Page 13 of Kristoff

“Let’s call it plausible deniability.” I take a drink of my coffee, wishing I had a newspaper to use for cover. But those come in once a week, and it’s still too early for the delivery.

He frowns but drops the subject. Celia sets two plates in front of me without another word. A mountain of questions hangs in the air like a thick blanket.

I’m not sure which of the two would be more shocked to learn I have nothing to share about the woman I fucked. I can’t even try to rephrase because it was pure animal passion and need fulfilled. And all of it unprotected sex. Though I finished inside her only once, once could be enough to be life-altering.

I’m never that careless.

My conscience picks at the back of my mind, reminding me if I hadn’t been careless, I’d be staring out the window of my Manhattan office. A position I’d earned by having connections to all the right people. Or, more correctly, connections to all the wrong people. The partners didn’t care. They’d built their reputation on defending friends in low places. I brought in a herd of my own, and they made enough money for the office I was made the youngest partner in the firm. I was set to have a brilliant, if somewhat tainted, career.

I glance over at Harlan, and my annoyance evaporates. I can’t complain about the view now because my baby brother’s alive.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brianna

The rich smell of coffee intrudes into my dream, swinging me around from where I’m running on a dust-covered road. I manage to crawl out of the spiderweb, dragging my lids over painful, dry eyes. At first, there’s a moment of disorientation, finding sunlight coming through blue curtains into an unfamiliar room.

He’s here. Kristoff. Somewhere just beyond my line of sight. A cup touches down on a table. Yes, I remember seeing a small table when I was sitting astride him. Warmth dots my cheeks.

Rubbing the grit from my eyes, I roll over from where I’m lying on my right shoulder to face him. I clutch the white sheet to my breasts with what I would laughably call the last bit of my tattered modesty. Sitting up, I make sure to cover my chest.

“Good morning,” he rumbles. This time, I can study him in the full light of day. Dark hair, broad shoulders, full lips, and intelligent brown eyes observing me in return.

I run a hand through my hair, and the array of tangles tells me I’ve got nothing better than a bird’s nest. “Good morning.” I offer a sheepish smile.

“Coffee?”

As wonderful as that sounds, I have a more pressing matter to attend to. I glance around, but I don’t see my dress anywhere. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t get a chance to consider the consequences. I have no idea what Kristoff thinks, or has in mind. I wet my lips, painfully aware I can’t exactly wait to unravel the mess I created.

“Is there any way I could get my clothes?” How I managed to ask, without stuttering, is beyond me.

His gaze goes across the sheet covering me. “Your dress is still soaked through.”

My face flames, and I tear my gaze away. “Um, I need to…”

“Let me find you a shirt for now,” he offers. Putting down the cup, he pushes off the bed to browse through the dresser where he extracts a green pullover. He returns to my side and hands it over.

Sitting up in bed, I release the sheet to drop the shirt over me, wiggling to make sure everything’s covered.

I can see him ducking his head to hide a grin. Why would I need to try and preserve any modesty if he’s already seen, touched, and licked it all?

He jerks his head to the side. “Just head down the hall. You can’t miss it.”

Relieved I hadn’t had to explain my need, I slide out of bed and pad down the hallway to where I vaguely remember being carried. Sure enough, I come to the small bathroom and close the door behind me. The facilities are sparse but tidy, with toiletries for two males. Likely Kristoff and the ball player. So, no women in long-term residence.

The simple fact they have a second floor says a lot about the place. The bathroom and shower on the second floor says even more. In a village of huts with thatched roofs, Kristoff is probably considered very well off. But then, if he owns a bar, he’s sure to be holding his own.

I’m toweling my hands dry when I catch sight of my dress and panties, hanging in the shower stall. Reaching in, I confirm the dress is still soaked through.

Images of what happened last night flash through my mind. Strong arms, muscular chest, some kisses that’ll keep him in the forefront of my memory for a long time. And below the waist…

Sound, sensation, and need form a pile inside me. This time, I’m sure my hands aren’t too steady, an indication I have to get going as soon as possible.

Even if my clothes were dry, it’s too late in the morning to go through the village without being seen. At some point, someone squeezed the water out of the material, but my dress is still far from wearable. I’d end up caked in red dirt within minutes. I step into the plain white panties, needing the added layer of clothing.

I borrow a brush, running the bristles through the tangles in my hair. Oddly enough, my scalp is sensitive. My skin tingles where I run the brush over the ends resting above my breasts. I need to pull myself together, both physically and emotionally.

Taking a deep breath, I head back to Kristoff’s bedroom, trying to keep my footsteps silent so I’m not heard downstairs. He’s sitting on his side of the bed, eating from a plate piled high with breakfast. My mouth waters at the delicious scents.

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