Page 55 of Wanting Wentworth

“Slow down.” Scrambling after her, I catch her against me, my arm hooked around her waist to steady her. “I don’t want to have to fish you out—”

“You don’t understand,” she whispers frantically. “I love my sister but she has a huge mouth. If she sees you, everyone in Barrett will know you’re here and—”

“There they are,” Damien shouts, a second before he comes charging down the hill, a petite blonde following after him, a pair of pants clutched in her hand.

“Why would that matter?” I know why it would matter to me. What I don’t understand is how she’d know that if does. Letting my arm loosen from around her waist, I take a step back to look down at her. “Do you know who I am?” I ask her, suddenly sure that I’ve misread her altogether.

When I say it, her face crumples slightly like she doesn’t understand the question. “You’re Damien’s brother.” She shakes her head, her words punctuated by the twin slaps of feet against the dock, the hard wooden knock of them like muffled gunfire. “When you—”

From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the petite blonde—who is apparently Kait’s big mouth little sister—zip past Damien on the dock to come to a screeching halt in front of us. “Someone better start talking,” she yells so loud it startles a flock of blackbirds across the lake and launches them into the air. “You can start with telling me who the hell this guy is.” She keeps yelling, lifting the pair of jeans into the space between us to shake them in Kait’s face like they’re exhibit A in a capital murder trial while Damien glares at me like he’s seconds away from tackling me into the lake. Dropping the pants, Kait’s sister turns to look at me, her bright blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And after that, you can explain to me why the fuck you’re not wearing pants.”

THIRTY-ONE

Kaitlyn

IT took me nearly thirty minutes to get Abbey calmed down and nearly twice as long to convince Damien that there was no need to kill his brother. That as hard as it is to believe, Went was a complete, 100% gentleman.

There’s not a single thing on that list that I wouldn’t be more than happy to help you cross off… we can start wherever you want, Sunshine—top of the list or the bottom.

Okay—he was 95% a gentleman.

Remembering the way he unhooked my bra strap without any effort at all, I feel my cheeks start to warm.

Maybe more like 90%.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Flicking a quick look out the open front door, at where Went and his brother are talking on the porch, I redirect my attention to Abbey and give her a reassuring smile. “Positive.” Bobbing my head, I slide the coffee carafe back into the machine. Spooning an alarming amount of sugar into my cup, I give it a stir. “It was just a stupid fight,” I tell her, giving her a sanitized version of what happened last night. Aiming a quick look out the door again, I can tell by the stiff set of Damien’s shoulders and the grim line of his mouth while he listens to his brother talk, Went is telling him something closer to the truth. Looking back at my sister, I shrug. “I’ll be fine.”

“And that knot on your forehead?” Abbey’s narrowed gaze travels from my face to my waist, the lower half of me hidden by the kitchen counter.

“I told you.” Opening the fridge I pull out the cream. “I tripped on a rock.” Giving it a generous pour, I leave it sitting on the counter. “Sorry about your dress, by the way.” I told her it’d gotten muddy when I tripped. “I’ll replace it.”

Abbey gives me a sullen shrug. “It’s okay.”

I know it’s not okay. That dress was her favorite. Dad drove her into Helena and let her pick it out for her sweet sixteen party—a barn dance with a live band and hayrides.

“What happened to your hand?” she asks me, that narrowed gaze of hers grazing over the bandage Went put over my split knuckle.

“I…” Unable to fish out a plausible lie, I give up and tell her the truth. “I punched Brock in the face.”

When I say it, Abbey’s eyes widen so much they nearly bulge out of her face. Lifting a hand to cover her mouth, she lets out a snort. “Holy shit.” Dropping the hand, she cuts a look across the room and out the open front door. “That almost makes up for the fact that a gorgeous, giant man has been living up here for two weeks and you never saw fit to tell me.” Looking back at me, her eyes narrow again. “What gives?”

“It wasn’t my place to say anything.” Again, I answer her honestly. “He paid Dad a lot of money to rent out the place and from what I gathered, he values his privacy.”

“A lot of money?” She aims another look out the open front door. “So, he’s rich?”

“I don’t know.” For some reason, the thought makes me uncomfortable. “I guess.”

She studies Went through the open doorway, watching him closely while he talks to Damien, thick arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing his gray hoodie—the one that covers his tattoos—and the battered ballcap he was wearing the day I met him. Together, they hide nearly every distinguishable feature he has—except for those bottomless black eyes and the fact that he’s six and a half feet tall. Some things are a little harder to hide than others.

Do you know who I am?

When he asked me on the dock, I was confused and honestly, a little irritated because it’s an asshole question.

But now, thinking back, I can hear the trepidation in his tone, so thick it bordered on disappointment.

Whoever Went is, he doesn’t want me to know.

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