her chin in her jacket collar and looked around at her surroundings as she waited for Memphis. She couldn’t wait until the sun was out so she could go exploring. She grinned to herself, inhaling the cold air through her nose a little too deeply, and coughed as it hit her lungs.
“Hurts if you’re not used to it, huh?” Memphis grinned at her as she finally caught her breath.
“Just a bit.” She wheezed, giving him a watery smile.
He grabbed her hand and led her to the main lodge, neither saying a word. They stomped the snow from their boots at the entrance before proceeding to the dining room. Just as they passed the front desk, a short stout man stepped out in front of them and stuck his hand out at Memphis.
“Mr. Adams,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile beneath his mustache.
“Mr. Bradley.” Memphis greeted him with a firm handshake. “I was hoping to run into you this morning.”
“Piper left a message saying you had arrived. I hope the trip was pleasant.” His eyes drifted to Kennedy and his smile widened. “This must be the missus.”
Kennedy opened her mouth to correct the man, but Memphis wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side.
“The one and only,” he said proudly.
The what?
Kennedy pinched his side, but he ignored her.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to have you here, Mrs. Adams,” Mr. Bradley told her, taking her hand between his beefy palms and giving it a welcoming squeeze.
Kennedy wanted to ignore the way her stomach flipped and her heart leapt at his words. She really did. But it would be like trying to ignore a tornado staring you right in the face. It was right there; ready to cause damage and overwhelming destruction no matter which way you ran. It was impossible to ignore.
Risking It All Page 10