Page 14 of Roses for Rosie

My body responded to him in ways it has never responded to anyone before. There haven’t been many chances for any kind of physical reaction to a man in my life given my father and his enforcement of my celibacy but still…

The attraction between us is palpable. My heart skips a few beats just thinking about how it felt to have him so close, to let him touch me, to be vulnerable, to be taken care of. What am I supposed to do with that? I wonder.

Nothing, I think. I will do nothing with that feeling. Adam Smythe is off limits. My father would have a fit. Vivian would fire me. He would sleep with me and leave me just like he does to all of the women hanging on his arm in the tabloid magazines. That woman he just broke up with, Scarlett Smith, is ten times as pretty and a hundred times as famous as I am. If she couldn’t hold his attention, what chance do I have?

Zero. That’s what.

It’s better to nip this in the bud, I think, banishing all feelings of attraction for Adam Smythe to the deepest regions of my emotional fortress. It isn’t going to happen. If it did happen, it wouldn’t last. It isn’t even worth thinking about.

I am the ice queen, I murmur to myself and I go through the motions of finishing the event set up.

By six o’clock I have built myself a titanium plated suit of emotional armor that nothing will penetrate. I am ready to face the man of my dreams and to send him packing.

Then the front door opens and he pierces my soul with those ice blue eyes. My defenses crumble in a deafening crash as my heart slows to a thud, thud, thud before racing off without my permission and falling for him.

Chapter 8

Adam

The rest of the bookstore fades away as I focus in on Rosie. On the surface, she looks composed, cool even, but I see through that façade. Our kiss is on her mind. It’s occupying every corner of her consciousness which is not concentrating on pretending that it isn’t.

Clearly that moment in the storeroom affected her as much as it affected me. I have spent the hours since that kiss reliving it over and over. The moment my lips brushed hers changed something in me.

Before I kissed her, she was a challenge, a woman to be conquered. The kiss changed all that though. Feeling her lips part under mine, watching her arch toward me broke through the rugged Adam Smythe exterior I use to deal with public events and fans and touched the part of me which longs for a deeper connection.

Rosie could be my touchpoint, the woman who keeps me real and grounded. The person who reminds me of who I really am, not who the world thinks I am. I want that. I need that.

But now is not the time. She needs to work, and she is begging me with her eyes to allow her to keep her defenses in tact until the end of the event. I check my watch. It’s six o’clock now. This thing can’t possibly last later than ten. Four hours. I can wait four hours.

I give her a nearly imperceptible nod, indicating that I understand and turn toward Vivian instead.

“Vivian, it’s been too long!”

She laughs, “It’s barely been three hours, but welcome back, Mr. Smythe. We’ve set up the podium for the reading right over here and the table for the book signing over in this corner. Will that be acceptable?”

“Perfectly,” I reply, surveying the neat rows of chairs set up in the middle of the store where the circle of soft chairs usually sits. I wonder where they put those, certainly not in the storeroom. There was barely room for me and Rosie to stand in there. I picture the stacks of books toppling as chairs are pushed into their midst.

“The guests should begin arriving any moment now. Can I get you some water or a coffee?”

“Water would be great, thanks.” I wander over to the podium and deposit the copy of the book I brought with me for the reading there. I’ve already marked several passages which I like to use at these events. Depending on the crowd and the mood, I’ll crank up the heat or add a little humor. The same passage doesn’t work for every crowd.

The bell over the door tinkles as three women enter. They giggle like schoolgirls and elbow each other when they spot me. Let the show begin. I paste on my best famous author smile and stride over to them, extending my hand and introducing myself.

Books and purses are fumbled, cheeks redden, the giggles escalate.

“Mr. Smythe, your book was so amazing!”

“Jospeh is such a real man!”

“I couldn’t put it down.”

“I’ve read it three times now.”

“Thank you, ladies. Hearing that my work has touched readers like you means everything to me. That’s a lovely skirt.” I indicate one of the women. Adding a personal touch, noticing something about one person at a time makes these events so much more successful. There’s a tidbit of a memory she can take with her and roll over in her mind while she’s falling asleep tonight.

Another group of women enter the shop, so I excuse myself to greet them and pass out more compliments – what a beautiful necklace, I love your handbag, your eyes are stunning. Each woman in turn looks stunned that I noticed her and then flattered that what I noticed was worthy of mention.

I catch a glimpse of Rosie flitting around the back of the bookstore, arranging a pile of books to be signed later. I wish I could be back there with her, complimenting her instead of these strangers. Rosie is practically a stranger too, I think. I’ve only had a few interactions with her, but she doesn’t feel like a stranger. Being with her is like coming home.

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