Caden
I’m still on an orgasmic high, just about to drift off into sleep, when I hear Rose say something. I decide to ignore her since I really didn’t hear her anyway, squeezing her shoulders with my arm, pulling her closer to my chest. We’re lying next to each other in postcoital bliss, the sheets kicked off and in a pile on the floor, the cool air bathing our heated skin. I feel good. I feel on top of the motherfuckin’ world and nothing is going to get me down. At least not for the next few hours.
“Hey.” Rose pokes my side, making me yelp. Damn, her finger’s sharp. Pricking my good vibe like a pin pops a balloon. “Shouldn’t you, um … be on your way?”
I crack open my eyes and stare at her in disbelief. “Are you kicking me out?”
She makes a face, one that says, I’m so sorry, but yeah. You gotta go.
Right. She’s definitely kicking me out.
“Well, this is awkward,” I say as I let go of her and slide out of bed. She scrambles into a sitting position, yanking the sheet up so it covers her breasts, and I almost want to laugh. I’ve seen every inch of her. Explored every inch of her, too, with my fingers and mouth and tongue. She has no reason to hide from me.
“It’s just … it’s getting late and I don’t know what’s going on and …” Her voice trails off and she shrugs those pretty, slim shoulders, her hair spilling everywhere, sliding against her skin, tempting me to touch her there.
But I resist because what the fuck, she’s kicking me out. No woman kicks me out. They’re always begging me to stay and I’m the one shoving them off, desperate to escape.
I didn’t even get a chance to search her suite for the necklace. I’m failing on all sides here. I need to play this off and see if I can get back in her good graces.
Were you ever in her good graces?
That’s probably a no.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” I tell her, pleased when I see her cheeks turn pink. “And that you can blush after everything that’s happened between us …”
“Yeah, that.” She points her finger at me, the sheet dropping to reveal her breasts. My gaze falls there, staring at them, the rosy nipples that match her name. Everything about her is pink and rose, creamy and sweet and so fucking tempting. “Your mouth makes me crazy.”
“In a good way or a bad way?” I thought she liked my mouth. She definitely didn’t protest when I had it between her legs. Or pressed to her lush lips. Or wrapped around her nipples.
“In a bad way.” She glances down at herself and pulls the sheet up again, ruining my view. “Besides, we’ve run out of condoms.”
Like that would stop me. “I bet if I called the concierge he’d get us more.” I stride toward the phone sitting on the bedside table, reaching for the receiver, but she slaps her hand over it first, stopping my progress.
“You will absolutely not call them,” she says, her voice low, the sheet forgotten again, much to my pleasure.
“Why not?”
“Then they’ll know what we’re doing.” Her cheeks turn even brighter pink and I chuckle, curling my hand upward into hers so our fingers interlock.
“We’re consenting adults, Ro. If we want to get naked and fuck for hours in a hotel room on a Saturday afternoon, then that’s our God-given right.”
“Ro? No one’s called me that before.” She disentangles her fingers from mine, scooting away from me until she’s sitting in the middle of the bed, the sheet still puddled around her lap, offering me that stellar view. I could stare at her chest all day. Now I get why artists are compelled to paint nudes of beautiful women. I’ve never painted in my life, but I’d love to capture Rose in this exact moment on canvas. “And please don’t bring God into this conversation,” she says weakly.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, not about to give up. I need to get closer to her and eventually get closer to that damn necklace she wore. Dexter wants it. He’s been hounding my ass for it. And I’ll get it.
Eventually.
I’d rather focus on her first. Earn her trust. So I’m not casing out her hotel room. I’m not looking for any stray jewelry lying around.
Hell, I’m in too deep now.
I’m here with Rose because I want to be, not because I want to steal something from her.
Yet. Don’t forget the “yet” part at the end of that last thought.
Yeah. Who wants to focus on trying to steal a necklace when I could be sliding back into bed with her? I want to feel the hot, tight clasp of her pussy milking my cock again. I want to feel her touch me, feel her lips on my skin, hear her moan when I hit a spot that feels particularly good. I want to learn all of those spots, memorize them for later. Because there will be a later for Rose and me. I plan on that. And she’d better plan on it too, no matter how much in denial she is.
“Rose.” She turns to look at me, her expression wary. Guarded. I know the feeling. More than anything, I know that look. I’ve been wearing the same guarded expression pretty much all my life. I trust no one. They’re all out to screw me over; it doesn’t matter who they are. I’ve become so good at playing the part, of being whoever I need to be at any given moment, I have no idea who the real me is anymore.
Being with Rose is the closest I’ve felt to myself since I don’t know when. I want to explore this. Explore what we share, what she makes me feel, what we are when we’re together.
She’s ready to kick me out and I’m ready to cling. Talk about a total role reversal. I need to get my head back on straight and focus.
“Caden.” She matches my tone, watching me expectantly. When I don’t say anything she rolls her eyes. “Do you realize I don’t even know your last name? What does that say about me, that I’d let you into my room and—fool around with you for hours and I don’t know your last name? It’s appalling behavior.”
“Appalling behavior? You sound like a crabby old school-teacher.” I want to laugh but I don’t. She’s dead serious. I think she’s just shocked herself with what we’ve done.
I’ve shocked myself too, but in a good way. While she acts like we’ve committed the ultimate sin.
“You wouldn’t understand.” She averts her head as if it pains her to look at me and I move closer to her, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“It’s Kingsley,” I murmur, wishing I could kiss her. Comfort her. But that’s not happening, not yet. I’ve got to take it slow.
She turns, a little gasp escaping her when she discovers how close I am. “What?”
“My last name. It’s Kingsley.”
“Are you serious? Of course it is.” She tosses her hands up in the air, making her breasts jiggle, and I jerk my gaze away from her chest.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s such an—arrogant name. Caden Kingsley. Please don’t tell me your friends called you King or something silly like that when you were in school.”
Hell, no, they didn’t call me that. They teased me unmercifully when my father lost all his money in bad investments and when he became involved in a pyramid scheme. In his shame and embarrassment he did the unthinkable.
Killed himself.
And I’ve dealt with his choice ever since. Worn it like it was my cross to bear. I hate him for what he did. Hate him for how he destroyed my life, Mom’s life, lost all our money until I turned to the one thing that was the easiest fix.
Stealing.
I guess I’m more like my old man than I thought.
“I was born with the name.” I shrug, uncomfortable thinking about my past shames. “Not like I chose it.”
She’s studying me a little too closely and I want to squirm like a little kid. But I don’t. I remain as still as I can, returning her stare, wanting her to think she doesn’t scare me.
But fuck, she does. She scares the crap out of me. Maybe I should leave. Bail out of here like she wants me to and forget all about this woman.
You won’t be able to. It has nothing to do with the necklace or anything that you can gain from her. You just want her. Pure and simple. What’s the harm in that?
It’s who she is. What she represents. She’s exactly the type of woman I need to avoid. Not cling to.
“I should go.” I start to rise but she clasps my wrist, her fingers keeping me in place.
“Wait.”
I stare at her hand clasped tight around my wrist, then lift my head to meet her imploring gaze.
“Don’t go,” she whispers.
Go. Go. Fucking go. “What are you saying? You changed your mind?”
Her gaze never leaves my face and I know she’s searching for something, some hidden secret I supposedly have. And I do have them. A ton of them. I’m not about to reveal them to her, though. She’ll only use them against me. No one knows my secrets. I keep them close to my chest.
It’s better that way. Easier.
“Do you want to go to dinner?” She’s changing the subject and I’m okay with that. The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn, one I didn’t want to deal with.
“With you?” I ask.
She laughs and shakes her head, her grip on my wrist easing, but she doesn’t let go. And I like that. “I deserve that, don’t I? Yes, with me.”
Her honesty is refreshing. The women I’ve been with always play games. Natural, I guess, considering I’m a game player too. We say one thing and mean another. Being with a woman was always about chasing the pleasure, seeking the orgasm. Whitney is the only female friend I have and I still end up seeking the orgasm with her, so much so that I have her conditioned to want it anytime she’s with me.
Meaning I’ll eventually ruin that friendship too.
“Yeah, that sounds good.” The relief in my voice is evident and for once I don’t care. I don’t want to hide it. For once in my life I’m tempted to be open with a woman.
Real.
More like real scary. What the hell am I thinking?
“I need to take a shower first.” She waves a hand at me. “So maybe you can turn around so I can go to the bathroom?”
“Are you serious?” I grab her, causing her to shriek. Clamping my hand over her mouth loosely, I roll over so she’s beneath me, her breasts pressed against my chest, her sheet-covered legs squirming beneath mine. “Baby, I’ve seen you completely naked. You rode my face. You came all over my face. And now you’re acting shy?”
She struggles against me, reaching out to shove me, and I grab at her wrists, lifting her arms above her head and pinning them there. “Let go of me.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” I dip my head, brush my nose against her cheek, along her neck. Her struggle eases, her body going limp beneath mine when I run my mouth along her skin, scenting her, tasting her. My body is spent but my cock is hard and I’m afraid I could become easily addicted to this woman.
“I’m not used to a man sticking around after sex,” she admits softly.
I lift my head so I can look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, they all bail right after, even the ones I’m in a committed relationship with.” Her cheeks go red yet again and I kiss her there, my lips pressing into the heated skin of her left cheek, then her right.
“You’ve been in lots of committed relationships?” I ask, almost afraid of her answer. Because if she has I should probably go. Now.
“No.” The word comes out strangled, though that could be because I slipped my hand down to cup her breast. “I’ve had one serious boyfriend. And he was the worst of them all. I found out later I wasn’t the only woman he was seeing, though I thought I was.”
Asshole. I may not commit, but at least I don’t string women along and pretend I want a relationship with them.
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this stuff. Like you care.” She turns her head to the side, staring at nothing, her body tense.
I kiss her jaw, her lips, my hand still on her breast, gently stroking. Her nipple pebbles against my palm, her body growing warm and pliant beneath me, and I place my mouth at her ear. “Let’s take a shower together.”
“I don’t know …” Her voice trails off when I kiss and nibble her earlobe.
“I’ll wash your hair.”
She smiles and lifts her shoulder, trying to shrug me away like she can get rid of me, but I don’t budge. “That sounds nice,” she admits.
“I’ll wash your entire body.” I lick her ear, making her shiver.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“But no more shyness, all right? I like what I see. I don’t want you to be bashful.”
Her gaze meets mine, then drops to linger on my mouth before returning to my eyes. “Bashful? You make me sound like one of the Seven Dwarfs.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to close my eyes so you could run to the bathroom. That sounds like bashful to me.” I’m still cupping her breast, and my cock is hard as steel where it rests against her belly. “We’d better go take that shower before I give up and fuck you again.”
Her eyes widen the slightest bit. “We don’t have any more condoms.”
“I’d pull out.” Just the thought of coming all over her stomach and chest has my balls aching.
“I don’t have sex without a condom.”
“Neither do I.”
“The pull-out method is one of the least reliable.”
“I’ve heard that.” What the fuck is wrong with me, suggesting such a thing and not being the least bit concerned about it, either? I’m a fucking nut job of the highest proportions right about now.
I blame the woman squirming beneath me.
“Yet you suggested it.” She’s calling me out yet again.
“You think too much.” I kiss her nose and climb off of her, standing by the side of the bed with my hand held out. “Come on. Let’s go take that shower.”
She studies my hand warily, looking as unsure as I feel. There’s a heaviness in the room. A sense that the two of us are about to embark on a crazy adventure neither of us will ever fully recover from.
Will she take my hand? Or tell me to get the hell out? She should do the latter. It’s the safest bet. The easiest out. And I’m always about the easiest out.
But she takes it. Curling her fingers in mine, she allows me to help her out of bed so she’s standing in front of me, naked and beautiful. Without a word I lead her into the bathroom and let go of her hand, admiring her ass as she walks over to the shower and starts the water, flicking her fingers in the spray as she waits for it to warm.
“Ready?” she asks when steam starts to billow out of the shower stall.
As I’ll ever be.
We end up at a hotel in Trafalgar Square, taking a taxi to get there, one of those little black cabs you see on TV when you’re a kid. I’ve been to England once before, but I was too young to care and not really paying attention to my surroundings.
London is exactly what you’d expect it to be. Bustling and full of people, quick paced and crowded, its streets packed with those red double-decker buses. History is everywhere, staring down at you in the form of one statue or another. They give everyone a statue in this damn city. I bet if I paid enough money I could have my own motherfucking statue erected in some small park.
I tried to feel Rose up in the back of the cab since the driver wasn’t paying us any mind but she wouldn’t have it, slapping my hands away every time I tried to grab her. You’d think I wouldn’t feel the need to grab her, since she gave me a soapy hand job in the shower that had me coming so hard I had to brace myself against the shower wall for fear I’d slip down the drain.
Not that I hadn’t returned the favor, fingering her into another orgasm while my mouth remained tight around her nipple. She’s so damn responsive, I had her coming in minutes.
“Why are you taking me to another hotel?” I ask her as we enter the building. There’s a noisy bar to the right, filled with people around our age dressed to trendy perfection, standing around drinking and talking, loud music blaring over the speakers. I start to head toward the bar but she stops me, dragging me toward a short bank of elevators to the left, just beyond the registration desk.
“We’re going to the restaurant up on the roof. It’s supposed to be one of those hidden-gem secrets of the city. Violet told me about it. She came here with Ryder a few weeks ago and said the view and the food were excellent.” Rose hits the up button and we wait for the elevator to make its way to the ground floor.
“Better than The Shard?” The newest skyscraper, close to the London Bridge, is one of the more popular spots for tourists to check out a view of the city. Not that I’d been there, but I’d heard all about it from Whitney.
“Not as crowded, at least. I don’t know about better.” The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing a crazy interior.
I start to laugh as we walk inside, earning a weird look from Rose. “What’s so funny?”
“This elevator looks like a damn nightclub.” It’s dark inside save for the glowing purple and green lights that shine on the black floor, the little glints of silver embedded in the solid surface shining bright. The walls are mirrored and covered with a faint black brocade print, and there’s even mood music.
“It does,” Rose agrees with a little smile. She starts to move as if she’s dancing, and I watch in fascination as she sways her hips in time to the music.
She’s wearing a short pastel-colored lace dress and I’m not sure if she has panties on beneath it, but now is not the time to check. I’m hungry after expending my energy for the last five hours or so of straight fucking and eager to get to this restaurant so we can order something to eat.
“You trying to turn me on?” I ask her.
Rose flashes me a smile over her shoulder and shakes her ass. Jesus, the woman is hot. “Maybe.”
“It’s working.” I grab hold of her hips and pull her to me, stifling the groan that wants to escape when her ass brushes against my cock. It stiffens, though I can almost hear it protesting in agony, enough already. Let me rest.
She swivels her hips, her ass pushing against my cock, and I hold her still, my mouth against her hair as I whisper, “Do you want me to fuck you in the elevator?” I bought condoms at the Boots drugstore not far from her hotel, running in to purchase them while she was getting ready, blowing her hair dry and all of those other things women do before they go out on a date.
My entire body goes still. Is that what this is? A date? I’ve never been on one in my life, not even when I was young. It was all about the hookup. That’s all it’s ever been. Why let someone get close to me when I had all of these deep, dark secrets I didn’t want to share? My life turned into a tragedy, and then it turned into a joke. But the joke was on me and Mom, no one else. We became the punch line and it sucked.
I didn’t want to share that with anyone else. Of course, I’d never met anyone like Rose, either.
“I’m just playing.” She rests her hands on the outside of my thighs, her touch burning me even through the thick denim of my jeans.
“With fire,” I murmur just as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open.
Rose pulls away from me, practically running out of the elevator, and I follow after her down the narrow hallway that turns into an even narrower staircase. She glances down at me, making sure I’m right behind, and I fall into step after her, cocking my head so I can sneak glances up her skirt.
Just as I thought. The little tease isn’t wearing panties. She’s going to drive me straight insane before the night is done, I swear.
We reach the top of the stairs and the night air hits me, cool but with that hint of lingering heat that declares summer is coming. Rose sends me a smug look over her shoulder and I’m about to say something when the hostess approaches, a cute, petite thing dressed all in black, the skirt of her dress so short I’m afraid one wrong move and she’ll be showing the world—or at least us—everything she’s got.
“Two for dinner or just drinks?” the hostess asks, her accent thick, a little sneer curling her upper lip.
“Dinner, please.” I wrap my arm around Rose’s waist, pulling her into me. She goes willingly, her curves fitting perfectly against my side, and we follow the hostess to a high table that faces directly out over Trafalgar Square. She hands us our menus with a quick smile and then scurries away.
“If she would let me, I would so give her a makeover,” Rose says as she flips open the menu. “If I suggested it, though, she’d probably be insulted.”
“You think she needs a makeover?”
Rose glances at me from over the top of her menu. “Did you see all the eyeliner she had on? And mascara? Hell yes, she needs a makeover. When I was in high school I worked the Fleur counter at Bloomingdale’s for one summer. I was sixteen and loved it.”
“Really? One of the Fowlers working the makeup counter?” I’m surprised. Figured they would think that sort of work beneath them.
She sends me an irritated look. “My grandma made me and my sisters do it at one point or another. I’m the only one who enjoyed it, though. I loved giving makeovers.”
“Why?” I forget about the menu and my hunger and wait for her answer. I like that she’s opening up to me. Though of course, her opening up means she probably expects me to do the same.
And I don’t know if I can.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, her expression thoughtful. “It was fun, to make that transformation happen. And to see the joy on the women’s faces when they saw what I did, it made me feel good. I didn’t even care about selling them the product. I just wanted to make them happy.”
“Isn’t that the point of a makeover at a cosmetics counter? So you can sell them the product?”
“Yes, and I failed miserably at that part. I’d take over an hour on a woman’s makeup and let her walk without spending a dime.” Rose shakes her head. “I was awful.”
“Sounds like you did it just for the fun of it.”
She smiles wistfully. “I did. That was the one time when working for Fleur truly felt like fun.” Her smile falls, and it’s as though she just caught herself in a terrible confession. “Lately working for Fleur, sometimes it feels like so much …”
“Work,” I finish for her.
“Right. Work.” Her voice is faint and she turns to study the view, offering me a glimpse of her profile. The single candle sitting in the middle of the table casts her face in a golden glow, emphasizing the shape of her jaw, the straight angle of her nose, the plumpness of her lips. The longer I stare, the more I become entranced. She’s stunning, looking a little sad, a little lost.
“Ready to order?” The waitress appears and I turn to her, my gaze dropping to the neckline of her dress, her cleavage on obvious display. She’s a pretty girl but there’s nothing subtle about her, from the bright blond of her hair to the short skirt and loads of makeup on her face.
“I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,” I admit, tearing my gaze from her boobs.
“Me either,” Rose says, her voice tight.
“Want something to drink then?” the waitress asks, sounding bored.
“Yeah, that sounds good.” I order a beer and Rose orders some fancy little cocktail I’ve never heard of before and the waitress walks away, an extra swish in her step, as if she wants me to look.
And I do.
“God, you’re a pig,” Rose says with a little groan.
I look in her direction. “What do you mean?”
“Staring at the waitress like you want to molest her while you’re sitting at the table with me,” she accuses, her eyes flaring with anger.
“She wants me to stare at her like that. Look at the way she’s dressed,” I say in my defense. Damn, look at her, acting like a possessive girlfriend.
“I couldn’t take my eyes off her bad makeup,” Rose retorts.
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t take my eyes off her short skirt.”
“And her boobs.”
“Fine, and her boobs.” I shake my head. “Are you jealous?”
“What? No.” She sounds horrified. “Why would I be jealous? You can look at whoever you want.”
“Uh-huh.” I let my gaze return to the menu, checking out what they have to offer, which is a lot. Just reading the descriptions of the various entrees is making me hungrier.
But I can feel Rose’s anger radiating off her in palpable waves. She doesn’t like that I called her out on her jealousy.
“You’re an ass,” she finally says, the last word ending in a hiss.
“Just speaking the truth.” I don’t look up from the menu and I can feel her glaring at me. That old saying “if looks could kill” would definitely apply here.
I’d be dead right about …
Now.