Page 8 of Too Far

She huffs, then opens her mouth to no doubt sass me again.

I plunge forward, silencing her with a kiss. “Save your breath,” I murmur against her lips. “You’re gonna need it for what I have in mind when we get in the house.”

Gasping, she wiggles out of my grasp. I’m reluctant to let her go until I notice the way Decker is scanning the shores across the way—his jaw is set, hands fisted at his sides.

Placing our girl gently on her feet, I shift so I’m standing between her and the open water.

“What’s up, Cap?”

He turns to me and scowls. “The feature’s still on. The reporter and photographers will be here soon to finish setting up the cameras and equipment. Let’s get inside before they get back.”

Nodding, I bend low and catch Jojo behind the knees, then hoist her over my shoulder. I grin at her laughter and half-hearted protests as I stride up the dock toward the beach.

“K,” Decker warns as he follows.

I know his concern. I share his fucking concern.

The moment Misty got hold of photos and information about our girl’s past, we put this woman at risk. That only compounded when Nicky threw that punch. The more the media knows about what she means to us individually and as a unit, the more scrutiny she’ll be under.

This woman, who’s been through more than enough.

This woman, who hates to be photographed, subjected, exposed.

Sighing, I place her gently on her feet, then turn her around and grip her shoulders so I can march her up the landing.

“My room, Jojo. I need you in my room right now.”

Chapter 5

Josephine

It’sbeenhourssinceI’ve felt truly safe, but that changes the moment we step into the sanctuary of Kendrick’s bedroom.

Yet once I’m inside, I’m racked with indecision and confusion, because what happens now?

He doesn’t give me time to overthink, though. I should have known he wouldn’t.

He enters the room behind me and rolls out his shoulders, then closes and locks the door. Wordlessly, he saunters into the bathroom without looking back, no doubt expecting me to follow.

For a heartbeat, I take in my surroundings. I’ve never been in his room. The décor is dark and rich; a blend of black, maroon, and bright Crusaders red fills the space and gives it a depth. A set of framed jerseys is displayed on one wall: four sizes and teams, all number 24, with his name on the back. Framed pictures of the twins decorate the desk, along with a photo of him with his parents when he was much, much younger. His warm, masculine scent is everywhere: musk and vanilla, familiar and enticing.

The layout of the room is similar to mine, which makes sense, given that our rooms are down the hall from each other. A king-size bed dominates the space. It’s centered on the far wall, with a desk and bookshelves on one side and a seating area on the other.

I’m still taking it all in when the sound of water hitting tiles snags my attention.

“Ohio.”

The use of that nickname garners an immediate reaction. Irritated that he’d revert back to calling me that, I march into the bathroom, intent on putting him in his place.

Except I stop dead in my tracks the second my bare feet touch the cool tiles.

Before me stands Kendrick Taylor. Naked. Ripped and cut and polished like marble—and hard as fuck.

He strokes his cock with one hand, his lips parted, while he regards me through his thick eyelashes.

“Strip,” he instructs.

“Don’t call me Ohio,” I counter as I wiggle out of my shorts.