Kiss the Sky (16 page)

“I didn’t say anything.” My voice is not even a little kind.
I don’t know how to defrost the ice that clings to each syllable, even if I
wanted to.

“You’re staring.” This fact gives him permission to lower
his gaze to the misted shower glass.

I don’t look away. I will not come across as a frightened
bird.

“I wondered if you were a bush kind of girl. Now I know.” He
tops it off with a half-smile.

I purse my lips. He can’t see
that
much detail through the glass. “You’re a pig.”

He tosses his toothbrush back in a cabinet underneath the
sink and leans against the porcelain rim. “And Lo calls me Mr. Hollywood. Do
you all have a thing with nicknames?”

“Loren also told you to eat shit in the same breath, so I
wouldn’t gloat.”

His grin never falters, in fact it widens. “You forget that
every curse word, every
pig
and
insult is another notch for ratings. So keep ‘
em
coming, honey.”

He prefers to provoke Loren since he’s fishing for drama.
He’d like for me to curse him out too. Maybe I should seal my lips shut and let
him deal with the silence. We could still have great ratings without being
nasty. But it’s harder for me to be nice than mean. However awful that seems.

Scott steps closer to the showers, and my eyes tighten as I
glare so hard. I continue to hide my breasts with my arm, but everything else
is exposed. I could reach for the towel, but surrendering is not an avenue I’ll
take. I’ll look foolish and scared,
which’ll
sit like
dead-weight in my stomach.

He
slowly
steps
out of his pants.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He cocks his head. “Taking a shower, Rose.” He motions to
the available “stall” beside mine—the one so close that we could practically
high-five. “Do I need your permission?”

“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders. “And you’re
not
getting it.”

He laughs. “I was just being a dick when I asked. I don’t
really care about your permission.”

I don’t really care
about your permission
. His words gnaw a hole in my brain. I hated him
before. I think I
loathe
him now.

He removes his white shirt, and my eyes linger on his abs
for point-two seconds. They’re okay…
  
Defined, but more “I lift too many weights and drink a shit ton of
protein shakes” sculpted than the natural “this is my body. I’m just fucking
hot” look. Which all three guys in the house possess in spades (even if they
all
do
work out together).

My loyalties lie far, far away from Scott Van Wright—and
even a simple compliment about his body feels like kissing a pig who shit in my
yard.

I catch a glimpse of his red briefs.

This is not okay.

Fuck it.
Where’s
my towel?

I go to reach over the glass door to retrieve the cloth off
the hook, but Scott snatches it—and it slings right out of my grip.

You have got to be— “That’s
my
towel.” This is
not
okay.

“Now it’s mine.” Scott acts modest all of a sudden, tying it
around his waist so he can shed his underwear.

I fume. Outwardly. Steam may as well be blowing out of my
ears. “What no peep show this morning?”

“We’ll save that for the bedroom,” he says. And winks. He
winks
at me. My insides shrivel in
repulsion. I think he just poisoned my uterus.

He takes off his briefs, all while keeping the towel snug
around his waist, and then he kicks his underwear to the side. His eyes pin to
me, a smile playing at his lips. Yes, he is naked underneath that towel.

And yes, I am very much naked in the shower right now.

I’m not quite sure things could get much worse.

“Sorry that phone call took so long, darling.” Connor’s
voice emanates from the doorway. “The partners wouldn’t stop talking about
finger paints.”

A sudden wave of relief crashes into me. My teammate has
arrived to tag me out of this disaster. Somehow he saw or heard Scott in the
bathroom and came to retrieve me. Maybe he finally realized that I can finish
his project
for
him.

Thank you. I’m out of
here.

And then Connor says, “My shampoo, is it in there?”

That relief is squashed by anxiety. I understand now. He
wants to come into the shower. He plans to beat Scott this round and push our
relationship to a place where it should already be. I try to pump my chest with
more confidence, but he still wants to hop in here with me. And in order for
Connor to win, I can’t be shocked by his arrival. I can’t push him away like
he’s less than my boyfriend. I need to be as comfortable around him as I should
be. I can’t say “wait” like I did downstairs. I have to let him keep going.
Full speed ahead. No fucking brakes.
Grow
some bigger balls, Rose Calloway.

Yes, I think I can do this.

I scan the shelf with an arrangement of female and male hair
products. I find his black bottle that costs more than my conditioner and body
wash put together. “Your precious shampoo is here,” I say in my usual biting
tone.

“You shouldn’t insult my shampoo. I’ve been told my hair is
my second best feature.” He ignores the fact that Scott still stands outside
the second shower, his hand on the glass door, frozen as he watches.

I only notice Scott from the corner of my eye. He waits for
one of us to acknowledge his presence. And I refuse to entertain his snide
comments.

Even though, really, it’s more than rude to be bathing in a
communal shower together. I know Lily has already done it…though in her bathing
suit. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Daisy has too with her new boyfriend (that
no one has met yet).

I want to not care and just “go with the flow”—I’ve never
really been like that.

Connor quickly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside, now
only in black slacks. As he nears my shower, he’s
clearly
taller than Scott.

Connor combs his hand through his hair. “It’s thick,
full—something to grab onto.”

Is he still talking about his hair? My eyebrows rise at him
in question, and he shows off a million-dollar grin. I stare at his crotch,
unabashed about looking now.

“And what’s your first best feature?” I challenge.
Your cock, most definitely.

“My ass.” His smile widens. And with this, he steps right
out of his pants and boxer-briefs. Completely fucking naked.

The glass door still separates our bodies, but Connor has
just shed his clothes
right
in front
of Scott. And he doesn’t even care. He acts like the producer deserves none of
his attention, as though he’s as low as weeds in cracked pavement.

Connor is the sexiest he’s ever been.

He opens the shower door confidently, and I try not to shy
away. No man has ever seen me
this
naked
and that’s all about to change.

And in order to give Scott the middle finger, I can’t be
alarmed when Connor’s naked body comes into contact with my naked body.

There’s just a whole lot of naked in this scenario.

With no room for fear.

Fearless nudity. I do like the sound of that.

I pull my shoulders back and drop my arm as Connor steps
inside, careful to block my exposed body from Scott. He closes the door behind
him.

His tactic to neglect the third-party works for the most
part. Scott stands outside of his shower stall, just
watching
us in curiosity, as though he’s considering grabbing a
video camera. If he does, I will snip his fucking…

My thoughts trail off as soon as Connor nears me. His eyes
drop, climbing from my bare legs and rising higher and higher. His gaze
momentarily pauses on the spot between my thighs, and I swear he smiles ever so
slightly. Places that no man has ever touched ache for hard pressure. All
because of his stupid smile. And those eyes, I suppose.

They heat me as much as the shower steam, his blue irises
ascending once more from my feet to my breasts where he lingers. I check the
state of my nipples. Erect.
Of course.
My
pulse speeds crazily, and each bead of water scorches my skin.

And yet, I don’t want to move. I want to stand right here
and burn with this fire.

Connor closes in, and his hardness brushes against my belly.
I feel so short without high heels on. I look up. The water rains down on his
body, where his muscles curve in hard, defined lines, leading to his cock. Just
seeing
that
stirs something deep
inside of me, the heat and his body numbing my brain.

A strong
need
heightens,
the kind that would like a real dick and not a rubber one—the kind that I’ve
snubbed for a long, long time. This is something I would have fantasized about
at sixteen in my bedroom. Connor Cobalt entering my shower like a dominant god,
his intelligence trouncing mine for a long, stimulating moment.

He reaches over me, grabbing his expensive shampoo, and his
arm rubs against my shoulder. My chest collapses. Just like that.

I don’t breathe.

I can’t move.

I’m surprised my brain hasn’t
completely
shut off. But then I would really be pissed. My brain
has never ditched me before, and like hell the first time would be because of a
penis.
 

Fearless nudity
.
Right. I
suck
in a breath and command my confidence
to return.

“Your project,” I whisper to Connor. He needs this time to
work, not guard me from the sleazy producer. Normally I would protest against
the backup, but I wish, more than anything, he’d stay right here.

“I finished it,” he says, his face naturally unreadable. It
could very well be a lie, but I’d rather not reignite that argument.

The other shower turns on, and I hear the water splash
against the tiles. Scott decided to make this situation more awkward. I’m about
to look over and shoot him one of my signature death glares. But Connor rests a
hand on my bare hip and maintains my position here in front of him. He stands
between me and Scott, the chest-high wall also adding a bit of a barrier
between us and the producer. I pull a wet strand of hair off my lip. Despite being
shielded by a six-foot-four muscular man, my fury ejects. “Nice of you to wait
ten minutes, Scott. If my shower ends up being cold, I’m going to—”

“What? What are you going to do?” Scott says in amusement,
most likely
smirking.
“Assault me
with your nails? Claw me? Please do. And be sure to forget the towel when you
come into my shower.”

Uh…
fuck.
I
suddenly realize that giving Scott attention is the equivalent of kicking
Connor to the ground.

My boyfriend can be the bigger person in most situations. I
tend to take the low road.

Connor lets his annoyance pass through his features. His jaw
sets tight and his eyes flash hot at
me.
Just
when I wonder if he’s going to punish me, as he once said he’d do, he returns
to his shampoo, actually washing his hair.

Disappointment floods me. Is it bad that I wished he
punished me somehow? I guess I should go back to my routine then… I bite my
gums, trying not to be distracted as I grab my razor. But he’s much larger than
anything I’ve put inside me, and he’s only semi-hard.

“So what’s your job title at Cobalt Inc.?” Scott asks
Connor.

“Interim CEO,” he replies civilly. I think Scott’s just
trying to provoke Connor.

“So it’s temporary?”

“Provisional, momentary, brief,” Connor lists with a casual
tone. “More synonyms for interim in case you need them.”

Scott snorts but has nothing to fling back in my boyfriend’s
face.

I concentrate on bathing. I still have to shave my leg. And
that means bending over
in front
of
Connor. He continues to hide me from Scott, so I have no clear view of
him—thankfully. I don’t want Scott to see my ass. He can look at Connor’s all
day—you know, since it’s his
best
feature.

Maybe I can skip shaving.

I shudder.

Fuck it.
I’ve come
this far. I’m naked in a shower with a naked man. I can bend over a little. I
lather soap on my leg, and then I lean over to finish shaving. My bottom rubs
against his dick, and I go to stand up and scoot forward, away from him, but
Connor puts a hand on my back, forcing me to stay down.

His other palm caresses the soft flesh of my ass. And then
he squeezes me hard, and I hear the warning in his grip
don’t give Scott anything of yours.

I wince and can’t help but smile, loving that he cares. He
alternates between a forceful grip and a soft one, rubbing and clenching,
nearing the spot between my legs. Not yet entering. My arms shake as I attempt
to shave, especially when he massages my bottom and then slaps it.
Ahh
…fuck me…

Why does that feel so
good?

He releases his hand on my back, allowing me the option to
stand, but his fingers perilously dip to the crease of my ass.

He lowers them. And I yelp, a sound that has
never
left my mouth before. I’ve just
been startled out of my fucking
mind
.
Holy… I knick my kneecap, drawing blood, and stand up straight, causing
Connor’s hands to fall from me.

Scott laughs. He’s fucking
laughing
, which only pummels me with more guilt and shock. I just
rejected Connor right in front of Scott—is that what it looks like? I slowly
turn around and meet Connor’s complacent, composed and most importantly
unreadable
expression. I channel so many
apologies through my face. I’m using facial muscles that have been static for
the past twenty-three years.

Scott’s chortles still scald my eardrums. Out of haste, I
try to turn on the producer and curse him out, to ineloquently explain how it
wasn’t just Connor. If any man tried to do that with me, they would have been
met with the same alarmed response.