KENNEDY
I wake slowly, my head still fuzzy and not wanting to come fully online yet. A little groan slips from my lips as I roll onto my side and bury my head under the pillow. Cass’ scent permeates everything. So does the smell of the raunchy sex we had all night…and into the early morning.
The ache between my legs and the unfamiliar bed finally fully rouses me.
Jesus Christ, Kennedy, what the fuck did you do?
Reluctantly, I peel open my eyes and peek at his side of the bed.
Empty.
I release a heavy breath, but my relief doesn’t last very long.
How the hell do I get out of here without having the awkward morning-after interaction?
All I want is to tuck my tail between my legs and bolt so I can get home, shower, and wash away any signs or memories of what I just did with Cassius Whitaker, before I have to head into the office and pretend I didn’t fuck the enemy.
I roll over toward the side of the bed and press my hands across my naked breasts. Even though there’s no one else in the room and Cass took me ten ways from Sunday, somehow, now I feel exposed.
Probably because whatever insanity overtook me last night has faded and what I’ve done has settled into the pit of my stomach like a boulder of guilt.
You fucked Cass Whitaker.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Apparently, a lot since I just slept with the man whose client is trying to destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for…
Get close to him to get the information we need on Falco and determine their role in the fire…it seemed simple. But I forgot to add, don’t fuck Cass to the list of my own instructions.
I climb to my bare feet and scan the room I didn’t have any time to see last night. Ornate moldings adorn each door, ceiling, and baseboard, and my eyes drift over the antique furniture until I spot my dress, carefully laid over a chair in the corner, like he picked it up off the floor so it wouldn’t get any more wrinkled than it already was by the time he did it. My purse, which I left on the couch downstairs, and my bra lie next to it, bringing memories of his lips and skilled hands on my breasts.
A little zing of something I hate far too much shoots through me at the simple gesture, and feelings rush through my body again.
The man is sexy as fuck, is a generous-as-hell lover, has a beautiful house, has manners, and seems to actually care about little shit like this.
Don’t let it distract you from why you came.
Cass didn’t offer up anything helpful last night, and I don’t have the energy to try to pry something out of him this morning—nor do I want to face him after how he destroyed me so easily and made me toss away all my resolve to withstand his charms.
I slip on my dress as fast as I can, the evidence of what we did last night still very much between my legs. My heels sit next to the chair, stood upright by the same talented hands that worked me over.
Shit, shit, shit.
With these hardwood floors, I don’t dare slip back on my shoes so he can hear me coming. If I have any chance of getting out of here without running into him, I need to be fast and silent.
Float like a butterfly…
Not exactly what my training in the ring was designed for, but it could do me some good all the same this morning.
I tiptoe to the door and ease it open slowly, listening for any signs of movement, but the house remains silent. If I didn’t already know Cass is awake, I’d think he was sound asleep somewhere, leaving me to make an easy escape. But I’m not stupid enough to believe anything with Cass will ever be easy.
My best hope of getting out of here unscathed by his scorching gaze is to find a back stairway and less conspicuous door that doesn’t make me walk right down the front stairs, through the gate, and to my car parked on the street.
Instead of heading down the way he carried me up last night, I make my way to the other end of the hallway, past row after row of closed doors, until I find what I’m looking for—a back set of stairs.
Thank God.
I hustle down them quickly, trying to stay light on my toes so I don’t make a sound, but halfway down, the step releases a giant creak. Cringing, I freeze, listening for any sound or movement from above or below.
Only silence greets me, and I release a relieved breath and continue until my feet hit the marble floor of a kitchen at the bottom. The back door stands only five feet away, and I take a step toward it, my hand itching to turn the knob and make my getaway.
“Going somewhere?” Cass’ gravelly morning voice floats over me.
I freeze and squeeze my eyes closed, as if that simple action can make him disappear as easily as I’d like him to.
SHIIIIIT!
Even with my back to him, the heat of his gaze sears my skin, warmth crawling up my neck and over my cheeks. I can’t ignore him forever, so I finally glance in the direction his voice came from to find him leaning against one of the marble countertops in those damn gray sweatpants, bare-chested, a coffee mug in his hand, looking smug as fuck.
“Um, I have to go.”
He raises a dark-blond brow at me and motions toward a massive, professional-looking espresso machine next to him. “Not going to stay for a latte or cappuccino?”
I narrow my eyes. “If you have that at home, why were you always coming to the Daily Grind?”
Cass smirks. “Why do you think? To scope out the competition.”
“And get under our skin?”
His shoulder rises and falls nonchalantly, but I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. Cass enjoys rattling us, and what I’ve just let him do to me is the ultimate win for him.
He knocks back the rest of his cup and pushes off the counter.
That’s my cue to leave.
I slip on my heels and hustle the few remaining steps toward the door. “Well, I’ve got to go.”
“If you run, I’m only going to chase you, Cherie.”
Looking over my shoulder, I flash him a grin. “Sprinting in these is one of my many talents.”
The corner of his lips twitches, and his eyes dip to my shoes before returning to my face. “It might be, but they’re going to sink into the grass if you try to walk around the house to your car. You’re better off staying to enjoy a cup of coffee with me and walking out the front when we’re done.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
He assesses me for a moment, moving closer. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
Cass stops directly in front of me and tilts my chin up until I’m staring him directly in the face. His eyes heat with something other than the lust we both feel. “Of course it does. I want you to trust me, Cherie.”
“That’s impossible.”
For a split second, what looks a lot like pain flashes through his gaze, but it vanishes just as quickly. “Stay. I promise to make you the best espresso you’ve ever had.”
I pull out of his hold and laugh. “You better hope I don’t tell Angelina or Allie that you just said that.”
Cass smirks and nods toward the machine, slipping his hand into mine and tugging me to the island.
It would be in my best interest to pull my hand out of his, open that door, and rush out of here as fast as possible, but it may not be the best play. If I have any hope of him ever telling me what he’s been holding back, I can’t be running all the time. Getting even the tiniest shred of information from him this morning might make all this worth it.
“Sit.” He points to a tufted stool, then grasps my hips as I slide onto it and set my purse on the counter. His lips find my ear. “How do you like it?”
Heat spreads through my body, remembering similar words he said last night—and how he gave me exactly that and then some.
He’s asking about the espresso, Ken.
How do you DRINK it?
I shake my head to clear it. If we’re going to do this, I need to be firing on all cylinders, and a few shots of the good stuff he undoubtedly has will help with that greatly. “Strong and black.”
No matter how smug he is or how expensive a machine he owns, he won’t win in that regard.
He smirks again as he sets to work putting the espresso bean grounds into the portafilter. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
While he works the fancy machine, I force myself to avert my gaze from the bunching and flexing of his muscled back, shoulders, and arms and to the stunning kitchen around us. Though renovated, the antique-styled appliances and details still make it feel old, even though I have no doubt everything is top-of-the-line.
I hate how much I love this damn house…
The sound of the machine brewing my drink fills the air, and he turns to face me, leaning against the counter and crossing those damn arms over his chest, which only draws my attention back to them. “Kennedy?”
I jerk my gaze back up to meet his, and he smirks at having caught me ogling him. We stare each other down, but he doesn’t say a word. He just uses his pale-green eyes to devour me the same way he used his mouth last night.
People always talk about being eye-fucked, and I never really understood what they meant until this moment. The man could make me come just from this alone.
Heat spreads out from my core, my pussy clenching for something that was there only a few hours ago and that I could undoubtedly have again if I only asked right now.
Each moment that passes, the harder I have to fight the desire to squirm. I won’t give him the satisfaction, not as long as I can help it. But the need to look away or move almost wins.
Only the sound of the machine finishing the brew finally forces him to stop eye-fucking me and give me his back again.
I release a heavy breath, fanning my face while he can’t see me, but he turns back toward me quickly, catching the motion. Another lazy grin tugs on his lips as he approaches the other side of the island and slides the espresso mug across to me.
“Enjoy.”
“You didn’t poison it, did you?”
He shakes his head slowly, leaning an elbow on the counter and propping his face in his palm. “No trust at all…even after last night and this morning?”
Are we really going to talk about what we did?
The sound of approaching footsteps on the back staircase makes him freeze and stand upright, and I turn toward the sound just as a little blond girl appears at the bottom of the stairs in pink pajamas, holding a gray bunny to her chest.
She yawns, then her pale-green eyes land on me. “Daddy, who’s that?”
* * *
CASS
Fucking hell.
Of all the days…
Kennedy’s wide eyes meet mine in question.
Shit.
Running my hand through my hair, I make my way over to Charlotte and scoop her up as she stares at Kennedy, her little brow furrowing. I press a kiss to the side of her head, hoping to distract her from the stranger sitting at the counter. “Charlotte, baby, what are you doing up so early?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.” Her eyes narrow on Kennedy. “Daddy, who is that?”
There’s no way to avoid responding. Four-year-olds are worse than the Spanish Inquisition when trying to get to the bottom of something, and a woman sitting in our kitchen, especially this early, isn’t something I can smooth over with a non-answer.
“Charlotte, this is my friend, Kennedy.” I look to where she sits, dumbstruck at the counter. “Kennedy, this is Charlotte.”
Kennedy’s wide eyes dart between our faces, and she swallows slowly. “Um, hi.”
Charlotte gives her a once-over, then turns back to me. “Will you make pancakes?”
I glance at the clock. “I have court this morning and have to stop by the office first, so I need to leave early, but I bet you Abby would make them for you later before you go to school. Are you hungry now?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.”
I set her back on her feet. “Then why don’t you go back to your room and play until Abby gets here and it’s time for breakfast?”
“Okay.” But she doesn’t leave right away. She turns and looks at Kennedy, her interest renewed. “What’s your friend doing here?”
I rub my nape.
This is why I’ve never brought a woman home, but when I invited Kennedy over last night, I had no idea where it would lead. And once things started, I certainly wasn’t thinking about what I would say if Charlotte saw her here.
“Kennedy and I are just talking about some things for work.”
Charlotte gives me a disbelieving look. “Is she a lawyer, too?”
Kennedy laughs. “No, sweetie. I’m not.”
Her brow furrows again. “Then what work are you talking about?”
I pat the top of her head and nudge her toward the stairs to go back up. “Don’t worry about it, Bebelle.” Even now, I still see her as that little baby doll she was when she came home from the hospital and earned the nickname. “I’ll send Abby up when she gets here.”
Charlotte casts one last concerned look at Kennedy, then traipses up the stairs, her little feet pounding.
There will be a lot of questions later—ones I’m not at all prepared to answer, and as soon as I turn to face Kennedy again, I’ll have to face hers as well.
I find her wide blue eyes on me. “You have a daughter?”
The guilt of knowing what I’ve done to hide Charlotte from the Hawkes and everyone else for so long, only to expose her because I couldn’t say no to Kennedy, claws at my chest.
I walk over to the espresso machine and turn away from her, pouring the grounds in and packing them to buy myself a moment to consider what I’m going to say. “Yes, she’s four, almost five.”
Silence lingers in the air as I tamp down the grounds and prepare them for the machine, but it’s heavy with the question I know is coming. Even though I brace myself for it, I still flinch all the same when it comes.
“And where’s her mother?”
Hell.
I throw the grounds into the machine and press the button to brew the espresso before I turn to face Kennedy and lean back against the counter, shoving my hands through my hair. She watches me carefully, waiting for me to respond.
No matter how badly I don’t want to have this discussion, there’s no avoiding it now.
Sighing, I cross my arms over my chest. “Her mother is my ex-wife, and she’s not here, nor is she in any way involved in Charlotte’s life.”
Kennedy’s brows wing up. “What do you mean, she’s not involved in her life?”
Gripping the edges of the counter, I stare at my feet rather than at Kennedy. “When I met her mother…” I trail off slightly, wishing I didn’t have to tell this story, especially to her. “We were both at places in our lives where we didn’t want kids and didn’t think we ever would. We were happy, just the two of us, or so I thought.” I release a heavy sigh, glancing up at Kennedy. “She unexpectedly got pregnant even though she was on birth control. We’re not really sure what happened, but she didn’t want to have the baby.”
Kennedy swallows thickly. “But you did?”
The memories come flooding back—of the arguments, the tears, the pain I didn’t think I would ever feel when she said she didn’t want it. I close my eyes and nod slowly. “I never thought I wanted kids and didn’t want to be a dad. I never had that urge or desire, but as soon as I knew she was pregnant, it was like something shifted and I couldn’t imagine not having that baby.”
“So, what happened?”
My life changed completely…
“She was adamant she didn’t want to have kids, and I was adamant I did. It ended up tearing apart our relationship very quickly because even if she didn’t go through with the pregnancy, we knew we wanted different things in the long run. I knew I would want a family at some point. We ultimately came to a deal. She would carry the pregnancy to term, and I would raise our child completely by myself. I filed divorce papers the same day we reached that agreement.”
“Shit.” Kennedy’s single uttered word hangs in the air between us, mingling with the sounds of the machine brewing me another shot of espresso. “So, you’ve been raising her by yourself this whole time?”
“Not totally by myself.”
“Do your parents help?”
I do my best to school my expression at the question I should have seen coming. “They’re both dead.”
Kennedy drops her face in her palms. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”
“No, it’s okay.” It’s an obvious question, one I would have asked, too, if I were in her position right now. “I have a great nanny named Abby who came to me from one of my clients, whose kids outgrew her. She comes every day and gets Charlotte ready for preschool, picks her up after, and then stays until I get home at night. But otherwise, yeah, it’s just me and Charlotte.”
She lowers her hands and locks her gaze with mine. “And that’s why you were so worried.”
It’s finally clicked for her, what I’ve been trying to prevent this entire time, getting caught in the crossfire of some war, something that might take me away from that little girl who is my entire world.
I turn back to the machine and pour my drink into a mug before I face her again. My hand trembles holding it, and I lock the other one around it to try to conceal how badly talking about this really fucks with me. “I’m all she has. If something happens to me…” I suck in a shaky breath, the weight of what we’re discussing weighing heavily on my chest. “I don’t know what would happen to her.”
Kennedy stares down into her coffee cup, curling her hands around it tightly, and she’s silent for a few minutes while I sip at my espresso. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say. I’m a little surprised that you’re a dad.”
The true shock in her voice makes me chuckle. “Why is that so surprising?”
She offers a slight shrug and finally lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I don’t know, you’re just so…”
“Sexy?”
The corner of her mouth twitches into a smile. “No.”
“Oh, I’m not?”
She shakes her head. “Definitely not.”
“Yeah, okay.” I take another sip to fight my grin. “Definitely not.”
“You’re just so…” She considers her words for a moment. “Serious, I guess? And aggressive, and, I don’t know, not the things I think of when I think of a father.”
I bark out a laugh. “Right, and the men in your family aren’t serious and aggressive? Your own father? Your Uncle Stone?” I tighten my grip on my mug. “They do what they do for you and your family. I do what I have to do to protect her—my family. My entire focus is ensuring she has everything I never did and is always safe.”
Kennedy’s gaze hardens. “At whose cost? The Hawkes?”
Shit.
This is definitely not how I wanted this morning to go.
I thought we may have opened a door, or at least a window, that would allow me to figure out what the Hawkes are thinking, doing, and planning. But instead, all I’ve done is piss her off more.
She slides off the stool at the counter, grabs her purse off it, and hustles to the door. Her hand hits the knob, but before she can turn it, I finish my approach and press my chest against her back, aligning my body to hers.
My breath flutters her hair, and I reach up and brush it all over her left shoulder so I can dip my head in and put my mouth against her ear. “Why are you trying to create a reason to run?”
“I’m not creating anything, and I’m not running…”
“Hmmm.” The word rumbles my ribcage. “Aren’t you?”
She shakes her head and stiffens her body, like she’s gearing up for a battle. This fiery, relentless woman never backs down, yet she’s fleeing when she really wants to stay and argue with me. “I have to leave, Cass. I have meetings today.”
I run my fingers down her arm, and goosebumps pebble in their wake. My hand settles over hers on the doorknob. “Go, if you have to, but I want you to remember something…”
“Oh, yeah?” She turns her head slightly toward mine. “What’s that?”
“Remember that you came to me, and that I gave you everything I promised. Remember that you’re leaving with my cum still inside you and that I’m the reason you can barely walk this morning.” I brush my lips against the sensitive skin behind her ear. “I want you to be thinking about that while you’re sitting in your meetings. I want you to be thinking about the fact that I own your body.”
Her head snaps toward me, fire burning in her gaze. “No one owns me.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
Those perfect pink lips I want to kiss so badly twitch. “Anything said during sex is moot.”
“Is that a legal defense?”
She scowls at me as I rub my growing cock against her ass. “You tell me, counselor.”
“Definitely.” I press a kiss to her neck. “Not.”
A shudder rolls through her, and she slightly sags into me, making me grin against her warm skin. “You seem to enjoy getting me off my game.”
I chuckle. “I do enjoy getting you off, Cherie, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with your game. While you’re thinking about me being inside you, I’m going to spend my day thinking about what your cunt felt like wrapped around my cock.”
She drops her forehead against the door in front of her and releases a shaky breath. “Please stop talking like that.”
I grind my erection against her, caging her in with my hand against the door and squeezing the other over hers on the knob. “Why the hell would I want to do that, Kennedy?”
“Because…” She shakes her head. “I can’t think when you do.”
Pressing my lips in her hair, I inhale the heavenly scent I’ve come to associate with her. “What’s there to think about?”
“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” She finally turns, forcing me to take a step back and pull my hands from the door, as she searches my gaze for something. “About the fact that I just fucked my family’s biggest enemy.”
And we’re back to this…
“I’m only an enemy if you want me to be.”
She doesn’t respond, just turns back to the door and opens it. For a brief moment, I think she’s going to spin toward me and unleash one of her famous verbal assaults, but instead, she walks out without another word, pulling it closed behind her.