Page 58 of Bedding Rose
“Hush, Tati. He’s romancing her right now.” Mom suddenly switches sides, jumping to my defense even as she moves to the coffee pot and starts pouring out cups for all of us.
Tatiana snorts derisively and her hands fly to her hips. “Romancing? Really? Are you buying her flowers and writing her poetry?”
I curl my lip in disgust at the idea of any of that sappy, sobby shit. That isn’t the kind of connection Rose and I have. The fire between is more likely to result in angry banter and curse words which lead to biting kisses. I love that she’s so utterly soft and fragile, except when it comes to me. With me, she’s a tigress.
“Yeah, thought as much.” Tati shakes her head as she grabs her coffee mug from Mom and adds a gallon of milk to it. “You’re not doing a damn romantic thing at all. You’re going to mess this up because she’s going to feel like your dirty little secret.”
My burrito drops to my plate and the burning sensation at the back of my throat is no longer from the heat of the chile. I glance between my sister and mother, who are both staring down at me with harsh, judgmental eyes. Fuck. Could they be right?
Does Rose want romance?
* * *
I feel like a prick,like an idiot. My neck is too damn hot as I stride through the mall. I keep my back ramrod straight and my eyes up, faking a confidence I don’t feel as I search for Rose through the congestion of people.
Teens wearing all-black clothing stride around. Some of them scan the crowd, looking to connect, while others have their noses buried in their phones. Harried parents drag their kids by, arms loaded down with bags of clothing. A few older couples stroll leisurely, not out to buy anything, just out for a walk in the February cold.
Rose said she was meeting her friends here for lunch and shopping. But where are they?
A family bustles past with a jumping toddler and I have to lift the single red rose in my hand up high, out of reach of the sticky-fingered little terror.
This was a terrible idea.
I should have waited to see her later. I should have met up with her after she was done. But the thing is, I see her and my rational side just clicks off. Some baser instinct takes over, my brain stem dominates, and the need to claim her overrides anything else.
I need the crowd.
I need to be in public so that I won’t be tempted to strip her bare and have her ride my cock until she’s falling apart. The crowd is essential because the very idea of someone else getting to see her body makes rage stab down my spine like a row of spikes. It makes me want to throw something through the nearest display window. She’s mine and mine alone.
I make my way to the food court with its bizarre combination of smells: pizza and Chinese mingling with Greek food.
Rose is immediately visible the second I step into the space between two tables. I pick her out instantly, even though she’s in the middle of the line for pretzels and four other people stand between us. Her dark curls and signature ruby-red lips instantly draw my eyes.
I stalk closer. She doesn’t have the same innate radar, apparently, because she stands beside her friend Violet, chatting and unaware of me while I approach.
Rose is wearing skintight jeans that hug her ass in a way I love but hate that everyone else can see. And her pink sweater is tighter than should be allowed. Fuck. The downside of seeing her in public is the fact that I can tell the bastards sitting two tables to my left are staring at her, and knowing that kind of makes me want to yank out my pocket knife and shove it in their jugulars.
I’m unreasonable.
Insane.
Some might say I’m unhealthily obsessed, but to me, it feels like just the right amount of devotion. It doesn’t feel unreasonable to think that I should lock Rose up and fuck her five hours a day and let her stay home writing her historical books the rest of the time.
That would be perfect.
But it’s only a possibility if I can get her to accept me.
If I can convince her this shit between us is real.
And apparently, that means flowers and crap.
I walk closer and unintentionally overhear part of their conversation.
“All I’m saying is I think Lily’s having a really hard time,” Violet spins some of her stick-straight blonde hair around her finger. “She even slept at my house last night. I swear, every little noise is making her jump right now.”
Rose chews her lip thoughtfully, but the very motion makes me want to reach out and peel her teeth away from that precious lip so I can suck on it. “Has anything actually happened? You know, since he’s gotten out?”
Violet sighs and shakes her head. “No. It’s all paranoia right now. Which, don’t get me wrong, I get it. Having a stalker would be really scary, but—”
