Romance: The Boss (14 page)

Chapter Four

I’m lying on my back in mud.

Thick, cold, and sludgy mud.

It’s in my hair, my eyes, under my fingernails, and squelched in my shoes.

I’m also out of breath, freezing and only halfway through this insidious mud run.

And to think that this morning, I had woken up thinking I could run an entire marathon! Things couldn’t be farther from that truth.

“Lauren, don’t tell me you’re giving up!”

Ridge has suddenly appeared in my peripheral vision, hovering over me with that wide and conceited grin of his. Behind him, the sun drifts behind a cloud.

Ha, what a timely moment.

The sun isn’t happy to see him either.

“Here,” he says, offering me his hand. “We’ll do the second half together.”

What?

Why?

And hell no!

Ridge might be an Adonis, but he’s also a schmuck and the last person I want to finish the mud run with.

“No, it’s okay,” I utter quickly, letting him help me up. “You go on ahead. I’ll only slow you down.”

“Nonsense. And I insist. What happens if you fall over again?”

Damn.

So he did see me slip on that last tire hurdle.

That’s embarrassing.

I give him my fakest smile cloaked in sincerity—he doesn’t know the difference in my expressions yet, so no harm no foul.

I follow him on to the next obstacle, only to find that it’s a wall.

A really high wall.

I’ll be honest: climbing has never been my forte. I had a tendency for always falling out of trees when I was little, and usually long before I even reached the first branch.

“There’s no way I can do that,” I say with a lump in my throat, allowing my eyes to stay on his only for a few seconds.

“Nonsense.”

He sure loves that word, doesn’t he?

“I’ll help you.”

“I don’t think you can, Ridge.”

“Lauren, come on, you could at least try to climb it,” he hurls.

I get the impression that Ridge is an aggressive competitor and sportsman in his spare time. I’m thinking he was either a runner or a quarterback in high school.

Hmm…rich, beauteous, and athletic.

That sounds like Brooke’s type to a tee.

Hey, there’s an idea: I wonder if Ridge is single?

I decide to humor him anyway and tackle the wall, grabbing a tight hold of the rope.

“Okay, now take a few steps back and then lunge yourself onto it, making sure to pull the rope taut, and plant your feet on it horizontally so you can hold your own weight,” Ridge instructs.

I nod, partly to let him know that I’ve heard him and partly because I’m intrigued as to why he’s being so nice to me. If he keeps it up, I might actually think he’s warm-blooded like the rest of us.

I fling myself up onto the wall, expecting to fall back down miserably, but instead Ridge’s advice has actually worked.

I’m on the wall!

I start to slowly pull myself up, maintaining what I think is a good pace until I see Ridge flying up next to me.

“See, you’re doing just fine.” He grins before vaulting up further.

But just when I start to feel proud of myself, I feel my arms and legs starting to burn, terribly.

My strength is waning fast.

This is not good.

“Ridge,” I call up to the top of the wall, which he has easily climbed. “I’m too exhausted. I don’t think I can make it.”

“Yes you can! You’re almost there. Keep going!”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Ironman,” I natter under my breath, only to realize that it’s cost me vital energy.

I fight to pull myself up more—the top of the wall is less than two feet away, but my body is completely spent.

I can’t do it.

I’m going to fall.

I’m going to plummet back down and really break a bone this time.

Fuck.

“Ridge, I’m slipping!” I scream, panicking as my fingers loosen on the rope. But just as they let it go, I see Ridge’s face hanging beside me, his arms secured on mine, lifting me up the rest of the way until I’m safe and standing on top of the wall.

Wow.

He’s strong, incredibly strong.

And quick.

Saving clumsy women from imminent peril must be a Townsend thing.

“See, I told you you’d make it,” he pants, brushing some hair away from my face.

As I stare up at him, I can’t help but marvel.

He’s definitely a Townsend: towering, assertive, and way too easy on the eyes.

But unlike Clint and Dana, who take after their father, Ridge has dark blond hair instead of brown, and gray eyes flecked with green around the irises, just like his mom.

“Not without your help,” I finally say, looking away guiltily. If Clint had seen Ridge touching my face like that…

“Nonsense. You did well, Lauren. You were practically at the top.” He pauses before brushing my cheek again. “You really do have a lot of mud on your face, you know?” he laughs.

I’m about to tell him that I think he’s being inappropriate, but he tilts his head away, peering down the other side of the wall.

“BROTHER!” he shouts, “YOUR PA IS VERY IMPRESSIVE. SHE’S DOING VERY WELL WITH ME.”

I follow his gaze to find Clint standing only feet from the wall, a look of betrayal penciled on his face like he’s just caught Ridge and me in the throes of passion.

Well, I guess that means he saw Ridge touching me.

Great.

I watch Clint look from Ridge to me and back to Ridge again before he jogs on to the next obstacle, disappearing in a commando shuffle under a net suspended over mud.

“It must have been something I said,” Ridge snickers before climbing back down the other side of the wall.

What an ass, antagonizing Clint like that.

Could my life get any weirder right now?

To recap: firstly, I’m currently staying with a family of billionaires with two brothers who are eerily alike and both as stubborn as mules.

Secondly, I’m participating in a mud run with the family of billionaires, in a city I’ve never been in before—South Dakota.

And thirdly, if the first two things aren’t zany enough, I also seem to be now pawned between the two brothers, who noticeably have a deep grudge with each other about something.

But hey, at least it’s all for a great cause.

And that’s about the only thing that’s going to get me through the rest of this.

Chapter Five

I find solace in the warm water crisscrossing over my body, rivers of brown streaming off my skin and down the drain. It almost feels worth it to have done the mud run just so I can be rewarded with this hot shower.

Thank God they set the portable cubicles up.

I couldn’t have borne the forty-five-minute car ride back to Townsend Manor still caked in mud and shivering from head to toe.

I close my eyes and put my face directly under the showerhead, enjoying the pressure of it and the way it purifies not only my skin but also my mind. Today has been so abnormal for me; it feels good to just relax and be by myself for a while.

That is, until I hear the sound of light footsteps outside, coming to a standstill in front of the cubicle door.

“Someone’s in here!” I sing out, making sure to let whoever it is out there know that the shower is occupied.

All the cubicles have locks on them, except mine.

The plastic mechanism for it had broken in my hands when I’d tried to slide it shut earlier, but seeing as there were no other showers free, I figured I would just risk it.

Stupid decision, Lauren.

It better not be a male outside. I don’t want some guy opening up the door and getting a good look at me.

I may not be as toned as Miss Germany, but I still have a nice body with curves in all the right places. It’s only when I think of Elsa that I second-guess myself.

But she’s supposed to have one of those unrealistic, celebrity bodies.

She’s a model; it’s her job.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

I jolt at his voice, rubbing the water hastily out of my eyes just in time to see the door open and Clint jump in, wearing nothing but his shorts.

Before I even have a chance to answer, he steps straight into the shower, not even flinching when he sees that I’m stark naked.

“Clint!” I protest while covering myself up.

But he leans in closer, staring at my lips like he wants to consume them.

“It feels like I haven’t seen you all day,” he utters softly, his lips finding my shoulder and kissing it provocatively.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for: the moment where Clint and I cross the professional line.

And yet I have no idea how to react to it.

As I stand here frozen in place, his lips travel up to my neck, the heavenly touch of them making me helpless to stop him.

Where is this coming from?

I thought he was upset at seeing me with Ridge?

Or is this just his way of justifying to himself that he knows I’m his?

That he knows I have feelings for him and that I can’t resist them anymore.

His lips steadily find mine, crushing down on them overpoweringly, my tongue interlacing with his as our arms grip each other, the water gushing over us as we propel into arousal.

“Paparazzi on the move, brother! You two better have your clothes on in there!” I then suddenly hear Ridge bellow, giving a loud knock on the cubicle.

My heart skips a beat when Clint breaks away from me, stepping out of the water promptly with one hand on the door.

“We better hurry,” he says with a roguish grin. “We wouldn’t want another scandalous headline now, would we?”

I shake my head at him demurely but then give a coy wink, suddenly feeling indifferent about the fact that he’s in here and every inch on my body is on display.

But just as he goes to walk out, he turns back to me, his countenance more solemn.

“Be mindful of Ridge,” he says, opening the door slightly and peering out to see if anyone is there. “He might be my brother, but he has motives for everything.”

Minutes later, Clint’s words are still drifting in my head.

What had happened with Ridge for him to say that to me?

It was like he was giving me a warning to not stray from him, like he’s worried that I’m going to fall for his brother even though we’re not together.

And then it occurs to me: the grudge. Is that what it’s about? Have they been divided over a woman before, a woman that they both loved, perhaps?

And in the end, could Ridge have been the victor?

Chapter Six

While the rest of us were busy making fools out of ourselves for a good cause at the mud run, Delilah and Rosita were slaving away in the kitchen, making Thanksgiving dinner.

We’re all sitting around the huge oak table in the dining room, a panoramic outlook of the skyline distending around us. This room clearly has the best view of the house, with just saplings, mountains, and sweeping air for miles.

“So did you enjoy the mud run, Lauren?” Delilah asks cordially, placing the huge turkey onto the table.

“Ye—”

“Indeed she did, Mother!” Ridge answers instead, getting up to carve the bird. “For a city girl, she was rather outstanding.”

“I’m not a city girl, actually,” I tell him boldly, putting him in his place. For a moment I think I even see a hint of red blooming in his cheeks. “I grew up in Colorado. I’m used to being outdoors; they’re just not used to me.”

He laughs and bends his head. “My apologies, Miss Colorado.”

But the way Ridge had said Miss Colorado has a double meaning that Clint is all too aware of, and he’s shooting Ridge a look like he wants to punch him in the face.

“I hope you like smores too, Lauren,” Dana announces, immediately changing the subject after eyeing off both of her brothers. “Preston and Emma have been making them for us all day, haven’t you, guys?”

The kids reply in a joyful chorus of “Yes!”

“I love smores!” I say, smirking at them.

“Good, because a Townsend Thanksgiving isn’t complete without a bonfire and toasting smores beneath the stars,” Clint asserts, rubbing my leg under the table and making me cream instantly. I want him so badly.

For the duration of dinner, Clint and I can barely take our eyes off each other. Even when he and Ridge unexpectedly volunteer to go clean up, he keeps finding the time to gaze back at me from the kitchen.

A couple of times, I catch Ridge’s eyes instead of Clint’s, which for some reason also makes me flush. Ridge is playing some kind of game here. I’m not sure what it is or why he’s playing it, but I’m determined to not let it bother me.

It doesn’t help that Delilah and Dana are plying me with old-fashioneds in the meantime.

“It’s another Townsend Thanksgiving tradition,” Delilah states proudly. “Old- fashioneds by the open fire.”

But despite the nice taste and soaring feeling that is beginning to envelope me, the whiskey is also making my thoughts run all the more wild.

Clint and I kissed today.

We’re past a point of no return.

What does that mean for our relationship now?

All I want to do is pull him aside and talk, but just as I get up to do so, Ridge decides to marshal us all outside, the bonfire already lit and waiting for us. I suppose I could hold off for a little bit longer.

But a little bit longer turns into a few more hours as we all sit around the pit, talking and skylarking in the crisp air, the stars flickering brilliantly as we hold our smores over the flames.

As the night goes on and the kids go to bed, we adults have a few more whiskeys around the fire. In my blissful tipsiness, I even forgive Ridge for being a cad, cracking jokes with him about arbitrary things, debating over what state is better—Colorado or South Dakota—yet in the end, unanimously agreeing that both are beautiful places to live in.

Beside me, Clint also seems happy, bantering not only with Delilah, Dana, and me, but moreover with Ridge, like there has never been any animosity or grudge between them, like tonight is a no-war zone where everyone is free to just drink and be merry.

When it’s finally just Clint and me, the silence ebbs, with nothing to break it but the snap and crackle of the bonfire blazing like a heart in the darkness. It sends a shallow glow to where our feet begin, half shadows sitting in the moonlight and breathing cold air into the depths of our lungs. I watch Clint stare intently into the fire, focusing on the embers like they hold some kind of secret he wants to know about. In the splayed light he’s never looked so beautiful, so distant and so quiet. When I turn my eyes away, he takes my hand, pressing it firmly between his and resting it on his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Clint—” I begin to say, but he hushes me, squeezing my hand like he doesn’t want me to say it, like he doesn’t want me to immerse us into a deep conversation that may not have an ending yet.

I still want to ask him about the kiss in the shower and what it all means, but I just don’t have the heart to break his reverie.

And when I leave him there, just before midnight, he’s still staring at the orange sparks, lost in some undertow that I’m yet to understand.

But I hope to, one day, pull him out of.