Page 21 of Roses for Rosie

“Gentle?” she asks.

“Yeah, gentle. I won’t break his jaw like I did with my dad. I’m older and wiser now. If I pulled a stunt like that now, they’d throw me in jail too.”

“So what are you going to do to him?”

“We’ll sit down and have a man-to-man chat about how to treat a woman. There will be consequences if he disagrees with my rules. I’ll make sure he knows what they are. He won’t touch you again.”

She looks dubious but stops pulling away from me and agrees to enter the elevator.

One ding later, we are on the third floor and I’m tapping my key card on room 312. I open the door and flick on the lights to reveal two queen sized beds and a dresser topped with a TV. It’s pretty standard fare as hotel rooms go, but it’ll do for tonight.

“Your pick,” I say, nodding toward the two beds. It only takes her a moment to choose the bed furthest from the door. She retreats to the far side of the bed, putting as much of the room between us as she can.

Fair enough. Her father has clearly scared the living daylights out of her with his threats and his violence. On top of that, his rules about other men have isolated her and given her no chance to have any positive experiences with other guys. Nice guys. Guys like me. OK, maybe I’m not always the nicest guy. But I’m a damn sight nicer than her father is.

She’s still standing beside the bed, frozen.

“You can have the bathroom first, if you want to change or brush your teeth or something.”

She nods and takes her bag with her into the bathroom. I sit down on my bed and take my shoes and jacket off, thinking about what it will be like to have Rosie in the bed next to me.

It’ll be tempting as hell, I think. I remember the feeling of her soft lips yielding to mine earlier today. It feels like that was a million years ago already.

Rosie slips out of the bathroom a moment later wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. This should be the least sexy outfit ever, but she took off her bra and I can see the outline of her breasts through the thin t-shirt.

“Thanks for letting me stay here tonight,” she says as she crosses over to her bed. “Good night.”

“Good night,” I say as I leave to take my turn in the bathroom.

Chapter 11

Rosie

Bad idea! This is a bad idea.

Staying in a hotel room with a man would be an act of poor judgement. My father doesn’t care which man it is I’m with, he will be furious when he finds out.

Staying in a hotel room with a man who is so smoking hot he has half the women on the east coast drooling over his book cover is even worse. I’ve read my fair share of romance novels in the bookstore. I know what happens when women stay in hotel rooms with hot men. Hint: keeping their virginity is not high on the list.

Staying in a hotel room with Adam Smythe is such a bad idea I can’t even think of any other idea bad enough to compare it to. Jumping off a bridge, maybe. Gambling your life savings on a hand of poker. Poking a grizzly bear with a stick.

You’ve really gotten yourself into a mess this time, Rosie, I think.

But it isn’t my fault, I defend. It’s not my fault that Adam is the finest specimen of a man I’ve ever seen. It isn’t my fault the notorious cad developed a chivalrous streak and pointed it in my direction. It isn’t my fault my father showed up drunk tonight and disrupted the book signing. It isn’t my fault there is a knitting festival in town this week. It isn’t my fault!

But who’s going to have to deal with the fallout? Me, that’s who. My father isn’t going to care whose fault it is. He isn’t going to listen to my reasonable explanations and logical arguments. He’s going to be madder than a hornet and I’m the one who’s going to get stung.

But don’t I deserve a break? I wonder. Don’t I deserve to have a little bit of fun too?

Adam Smythe is more than just a pretty face. He’s more than just an author tons of women lust after. He’s been an anchor in my life since he started publishing books. When things in the real world get too bad, I know I can escape in one of his novels. Nothing too terrible happens there and the stories always end with a happily ever after.

Adam is my fantasy land. He’s my dream man.

But suddenly, Adam isn’t just a dream anymore. He is a flesh and blood man and he is just on the other side of that door. I look toward the bathroom. He’s probably naked right now, I think. Images of Adam in his full glory flash before my eyes. My cheeks flush hot and red and I shake my head to clear it.

What if I slipped my t-shirt off and dropped my lounge pants and walked over there naked myself? What would Adam do if I knocked on the door and when he answered, I revealed myself?

Other women do things like that. Why can’t I?

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