Читать книгу Modern Romance June 2017 Books 5 - 8 - Jane Porter, Andie Brock - Страница 17
ОглавлениеROWAN LAY AWAKE, Logan sleeping at his side. He’d been awake for the past hour, listening to her breathe and thinking about the night.
It’d been years since he’d felt so much hunger and need, years since he’d wanted a woman the way he wanted Logan tonight.
Just remembering the lovemaking made him hard all over again. He’d found such erotic satisfaction in the shape of her, the softness of her skin, the scent of her body, the intensity of her orgasms.
He loved the taste of her and the urgency of her cries as she climaxed.
He hadn’t felt this way about a woman since...
The March 31 when he’d first bedded Logan Lane.
The corner of his mouth pulled and he lightly stroked her hair where it spilled across his chest.
She wanted things he couldn’t give her—romance, love—but he could give her other things, important things...stability, security, permanence.
He wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t abandon her. He’d never betray their daughter, either.
And just because he couldn’t give love, that didn’t mean their relationship had to be empty or cold. This physical connection was hot. There was no reason they couldn’t enjoy the heat and pleasure. They should take pleasure in each other. There would be no other.
Marriage was a commitment. He would be committed. Love wasn’t necessary. In fact, love was a negative. It added pain and unnecessary complications. They didn’t need the emotion. He didn’t need it, and she’d be fine without it, too.
* * *
Logan woke and for a moment she didn’t know where she was.
The bed was strange. Huge and imposing with its monster antique four-poster frame—and yet the white sheets were so soft and smooth they felt delicious against her skin.
Stretching, her body felt tender. Between her thighs it felt very tender.
And then she remembered it all. Rowan’s mouth on her. His cock filling her. His expertise that made her come once, and then again.
And in the next moment she remembered Jax and she glanced at the wall of monitors to check the camera in Jax’s room, but the screens were dark. The monitors were turned off.
Logan flung herself from bed, panicked. She grabbed the nearest piece of clothing—Rowan’s T-shirt—pulled it over her head and raced back to her room. The curtains were open, sunlight poured through the tall, narrow windows, the sky beyond a hopeful blue.
Jax’s bed in her closet bedroom was empty.
Logan tried to calm herself, knowing that in this place nothing bad would happen to Jax. The Irish nanny, Orla, probably had her. They were undoubtedly playing fairy-something somewhere, but until Logan saw Jax, and knew without a doubt that Jax was safe, Logan couldn’t relax.
She stepped into shorts and dashed from her room, running down the stairs by two.
There were no bodyguards at the foot of the stairs today. The huge stone entry was empty. She went to Rowan’s study. That was empty, too.
Where was he? Where was everyone? Had Rowan taken Jax and gone? Leaving her here?
She retraced her steps, returning to the impressive staircase but turning left instead of right and kept going until she reached the castle’s kitchen. It was a cavernous vaulted space made of stone and dramatic arches. The huge commercial oven was tucked into what once must have been a medieval hearth, and a bank of tall, sleek stainless-steel refrigerators took up another wall. The kitchen was warm and smelled of yeast and warm bread. A woman had been bent over in front of the wood-topped island and now straightened. Startled by the appearance of Logan, she plunked her mixing bowl of rising dough on the island and wiped her hands clean on a nearby dish towel. “Hello. Can I help you with something?”
“My daughter,” Logan said urgently. “I can’t find her.”
“Your little one is with Mr. Argyros.” She turned to the stove, and pulled out a tray of golden scones and then another and placed them on top of the stove. “You’ll find them outside in the garden.” The cook nodded toward the garden beyond the kitchen door. “You can go that way. It’s quickest.”
“Thank you.”
The air was cool and the gravel path hurt her feet. She should have worn shoes but Logan wasn’t going back until she found Jax. She hurried down the path, trying not to shiver, telling herself there was no need to be afraid, but what if Jax was scared and Rowan wasn’t patient? What if Jax was in one of her toddler moods—
She stopped short as she rounded the corner.
There between the hedges and the castle’s kitchen herb garden was a little round table with matching painted chairs. A delicate lace cloth covered the pale blue wooden table and in one chair sat Jax, a tiny crown on top of her head, and in the other sat Rowan, looking beastly big in his pixie-sized chair. He was holding a miniature china cup and Jax was reaching for her cup and beaming up at him as if she was a real princess and Rowan her prince.
Logan couldn’t breathe. She’d never seen Jax look at anyone like that. Not even Joe, whom she adored.
Logan’s pulse still raced but her heart felt unhinged, flip-flopping around inside of her, hot emotions washing through her, one after another.
They were having a tea party in the garden. A father-daughter tea party.
And not just a casual affair, but this one had an arrangement of purple pansies in a little milk pitcher, and a silver tiered tray of sweets filled with little iced cakes and fragrant golden scones.
Someone had gone to a great deal of effort. Had Orla planned this? It seemed to be the sort of thing a professional nanny would think of, and yet there was something about the way the pansies spilled out of the pitcher that made Logan think this wasn’t Orla, but someone else...
Her gaze settled on Rowan. He was smiling at Jax, his expression infinitely warm and protective. Doting, even.
Logan’s eyes burned and she struggled to get air into her lungs but she couldn’t see and she couldn’t think, not when she was feeling so much.
Rowan looked like a giant in the small blue chair, his shoulders immense, drawing his shirt tight across his broad back, while the fine wool of his black trousers outlined his muscular thighs.
But Jax wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the size of Rowan. If anything, she was delighted with her company, beaming up at Rowan as she sipped her tea, her chubby fingers clutching the little cup before she set it back down to ask if he needed more tea.
He nodded and Jax reached for the pot to top off his cup. As she started to pour the tea, she noticed her mother, set the pot down with a bang, and waved to Logan. “Mommy!”
“Hello, sweet girl,” Logan said, blinking away tears before Jax could see them.
“We’re having a party!” Jax cried, reaching up to adjust her tiara. “I’m a princess.”
“Yes, you are.” Logan walked toward their little table, but avoided Rowan’s gaze. He was too much of everything.
Jax frowned at her mother’s bare legs. “Where are your clothes, Mommy?”
“I need some, don’t I?”
“Yes. You look naked.” Jax sounded scandalized.
“I know, and it’s a princess party. I’m terribly underdressed. I’m sorry.”
Logan leaned over and dropped a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Is that real tea you’re drinking?”
Jax nodded vigorously. “Yes.”
“If apple cider is tea,” Rowan replied, his voice pitched low, but even pitched low she heard the amusement in it.
She darted a glance in his direction, not sure what to expect, but thinking he’d be smug this morning, after last night.
Instead his expression was guarded. He seemed to be gauging her mood.
Logan wished she knew how she felt. Everything was changing and she felt off balance and unable to find her center. “Is this her breakfast?” she asked, noting the little cakes and miniature scones on the tiered plate taking center stage on the table.
“It’s tea, Mommy,” Jax said sounding a bit exasperated. “Breakfast was at breakfast.” She then looked at Rowan, and her expression softened, her tone almost tender as she asked him, “More tea?”
“I haven’t drunk my last cup,” he answered Jax regretfully.
“Then drink it.” Jax turned back to her mother, earnestly adding, “We only have two cups. Sorry, Mommy.”
Logan couldn’t help thinking that Jax didn’t seem the least bit sorry that her mother couldn’t join them. The little girl was soaking up the attention. “That’s okay. I should probably go dress.” But Logan found it hard to walk away. The party was so charming and Jax had never not wanted her company before. It was new, and rather painful, being excluded.
Rowan glanced at her, looking almost sympathetic. “You don’t have to leave. We can find you a chair, if you’d like.”
The fact that he seemed to understand her feelings made it even worse. He wasn’t supposed to be the good guy. He was the bad guy. And yet here he was, dressed up in black trousers and a white dress shirt, balancing himself in a pint-size chair, and drinking apple cider in a cup about the size of a shot glass.
“How nice of Orla to arrange this,” she said, injecting a brisk cheerful note into her voice. “I’ll have to thank her when I see her.”
“Orla won’t be here for another half hour,” Rowan answered.
Logan frowned, confused. “But she made arrangements for the tea, yes?”
“No,” he said.
“My daddy did,” Jax said, casting another loving look on Rowan.
Her daddy.
Daddy.
He’d told her.
Logan shot Rowan a disbelieving look, and he was prepared. He didn’t shy away—instead he met her gaze squarely, apparently utterly unrepentant.
She felt completely blindsided and her lips parted to protest, but she swallowed each of the rebukes because this wasn’t the time, not in front of Jax.
“We’ll talk when Orla arrives,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just pulled the ultimate power play, rocking her world again.
How dare he? How dare he?
She was so shocked. So upset. Anger washed over her in hot, unrelenting waves. “Is that what this party was for?”
“Orla will be here in thirty minutes.” His voice was calm and quiet but she heard the warning underneath. Don’t do this now. Don’t upset Jax.
She bit back the hot sharp words that filled her head and mouth, battling the sense of betrayal.
He played dirty. He’d always played dirty. He would never change.
Her eyes stung and her throat sealed closed and it was all she could do to hold her emotions in. No wonder he’d been so successful in his career. He was extremely strategic. And he had no conscience. He didn’t care who he hurt, not as long as he won.
“You’ve time for a hot bath and a light bite,” he added conversationally. “I’m sure you’d feel better with some coffee and food in you. It’s already past lunch. You must be hungry.”
“It’s past lunch?”
“Yes. It’s already after two.”
“Two?”
“You had a good sleep-in, and a well-deserved one.” He briefly turned his attention to Jax as she’d just offered him a little iced cake from her own plate. The cake was now looking a tad sticky but he accepted it with a smile of pleasure.
He held his smile as he focused back on Logan. “I’m glad you slept. I think you were...spent.”
She heard his deliberate hesitation and knew exactly what he was implying. She was spent because he’d worn her out with his amazing performance last night.
“It was a grueling day,” she agreed shortly, turning away because there was nothing else she could do. She wasn’t wanted at the garden party and she was cold in just the T-shirt.
Shivering, Logan returned to the kitchen to see about coffee and one of those scones she’d spotted coming out of the oven.
“Do you think I could get some coffee and one or two of those scones?” she asked the cook.
“I’ll send up a tray immediately,” the cook promised.
The tray with coffee and scones, and a bowl of fresh berries, was delivered just minutes later to Logan’s bedroom, and Logan sat cross-legged on the large bed, enjoying several cups of coffee and the warm flakey scones slathered with sweet Irish butter and an equally thick layer of jam, before bathing and dressing.
By the time Jax returned to the room, Logan was very much ready to shift into mommy mode, but Jax had other ideas. After giving her mother a big hug and kiss she announced that she and Orla were going to watch a movie in the castle theater.
“But wait, how was tea?” Logan asked.
“Lovely.”
Lovely. Now that wasn’t a word American toddlers used often. “Did Orla teach you that word?”
“No, my daddy did.”
Once again, her daddy.
She ground her teeth together, struggling with another wave of resentment. For the past two plus years she’d been the center of Jax’s world, fiercely vigilant, determined to be both mother and father, and yet overnight her role had been changed. She’d been nudged over—no, make that shoved—and she was supposed to be good with it. She was supposed to just accept that Rowan was now in their lives, making changes, shifting power, redefining everything.
“What do you think of him?” she asked carefully.
“My daddy?”
“Yes.”
“He’s nice.”
Logan smiled grimly. “He is, isn’t he?”
“Orla says he’s lovely.”
So that’s where she learned the word. Wonderful. “And where is Orla?” Logan asked, determined to hide her anger from Jax, even as she made a mental note of yet one more thing to discuss with Rowan. It was unprofessional for nannies—even cheerful Irish ones—to refer to their male bosses as lovely.
“Outside, in the hall.”
Logan went to the door and opened it, and yes, there stood Orla with her ready smile. “Good afternoon,” Orla greeted Logan with a lilt in her voice. “Did Jax tell you we’re going to go see Cinderella in the theater?”
“No.” Logan was finding it very difficult to keep up with all the twists and turns in the day. “There’s a theater here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Downstairs in the basement.”
“Castles have basements?”
“Well, it was the dungeon but we don’t want to scare the little girl.” And then she winked at Logan. “Or the big girls, either.”
And then Orla and Jax were off, walking hand in hand as they headed for the stairs, both apparently very excited about the movie. The movie, undoubtedly, being Rowan’s idea.
Which meant it was time to deal with Rowan.
Logan stepped into shoes, grabbed a sweater, and went to find him. It wasn’t a simple thing in a castle the size of Ros. She checked the study and then outside, walking through one garden and then another, before returning to the house and climbing the stairs back to the second floor where she opened the door of his bedroom to see if by chance he was there.
He was. And he was in the middle of stripping off his clothes and he turned toward her, completely naked.
Her gaze swept over him, lingering on the thick planes of his chest, the narrow hips, the tight, honed abs and then below. He was gorgeous.
He knew it, too.
“Come back for more, have you?” he asked, his smile cocky.
Logan flushed but didn’t run away. She closed the door behind her. “You had no business telling her you were her father—”
“Oh, I absolutely did.” His smile was gone. “You were in no hurry to tell her.”
“I had a plan.”
“I’m sure you did. One that didn’t include me.” His dark hair was damp. His body still gleamed with perspiration. He made no attempt to cover himself. “But I’m not interested in being shut out or being relegated to the background as if I’m on your staff. I’m her father, not a babysitter or hired help.”
She wished he’d put his clothes back on. How could she argue with Rowan when he was naked? “I’ve never said you were hired help,” she snapped.
“You certainly haven’t treated me as an equal, have you? But you’re a Copeland. Why should I expect otherwise?”
“Not that again!”
He walked toward her, muscles taut, jaw tight. “Not that again? I’m not allowed to be troubled by your family? By your sordid history? I’m not supposed to care that your father destroyed my family?” He made a rough low sound, correctly reading her surprise. “Yes. Your father quite handily dismantled my family. It’s embarrassing how quickly he ruined us. I blame my father, too. He was the one who chose to work for your father.”
He paused to search her face. “Yes, my father once worked for your father. Did you know that?” He laughed shortly, mockingly. “And your father was underhanded even then, already an expert in white-collar crime.”
Her heart raced and she held her breath, shoulders squared, bracing herself for the rest.
“Your father has been a sleazy con artist forever. But he was able to get away with it for years, hiding behind his big Greenwich house, with his big Greenwich lifestyle.”
Logan swallowed, pulse thudding hard, and yet she refused to say a word, aware that he wasn’t done, aware that anything she said would just infuriate him more. The fact that he couldn’t accept that she and her father were two different people was his problem, not hers, and it had been his problem from the very beginning. She also understood now that it would never change.
He would never change.
“He was able to hide, your dad, by creating a veneer of sophistication with money. Other people’s money. Taking their incomes and their nest eggs and draining them dry so he could pose and preen, a consciencless peacock—” He broke off, and looked away, toward the window with the view of the rolling green lawn and the dark hedges beyond.
“There is power in money,” he added flatly, harshly after a moment. “It provides an extra layer or two of protection, allowing your father to continue his charade for decades, whereas others, those who worked under him, or for him, were caught up in the schemes and exposed. And those men paid the price early. They went to jail. They served time.”
His voice roughened, deepened, and Logan’s skin prickled as she suddenly began to understand where Rowan was going with this.
His dad had worked for her father years ago.
Her father had been a con artist even then.
Her father had gotten away with the...schemes...while his father hadn’t.
Finally she forced herself to speak. “Your father,” she said huskily, “he served time?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Long enough.” He faced her, expression hard. “It destroyed his reputation, while your father escaped unscathed.”
“I don’t remember any of this.”
“It happened before you were born. I was just a boy, and my brother was a toddler.”
She balled her hands into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. “Why would my father be able to escape unscathed? Why did just your father take the fall?”
“Because my father was paid to take the fall.” Rowan’s voice was as sharp as glass. “And it wasn’t a lot, not even by a poor man’s standards, but your father didn’t care. It wasn’t his problem how the Argyros family survived. It wasn’t his problem that a young Irish wife with two young children wouldn’t be able to get by when Mr. Argyros went to prison, taking away income. Depriving the family of a father, a husband, a breadwinner.”
For a moment there was just silence.
“If your father had been exposed then, if my father had refused to take the fall alone, your father wouldn’t have been able to defraud thousands of people billions of dollars. Your father’s career as a con artist would have ended. Instead, my father caved and took the blame and served the time, destroying all of us, but leaving you Copelands privileged, spoiled, glamorous and untouched.”
And this is why he hated her father so much.
This is why he’d scorned her when he’d discovered who she was.
She was a privileged, spoiled, glamorous, untouched Copeland girl, while he was the son of a man who served time for her father’s machinations. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and she really, truly was. She felt the shame of her father’s actions so strongly. She’d been deeply ashamed for years, and the weight of the shame had almost suffocated her years ago. It’s why she’d moved from the East Coast to the West. It’s why she’d pushed her family away. It’s why she’d dropped the Copeland from her name. Not to hide. She wasn’t an ostrich. She’d never buried her head in the sand. She knew how selfish her father was. But it was impossible to survive mired in guilt. The move to California was a desperate, last-ditch effort to shift the pieces in her heart and head so that she could have something of a life. So that she could be someone other than Daniel’s daughter.
But Rowan would never see her as anyone but Daniel’s daughter.
For Rowan she would always be the enemy.
He shrugged carelessly, callously and turned around, heading for his en suite bathroom. As he walked away from her, she didn’t know where to look or what to think or how to feel.
From the back he looked like a Greek god—the very broad shoulders, the long, lean waist, his small tight glutes.
But he also had the cruelty of the Greek gods.
He would punish her forever. He’d never forgive her. She’d spend the rest of her life punished and broken.
Hot tears stung the back of her eyes. “I’m not my father,” she shouted after him. “I have never been him, and you are not your father!”
He disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t close the door, but he didn’t answer her, either.
“And you have been punishing me from that very first morning in Los Angeles for being a Copeland, and you’re still punishing me, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of this. Your motives aren’t pure—”
“No, they’re not.” He reappeared in the doorway, still stark naked, the hard, carved planes of his body reminding her of the large marble statue of Hercules she’d seen in Rome years ago. “But I take being a parent seriously, as I know how important parents are for young children, and you had no right to cut me out of my daughter’s life. I just thank God that your father did die, and I was the one to come for you because otherwise I’d still be oblivious that she even exists.”
Fine, he could be livid, but she was seething, too. “I should have been part of that conversation today, Rowan.”
“Theoretically, yes, but you weren’t there.”
“So wait until I am there.”
“I’m done waiting,” he ground out.
“I should have been there when you told her,” she shot back, walking toward the bathroom. “I should have been part of that conversation.”
“Theoretically, yes,” he answered, leaning against the door frame, all taut, toned muscle and leashed power. “But there was a moment during our tea when she told me she didn’t have a daddy and I was right there, and what was I to do? Pretend I hadn’t heard her—”
“She did not say any such thing!”
“She did, mo ghra, and so I told her that I was her daddy.” He shrugged, straightened. “I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want to overwhelm her. I simply told her I was her father, and I was very sorry to have been away so long, but I wouldn’t leave her in the future. I explained that we will all live together now, and we’ll be a happy family, the three of us, and hopefully with time, she’d have a baby brother or sister, or both.”
Her gaze had been sliding down his body but she jerked it back up, taking in his chiseled jaw, faintly smiling lips, and that impossibly smug expression. “You did not!”
“Oh, I did. And she was excited. She said she’d love a baby brother or sister. Or both. Maybe twins. Twin boys. Twin girls. The more the merrier.” He gave her a searching look. “You do want a big family, too, don’t you?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Jax and I are quite serious.”
“Don’t include Jax in this. She’s just a baby herself, which is why you shouldn’t lead her on. You’ll just disappoint her—”
“But, love, think about it. We didn’t use protection last night. You could very well be pregnant already.”
She didn’t know what to respond to first, his continued use of the word love or the suggestion that she could be pregnant. She focused on the second one since they’d both already established that he didn’t love. “It takes longer than that for the sperm to travel to the egg,” she retorted frostily.
“Maybe I have super sperm.” And then flashing her a maddening smile, he turned around, displaying more of his assets, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Logan stood there, fuming, clenching and unclenching her hands. He was so satisfied with himself and so infuriating. And yet, to be fair, she couldn’t blame him for feeling victorious. Rowan was proving to be an expert at getting things done, his way.
“By the way,” Rowan suddenly called to her, even as she heard the shower turn on. “I heard from Drakon earlier today. There seems to be some drama in your family at the moment, and he hoped you could call Morgan after dinner, and I hope so, too, since you’ve no reason to fight with me——”
“You’re trying to pick a fight with me right now.”
“I’m trying to get you to focus on the big picture. Your family is in turmoil. You don’t need to quarrel with me.”
“So just marry you and be done with it. Not want anything for myself. Not need love or kindness.”
“I’m very kind to you.”
“Rowan!”
“I am. I made you feel so good last night.”
“That’s not kindness. That’s sexual expertise. You’re experienced. Technically sound. Big deal.”
“It was last night.” His voice was somewhat muffled but she still heard the hint of laughter.
“And this is today,” she snapped, walking closer to the bathroom. “So what is happening with my family?”
“Your sisters are fighting.”
She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t surprised. She didn’t even need to ask him which sisters. “I warned you that Morgan and Victoria don’t get along.”
“They seem to have done all right for a day, but then they began discussing the memorial for your father and things fell apart.”
“I’m sure I know what happened there. Morgan wants a service and Jemma and Victoria don’t, and Morgan’s hoping she can convince me to take her side.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
She grimaced and rubbed her knuckles over her chin. “It’s the story of our family. Even when we try, we can’t get along.”
“But the news always depicts you four sisters as being very close.”
“Lies, all lies,” she sang and then her mocking smile slipped. “We’ve spent our lives being painted as those scandalous Copelands, but we’re a family much like anyone else. We have problems. We struggle to agree on things. We have different goals and dreams. But that is far less interesting to the media. I’m afraid we’ll always be tabloid fodder.”
“Explain the family dynamics to me.”
“That would take all day.”
“Give me the short version.”
“The judge allowed us as children to choose which parent we would live with. We all initially chose to live with Mom, but then Morgan—the most tenderhearted of us—felt sorry for Dad and decided to go live with him, even though he had zero interest in being a father or being there for her. But once she made her decision, she stuck with it, and to this day, she’s tried to side with him, which actually just means taking care of him.”
“Even though your father stole millions from Drakon?”
She grimaced. “It certainly complicated their marriage, didn’t it?”
“So why are Morgan and Victoria so antagonistic? That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Morgan wants everyone to forgive Dad, but Victoria isn’t sure she can forgive Morgan for siding with Dad. It’s endless and exhausting, and between us, I’m tired of it. That’s why I moved to California, to get away from the family and the drama.”
“Hmm.” His deep voice was a rumble from inside the bathroom. “So if Morgan was Team Daniel, and Victoria was his archenemy, where are you on the spectrum?”
She tipped her head, rested it on the door frame. “Probably closer to Victoria, but not as extreme. It’s hard because there was Dad and the bitter divorce, and then there was Dad, the investor turned swindler. He made a lot of really bad decisions in his life and now there are five of us trying to move forward, burdened with his...legacy.”
Rowan was silent for a bit. “Do you have any good memories of him?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“So the memorial service isn’t important to you.”
“I don’t think we need one, but you can’t tell Morgan that. She had such a different relationship with him than the rest of us did.”
“She’s your twin.”
“Fraternal. We’re nothing alike.”
“But weren’t you close growing up?”
“Yes. Until she left to go live with Dad.” She fell silent a moment, thinking about the complex dynamics. “I do love her, though. She and I have a good relationship. I don’t like her being upset.”
“According to Drakon she’s very upset, but then, so is Victoria.”
“And they’re still together, under one roof?”
“No, as a matter of fact. Victoria is now on her way to Jemma’s, and based on what I heard from Drakon, you’re not going to get your sisters together anytime soon, whether for a memorial service or anything else.”
Jemma was married to the powerful King of Saidia, Sheikh Mikael Karim, who’d married her against her will. He was seeking revenge on Daniel Copeland, but by the end of their honeymoon, Jemma and Mikael had fallen in love. He still was not a fan of her father but Mikael was fiercely protective of Jemma. “So they won’t be attending our wedding?” Logan said.
The water turned off.
The bathroom was silent except for the drip, drip of water.
Logan grimaced and shook her head. Why did she just say that? What was she thinking? “I was making a joke,” she called to him. “Trying to lighten the mood.”
He said nothing.
She squirmed, giving herself a mental kick. “That was a joke,” she repeated. “We’re not getting married. I was trying to be funny.”
“I’m sure Drakon and Morgan would come for the wedding,” he answered, turning the water back on. “Mikael and Jemma would, too. And probably your mother—”
“Rowan, stop. It was a joke. A bad joke.” She peered into the bathroom, unable to see all the way in, but she got a glimpse of the large mirror, clouded with steam. “But speaking of family members. How is Bronson? You haven’t said much about him.”
“I’ve been waiting for an update from his doctors.” His voice was muffled. The shower sounded louder than before. “There was a setback early this morning.”
“A setback?” She waited for him to add more, but he didn’t. She took another step into the bathroom. “And? What happened? What’s going on?”
“Come all the way in so I don’t have to keep shouting.”
“I don’t want to come in. You’re showering.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen a man shower before.”
She hesitated. “Actually, I haven’t.”
For a moment there was just silence and then she heard his low laugh. “Then you definitely must come in. Consider it remedial education.”
“Not necessary. My education was excellent, thank you. I attended some of the best schools in the world.”
He laughed softly again.
