Crew. He has a yacht and a crew.
I’d nearly forgotten we’re on a TV show. Otherwise, I might be intimidated by the opulence of his wealth and the men in seafaring uniforms calling him sir and Mr. Permian-O’Dair.
“I thought your last name was Jenkins,” I side-whisper as we climb the stairs to the top deck.
“It is… And it’s not.”
There’s a story there.
“Sit. Eat.” He holds out a chair for me to sit at a smartly dressed table set for two with a view of the sunrise and the Gulf of Mexico.
TV show, remember? Next, he’ll be whisking me away on a private jet.
Bite my tongue. I don’t think I could handle that. Though, the idea of not bumping against other passengers like cattle sounds ideal.
As we’re served a breakfast of eggs Benedict, home fries, waffles, pancakes, fresh fruit, coffee, tea, water and an assortment of juices, all served on china and crystal goblets, I lose my train of thought and gawk at the feast in front of us.
“Everything okay, Kitten?”
It’s all my favorite foods. Not just breakfast food. My all-time favorite foods, regardless of the meal. Breakfast is perfection any time of day.
“Did you order this food special for me?” It can’t be a coincidence.
He shrugs. “I thought you might like options.”
Options? There’s enough food here to feed me for a week, maybe two if I ration.
The hamburger last night. It’s one of my favorite foods too. “Are you trying to woo me with food?” I’m not complaining, really. Shocked is all. Most people don’t give me the time of day, much less think enough about what I might want to eat and plan ahead for it.
“Is it working?” His devilish smile is all too confident.
No. I want to say to be obstinate, but, hello, eggs Benedict. “Maybe.”
He watches as I cut off a bite of EB. His eyes follow my fork all the way to my mouth, eyes hooded as I lick my lips and chew. He licks his lips in return as if he can still taste me. “Good?”
The silky hollandaise is pure perfection. I’d like a bath in it.
My eyes lock with the hunk of a man sitting across from me. “I might just dip you in this hollandaise.”
“Fuck.” He stands, pushing the chair back with his massive thighs and rounds the table, his hand cupping my neck and tipping my chin. Thumb grazing my throat, he waits for me to swallow.
Gah, he’s hot when he goes all alpha.
I choke down my bite and melt when he braces his other hand on the back of my chair and leans down, licking my lips, then he dives in, sweeping his tongue, groaning at what I would guess is the hollandaise mixed with me and a shit ton of desire.
I’m Jello by the time he pecks my mouth, forehead, and traipses to his seat like he didn’t just suck my bite from my mouth, nearly, and the air from my lungs, completely.
Also, I don’t miss the bulge in his pants. He’s just as messed up over this as I am.
Smiling, I indulge in another bite or a thousand, but who’s counting?
Breakfast devoured, Rowdy rolls me to an outside sitting area, covered and decorated like an indoor living room.
It’s insane.
Long, white, linking couches covered in plush sky-blue cushions and white throw pillows make a large arc from one side to the other. End tables, chairs, and another outside eating area with a bar cover the other half.
Rowdy takes a seat in the corner and pulls me down beside him, our hands linked, resting on his leg. He scans the horizon, a far-off look in his eye. “I’ve always loved this place. It’s my escape.”
Of course it is. “It’s incredible.”
His smile is only a wisp of what it normally is as he kisses my temple. “If we had more time, I’d take you out for a few days.”
That would be something. I’ve never been on the water. Even if I had, it wouldn’t compare to this. “Another time then.”
“It’s a date.”
Lost in our own thoughts, I rest my head on his shoulder as the boat slips through the water. The sun farther in the sky shines like gold and the promise of a beautiful day.
“He always hated me,” he speaks over me, resting his head on mine.
“Who?”
“Drake.”
“He doesn’t seem to like anybody.”
Rowdy laughs and wraps an arm around me, situating us so I’m practically lying on his reclined form.
“He’s a sour puss most of the time. I don’t know how he even makes it through the day being such an ass all the time.”
“Sounds miserable,” I agree.
Silence for a beat. “He used to beat me up. My parents thought I was accident prone. It was no accident. For as long as I can remember he’d show up around a corner or step into a room and hurt me in some way.”
Ohmygod. “That’s horrible. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
He tips my chin, his sorrowful eyes beckoning me. “Why didn’t you?”
Oh, fuck. How did we switch to me? I thought this was his story time, not mine.
Anything he needs.
I sigh into his embrace. “Shame. Embarrassment. Worrying maybe I deserved it,” I offer my sad truth.
“Same.” He runs a crooked finger down my cheek. “I didn’t know any better. I thought all brothers were hellish minions. Till my best friend in fifth grade caught on. He sat me down and told me what my brother did was not normal. He had an older brother, but I never realized until that moment that his brother didn’t hurt him the same way, get him into trouble to sit back and watch. Drake’s attacks were not like normal sibling bullshit. That’s when I started fighting back.” Rowdy’s hand on my back grips my hip, releases, then traces circles. “I outgrew him two years later. By ninth grade, I was a black belt. He never touched me again. His physical attacks stopped, but the verbal abuse never did. He was always an ass, probably always will be.”
The darkness, the rage I sense in Rowdy at times makes sense. How could you not be angry when someone who’s supposed to look out for you, show you the ropes, is the one tying you up and making sure you trip on them instead?
I’m so disappointed in his parents for not putting a stop to it. They had to have suspected. A kid can’t go his whole childhood being bullied by a sibling and it go unnoticed.
“Shh, Kitten.” He sinks lower and pulls me tighter. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Kiss to my forehead. “I just wanted you to know. I want you to know all of me.” Kiss to my lips. “Even the not-so-pleasant parts.”
Crack. He burrows further into my heart. At this rate, he’ll own every splintered piece of it.
But what would he want with a damaged crazy like me for the long haul? Especially if I ever get up the nerve to tell him my not-so-pleasant parts.
Not today.
Today is about him.
Today is the day he buries his mother.
PALLBEARER. I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS pronounced polebearer. Maybe it’s the Texan in me. We tend to pronounce things differently. But right here in Mom’s program, it says I’m a pallbearer.
Learn something new every day, even at Mom’s funeral.
Reese keeps squeezing my leg. My hands are clasped in my lap, trying to squelch the urge to curse God for taking my mom.