Chapter Fourteen

Finlay

 

Rose shifts uncomfortably on the lounge beside me. Her hands are laid neatly on top of her lap, and she sits upright as if a plank is tied to her back, keeping her posed in such a way. She doesn’t look at me—instead, she keeps her eyes planted to the television, even though the television is an empty black screen of nothingness. Oh, bringing Rose down a few pegs is on. I wonder if she realised when she stepped foot in my home that she was entering the lion’s den. I’m about to eat her alive and pick my teeth with her bones.

The beat of the music vibrates through my chest, and the laughter of others, as well as heightened squeals of delight, can be heard far off into the distance. Where Rance and Blocker found these guests, I’m not sure, but it’s an enjoyable atmosphere. Rose, on the other hand, makes no attempt to relax or smile. I believe she’d rather be locked away in a library where peace and quiet is guaranteed.

“The police will be here any moment. I can’t be here when they come.” She speaks softly.

“Why? Nothing is going to happen, you know. Again, not breaking any laws. It’s not after ten p.m.”

She huffs.

“So, would you like a drink?”

“No.”

“Would you like to go mingle, and I can introduce you to some of my friends?”

“No.”

“Would you like to strip naked and bathe with me?”

Her head turns with a whip. “I beg your pardon.” She’s snarling, and I find joy in watching her nostrils flare outwards.

“Well, it got your attention, didn’t it?” I’m smirking—I know I am.

Her lashes fold closed. “You’re a pig.”

“If you say so.”

The air grows thicker with every passing second, and if we stay like this, I’ve no doubt we’re going to suffocate.

Leave it to Blocker to walk on by, shirtless and with a whipped cream bikini top sprayed to his pecs, to break the tension.

“And who are you?” He runs his tongue along his lower lip as he points to Rose.

She ignores him.

“Rose,” I reply, amused.

“Roselette,” she’s quick to refute.

“What type of name is that?” Blocker scrunches his nose in distaste.

“Mine.” She stands.

“I think Rose sounds better, love. Do you want a lick?” He points to the whipped cream applied with perfect dolloped mounds on his chest.

I expect Rose to turn a bright red and lose her temper, but she doesn’t. Instead, she laughs whilst holding her hand over her mouth.

The tension consuming the area we’ve been sitting in explodes into tiny fragments before dissipating completely. The thick air has been shattered. Maybe now I’ll convince her to have a drink.

Three White Russians later—this is what Sailor, who’s working the bar, tells Rose he’s made her—and it’s almost as if Rose becomes a completely different person. It’s as if she’s morphed into the best version of herself she can be. She’s laughing, relaxed, and mingling.

Meeting the boys goes down well, and after she places the third tumbler down on top of the bar with a heavy thud, she bends sideways and removes her heels one by one before discarding them on the floor where she stood. She walks off and I follow behind her, finding great pleasure in the way she swings her hips as she begins an exploration of the lower level of the house. She jolts to a stop. She hovers in the doorway to the room housing the pool table Tardo ordered. It’s also the room where Tessa handed us an arse whopping at poker recently.

“Do you play?” She knows I’m hot on her heels because she doesn’t even look behind her when asking.

“Well …” I chuckle. “I play. I’m pretty good, darling.” I’m cocky.

Rose continues forwards, and the giggle floating on the air has me excited. She swings her hips and I’m mesmerised as my eyes stay focus on her perfect arse.

“Stop looking at my arse.” She doesn’t even look back at me.

Shit. And there’s her fire.

Her torso stretches as she removes a pool cue off the wall and then lowers it to the floor. Rose lays the cue against her body, the tip resting between her breasts. Lucky fucking cue tip.

“Chalk,” she speaks softly, seductively.

I stalk around the table and retrieve the cube of chalk resting on the table’s frame at the opposite end, before offering it to her.

She snatches the cube from my open palm, a competitive gleam in her eye.

Blowing against the end of the cue, she grins. “Rack them up then, will you?”

I can’t help admiring the free spirit she’s displaying—it’s just as she is when she undresses in front of her window.

“Shall we place a bet?”

“Yes.” She eyes me sideways.

I ponder for a moment what it is I’d want from Rose if I were to win. Running my finger the length of my chin, I fasten my eyes to hers and say, “If I win, you have to spend the afternoon with me on Saturday. I’ll take you somewhere.”

Her lips arch. She’s thinking about it. “This is what you would like?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

It’s a simple nod followed by a seductive smile.

“Good. And if you win?”

She cackles, and when she throws her head back I almost regret giving her such power. “If I win, you move out of this house.”

Low blow.

I pause. How good is she at pool?

“Well, Finlay?”

“Done deal.”

“Good.”

Placing the balls into the rack I’ve laid onto the pool table, I’m alerted to how much my hands are shaking. Get it together, man. No way this spoilt brat could kick your arse at pool. It’s good. Focus.

Rose stands opposite me and winks. Fuck. I think she knows what she’s doing.

“How about a sweetener?” She’s not shy in asking.

“Go on.”

“If I sink a colour whilst breaking, you have to play shirtless.”

I can’t contain my humour as my lips spread wide. I like where this is going. “Deal. But what do I get if you don’t?”

“You decide.” She bends at her mid-section, lining up the cue to the white ball.

“You have to take off your dress and play the entire game in your underwear.”

She bolts upright, and a look of horror takes over her expression. “No way.”

“No deal then.”

Minutes pass, and I don’t take my attention from Rose. In fact, I go out of my way to intimidate her by staring her down.

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly—I can only imagine it’s matching mine. Her heart must be galloping from this proposal.

It would take a dumb prick not to realise when a woman is attracted to him. Rose is definitely attracted to me. And I’m pretty certain this is reason she wants so bad for me to move out. She’s engaged, but she has lurking eyes. This thought explains a lot about her behaviour. It also makes me want to mess with her more. This lion is hungry.

“Cops are here,” Rance shouts.

Rose becomes stiff. Her eyes widen. She’s frightened.

“And?” I turn away from her and look through the open door, catching Rance walking in my direction.

“Tardo’s sorting it. We’re all good. It’s not after ten p.m., son.” He laughs. That’s what they said, didn’t they?”

“Sure did.” I chuckle.

“Lower that music lads by ten p.m.” Rance changes his tone to a deeper one, mimicking the officer who arrived on the first night.

“Cheers for that.”

“What are friends for?”

“Exactly.”

“Racking up.” I shift my eyes to his outstretched finger pointing at the pool table.

“Sure are.”

“Cool. I’ll be back.”

Rose breathes a loud exhale and her shoulders drop from behind her ears. I’m guessing Rose is petrified of authority by that reaction.

“I told you, we aren’t doing anything wrong. The music isn’t even that loud. Your dad is a prude.”

Rose doesn’t reply.

“So? Do we have a bet? Your dress comes off if you don’t sink the ball?”

Rose shifts from foot to foot. “Fine. I’ll take off my dress if I don’t sink a colour.”

“There we go. That’s the way.” The chuckle that explodes from my throat is louder than I expected.

“You’re an arse and a pig.”

“Eh,” I continue my taunting heckle.

Rose folds at her midsection, posing with the cue lined up with the white ball. She bites at her lip, holding it between her teeth. Her eyes stay glued to the ball in front of her. The cue slides between her thumb and forefinger while I wait for the strike, and boy does she strike well. The balls scatter in every direction and I’m not sure which pocket to look at until the pocket closest to me fills with a solid red ball.

Rose gasps, and then pushes off her feet in a leap.

Shit. She pocketed a ball. I’m impressed. Rose seems as shocked as me. Maybe she’s not as good at pool as she made out.

I wait for Rose to eye me before I slowly wrap my hand to the back of my neck and take the seam of my T-shirt with a tighter than normal grip. “Well played.” It’s the only thing I say before I rip the material over my head and allow it to hang from my outstretched finger.

Her eyes are no longer anywhere near mine—they are travelling along my torso.

“Like what you see, Miss Horton?”

She shifts her head towards the wall, and I watch her full bust heave in and out at an escalated pace.

“Rose,” I speak softly.

“I was looking at the tattoos—that was all I was doing, Mr Crossley.” Roses pauses. “What? You don’t think I’ve seen built men before? I’ve seen my fair share. You have nothing more impressive, unfortunately.”

What a kick in the fucking balls. Rose doesn’t play nice.

There’s silence. I can’t stand it and find myself relieved when it’s broken by a small “oh” sound escaping her lips. Rose faces me, and her body betrays her previous statement, because she’s flushed, much to my pleasure. “They are quite big,” she whispers.

“Muscles.”

“Ink.”

“Oh.”

Her skin becomes an even deeper shade of red. Her colour now matches her name—Rose. “What?” She takes her lip between her teeth.

“Nothing.” I think I’m intimidating her. “I had them done after I turned twenty.”

“What done?” I hear her swallow.

“Tattoos.” I choose a deeper tone in answering.

“I see.” She’s trying hard not to look at me, but I can tell she wants to.

“Dragon and a broken thorned rose.”

“What, sorry?”

“The tattoo on my chest. It’s what it is.”

“Oh.” Her mouth makes the perfect O shape.

“Well, are you going to play or stand there?”

“Play.” She forces the word to come out.

I’m loving this more than I should be. I like watching Rose squirm.

The game is tight, and I’m so engrossed with winning that I pay no attention, at first, to the partygoers slowly filling the large space.

Sailor is bent over the table with me as we size up the two balls I’ve left to sink. I need to pocket one of them on this shot or I fear Rose might even the score.

“Tank, you need to look at the angle. You’ll need to bounce it about five centimetres from the side pocket on the left so it will slip behind the black and slide your ball in.” Sailor is coming in handy with his smarts, and it makes perfect sense to handle the shot in this way. I just wish I were as sober as he is right now.

“I agree.” I pat his shoulder and stand upright, scanning the room.

“Tank. Tank. Tank.” The crowd of more than twenty bodies begins cheering, and it’s enough to spur some confidence in me before taking this risky move. I’m playing to live here, so I’d say it’s important. This will be Rose’s only chance to have me move. If she wants it as bad as she makes out, she’ll win. If not, she’ll lose.

Slowly, I draw back the cue, and with a held breath, I press the tip into the white ball and hope to hell it works.

The eruption of noise when I sink my ball and the cue ball hitches on the edge of the pocket without following it in reflects the pure adrenaline pumping through my own veins.

Sailor returns to offer his advice on how to handle my last ball. It’s a much easier shot than the previous, and we decide collectively I need to bounce the cue ball off the black to sink them both.

Again, I line myself up and although tentative, I slide the cue with ease until I make connection with the cue ball.

It’s a louder and more forceful cheer than the previous. The room fills with the noise I’d hoped to hear. I’m extremely relieved, because this time I’d closed my eyes and not witnessed the end of play taking place.

“You fucking did it.” Blocker leaps at me the moment my eyes reopen and before I know it, I’m being stampeded by the gathered group. The thing is, I’m actually pretty horrible at pool. Turns out Rose is worse.

Celebrations cease the moment I push myself through the many limbs and make my way towards Rose, who is backed into the corner.

“It’s a date. Be here at three p.m. on Saturday,” I command.

“I’m engaged, so it’s not a date—more like two people being in the same place at the same time.” Her disappointment is obvious, but she’s being a good sport about it.

“Like friends catching up,” I counter, taking a step closer to her.

“Ha. I wouldn’t put it in such a way. More like a bet won. I’m a lady of my word, which means I’ll arrive promptly at three p.m.” Rose wriggles forward off the wall.

I have her cornered.

“That works.” I grin. “A date with a real man should do you some good, Rose.”

She huffs without pause.

I take a step backwards.

Rose takes a step forward, putting more distance between herself and the wall. “Really? A real man?” She laughs. “Hardly.”

“I’ve met your choice of man … I’d say I’m pretty on point with my statement.”

“Right? And you know all about being a good whole-hearted gentleman.” She squirms on the spot before she takes a large launch forwards and encroaches my personal space.

“Yeah. I would.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree, Mr Crossley.” Her breath is warm against my skin, her eyes fierce.

“Rose, I’m not the type to be stealin’ another man’s woman, but if you don’t take three steps backwards right now, I’m going to wrap my tongue to yours and show you how a woman is supposed to be kissed.”

Her breath launches in her throat. I hear it as it catches in limbo. Her eyes are glued hard to mine, and the desperation with which she tries to compose herself has me wanting to tilt her chin and claim her mouth for myself.

One step. Two steps. Three steps, has Rose’s back pressed firmly against the wall she’d worked so hard to escape from.

“Good choice. I would have kissed you, Rose. Don’t think I wouldn’t have.” I smirk before turning my back to her. I leave Rose panting and breathless, and make my way out of the games room and into the main living area, wishing Rose hadn’t heeded my warning. If only she’d stayed frozen, then I would have taken her mouth to mine and made her forget about rich dicks with fancy cars.