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Something primitive in Keenan urged him to put his hands on her and mark her in some sense with his touch—something she might not see but would feel. And so he found himself standing behind her sun lounger, offering to smooth sunscreen onto her back.
She glanced at him over her shoulder but didn’t reply.
He flicked up a taunting brow and waited, knowing she’d respond to the silent dare.
Her eyes narrowed. “All right.” Scooting forward on the lounger, she handed him the bottle. “Just don’t get it in my hair.”
She turned back to Harper, as if whatever he did next would be inconsequential. Yeah? He wasn’t buying it.
Keenan straddled the lounger, bracketing her body with his thighs. He kept just enough distance between their bodies that it wouldn’t be awkward for him to properly apply the sunscreen.
The moment his lotion-covered hands landed on her shoulders, electricity surged through him, as if he’d plugged himself into a socket. He heard her sharp intake of breath and inwardly smiled. This would be no easier for her than it would be for him.
While she carried on an inane conversation with the others, Keenan glided his hands over her, kneading and shaping. There was nothing sensual about it. It would look almost clinical to anyone who watched. But he kept his touch firm and sure; he let her feel the possessive edge to it.
She didn’t call him on it. Nor did she react when he dipped his fingers under the bikini strings or when he very lightly danced his fingertips over the sides of her breasts—as if she was determined to make him believe that she was barely aware of him. Bullshit.
He slid his mind against hers. Just under three days left to go before our wager is over. Feeling nervous yet?
Why would I feel nervous? she asked.
Stifling a smile, he set her sunscreen on the table and stood. In under seventy-two hours, I’ll be tasting you. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.
Don’t count on it. And just bear in mind that losers go to hell, you know. Oh no, wait, that’s liars.
“No!” shouted Asher, glowering at his father in the pool.
“You can’t stay in here all day,” Knox calmly told him, heading toward the ladder.
“Can,” insisted Asher.
“Can’t.”
“Can.”
“No. You. Can’t. Now let’s get out of the—”
Flames burst to life around Asher, who then disappeared from his father’s arms and reappeared on Khloé’s sun lounger. He pouted at her. “Daddy’s mean, Koey.”
She picked him up and cuddled him close. “Aw, dude, your daddy just wants to put more sunscreen on you so that your skin doesn’t burn.”
But his little pout didn’t go away.
Harper sighed and pulled out a bottle of kid’s sunscreen. “Come on, little man, let’s put some of this on you.”
“Koey do it,” he said, leaning into the female imp.
“Sure thing.” Khloé took the bottle and started applying the lotion. “You hungry yet?”
He shook his little head.
“Thirsty?”
He shook his head again.
Harper leaned forward. “I think you’re tired. Want a nap?”
“No,” he said, but a yawn almost cracked his jaw.
Harper held her arms. “Come on, come lie here with me.”
“No nap.”
Khloé tapped his nose. “How about you just lie here with me then and we’ll cuddle?”
“’Kay,” he easily agreed and then curled up beside her. Knox adjusted the position of the sun parasol so that it placed Asher in the shade.
Harper huffed at Khloé. “Why does he listen to you more than he does me?”
“Because I’m awesome and you’re not,” said Khloé.
Harper snorted. “If by awesome you mean ‘mentally deranged,’ yeah, you are. So I find it highly concerning that you have some kind of influence over my son.”
“Wow, that sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” Khloé slipped on her sunglasses. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have some sunbathing to do while I snuggle my dude.”
“Actually, I do mind—”
“Again, sounds like a ‘you’ problem. Good luck with that.” Khloé lay back on the lounger with a contented sigh.
Harper let out an exasperated sound. “You know what, sometimes I think the ancient incantors were onto something when they said that all imps should be strangled at birth.”
“And yet another ‘you’ problem.”
Harper shot to her feet. “I need another drink.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sitting on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, twirling her ankle madly, Khloé flicked a look at the living room clock on the mantelpiece. 1:03am.
Two minutes. She had two minutes until Keenan arrived.
She’d spent the entire weekend driving him insane in every possible way. Which had been absolutely delightful, and she would sincerely treasure the memories. But no matter what she did or how pissed he got, the bastard stuck to soda and coffee. He’d looked so close to cracking when she casually talked of her brand-new vibrator and its various speeds and settings, but he’d managed to hold out. Awkward asshole.
After he’d given her and Raini a ride home from the airport earlier, he’d telepathically told Khloé to expect him at exactly 1:05am. She hadn’t responded with anything other than a nonchalant shrug, but she was feeling far from blasé about this.
