Page 14 of Their Dark Rose

My fantasies are great in my head. In real life, these men will ruin me.

I better stay away, stick to my original plan. Run off tomorrow.

Start fresh somewhere else.

“I’ll be eighteen in less than twenty-four hours.” My threat sounds weak, even to my own ears. “I can leave. You don’t scare me anymore.”

“We’ll see about that.” Falk slams his hand on the door a second time. “Now get fucking ready and come down. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Their heavy footfalls down the hallways are the last thing I hear.

Shaken and upset, I stride off to the bathroom.

Good job, hormones. Ruling my brain. Injecting bad thoughts into it.

I don’t want any of the Abbot brothers in my bed. I can’t want them there.

After today, I’m out of here. Once and for good.

CHAPTER THREE

Ever so quietly, I tiptoe down the hallway minutes later.

My semi-exhibitionist orgasm and my following reckless thoughts were to blame. I was too proud to leave my room looking flustered.

There was no way I would’ve come down to face these three men flushed and messed up in the head over them.

So, I spent more time than I should’ve showering. Blow-dried my waist-length hair way after it was already straight and dried. Spent over ten minutes with my arms crossed over my chest, debating what to wear to no one in particular.

The attempts to push the early morning out of my head worked. My jumbled thoughts slowed, allowing me to regroup. To school my expression.

To wait until the blush cleared off my face.

There will be a cold day in hell before I let the three Abbot brothers see me turned on by them.

I bet they’re furious about how long it’s taken me to come out of my room.

I pause on the black marble staircase, smiling to myself wickedly. Falk would’ve given me hell had he known I spent long minutes and ended up choosing a simple gray T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans.

We don’t even need to wear a sweatshirt in this house with the in-floor heating systems.

So, yeah, ten minutes to pick a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

He’d say I did this on purpose. And he’d be right.

“You got the contract for the Cambridge mall project, right, Finn?” Mason’s question coming from downstairs pulls me out of my bratty daydreams.

“Yes, brother.” His faux exasperation makes me giggle, and I slap my hand on my mouth. “I’m driving down there with the lawyers to have it signed this week. We discussed it. Repeatedly.”

The loud bite he takes of what sounds like an apple has my eyes bulging. I press my hand harder on my mouth, silencing my gasp.

Mason’s most loathsome pet peeve.

No one knows it better than I do.

During the time I’ve been living here, I got away with a lot of shit.

Especially three years ago, at my most rebellious stage. See, when I was fifteen, I talked back, poked my tongue at them, and stomped my feet. They punished me by suffocating me with homework and housework.

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