Page 68 of Coming Up Roses

Myla Rose

I roll over,and just like in that stupid dream I had right after meeting him, I’m met with empty, cool sheets. However, I can hear the water running behind the bathroom door, so I know I’m not alone.

I turn my head to glance at the clock. It’s not even six yet. I toss and turn before settling myself on his side of the bed, burrowing myself under his citrus-scented sheets. I’m on the brink of falling back asleep when I swear I hear him groan my name.

Sweet baby Jesus. His voice is heaven in everyday conversation, but that sound was pure sin. It was feral, and it has me wanton and needy. Too bad I’m too chicken shit to do anything about it.

The water stops, and I hear the clink of the shower curtain being pulled back. I do my best to pretend I’m still sleeping. The last thing I want is for him to know I heard him.

The door opens, and the mouth-watering shower steam seeps out into the bedroom. It’s a heady combination of citrus, soap, and deodorant—I swear, it’s like I’m cocooned in all things Cash, and I’m pretty damn sure this is what Nirvana is like.

I peek my eyes open as he walks past the bed, and the sight I’m met with elicits a loud gasp from me.

He isn’t wrapped in a towel . . . no, he’s as naked as the day he was born. Now, mind you, my view is of his backside, but it is mighty fine all the same. His shoulders are broad and his back is strong. And his ass, Jesus, don’t even get me started.

“’Morning, darlin’,” he says with a devilish smile before making his way into his closet, presumably to get dressed. What a shame.

A few moments later, he emerges, much to my dismay, fully clothed. “You a breakfast person?”

“Best meal of the day,” I tell him sincerely.

“I could think of one I’d like better.” He winks and extends a hand to me. “C’mon, you can help me get food ready for the twins. They’ll be up shortly.” I take his hand and quickly shimmy into my bra and shorts before trailing behind him to the kitchen, where he starts gathering ingredients. “You like French toast?” I nod, and he starts cracking the eggs into a bowl.

Sure enough, by the time the food is ready, two bed-headed, sleepy-eyed little boys shuffle into the dining room. Neither of them speak. They just plop themselves down into their chairs and wait for their plates.

After a few forkfuls of French toast, though? A different story. It’s like they mainlined the sugar because they are wired now.

“Princess, did you sleep over too?” Preston asks.

I freeze, unsure of what to tell them. Thankfully, Cash saves the day. “Yup, she sure did.”

“Cool. Can we go play outside?” Cash nods, and they tear out of the room like rockets.

“Boys!” he hollers, and they freeze. “Y’all need to get dressed first. C’mon.” As Cash leads them from the room, I start cleaning up our mess.

I’m standing at the kitchen sink, up to my elbows in suds, scrubbing our dishes when I feel Cash come up behind me. He reaches around me, bringing his strong hands to rest on my bump. He drops an open-mouthed kiss to that sweet spot where my neck and shoulder meet. “Mmm,” I moan at the contact.

“Shh,” he warns as he peppers kisses up and down my neck while lightly caressing my belly.

“Can’t help it, Cash. When you lay your hands on me, I’m helpless to fight it.”

“Good,” he grunts, pressing his body closer to mine. I can feel the evidence of his desire for me, and I lean fully into him, tilting my head back against his chest.

He captures my lips in an aggressive kiss. “Need you, darlin’, so bad.”

Good God, his words have my heart soaring. This man . . . he makes me more than want it all—he makes me believe I can have it.

“Need you too.” I drag my wet, soapy hands from the water and place them over his on my belly.

Just as he moves to turn me in his arms, a male voice rings out from somewhere in the house. “Cashmere . . . OH, SHIT!”

We break apart, both of us panting. “Awesome timing, Jake.”

Ah, so this is his d-bag brother. Lovely. I can only imagine how this looks. I keep my eyes focused on the floor at his feet.

“This her?” his brother asks.

“Jesus Christ,” an unfamiliar female voice scolds, “Have some manners.”

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