Jillian Dodd - Hate Me

Aiden's fingers find their way between my legs and feel what he’s doing to me. He smiles against my stomach, obviously taking pleasure in the knowledge that he turns me on.

Immensely.

His finger glides across the edges of my thong, and I’m about to start begging.

He stands up quickly and says, “ Turn around ” in the hottest voice ever. Then he roughly bends me over the counter.

He’s acting like a guy out of one of Mom’s romance novels. That hot, hard, burning Alpha male. All he needs is a black leather jacket and a motorcycle.

I have no idea what he's going to do next, but I love the way his now-naked chest is pressing hard against my back, holding me in place.

“Oh my god,” I breathe out, surprised as his finger dives into me.

I’m torn between silently whimpering and screaming out loud.

My breath is ragged and my heart is beating wildly as he continues the assault.

It feels so good, I want to cry.

I push back against him, willing his fingers to do it faster, harder, to never stop. My hips move in a rhythm completely controlled by him.

Until I moan out, “Oh,” and then my Ohs come faster as he pushes me to places I've never been before.

My body goes limp on the kitchen counter.

He kisses my shoulder sweetly. “We doing okay?”

“We’re doing fine. Just don’t ask me to stand up. I’ll just lean on the counter here for a bit.”

He gives my shoulder a little nip, laughs, then picks me up and carries me to bed, where he lies on his side next to me.

I throw myself against his hard body, my lips landing on his, kissing him, thanking him, and maybe even asking for more.

Aiden must know intuitively what I want—possibly that is another benefit of being with a god.

His hand finds its way between my legs again. “More?” he asks.

I don't reply.

I just kiss him and kiss him while he makes me feel amazing again.

And again.

Something up his sleeve.

9pm

I must've fallen asleep.

I’m blinking, trying to focus, when something catches my eye. It’s that damn glow-in-the-dark moon.

I want to be mad at the moon, rip it off my ceiling and throw it in the trash.

But I can’t.

It looks perfect where it is.

I look down at myself. I’m wearing nothing but a cashmere throw and my boots.

I’m wondering where Aiden is when my nose perks up at a wonderful aroma. I wrap the throw around me, wander out to the kitchen, and find him surrounded by a mess of pots and pans.

He looks adorable.

All I want to do is curl up in this moment and never come out. It's moments like this one that give me the strength to keep doing what I'm doing.

I know that Vincent's going to find me eventually.

We can keep the initial filming under wraps, but once they start the big action scenes in March, I’ll be easy to find. And once I announce that I've taken over his company and scrapped the movie, he’ll hate me even more.

But not until I’ve taken away everything he loves—then and only then—will we be on a level playing field.

Me against him.

“Whatever you're doing out here smells amazing,” I say to Aiden.

“I thought I'd cook dinner, since you were conked out.”

“Sorry,” I say, even though I'm totally not.

He wipes his hands on a towel, pulls my cashmere throw open, and smiles. “Naked and wearing cowboy boots. That is straight out of my dreams.” He pulls me into a hot kiss that tastes of red sauce.

“What did you make?”

“Chicken Parmesan. Salad. Cheese bread. Want some wine?”

“I’d love some.” I love you, I want to say, but a softly playing song catches my attention and stirs up a childhood memory. “Hey, that song. Can you play it again?”

“Sure,” he says, hitting repeat on his phone.

I listen to the lyrics. A man is saying that he should have been a cowboy.

I can see it in my head.

Daddy and me in the barn at Grandpa’s ranch. We’re brushing his horse after a long ride when this song comes on the radio. Dad is singing it to me and Grandpa is laughing. Daddy picks me up and twirls me around, still singing.

“Earth to Keatyn,” Aiden says, startling me and making me realize he’s now standing directly in front of me.

“Oh, sorry. I was kind of stuck in a memory. My dad used to like that song,” I say, smiling as the singer continues to croon.

I close my eyes again and savor it.

Aiden pushes my chin up, so I open my eyes. “Tell me.”

“Every summer, I go to my grandparents’ ranch in Texas. When I was little, my dad went with me. This song, I remember him singing it in the barn. Us dancing. Him telling me he loved me and would miss me on his trip. It was . . . um . . .” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “It was the trip. The one where his plane went down . . .”

Aiden caresses my face. “What did your dad do?”

“He was a mod—,” I say without thinking. “A, um, moderator. He worked for my grandpa.”

“Oil and gas? Like your mom?”

Shit. I can’t remember what I told him my mom does. What if that’s not what I said? Shit. Shit. Shit.

But why would he say that unless it’s what I told him?

Then I remember telling him about possible oil in the Ukraine.

I take in a deep breath and change the subject. “Wow. That smell is killing me. Can we eat soon?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay to just tell me.” He smiles sweetly and kisses me. “And, yes, we can eat now.”

During dinner, he toasts. “To your amazing day. Winning first place in your small group dance. A team third place. And your first successful screen test.”

“And to a fun weekend,” I add, winking.

“I’ll toast to that.” We clink glasses and sip our wine.

After a cozy dinner at my kitchen island, he says, “Let’s go upstairs. We can watch a movie or something.”

There’s a little smile playing on his lips and his eyes look sneaky. Kinda like they did the day of my speech when he gave me the glass clover for luck.

He holds my hand as we walk through the living room and then gestures for me to walk up the stairs first.

He’s totally got something up his sleeve.

But when I get to the top of the stairs, I can barely believe my eyes.

In the corner, all lit up, is a gorgeous Christmas tree strung with the prettiest pastel garland and topped with a silver star.

Tears immediately spring to my eyes as I stare at it. The Christmas decorations have been up in our dorm for a few weeks, and Katie and I strung some lights around our window, but it’s just not the same.

This makes my loft look and feel even more like home.

“It’s beautiful.” I turn around and throw myself into his arms.

He hugs me, kisses the top of my head, and says, “I thought we could decorate it together.”

“Did you get ornaments too?”

He untangles himself from my arms, goes behind the tree, and sets shopping bags down next to the coffee table. “You have to open each one. They all kind of have meaning.”

“Really? What kind of meaning?”

“You’ll see. Open them.”

I sit on the couch next to him and open the first box. It’s a beautiful, brightly-colored blown-glass fish. “It’s so pretty!”

“What do you think it means? For us?”

I think about it. “Um, we ate fish in St. Croix.”

“True. Think some more. When did we see pretty fish?”

“When we went snorkeling!”

“And what happened when we went snorkeling?”

“Your back got sunburned?”

“And how did you try to help me with that?”

I laugh and grin. “So, you’re telling me that this fish reminds you of the shower?”