Wherever It Leads (33 page)

T
he moonlight shines through the windows above the large soaking tub. It overlooks the beach and I imagine opening them and breathing in the salty air while sitting in a deep basin of bubbles.

I could live in here.

Fenton’s master bathroom is a girl’s dream. Heck, it’s
anyone’s
dream. Encased in golden marble, it looks like something you’d find in a Fifth Avenue penthouse rather than a beach house in Malibu.

In the corner, there’s a large walk-in shower with more shower heads than necessary or practical. There’s a large television across the room from the tub and I wonder if he sits in this and watches baseball games or the news in the morning. At the other end, a walk-in closet that’s bigger than my bedroom is only half-filled with clothes. I know. I looked.

I slip one of Fenton’s UCLA t-shirts over my head after getting a quick shower with him. He went to make some calls and I type out a quick text to Presley that I’m not coming home and then power my phone down. She’ll blast me with a million texts, most of them inappropriate, and I don’t want to deal with her. Not tonight. Not with Fenton lying in his bed in the next room, waiting on me.

My cheeks ache from the grin that I can’t ease off my face. Thinking of Fent waiting for me, of the things he said to me tonight about wanting to see where things go, is enough to make me feel like a kid waking up on her birthday. Everything is full of promise. There’s the potential for so much fun, so much good, so many surprises to be lurking around the corner that it takes all I have not to jump up and down.

Flipping off the light, I open the door. I see Fenton propped up on a pile of pillows. His eyes are closed, his skin still damp. The bed is hulking, taking up all of the space between the windows on either side of the room. Even so, Fenton looks so broad, so strong.

So delectable.

My fingers itch to trace the muscles on his abs, to feel the solidness of his chest under my palms. I start towards him and his eyes flutter open.

“Hey, there,” he grins, pulling back the blankets. “Get in here.”

I can’t help the excitement that flitters in my chest as I climb into his bed. He grabs me, drawing me across the mattress and into his arms. I snuggle into him, breathing him in.

“Mmm,” he whispers. “I like seeing you in my t-shirt.”

“I hope you don’t care. I didn’t plan on coming here tonight, so I didn’t bring anything.”

“Of course I don’t care. I love it. But you could’ve been naked and I wouldn’t have objected.”

I can hear his heart pound in his chest. I know mine is doing the same thing. We’ve taken a step towards
wherever we end up
and I have a million questions, but I’m afraid to ask. Instead, I let my fingers trace the ridges of his arm, the thick veins that wrap the muscled limbs.

“How do ya feel?” Fenton asks.

“Great. Tired. Happy. You?”

“The same. Strangely.”

“Strangely?”

“This wasn’t really on my to-do list,” he laughs.

“What wasn’t on your to-do list?”

“Finding a phone in a bunch of bananas and becoming hooked by its owner.”

“Hooked, huh?” I laugh.

“Pretty much.”

I pull back far enough to see in his eyes. “It wasn’t in mine either, you know. You are supposed to be my rebound.”

“You had a fatal flaw in your line of thinking,” he grins.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“A rebound means to bounce back after hitting something.”

“Yeah . . .”

“There was no way I’d have been able to let you just go back. You’re stuck with me for a while.”

He pauses, waits for me to respond, but I’m stuck in a limbo of words. I want to cheer, to smile, to do a little shimmy under the covers—maybe roll over on top of him for another round. But that seems a little overboard, especially when I’m not even sure what he
does
mean, exactly.

“So you’re my . . . bounce?” I ask.

“I’ll be . . . your dribble—taking you forward with the touch of my hand.”

“You’re so stupid,” I laugh, rolling onto my back.

He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at me. His lips twitch in amusement. “Stupid, huh? Boy, you know how to make a man feel good about himself.”

“Like you need any lifting up.”

“You think I have an ego?”

“Not a crazy one. But how could a man like you not know you’re . . .”

I let my words drift away. There are no words that could complete that sentence, not the right way. It would be too much or not enough, or God forbid, stupid. My cheeks heat as I realize I shouldn’t have started this because the look on his face tells me he’s not going to let it go.

“I’m not what?” he prompts.

“A complete asshole for putting me on the spot,” I laugh.

“You put it out there. I just want to hear what you think.”

What I think is that he’s the ultimate male. That he could’ve hung the moon if he wanted to. That he is quite possibly a piece of perfection with every bit of an eight-inch, thick cock. But I can’t say that.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” I say instead. “Sexy. Intelligent. I think . . . you’re kind. Compassionate. And . . . maybe a little ruthless about what you want. But honestly, I kinda like it.”

I feather my fingertips over his lips. Pressing them together, he plants a kiss on my fingers.

“How could you not know you’re all those things?” I ask.

He peers into my eyes, his gaze so intense I feel like he’s seeing my bared soul. It’s humbling and nerve-wracking, but I can’t cover it up from him. I don’t want to. I want him to see me for what I am, to not ever feel like I have to hide from him. If wherever we’re going is going to work, I don’t want it to end up like my relationship with Grant.

He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he asks one of me. “You want to hear what I think about you?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“I think you are strong. Smart. Capable. You hide your vulnerabilities and fears behind your strength. You’re easily shaken, but don’t let it show because showing that would equate to weakness in your mind. You’re the only person I can be around for longer than two hours and not want to slice my wrists.”

“That’s good,” I laugh, a nervous crease in my voice.

“It’s very good,” he grins.

“So, this
thing
between us now. What does it mean, exactly?”

His features darken, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth. He runs a hand along the curve of my hip, gliding it over my abs, and holds on to my other side. His palm is warm, a little rough, as it splays against my skin.

“It means whatever you want it to mean,” he says, his voice low. When I don’t respond, he continues. “I’ll tell you what it means to me. You make me feel a way that I’ve never felt before. You energize me, inspire me.

“My work is important to me for a number of reasons. But I’ve been doing it for years now and the last couple have felt monotonous. I’ve thought about getting out of my fields and saying fuck it and buying a yacht and sailing, like I told you. But with whom? Where to? I’ve taken my inheritance and I’ve built it up, much higher than my parents ever imagined it could be. But what for? I have no one to share it with and it never dawned on me . . . until I met you.”

His fingers trail up my side, skimming my breast, until he cups my cheek. His eyes bore into mine and it makes my heart beat so fast I think it’s going to explode. I have no idea where he’s going with this and the anticipation, the possibilities, are running away with me.

“But you come along and zap life back into me. I’m laughing for the first time in months about things that aren’t debaucherous. I’m making plans for vacations and to expand certain parts of my business, and all the while, you’re in the back of my brain. I want to work as quickly as I can and go find you. And I think that says it all.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.

His hand drops from my face, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine. I’m still pinned in place by his steely grey irises.

“You make me want to be better, to take risks. I like myself better when you’re around.”

Fenton dips in, placing a sweet kiss to my lips. “So I don’t know where this is going, and I don’t know how to define it. I just know I want you by my side, and I want to prove to you that I’m worthy of your affection.”

“I don’t think you being worthy is the problem,” I whisper.

“You’d be surprised,” he says, a shadow darkening his features.

“No, no, I wouldn’t. You are more than worthy.” I watch his gaze flicker from mine and settle on something across the room. “It’s my fear that I think will hold us back. I just don’t want to end up being so involved with someone that I get taken advantage of or made a fool of. I don’t want to lose myself in someone else.”

“I won’t do that.”

His eyes blaze with ferocity, with a seriousness I don’t see in them often. The shakiness in my confidence, the little rift in my brain that tells me to not trust, to take it slow, to question everything, settles, and I know one thing—I believe him.

“If this is going to work, you’re going to have to be completely open with me, okay? Grant hid everything from me, and I’m certain I don’t even know the half of it. But I feel silly spending so long with someone and thinking he was one person when, in reality, he was another. Does that make sense?”

He doesn’t flinch and makes no move to answer me. I’m not even sure he heard me.

“Fenton?”

“Yeah,” he says, shaking the cobwebs out of his head.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Of course.” His features soften and he smiles at me cautiously. “You need transparency from me. I need patience from you.”

“I will give you patience, Fent, if you can be honest. As long as I don’t have to worry about what’s happening, you can take all the time you need to get used to this. I’ll need some time too.”

“I promise you—it will be worth it, rudo.”

I believe him. The swell in my chest makes me trust in what he promises. Everything I know about him makes me believe him
and
in him.

“I know it will.” Rolling over and pressing him against the mattress, I climb on top of him. Straddling his waist, I watch his face.

His trademark smirk kisses his lips as his cock hardens under my bare pussy. “In the words of my Brynne, we’ve talked. Now we fuck.”

“B
rynne! Your phone!”

Fastening my earring, the back not quite wanting to slip on, I dart through the master into the living room. I hear my ringtone buzzing from somewhere, but the house is too big and foreign to me to know where the sound is coming from.

Fenton comes around the corner from his office, my phone in his hand. “This is becoming a habit—me finding your phone.”

I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. He grabs my ass.

“This is my mother,” I gasp, fear blazing through me. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

I don’t answer her. “How are you, Mom?”

“I’m a wreck, to be honest. I’ve eaten a half a piece of toast in two days and your father is starting to drive me crazy with his pacing. I’m losing my mind.”

“Is Aunt Donna there?”

“Yes, thank God. She got in last night.” She sniffles. “You know, I look at her and I realize how awful this must be for you. If something happened to my sister, it would kill me. And you’ve lost your brother.”

The phone muffles and I wait for her voice to come back. I watch Fenton stride around the room before finally landing in a chair under a large painting.

“We just heard from Senator Hyland’s office,” she says, returning to the phone. “The chatter from Nekuti has picked up in the last couple of days.”

“Chatter?”

My eyes follow Fenton as he leans forward, his hands steepled in front of him, and rests his chin on top. His eyes are narrow as he listens to my end of the conversation.

“We don’t know if it’s from the video being released or . . . something else.”

“No . . .” I can hear what she’s saying without saying it. My stomach drops to my feet. “No, Mom. It’s not that. It’s something else.”

Exchanging a worried glance with Fenton, I head to the large windows. I watch the sea roll in and out and try to match my breathing to the regularity.