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“You just...you like things a certain way,” she says vaguely.
“So, I’m uptight?” I ask her.
She turns her head to look at me, grinning. “Maybe a little. Just set in your ways.”
“I feel older and older, the longer I spend with you,” I tease.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she says. “I have my own control issues because Idohave a younger brother and sister. Being the oldest means you make a lot of decisions, and I have a hard time letting others in.”
“Is that so?” I ask, thinking that she’d let me in pretty easily.
Kenna blushes. “Maybe not with you.”
“So, you’ll do what I say?” I ask in a low tone and Kenna blushes harder. It extends all the way down between her breasts and I can’t help looking down, licking my lips.
“Maybe sometimes,” she hedges, and then looks up at me from under her eyelashes. “In the bedroom, at least.”
I smile at her. “A good girl in the sheets and a lady in the streets?”
She laughs. “I don’t know about a lady. I’m kind of bossy when I want to be.”
“Oh yeah? I would never have guessed,” I say dryly. She’s certainly been bold about what she wants from me, especially this weekend.
Kenna pouts, pulling her legs out of the water and turning to face me.
“I know what I want. Is that such a bad thing?”
I shake my head. “It’s not.”
She looks up at me with wide blue eyes. “And you know I want you, Derek,” she murmurs, and something stirs in my lower stomach.
I clear my throat, not wanting to have this conversation right now. “You’ve got me,” I say idly.
“For the weekend,” she points out.
“For the weekend,” I agree, looking back at my newspaper as Kenna lets out a frustrated breath.
“Why not longer?” she asks.
“Because things are complicated.”
“Why are they complicated?” She scoots closer to my lawn chair, propping her feet up on the bottom of it.
I look at her incredulously. “So many reasons, Kenna. You have to know that.”
“Because I’m Suzanna’s niece?”
“Because you’retwenty-two.”
She huffs again. “What doesthathave to do with anything?”
“How old do you think I am?” I ask.
Kenna’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. Thirty, thirty-two?”
“Thirty-eight,”I say flatly. “I was in high school when you were born.”
She just looks at me. “So what? Lots of people have age gaps. Hell, my mom is ten years younger than my dad.”
