Page 7 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

?

Attraction: a force under the influence. (Of stupidity.)

Crimson

Kaleb tastes like salt and sin, and I really wish that thought weren’t replaying in my brain. I don’t even know what people mean when they say that sort of thing. I suppose it implies a sense of wrongness ? But then I only ever hear it said as though it’s positive.

I’m focusing wholly on the wrongness. The stark negative.

Because even I know that two wrongs don’t make a right and outwitting the horrible men in my family isn’t the correct thing to do .

This entire ploy is based in deceit, and deceit is wrong.

And, no doubt, it will end up hurting people around me whom I love.

But I am so tired of living like this and feeling stuck.

I want to be free enough to live according to my beliefs of kindness and goodness and rightness, where I consider that humans—all of us—are just products of the messed up world we were born into.

Deserving of mercy, grace, something other than a throat punch…

I can’t reach that serenity while I’m stuck in this tangled web of hate.

It hurts that I have to sell parts of myself like this in order to obtain the things I should have been born into.

My family rests securely at the height of society.

I shouldn’t have had to grow up in a world where I learned my place, where I feared being hit, where I had to outgrow that fear before I was ten in order to survive.

It makes me so mad .

But anger serves nothing.

It makes people irrational and sloppy when I must maintain a level head.

At all times.

Forever.

Even during… this . When my tongue is gracing the skin of a man I barely know.

Unlatching my fingers from Kaleb’s hair, I pull back and look at the mess I’ve made of him. Marks dot his throat and jaw, bites and bruises. Glancing at my wrist, I compare the damage, relieved to find that the marks he’s left on me are similar to the ones I’ve managed for him.

He frees a taut breath, so I find his eyes. They’re as half-lidded as they were when he was touching me. Glazed with desire. Heated. Desperate .

Nearly devoid of sense, they display the most want I’ve ever seen a man not act on.

“Sorry.” I brush my fingertips over the half moons I’ve punctured into his bicep. “I wasn’t gentle at all.”

“It’s fine.” His dazed eyes trail toward his arm. “Nail marks are pretty normal during these…sorts of activities. It adds to the realism. Good job.”

Ah, well then. Go me.

“Didn’t it hurt?” I ask.

He scrubs the back of his hand over his mouth and keeps from meeting my eyes. “No. Not in any way that I minded.”

Wetting my lips, I attempt to put some much needed distance between us, forgetting that my dresser is behind me until I bump into the ledge.

Glaring at the wood, I decide that this is quite enough practice for one day.

I’d really love to take a nap for however much longer we’re supposed to be pretending to partake of these sorts of activities.

Kaleb, however, seems to have other plans.

Curling a finger against the side of my jaw, he resets my attention on him, flattens his palm against the white surface behind me, and murmurs, “Kissing really will be inevitable in this ruse.”

Of that, I am fully aware. But mouths are disgusting. And I am already run dry.

“When was the last time you brushed your teeth?” I ask.

“This morning.” He procures a small tin from his back pocket. “I also have mints.”

Professional, professional.

My nose scrunches. “Did you brush your teeth before or after breakfast?”

“Both. I brush my teeth before breakfast when I get up and before I leave to go anywhere.”

“What was breakfast?” I ask.

“Instant oatmeal. What was yours?”

“Egg bagel…with yogurt…a banana smoothie…a little bowl of nuts…and some fruit.” My people take good care of me. And I feel ill remembering the horror that crossed Ava’s face earlier.

Kaleb trails his thumb along my jaw before he crunches a mint and returns the tin to his pocket. “Do you prefer if I lead?”

I’d prefer if there were more floors in this building and jumping off my balcony would result in a swift end. But, barring that, sure. He can lead. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t.” He takes my slender wrist in his big hand, slides my fingers up over his shoulder, and closes his eyes. “Bury your nails in me if it helps ground you. I like it.”

My fingers flex at that, and I have to remind myself—for the umpteenth time—that this is a means to an end sort of situation.

Kaleb is helping me. For free. If all he gets out of this is some enjoyment, bragging rights, and the high of freeing someone from her family’s clutches, that’s not the worst tradeoff.

It’s not that I want him to suffer.

I just do not like men and hate the idea of causing them anything but suffering.

Gently contrasting my violent emotions, Kaleb captures my bottom lip between his. I remain stiff, hating the sensation, the tug, the suction. “Crimson,” he murmurs, blessedly freeing me, “I need you to practice with me, sweetheart.”

My heart is not sweet. It is black and red and full of arsenic.

Reluctant as a bull, I circle my arms around his neck, letting my nails slip against his scalp, and murmur, “If this gets gross, I might vomit on you.”

“It won’t.”

“If you freak me out, I might knee you in the stomach.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just warning you.”

He runs the tip of his nose up the bridge of mine tenderly, more tenderly than any man I know has ever touched me. “I know. Ready?”

“Sure.”

This time when he kisses me, I respond. His lips move.

My lips move. It’s all very…weird. It is all very, very weird the way that humans behave.

I’m not exactly a fan of it, I think. Even if this has yet to become wet and gross, it’s still just plain odd.

Why did we decide that smooshing our mouth against someone else’s was a sign of affection? How does that make any sense at all?

His teeth trap and tug when I’m not expecting it, so I bite him back—possibly hard, possibly not hard enough.

He grunts, and his full hand plants against my back, pressing my body closer to him.

My inhale rakes my chest against his, and he breaks the connection of our mouths to rasp a swear.

Then he kisses my cheek, drops lower, to my neck again.

Except we already did the neck nonsense.

He seems to remember this because he stops, breath hot on my throat, and moves back to cover my mouth with his.

The experience is unpleasant, to be sure, but I’m surviving it. I just need to practice how I’ll survive it while smiling in public.

Pretending that Kaleb is Crisis completely fails me here because Crisis and I would not be behaving like this. It’s simply not what twins do. For obvious reasons.

Like autosomal recessive disorders.

And only that.

Because while we are twins, we are also married and very much in love—in the way that all people should be. Which is, of course, platonically.

The very notion that I’ll have to figure out how to look like I’m enjoying whatever is currently going on exhausts me to my bones, so I forget to put in the grand amount of effort it takes to match his motions.

When I stop moving, he stops kissing. “All good?” he exhales.

Limbs heavy, yet limp, I say, “Yes. Sorry. Is it…supposed to be this tiring?”

My feet lose the floor in the very next moment as he lifts me, turns, and walks me to my bed. Laying me atop the comforter, he kisses my forehead and smooths a knuckle down my cheek. “It’s a bit less tiring when you’re into it, I think.”

“Oh.” I blink at him when he moves solidly away, not even pretending that we’re going to continue now that I’m horizontal. “Ew.”

Smiling, he goes to the other side of my bed and lies down. “I apologize that you don’t find me more appealing. Is there anything I can do to change that?”

I slump. “You’re fine. You’re just…male.”

The air itself freezes. Halfway to pulling his phone out of his pocket, Kaleb looks at me, eyes… broken . Devastated. Afraid? I don’t know what’s going on in his eyes. I’m not exactly sure why I care. “Are you…” he begins, “…not attracted to men?”

My brow arches as I take him in. His long legs slung up on my bed, ankles crossed. His imposing shoulders, rippling with muscle that presses the constraints of his polo. His tan skin, which contrasts the white fabric of his shirt significantly.

He’s all brawn and beauty, isn’t he?

Short dark hair, enigmatic eyes, chiseled jaw, downward turned lips.

Just a real solid masculine specimen, him.

But…also…it’s like yup , that right there is a person. A whole entire person.

Whoop-dee-doo.

When I don’t answer, he covers his mouth, horrified. “You’re…not attracted to men.”

“Define attraction ,” I say.

Baffle lights in the mysterious pools of colors that make up his eyes. “When you see someone and think, Wow, I’d tap that.”

“That sounds juvenile as all—” I cuss, deadpan.

“Have you…never thought that?”

“Not even a single time, actually. The person I’m most in love with in this world is my best friend, Crisis.

” I can’t stop myself from smiling. “She’s this big ball of adorable chaos, and I would do anything for her.

Notably, I have never once been interested in tapping that, though.

Since I’m sure you’ve at least seen her once and—given your charming disposition—have noticed, she’s got a very nice backside, worthy only of the most illustrious taps. ”

“I have met Crisis,” he says. “I have not once been interested in tapping her.” His gaze lowers, across my body. “I’m more into…” He drags his attention away, sinking in the bed beside me as he frees a very tight breath. “Yeah, so. Anyway. You’re asexual.”

“Back up. You’re hypersexual, and you’ve never once looked at Crisis and said, Wow, those are some childbearing hips if ever I’ve seen good childbearing hips. I’d love to put a child on those hips ?”

“No, can’t say that,” he clears his throat, coughs, “I have. Have…you?”

“If I say yes , are you going to think I’m lesbian?

Because, genuinely, it’s a friend thing.

I want to squish Crisis’s cute little cheeks and hold her hand and fall asleep with her because she’s…

” I bite my tongue, review what I’m going on about, how deeply personal it is, and decide it doesn’t really matter if Kaleb knows.

“She’s the only person I feel safe with.

” Linking my hands together, I pick at my nails and look up at the ceiling past the tall posts of my bed.

“Our souls are twins. She gets me in ways I don’t understand.

She loves me so deeply and so openly when loving people is hard for her.

When…loving me has been hard for people. ”

“Loving you has been…” His brows crash low. “Wait a second. Did you just call me hypersexual ?”

“Aren’t you?”

His mouth opens, closes. He swipes his hand over it. “Just because I’d like to with you does not mean I am unable to control my urges, Crimson.” He flicks a finger between our bodies lying beside one another, a mere two feet apart. “I think this is very good proof that I am able to, actually.”

“Hm.” Love that for me. “Well, don’t blame me. I didn’t want to be left out in the unasked-for diagnosing. You think I’m asexual?”

“You’re expressing to me that you aren’t attracted to men or women, so that’s what I’d call it.”

Interesting. “How do you know it’s not trauma-related? Men have not been good to me, and I’m not attracted to women.” I smile, absently. “Straight, with trauma. Put that on a t-shirt.”

Kaleb chuckles. “Trauma will heal in time, so I guess if that’s it, we’ll find out.”

“You’re going to heal me from my trauma in a matter of months?”

“I, at the very least, Crimson, am going to be a man who is good to you.”

My brow arches. “While I have literally asked you to be a man who is bad to me?”

He rolls onto his side, bracing one muscular arm beneath his head as he faces me, reaches for my hair, strokes the waving strand. “I’m skilled in duplicity.”

“Touching time is over. We will not be touching me while our bodies are horizontal, thanks.”

He closes his fingers away from my hair. “Cruel mistress.”

A knock sounds at the door, and my heavy heart lists. Ava . Ava with lunch. Ava with lunch while I’m in bed with a man. Before my mind can settle, Kaleb makes an uncomfortable sound, and says, loudly, “Yes, baby. Just like—” He swears, hoarse, eyes fixed on me. “Good girl.”

My heart drops into my gut.

I…completely forgot what we were pretending to do in here. I am not looking forward to when this pretending stops and I have to explain myself.

Gossip moves like wildfire.

By now, the entire house knows I’m with a man. When I have not once been with one before. And, you know, when I have also never hired one.

I exist in a monastery of women, safe and cozy away from leers and mansplains.

Away from the way Kaleb’s looking at me right now.

“Am I supposed to say something?” I whisper, so softly.

Kaleb’s smile takes me by surprise moments before he shakes his head. “She’s probably gone now.” Sitting up, he stretches, and I stare at his back. “Sorry about that.”

My flesh prickles, so I bury my nails in my arm. “No. No need to apologize. This…is exactly what I’ve asked for.”

He peers back at me over his shoulder. “I still hate how uncomfortable it made you. How uncomfortable I make you.”

If I put all the men I’ve ever known in a row, I think Kaleb would settle somewhere closer to the Bachelor brothers and far, far away from my family.

I’ve already determined that I wouldn’t be able to handle him without the help of a weapon, and my bedroom kitchen knife is nowhere in reach, yet I’m okay.

After what we’ve been doing for the past thirty minutes, I’m nauseous but okay .

I let myself smile, even though it’s frail. “For the record, you don’t make me uncomfortable—men do. I appreciate every effort I see you making. It’s noticed and valued.”

Standing, Kaleb faces me, expression unbelievably warm. “You’re a beautiful person, Crimson. It’s an honor to work with you.”

Professional, professional.

“Just so you know, though,” I tell him, “if you ever ‘good girl’ me in casual conversation, I will remove at least two, possibly up to five, of your organs.”

Laughter gently lifts the harrowing distress in his eyes, and he says, “Noted.”