Kiss the Sky (34 page)

“I talked to him.”

Lo’s
eyes redden with hate and hurt.
He knows what Scott’s attempting. “He can’t fucking do this, Connor.”

“I know.”

Lo searches my face for what…maybe strength, comfort,
reassurance. I try to give it as best I can.

“I won’t let anything happen, I promise. He won’t screw with
your relationship or your addictions.” It’s a big promise. I usually only give
out ones I’m one-hundred percent confident I can keep. This one is a tossup
really.

“Thank you,” Lo says, his amber eyes full of gratitude. I
see something else in them. Apologies. For doubting our friendship after the
screening party. For doubting me.

It feels nice to be back in Loren
Hale’s
good graces. I think that’s the thing about friends who aren’t quick to let
others in.

When they do give you their friendship, it means something
more.

[ 29 ]

CONNOR COBALT

We reach a frozen lake on our run, which turned
into more of a walk with the heavy snow. Ben, who’s proven to be clumsy, has
tripped over his gangly legs three times, even stumbling over a root buried
beneath thick white powder.
Ryke
helped him up after
the second and third fall to make sure he didn’t sprain an ankle. Ben was
assigned to follow Lo,
Ryke
and me only because Brett
can’t run, and Rose has latched onto Savannah, picking a favorite. I’m not
surprised it was the girl.

It’s hard to ignore the guy holding the camera, especially
one that has face-planted twice. But we’ve all somehow adapted these past few
months.

Lo turns to
Ryke
and me with a
focused look. “So I have some big news.”

“Please tell me Lily isn’t fucking pregnant,”
Ryke
immediately jumps to conclusions.

Lo sends him a patented Hale glare. “It’s about the wedding,
you asshole.”

“You didn’t give me any fucking hints. Don’t be
pissy
.”

“Not that I don’t enjoy these brotherly spats, it’s cold.
Can we get to the point?” I ask.

“My bachelor party is coming up,” Lo explains. “And I have
to pick my best man…” He looks between us. “So you can see I’m at a dilemma.”

“How?”
Ryke
asks, his brows
bunched in confusion. “I’m your fucking brother.”

“Yeah, but I’ve known Connor longer.”

“By what? A couple months.” He points accusingly at me. “He
doesn’t even fucking
love
you.”
Ryke’s
voice carries, disturbing the birds as they fly from
their tree branches.

“It’s nothing personal,” I defend, my voice easier and
calmer than
Ryke’s
. “I don’t love anyone.”

“There you go,” Loren says like I make complete sense. I must
have really been forgiven yesterday. “It’s a tough choice. My best guy friend…”
He motions to me adding the obligatory
guy
since his best friend happens to be Lily. “…and my half-brother. One of you
will be royally pissed at me if I make the decision.”

“Connor doesn’t get pissed,”
Ryke
says.

“I do,” I reply. “I just don’t let you see my anger.”

Ryke
gives me an annoyed look.
“You don’t even want to be his best man.”

“That’s not true. I’d love the position.” I wait for my
choice of words to crawl under his skin.

“You don’t love anything,”
Ryke
groans in distress.

“Hey!” Lo cuts in and physically pushes
Ryke
back as he steps closer to my body. But I’m not afraid of getting punched. “To
make it fair, you two can flip for it.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not leaving this up to chance.”

Lo shrugs. “Then you’ll both just have to share it.” He puts
a hand on each of our shoulders, standing between us. “Co-best man,” he says to
Ryke
and then looks to me. “Co-best man.”

Ryke
glares at me.

And I say easily, “I’m toasting first at the wedding, just
so you know. I’m afraid you’ll scare the children.”

“Fuck you.”

“My point exactly.”

He restrains himself from flipping me off. “I’m standing
closest to Lo when Lily walks down the aisle.”

I don’t like losing this part. “You can stand behind me,” I
tell him.

Ryke
glares harder.

“Or beside me. On the right side.”

“Fuck off.”

“We can always tie you to the arch.” I’d actually really
enjoy that. “I’ll set out a bowl of water so you don’t get thirsty.”

Lo laughs while
Ryke
just shakes
his head.

“There isn’t going to be an arch at his wedding,”
Ryke
reminds me. “It’s indoors in a fucking church.”

Right. I forgot. Formal. Traditional. Lily and Lo seem more
likely to be married in the middle of a comic book convention—or something else
far from the norm. When Rose proposed an outdoor wedding to her mother, she
quickly rejected it. Three times. In text, phone and email. That was not a good
day for anyone.

“I’ll tie you to a pew then.”

Ryke
takes another step forward,
and Loren puts his hand on his chest.

“You should be honored,” I tell him. “I only tie up the
people I really like.”

Ryke
rolls his eyes dramatically
and shakes his head. “I’m not backing down from this.”

He’s his brother. He should be his best man. The loss is
going to sting, but I can manage. Just as I go to relinquish the title, I
notice the questioning in
Lo’s
eyes, the narrowed
gaze, wondering how much I’m going to fight for this. If I care at all. He’s
naturally insecure about friendships since he’s had very few.

So I look back to
Ryke
and say,
“Let’s just flip for it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Why not?”
Because
my odds are now fifty-fifty.

Lo brings a quarter out of his pocket. “Who wants to call it?”

Ryke
nods to me. “Go ahead,
princess.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush,” I say flatly.

He actually laughs, and both Lo and I share a smile. His
brother hasn’t relaxed this whole trip, not with Julian here and Scott
threatening to unhinge his brother’s life.

Hearing that sound from him lifts the whole mood of our run.
“Heads,” I tell Lo.

He tosses the coin in the air, and it comes down into his
palm. He cups his hand over the quarter, and I hear the mechanical groan of
Ben’s camera as he zooms in over my shoulder.

Lo uncovers the coin.

Tails.

This is why I hate gambling.

I usually lose.

[ 30 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY

“This week went by so fast,” I say, watching the
snow fall outside, the dark sky illuminated by the ski resort’s bright lights
in the distance.

We fly back home soon. Back to rabid paparazzi. American
television. And my mother. Even though Ben, Brett, and Savannah have followed
us around, it’s been nice to have a house that isn’t rigged twenty-four-seven
with cameras.

Connor sidles up behind me, and his hands slip around my
waist. I sink back into his chest, the action so much more natural now. It’s
hard to believe that months ago I was scared of this intimacy. Now all I think
about are ways to be closer.

He pulls my hair off my shoulder and kisses the sensitive
skin of my neck, marking a line up to my ear. My nerves prick with each
feather-light touch. “This week may have gone by fast, but tonight will feel
so…” His warm breath tickles me. “…unbearably…” He brushes the straps of my
nightgown, and they fall off my shoulders. “…slow.”

The air nips my skin, and he runs a hand from my thigh,
along the curve of my hip and settling his palm on my breast. He tugs the silky
fabric to expose them. A breath hitches in the back of my throat as he kneads
my breast with one hand, standing behind me while I stare at the snowfall. His
muscular body overtakes my frame, no space between us, and I eagerly wait for
his skin to meet mine, for his shirt to be gone, his pants to disappear.
Please, yes…

He massages my breast with force and want, rippling a new
feeling through my core. I ache for him. All of him. His thumb flicks my
hardened nipple back and forth, shivers cascading down my spine.

And then he spins me around, his eyes grazing my breasts and
the way the nightgown bunches at my waist. “Step out of it,” he tells me.

I wiggle the nightgown to my ankles, my head starting to
readjust, to make sense of what’s going to happen. “Are we…” I trail off, lost
to the way his eyes bore into each crevice and curve of my body as I stand
bare, only in a pair of black cotton panties.

When he finally meets my gaze, he says, “I’m going to fuck
you.”

Not
we’re going to
make love.
Not
we’re having sex.
Just,
“I’m going to fuck you.”

A demand that drops my mouth and soaks my panties. Right
there. That’s it. I’m done for. He can take me any way he wants.

I cast out any nerves that try to attack me because I’m
still a virgin. Despite being with him for over a year and gaining confidence,
this is still new. I imagine most girls are anxious their first time.

Connor grabs me around the waist before I descend further
into my head. He hoists me over his shoulder, and I let out a gasp. He pats my
ass while my head dangles upside down, all the blood rushing to my brain.

“Stop thinking,” he orders, throwing my body onto the soft
mattress. My breath and thoughts leave me at once.

Holy…
I watch him
slowly unloop the leather belt from his pants. My heart races as he leans over
and takes my wrist in his hand, wrapping the leather around it and a rung in
the wooden headboard. When he secures the buckle, he bends to his suitcase and
finds another belt.

For my other wrist.

“My first time is going to be tied up?” I ask, fear suddenly
bursting in my belly.
So much for not
thinking.

“Yes,” he says after he has my left wrist tethered to
another rung much farther apart. He strokes my hair, and our eyes lock. “I’m
going to take you deep…” His eyes fall to my lips, and my chest collapses.
“…hard…”
Oh, fuck…
The spot between
my legs clenches, beginning to pulse for something large, something powerful.
“…rough…” He bites my lip, and I moan.

Just come inside me
already.

He smiles with my bottom lip caught between his teeth. He
lets go and says, “Patience.”

He has plenty more than I do.

My whole body flushes in hot, agonizing
want.

He straddles my waist and meticulously rolls my panties down
my hip bones, past my curved bottom, down my thighs and slender legs, right off
my feet. I am completely naked now. His to play with. His to take care of and
consume.

But then he crawls off the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“No more questions, Rose.”

I glower. “I’m about to lose my virginity. I can ask
whatever the hell I want.”

He steps closer, his shirt unbuttoned, and he covers my
mouth with his large hand. He bends down so his lips skim my cheek, his breath
warming my skin. “You may compliment my cock, you may beg, and you may politely
ask for more. I don’t want to hear anything else, and if I do, I’ll stuff your
mouth with your panties so you can’t speak.” His fingers dig a little deeper in
my cheeks. “But believe me, I don’t want that. I want to hear all your noises.
I want to hear you come.”

Translation:
Shut the
fuck up.
And holy hell it turns me on. My body is like a taut rubber band
ready to be snapped.

Before he removes his palm, he reminds me why I don’t need
to ask questions. “
Vous
êtes
en
sécurité
avec
moi
.”
You’re safe with me.

He kisses my forehead and draws back, retreating to the
closet and leaving me naked and tied to the bed. I have to trust that he locked
the door—that no one will dash into the bedroom while we have sex. Wouldn’t
that just be my luck?

When he returns, he carries a towel, and I stay quiet even
though my stomach overturns with anticipation and nerves. He approaches me again
and lifts my waist, spreading the towel underneath my bottom. And then he sheds
his shirt off his shoulders, revealing defined, rigid muscles across his abs.

He turns his back to me before I can stare too long, and he
disappears below the bedframe, rummaging in his suitcase again. I only have a
view of his wavy brown hair.

“I have something for you,” he tells me, standing with a
slender black box. I’ve seen enough jewelry boxes to know it’s a necklace.

Hopefully diamonds.

They’re my favorite.

My eyes sparkle and my anxiety dissipates as he climbs onto
the mattress, sitting near my waist. I jerk my wrist, wanting to not only touch
the box but his body, from his shoulders to his waist, to the hem of his pants.
The restraints fix me to this one spot, but I cross my ankles, waiting for him.

He lingers, his palm rubbing the soft black velvety box,
teasing me. How much I’d give for that hand to be caressing
me.

“Is this where I’m supposed to beg?” I ask, not able to
soften my eyes that narrow in a glare.

His lips lift, and his eyes flood with arousal. “That’s a
wonderful idea,” he says. “Beg for this box.”

I glare harder. “I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Like hell
. I’m not
about to beg for a
box
. I stare
harder at the case and imagine the jewelry. It’s taunting me. I bet the
necklace is gorgeous, something I would love. My resolve begins to weaken. It’s
not like I’m pleading for his cock…although, I think…I think I’m almost there
too. The object of my desire is jewelry…diamonds. I would beg for diamonds.