Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

“So could you.” I arched my eyebrows.

What was I supposed to do? Tell her she couldn’t hang out with guys on the island? Lance and Cal were good guys. Ryan would never approve of anyone his sister dated, but at least knew she was safe with them. I’d made sure of that before I left last night.

“True. You’re right. I just played pool—that’s all.” She sat forward and I eyed the curves of her thighs. “Thanks for sending me to Tassels Surf Shop. Lisa was really nice and she set me up with some clothes. I couldn’t get out of those bourbon-stained jeans fast enough.”

“Good choice. That blue looks good on you.” My eyes trailed from her breasts, over her stomach, and down every inch of her legs. I wanted to peel the damn thing off her.

“Thanks.” She adjusted her sunglasses.

“Is that one of the room towels you’re using?” I pointed.

“I-I didn’t bring my own towels.”

“Damn it, Kaitlyn. There aren’t enough towels to use in the rooms and at the pool.” I slammed the basket into the hooks on the wall.

“From the looks of it, you don’t have any guests other than me, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s not the point,” I grumbled. “We have some reservations this week and I just bought those towels.”

“You should have a sign or something. How was I supposed to know I couldn’t use the towels?” She leaned just forward enough that the straps slipped loose on the sides of her top.

I had to get the hell out of here.

“I’ll take care of it.” I pulled the pool gate behind me and headed to the office.

I knew I was being a dick, but I couldn’t stop. It was safer to argue with her—to banter with her as if she was still the little sister interfering. Trying to ruin things.

Ryan would always groan when we had to drop her off at a friend’s house, or worse—pick her up early before we were ready to leave.

He made it known little sisters were a pain in the ass.

I reminded myself that that was exactly what Kaitlyn was—a pain in my ass. And I wasn’t going to keep thirst after her tits, or her lush lips. I’d stop picturing her hips in my hands. I’d stop imaging her ragged breath in my ear when I made her come hard.

Towels. I threw open the supply closet. She needed fucking towels. That was the mission.

9

Kaitlyn

After three hours baking in the Texas coastal sun, I needed a break from the heat. I wrapped the forbidden towel around my chest and tucked the corner into the side. Luckily, Lisa

had convinced me to buy flip-flops along with a pair of sandals. I slipped them on my feet and traipsed back to room twenty-three.

I had forgotten how mad Cole was at the pool. It reminded me of high school. Ryan would get so pissed. Did he think of me the same way? Was there anything I could do about it?

It was early afternoon and I had nothing else to do. No one to hang out with or commiserate with—I was utterly alone. Mary Ellen and the girls were probably floating down one of the lazy rivers in Myrtle Beach, flirting with cute boys and sipping on fruity drinks. I didn’t want to think about what Branch and Miss Steal-My-Room were doing.

I left another message with the airline. It was almost twenty-four hours since my luggage had gone missing, and I was beginning to think my calls and emails to the company were a lost cause.

The shower in my bathroom at the Dune Scape was covered in blue and pink tiles—just one more leftover relic from when the motel was built in the 1950s. I reached for the faucet marked with an H for hot. Even though they were old, some of the features were cute and retro. They just needed some TLC. I hung my towel on the back of the door before I heard a knock at the door.

I crossed the room and opened the door.

“Towels?” Cole stood holding a stack of fluffy white towels.

I stifled a giggle. It was obvious he was trying to balance the soft linens in his frame without touching them. He had new paint splatters on his arm.

“I thought you said there weren’t enough towels to go around?” I put my hands on my hips, knowing full well he could see almost every square inch of my skin—almost.