Page 44 of Keeping Kasey
“You’re sure about this?” he asks, the double meaning pathetically concealed.
“Yeah,” I tell him anyway. “I’m sure.”
Despite mymorning off, I spend half an hour taking calls in my office. Just after nine, I figure it’s late enough that Kasey should be awake by now, so I close my laptop and stand to go to her room.
I hear the blasting music as soon as I open my office door. It’s some eighties song I recognize but can’t name.
A bark from the backyard tells me all I need to know.
When I come into the spacious kitchen, I stop directly in front of the sink, where I can look out the window without drawing attention to myself.
Kasey lies on her back in the middle of the yard, a blue yoga mat beneath her, and a half-empty water bottle at her side. Her hair is pulled into a pile on her head, with stray curls falling around her face, which glistens with a sheen of sweat.
She wears a black sweatshirt and skintight bottoms that resemble underwear more than shorts.
I stand in the window, watching as she transitions from exercise to exercise, listening to the music that blasts from the speaker on the porch. She rolls from her back to her side, lifting one straightened leg and lowering it down again in a repetitive motion that I can’t look away from.
Her lithe movements are mesmerizing.
One thing I know for certain: if she ordered me to her bed right now, I’d go.
I’m so focused on Kasey that I hardly notice Kane sprinting through the yard with a ball in his mouth. He takes it to Kasey, drops it, and waits patiently for her to throw it.
As Kane sprints across the yard, Kasey readjusts so she’s on her hands and knees, and my mind goes to downright deviant places. She takes turns lifting one bent leg behind her, then the other—only pausing to throw the ball Kane keeps bringing her.
I have no idea how long I stand there, watching her and listening to the eighties station that suits her surprisingly well, but by the time she rolls her mat up, I’ve decided I’m not above apologizing for the hickeys if it means finally getting to have her.
A worthy sacrifice.
I’m pouring a cup of coffee when she steps into the kitchen.
“We have a gym in the basement and at the base, you know,” I say, not bothering to hide my appraisal of her since doing so would be counterproductive—not to mention a waste.
She opens the pantry, but I think the only thing she’s looking for is an excuse to avoid eye contact. “It’s nice out,” she says. “And IthoughtI was escaping an audience this way.”
I don’t feel the slightest hint of shame.
“Not my fault you’re working out on my property.”
She tilts her head. “Maybe Ishoulduse the base gym. I bet Tony and Ryan would make great workout buddies. What do you think?”
I think Tony and Ryan are effectively fired.
“My men have been instructed to give you space during your stay with us.”
She lifts a perfect eyebrow. “You’re jealous?”
“I’m possessive.”
“Which is a narcissist’s way of sayingjealous. Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting this morning?”
“You’re stalking me?”
“Coming from the guy who spent the last ten minutes watching me from the window.”
I bite back my retort, take a deep breath, and remind myself why I stayed home in the first place.
To get laid.
