Page 22 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

I snatch up the phone and dial Lila, pacing back and forth as it rings.

"Rose? Are you okay?" Lila's voice is relieved.

"Missed work. I’m so sorry. I just woke up," I stammer.

"Braxton called us, Rose," she cuts in, her tone softening. "He told us you were really sick, so don’t worry about work."

"He did?" Surprise registers in my voice.

"Yep," Lila confirms. "Stayed with you, too, watching over you. Rose, that man cares. He was worried sick about you."

"Really?" I sink onto the bed. A smile tugs at my lips.

"Listen to me, girl," Lila says, her voice firm, yet playful, "‘Operation neighborly love’ wasn't a bust after all. Take a shower, brush your teeth, and go get your man."

"Shower—check," I say, still trying to process everything she's telling me.

"Good," Lila chuckles. "Now finish the rest. And, Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Give the man some grace. He likely has a lot on his plate, but he does care about you."

"Thanks, Lila. Really." Grateful to have such a good friend who isn’t afraid to tell it like it is.

"Anytime. Now go on, get ‘em girl!"

I end the call, biting my lip in indecision. Glancing at the note Braxton left, proof of his true character. The acts of kindness from feeding Honeybun, to nursing me back to health, even charging my phone.

"Okay, Honeybun, let's go for a swim."

Chapter Seventeen

Braxton

I click the end call button, a satisfied grin finding its way to my lips, the voices of my agent and publisher echo in my mind, their excitement about the new manuscript contagious.

"Great moves for Damian Black," they had said, referring to the brooding detective that's been my bread and butter and my albatross. But now, it seems, I've injected enough life into his character to make the critics want more.

I snap the laptop shut, and I lean back in my chair, considering the view from my window. The Mississippi Bay stretches out beyond the glass.

"Fresh starts," I murmur aloud, watching the way the sunlight dances on the waves, thinking about the town and my little neighbor, both of whom were growing on me. My mind wandering back to the last forty-eight hours.

Nursing Rose back to health wasn't part of the plan, yet I did it because I wanted to do it. Needed to take care of her. Caring for someone was something I wasn’t capable of doing before meeting Rose.

Shaking my head at the craziness and speed of it all. This woman, with her tiny denim shorts and rose vine tattoo ankle, has done more than inspire my main book character. She's turned my life upside down in a short period of time and brought out a side in me I didn’t know existed.

Lord, the things I want to do to her.

The restraint it took not to lay a single inappropriate hand on her while she was recovering is a testament to strength I didn't know I possessed. The memory of her innocent blue-green eyes and luscious curves flickers across my mind. My body tightens with the recollection, the desire coursing through me as strong as the whiskey at Salty’s Tap Room.

"Patience, I should be patient with her," I whisper to myself, running a hand through my hair. Not only is she recovering, but I had been clear about not taking her innocence that night in my living room. Resisting her had been the right thing to do. Now that I’ve realized the extent of my desire for her, I know, without a doubt, I have to be her first and her last.

My thoughts drift to the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, and the way her hair spills in golden waves down her back. I feel the pull of something primal deep within me.

It's time. Time to explore the need I have for Primrose Flowers, to lose myself in her innocence and bring her pleasure she's never known.

Startling me, I hear a splash, breaking up my lusty thoughts. I'm on my feet, striding toward the French doors that lead to the backyard. The afternoon sun winks at me as I push them open, and there she is.

---