Page 9 of Roses for Rosie

Not that it matters, I think, glancing down the hall toward my father’s bedroom. Even if Adam was interested, which he definitely is not and will never be, my father wouldn’t approve. And by not approve, I mean get so rip roaring drunk and violent that Adam would leave town missing a few important body parts if he so much as thought about laying a finger on me.

That image douses the heat and brings me back to reality, back to the far more relevant emotions of nervous and excited. I look through my closet, determined to pick out the perfect outfit. I want to look professional, but I also want to look attractive. I know he is a gorgeous hunk of man and no matter what I wear I will never be able to rival his sex appeal, but I can’t help trying anyway.

Every woman wants to see that light in a man’s eye when he looks at her, the light that says ‘I want you’. I’ve had a crush on Adam since the day I read his first book. I can’t help wanting to elicit a mirroring response from him.

I pick out a long swishy skirt which makes me feel feminine and mysterious and pair it with a low cut shirt which matches my eyes. An appraising glance in the mirror gives me the reassurance I am looking for. I look good. Damn good.

I twirl in a circle, letting the skirt flare out around me and settle gracefully back around my bare leg with a whisper of soft fabric. If any piece of clothing I own will impress Adam, this is it. I give myself a final nod and head out the door to work.

Adam is late. I pace the store, back and forth, glancing out the window every ten seconds. I got here early this morning, wanting to be ready in case he arrived ahead of schedule. It is now twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to arrive and there’s still nobody here but me and Sammy. I stroke his back as I give the sidewalk outside another look. Still empty.

Tired of pacing and waiting, I settle myself in my favorite chair and grab the latest best seller from a shelf. Readers are always asking for recommendations, so Vivian encourages me to read the new books as they come in. I’m certainly not going to complain about this part of the job.

I’m lost in the novel in a matter of moments. It’s a story about a smart, spunky, young woman fighting her way into a graduate program in chemistry. She reminds me of the woman I always hoped I would be. I laugh as she puts the crotchety old department chair in his place when he suggests that she should be home cooking dinner for a man instead of in the lab running experiments. She showed him, I think.

Before I can read further, the bell above the door chimes and I look up to see Adam Smythe entering the shop. Inspired by the woman in my book and infused with confidence from her win, I smile at Adam and stand up to greet him.

He’s taller than I thought he would be, towering over me easily. The expression on his face is the same as the one in his picture though. How does he do that with his eyes? I feel vulnerable in front of him, like he can read my thoughts. His gaze slides from my skirt up to my chest and lingers there before pausing to stare into my eyes.

He’s everything I imagined him to be and so much more. I glance away, nervously. I’m not used to men looking at me with any type of interest, especially not men who look like Adam. Everyone in Jamesville knows better than to upset my father.

“Hello there,” he says.

I don my cloak of professionality and reach out my hand to shake Adam’s. He takes my hand as I expected, but instead of shaking it he eases it up to his mouth and kisses it. Adam Smythe’s lips just touched my skin! I barely suppress a squeal.

The back of my hand tingles where his lips linger and I grip his hand tighter, needing to hold onto something as my heart flutters. I take a sharp breath in, trying to still the butterflies beating their way out of my chest.

Calm down, I tell myself. This is probably just the charm act he puts on for everyone. He needs to live up to his reputation as a romantic after all.

But the next words out of his mouth, chase any thoughts of work out of my mind.

“You, me, my bedroom, tonight,” he says.

I shake my head thinking I must have imagined it. Adam Smythe is not propositioning me. I am not the type of girl who receives offers for sex. Booty calls are not part of my life. But no, he is looking me up and down like I’m a piece of candy that he wants to devour.

Part of me wants nothing more than to fall into his arms and let him carry me away to fairy tale land where a girl like me gets to fall in love with a guy like him.

A larger part of me can’t believe he is objectifying me this way. How dare he undress me with his eyes and expect me to swoon at his feet after one little kiss? It was an unbelievably romantic gesture, but still. I have some self-respect. I am a professional.

I pull myself up to my full height and nail him with a hard look. He has the wrong idea about me, and I need to straighten this out right now before I embarrass myself with a repeat of our phone call. “I think you have the wrong…”

“I’m never wrong about fate. You and I are meant to be,” he interrupts me.

My traitorous heart flutters. I know it’s just a line, but it’s a damn good line. Just thinking that Adam Smythe and I might be fated to be together makes me go weak in the knees. I almost relent.

“But.”

“I promise you won’t regret it.”

I guarantee I would regret it and when my father finds out, so would you, I think.

“Do you know who I am?”

My number one fantasy, the object of my dreams, the best romance writer in the country.

“Actually, I do, Mr. Smythe. But I don’t think you know who I am,” I say, coming to my senses, ready to put an end to his flirtation and get down to business. I yank my hand away and take a few steps back. “I’m Rosie, the event planner here at Nooks and Books. We spoke on the phone the other day.”

Confusion chases curiosity across his face before his expression settles back into a lecherous grin. “Pole dancing girl?”

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