Chapter Eighteen

Finlay

I offer to walk Rose the distance from my garage to her home. She declines. I offer for her to come inside and have a coffee with me. Again, she politely declines. I’m not sure what to do from here. Rose had nothing to say at the park, and she didn’t speak much on the drive home either.

Standing with her hands splayed across either hip, Rose seems as if she’s drifting further off into space with the passing seconds, and maybe there’ll be a grand delay before she returns to the garage we’re standing in, so I study her. Every inch of her. She’s a goddess amongst mere mortals. I think she knows she is, or does she? I can’t seem to put my finger on anything to do with Rose right now. This is frustrating the shit out of me because reading people has always been something I’ve done with ease. One minute Rose is acting all Miss Hoighty Toighty; the next she’s the complete opposite. Something tells me Roselette Horton has absolutely no idea of her own identity, and this is a confronting thought.

“I would like to come in.” It’s a whisper of her desire, and I oblige by holding open the door separating the garage to the living area for her to walk through. She doesn’t walk; she glides.

Woof. Woof.

Roxie jumps up and down my leg, wrapping herself in figure eights around my ankles.

“Settle down. Why are you in a tizzy? Is it Tess?” I leave Rose standing by the kitchen counter and march through the house yelling, “Tessa, where are you?”

“Here, Tank. In here, setting up to watch a movie.”

The media room is darkened, but I can see her outline in one of the oversized recliners at the front.

“Everything okay?” I take three strides until I’ve made it to her side.

“I’m fine.” Her head rotates in my direction.

“Good. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Roxie was acting a brat when I came through the door—wanted to make sure it wasn’t because you’d had a spell.”

“No spell. Caterina is here anyway. No need to worry.”

“Where is she?”

“Bedroom, I think.”

“Good. You still like having Caterina around, right?”

“Yeah, I do. She’s really nice, and I enjoy talking with her.”

I breathe a sigh of relief before heading back towards the door. “Open or closed, Tess?”

“Open,” she calls out as I go to exit.

“Finlay, I’m sorry to impose. I think I might go back to my house.” Rose swings her hips on approach.

“No. Stay.”

A soft smile, and the tip of Rose’s head to the side tells me she’s comfortable here.

“Hello. Who is that?” Tessa is a nosey old bird.

“Hello,” Rose responds.

“Would you two like to watch a movie with me?”

“No, Tess. We—”

“I’d love to,” Rose cuts me off.

I guess we’re watching a movie.

Now most people would think an old biddy like Tessa would watch something outdated and boring. Even I thought this to be the case, so when Fast and The Furious begins playing, I’m surprised.

Tessa sits at the front, Rose right beside her, and I opt to sit three rows behind them in some space of my own.

I’m not sure the last time I had the time to sit through a movie, and admittedly, I’m glad I did, because as the credits roll up the wall-length screen, I realise I needed this moment of relaxation. I’d had murder in my eyes from what happened this morning. I can’t help wondering if Slade strikes Rose often. No man should put his hands to a woman’s skin due to aggression, or for any reason for that matter.

At first, it’s mumblings, and Rose even giggles before Tessa says, “Finlay, we’re going out to the pergola if you’re looking for us. Please get Caterina to bring me my medicine and a cup of tea. Would you like a cup of tea, dear?” She looks at Rose.

“Please,” Rose responds quietly.

What’s happening here? “Sure thing. At your service.” My sarcasm is obvious to even an untrained monkey.

Tessa laughs. Rose does not.

The entire time Rose and Tessa sit out in the pergola, I busy myself with the final plan layouts for the motorcycle store. I’m yet to come up with a name for it, and I need to in the next twenty-four hours, but I find myself distracted, wondering what on earth Rose and Tessa could be talking about, considering they had no real knowledge of each other until now. I desperately want to go out into the yard and approach them, even though I think whatever is happening is good for Rose, given the occurrences of her day.

Just go to her, you punk. I don’t. Instead, I take a break and roll ice into tea towels so I can shove them against my swollen rib cage. The prick gave me a shellacking, and I’m not sure if it’s the way I chose to sit hunched over the breakfast bar or time passing, but they are bloody aching. With only two hands, I craft a way to keep the ice packs on my ribs so I can keep working. A long stretch of bandage to strap them in place will do the job. Problem is, I can’t wrap them on tight enough, and they slip out between the material of my shirt and the bandage every time I try.

“Caterina,” I bellow.

“Yes, Tank?”

I can’t see her, but I can hear her—she mustn’t be far.

“Can you come give me a hand with something, please?”

“Sure.”

No sooner do I re-roll the bandage into a cylinder, Caterina is standing within reach.

“What seems to be the problem?” Her smile is always filled with such a sense of care and purity.

“Sore ribs. Don’t ask.”

“Don’t need to. You had your arse handed to you in the driveway this morning, I was told.”

“Who? How?”

“Blocker. He was coming down to help, but Tessa told him to butt out.”

“Shit, hey?”

“This house is a really fun place to work—it’s almost as riveting as Days of our Lives.”

“What’s Days of—”

“A soap opera.” She giggles.

“You’re quite forward, Caterina … I think I like this about you.”

Her tanned cheeks are flushed.

“So, can you help?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay. I’ll help him.”

Rose. Where did she come from?

Caterina winks before turning on her heel and offering Rose a smile in passing.

“You’re really hurt, aren’t you?” Rose doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“A bit sore. Nothing too bad.”

Her lips make a perfect O shape.

“Could you wrap this bandage around these ice packs so I can get some more work done?”

“Okay.” She seems oddly shy. Rose’s fingers brush mine as she retrieves the bandage from my outstretched hand. “Take off your shirt, please.”

“I’m not really up for another game of pool right now.”

She laughs, and it breaks an odd tension that was forming between us.

“No pool. It’s just better to have the ice packs against your skin without the barrier of your T-shirt.”

“Are you a nurse now?”

“Common sense, really?”

I’d say this is a smug reply, but Rose’s tone makes it seem logical.

When I stand slowly and move my hand to reach for my collar, a hellish pain rips through my rib cage, and I flinch as I let out a gasp.

“Here. Let me help.”

Now, my breath hitches in my throat, and as Rose steps closer to me, my heart leaps from my chest and lands behind my held breath.

Taking the seam of my T-shirt on either side, Rose stands in front of me, staring straight into my eyes. The connection I feel to her in this one look is stronger than any I’ve felt before in my life, even stronger than what I felt with Penny. I don’t want the connection broken because I’m enjoying this intense pull.

Rose stands on her tiptoes. I want to look down at her stretched legs, but this would mean taking my eyes from hers, and that is something I cannot do.

“Ready?” she breathes.

I nod.

Her knuckles skim my sides as she lifts the fabric until it parts from my body. I want to take her delicate fingers and splay them across my chest. I want her to touch every bit of my skin.

She gasps. It’s over-exaggerated.

“What’s wrong?” I croak.

I get a part of my wish, because without any explanation as to why, Rose places a soft touch to either side of my body, and I hold back my need to groan from the instant pleasure I feel.

“You’re bruised bad, really bad.”

“It’s normal after being kicked repeatedly, Rose.”

“It looks so …” She stops, skimming her nails from either rib cage until they meet in the middle of my stomach. “Finlay.” It’s a breathless deliverance of my name.

“Rose,” I moan as I place my finger under her chin and tip her head until I can gaze into her bottle green eyes.

“I’m sorry he did this to you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. It’s all my fault.”

Leaning down, I keep my lips hovering over hers. “It’s not your fault,” I repeat.

Rose closes the gap with a press of her head forwards. It’s a graze of her lips to mine, and I’m taken aback, there was no way I was expecting her to do so. I wish I hadn’t pulled away because the tears rushing down her cheeks make me instantly regret doing so.

“I need to go.”

“Don’t.”

“I … I … nee … need … to,” she stutters.

“I want to kiss you, Rose.”

“You can’t.” And with these parting words, she turns and runs, never glimpsing back.

I stand alone in the kitchen of my multimillion-dollar house, the plans for my dream business spread out in front of me. I have all the money in the world, but I want this woman more than any possession I could ever buy.