Page 66 of Coming Up Roses

Cash

Damn her.Damn her and her sweet voice, gorgeous face, and killer body. Damn her for the way she lights me up without even trying. That girl’s something else, and if I have any say in the matter, she'll be mine by the end of this weekend.

I'm done letting my past chain me, and so what if she's pregnant? I've always wanted kids, and this here—it's nothing more than a jump start. I'll love that little boy with my whole heart. Now, I just have to convince her that I'm in this for the long haul.

I know she believed me when I told her she was more than a hookup. I'm just not sure she realizes how true my words were when I told her I wanted her heart.

She's had me on edge all day, from seeing her in that skimpy swimsuit to watching her play with the twins. Shit, even the way she handled herself with grace in front of her douche-canoe ex.

And then she shows up here, looking good enough to eat in a pair of loose linen shorts and a tank top that accentuates her perky tits and growing belly. I didn't stand a chance.

But she didn't stop there. Oh, no. She waltzed right up to me, bold as fuck, and pressed those bee-stung lips into my skin, searing me, branding me. It took all of my willpower—and then some—to walk away. But believe you me, next time, I'm not walking away. Next time, it's on.

In the time it takes me to shower—a cold one, this time—and throw on some clothes, Myla has not only managed to wrangle the twins inside, but she's also miraculously gotten them to wash up and has them setting the table. Girl's gonna make a damn good mother.

I'm hovering just outside the kitchen, so preoccupied with watching her that it takes me a minute to realize the doorbell’s ringing. I course-correct and make my way to grab our pizzas, but she beats me to the door.

"How much do I owe you?" she asks the delivery boy. Poor kid. I can see him fighting his desire to talk to her boobs instead of looking her in the eye. I feel his pain.

"It's pa–paid for, ma'am," he stammers, holding the pizza boxes off to the side. "Just need a signature."

His eyes drop to her cleavage as she ponders whether she should sign for me or not. He looks up just in time to see her reach for his pen. "Does this price include the gratuity?"

"Yes, ma'am, your husband tipped when he ordered."

"Oh, he's not my—"

I silence her with my arms around her waist and my lips to her neck. "Thanks, darlin', you go on and take that back to the boys—they're starving."

She huffs at me but plays along. Good girl.

"You h–have a nice night, sir, and congratulations on your baby." I know the kid is just trying to be polite, but his words are like an arrow to my heart. I fucking wish that were mybaby. Even still, I'll love him like he is . . . if she'll let me.

After dinner, the twins beg to stay up and watch a movie. We all snuggle up on the couch to watch Pixar’s latest creation, and wouldn’t you know, Preston, Lucas, and Myla Rose all fall asleep before the opening credits even finish. My arm is numb and my back is aching, but they all look so peaceful I’m hesitant to move.

Eventually, my discomfort wins out, and I gently extricate myself from the couch and carry the twins one-by-one to the spare bedroom. Once they’re tucked in, I’m facing an entirely new dilemma.

Do I wake Myla Rose and send her home? Do I drape a blanket over her and call it a night? I want her in my bed, but just up and taking her there would make me the ultimate creeper. I’m talking next-level creeper, and that’s a no-go. Especially if I want her to be mine. Which I do, I really fucking do.

I don’t know when or how, but this girl has woven herself into the very fabric of my existence. One look from her—one smile—and it’s like the air has been sucked from the room, but that’s okay, because somehow, she’s all the air I need.

I’m still debating my options when Myla Rose begins to stir on the couch, slowly blinking herself awake. “Whaa . . . where . . .” She looks around, panicking slightly, until her eyes land on me. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was so tired.”

“Not a problem. If it makes you feel better, Preston and Lucas fell asleep too.”

She smiles through a big yawn. “Yeah, not so much. I guess I’d better get going.”

“You, uh, don’t have to. You can stay. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I offer, though I’m secretly hoping she suggests we share the bed. Not even in a sexual way. I’m just desperate to have her in my space. Desperate to wake up next to her. Desperate for her scent to linger on my sheets.

She glances from me, then to the couch. “Oh, Cash.” She stands and walks toward me. “There’s no way you’ll fit on that couch, and if I’m being honest, I’m way too tired to drive home. So c’mon, big boy, let’s go to bed.”

It takes a minute or two before her words register, and as fast as I can, I’m scrambling down the hall after her.

I direct her into my room before heading to the closet to grab her something to sleep in. “Here, these should get you through the night,” I tell her, handing her a pair of my boxers and a T-shirt. “The bathroom is just through there if you wanna get changed.” Myla Rose smiles and thanks me as she accepts the clothes and heads into the bathroom.

I’m pulling back the covers when she steps out of the bathroom. My eyes move slowly up her body, taking in her toned, bare legs. The sight of her in my boxer shorts with the waistband rolled gives me pause . . . because holy shit.

I’m damn near drowning in lust as I continue my perusal. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling a little when I realize she passed over my shirt and is still in her tank top, and judging by her pert nipples, she’s braless. I know I’m staring like a perv, but I can’t help myself. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, all wrapped in one delicious package, and here she is, standing in front of me nearly naked and about to get into bed with me. It’ll be a goddamn miracle if I make it through the night.

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