not going to tell me how this happened?” Rose asks as she presses an ice pack wrapped in a washcloth to my cheek.
My eyes pinch at the corners, and I ignore the sting in my skin.
“Fine.” She huffs. “Suit yourself. Hold this.” She places my hand over the ice pack so she can press another washcloth to my split lip.
“You’ve done this before?” I ask, watching the way her blue eyes narrow as she concentrates.
I’m sitting on the sofa in my living room, and she is on her knees between my legs, smelling and looking like too many thoughts I cannot entertain. She’s wearing a white t-shirt and another of her short, loose skirts. They flow around the tops of her thighs, swishing as she walks. Not that I watch. At least, not all the time.
“My brother, Brett, would get into the occasional fight when we were younger,” she says, dabbing at the corner of my mouth to loosen the dried blood. She frowns as her eyes wander over my face again, her dark lashes fluttering over her cheeks each time she blinks.
She’s so beautiful. Pure and fucking beautiful. I can’t tell her I had to put a guy in his place earlier today who thought it was okay to steal the product for his own use. She’d run out of here faster than he was snorting it up his nose when I caught him.
I look down and flex my fingers. Rose follows my gaze, her frown only deepening at the sight of my red knuckles. It’s a good thing she can’t see the other guy. This is nothing.
“I bet he was keeping the boys away from you and your sister. That’s what brothers do.”
“Did you do that for Jasmin? Scare them all away?” Her lips curl into a smile.
“Of course I fucking did.”
She laughs softly.
Beautiful and pure.
Not for you, Dax.
“Brett did do that for me and Harley,” she says, turning her attention back to my lips. I should do this myself. But her doing it, taking care of me… it’s… nice. “He was always looking out for us both. And us for him, too. We were all really close once.”
“Once?”
Any remnants of her laugh dies in the air as her face closes off.
“Yeah. Things change. But I guess you know this already. You agreed to give me the job. You must have heard from my family why they thought I needed time away?”
She pauses, her hand hovering over my skin as she hesitates.
“Perhaps. But I haven’t heard it from you.”
She inhales slowly, and her long blonde hair catches the light, framing her face as she lifts her eyes. They’re clear and bright and make something lodge in my chest that shouldn’t be there. I can’t look away. I shouldn’t be asking her these things, encouraging her to open up to me. To bare herself. It’s not fair. Because I can never do the same. I can’t tell her who I really am.
I can’t tell anyone.
“I…” She shakes her head and looks down at the cloth in her hand. “Brett was run down by a driver in broad daylight, over three years ago. The guy never stopped to check if he was even alive. Just left him at the side of the road like he was nothing. He was too busy racing home to his wife to stop his mistress from telling his wife about their affair. And after, the stress of it all brought on Dad’s heart attack that killed him. The doctors never said that was the cause. But we all knew.”
I listen as she continues to blot my lip, her eyes now focused on her task again.
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips twist into a tight line and she exhales through her nose.
“It’s my fault. Brett was out looking for me that day. Me and Gareth had a fight and I stormed off. I just went for a walk, and I called Brett in a mess telling him how stupid I felt. He came out to look for me. That’s why he was there. That’s why he got hit.”
“That wasn’t—”
“My fault?” She shakes her head, keeping her eyes down. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. But I… and the thing with Gareth… I just felt so deceived. So… so stupid. Gareth told me he was offered this new job in Washington. It was really good for him. More money, more responsibility. He wanted to take it. I was so happy. I thought he meant both of us. I thought he wanted me to go with him. I even thought he was about to propose, you know? Make it a totally new chapter for us. But he didn’t. Instead, he told me he was going alone.”
“He was a selfish prick, Rose,” I say with conviction because it’s the truth. And also, he was a fucking fool. I mean, look at her. Listen to her. It doesn’t take a genius to see how wonderful Rose Jacobs is. She’s smart, witty, gentle, and beautiful. Far too good for a prick named Gareth.
“You already told me that. And I agree.” She smiles and bites her bottom lip.
“I can tell you a third time if it keeps you smiling.”
She freezes and looks me in the eyes as something passes between us. Something unspoken, but significant. Something I should not be encouraging. And something I definitely shouldn’t be so fucking happy about. There’s even a warmth spreading in my chest.
She tucks her hair behind one ear and continues cleaning me up, her eyes darting to mine and away again.
“Do you think I’m uptight?” she whispers.
I pull my brows together, ignoring the tenderness in my cheek as I frown.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“It’s something Gareth said.”
I grit my teeth. Fucking Gareth. The bastard deserves to have his ass handed to him.
“What did he say?” I growl, not even trying to hide my murderous tone.
“He…” Rose averts her eyes from my face again. “You have blood on your shirt.” She points to the dried red spots on the front of it. I know it isn’t mine. Typical that I wore a white shirt today. If Marcus kept his asshole friends in line, then I wouldn’t have needed to ruin it.
I rip it open and pull my arms out, tossing it aside onto the floor.
“What did he say?” I ask again, but Rose isn’t listening. Her lips have parted as she studies my skin, sweeping her eyes over it, taking her time as she gazes at my tattoos. I have a lot. It’s kind of an obsession. My entire chest, back, arms and neck are covered. And I have them running around one thigh as well. Most people think they’re too much.
“They’re stunning.” Rose gazes at the compass on my chest, set to west for the sunset. She drops the cloth onto the sofa and looks at me.
I nod, answering the silent question in her eyes.
She reaches out, and with a featherlight touch, traces her fingertips around the circumference of the compass, before following a twisting branch from it, covered in leaves that snake down my side. My muscles tense and spark with heat and energy from her touch. But she’s too lost in her own world as she explores me to notice.
I suck in a breath and take the ice pack away from my cheek, dropping it onto the cushion next to me. I place both hands on Rose’s rib cage and wrap them around her gently, sliding down her body until my thumbs rest over her hip bones. They look so wrong there, inflamed, bloodied knuckles against the pure white cotton of her t-shirt. And I’m kidding myself if I think I should allow myself to indulge even for a second, in the complete, intoxicating rush that having my hands on her gives me. I held her in the cottage. But that was different. She was upset. It was instinct.
This time, it’s pure selfish indulgence.
I should move them. I should.
I curl my hands and squeeze, holding her tighter.
She continues stroking my skin, small murmurs of awe and delight escaping her lips as she discovers something else.
“Do you have them on your back as well?”
“I do.” I clear my throat, unable to take my eyes from hers. I make no attempt to move forward for her to see, but she’s content to continue her exploration of my front, her comfortableness growing as she adds her other hand and allows both to roam all over my bare skin.
Her eyes dart side to side, a small smile playing on her lips as she notices something new. I flex my fingers on her hips and it takes all my willpower not to tear her t-shirt off and start my own exploration of her.
“There are so many,” she says. But where I am used to that being said with an edge of surprise and distaste, Rose’s voice is only warm with sincerity. “Which was your first?”
I twist my arm so she can see the eagle on my left shoulder. She immediately places her fingers to it and smiles as she strokes its wings as though the feathers there are real and soft to the touch.
“It started on my eighteenth birthday. Mom took me. It’s not that she wanted me to have one, exactly. But she always supported me and Jasmin in whatever we wanted to do. She probably thought I would regret it and never have any more.” I smile. She always encouraged me and Jasmin to make our own decisions. I had no idea we would lose her soon after that day.
“After her and Dad died, I got the compass. And then it just kept going. I like that they’re permanent. Memories can fade. But these never do.”
“I think I understand that.” Rose smiles softly as she glances at my face before looking back at my chest. “I can’t decide which I like best. I think maybe…” She runs her hands up over my collarbones and to my neck and the small bird hiding amongst the flowers and leaves there. “I think maybe this one. I like the way the rest are covered by your suit at work, but this little man wants to be seen.” She strokes the small hummingbird and the muscle in my jaw works on overtime beneath her soft touch. “Maybe I should give him a name.”
“Like what?” I stare, transfixed at the delight swimming in her eyes.
“I don’t know. Chirpy?” She giggles, then bites her lip, looking back over my chest again. “I love how free you are, Dax. How you’ve chosen all of these for you.”
My heart stalls. Free? She thinks I’m free?
“I’m not that strong. I listen to other people too much.” Her voice falters.
“You mean, Gareth?” I hiss, hating that I’m saying his name again. Hating that he’s inside her head. That he’s the cause of her entire posture changing as the delight in her eyes dims until it’s extinguished.
“I thought we were the real thing. I thought it was forever. The old Rose believed in love. The old Rose wanted to wait until she was married.” She scoffs. “How ridiculous is that?”
My hands burn against her hips as what she’s saying sinks in. Yet, I still can’t bring myself to move them.
She keeps stroking my skin, as though the distraction makes it easier for her to talk.
“Gareth said of course we were headed that way and it shouldn’t matter. We had just moved in together and he said that was worth celebrating. And I agreed. I’m weak, Dax. I’m stupid and I’m weak. He knew when we did it that he was going to leave. Maybe he didn’t know what date the new job would start. But he must have known it was a possibility that he would get it. I think he always knew that he wanted to go alone. He just wanted to see what he was leaving behind,” she murmurs. “Maybe if I had been better, he would have asked me to go with him, who knows.”
If she had been better? Jesus Christ.
I fight down the rage simmering inside me, threatening to erupt. I fight it down with everything I have.
I inhale slowly.
What can I smell? Vanilla. Petals.
What can I see? Long, dark lashes, clear blue eyes.
What can I hear? Her breathing, soft and gentle. My pulse hammering in my ears.
Breathe. Breathe.
“You’re saying you’ve only ever been with him?” I ask softly, aware that if I give even my voice one ounce of the fire licking at me, it could be game over. I’m holding on by a thread.
She nods, her pupils dilating as she looks at me. “Just the one time.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“He said he didn’t really understand why I was so uptight about it. That it wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t his first. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. If I wasn’t passionate because I wasn’t battling with myself daily to resist. But… I… I just wanted to wait. Mom and Dad did. She told me once. And I guess I looked at how in love they were, and I romanticized it. I made it bigger than it needed to be in my head.”
“You are passionate.” I grasp her hips tighter, leaning closer to her as I will my heart to stop racing. “There is nothing about you that doesn’t evoke the word passion when I look at you. Fuck. Passion and you are the same in my mind.” I drag in a breath, our faces inches apart.
Her eyes pop wide with surprise, but I continue, gripping her beneath my fingers, splaying them out where they wrap around her body.
“Any man would be lucky to call you his, Rose. And none would be worthy.” I dip my forehead toward hers. “None,” I whisper.
She stares at me for a few precious, silent seconds, her lashes dipping slowly as she looks at my lips and subconsciously licks her own with a gentle swipe of her tongue. Then she frowns, her eyes still on my mouth.
“I went out a lot… back at home, I mean.” She chews on her lip. “I would flirt with guys. I don’t know why I did it. Just to prove to myself I could, I guess. To prove they wanted me, even if Gareth didn’t anymore. I never went home with any of them. I just… I wanted to feel something.”
Tightness threatens to take over my chest again and I take in a slow, deep breath.
“He was a prick, Rose. A boy who didn’t know anything other than his own selfish fucking ego. You deserve a man who understands the most valuable thing isn’t what you do to please him. It’s how he makes you feel.’
“That’s the most romantic thing I think I’ve ever heard anyone say. Who are you, Dax Silver?” She smiles, but it doesn’t mask the hurt that’s in her eyes. Nothing can hide that.
“It’s better you don’t know.” I ease back from her, so our faces are no longer almost touching and drop my hands from her hips and onto my thighs instead.
She laughs softly. She thinks I’m joking. But I’m not. I knew it before, and after what she’s told me, it’s even more glaringly obvious. I should not be anywhere near her.
“How do you feel?” She strokes my neck, leaning close again, closing the space I created between us. “You say it’s all about how you make someone else feel. How do I make you feel?”
She looks at me with honest, innocent eyes, searching mine for something I can’t give her.
“You…” I look at her lips. “You make me…” Then lower, to her breasts, her hardened nipples visible through the thin fabric. Fuck. She’s so close to my cock, which is hard as steel between my legs. A couple of inches closer and her lower stomach will be pressed right up to it. I clench my hands into fists against my legs. “You…”
Her eyelids grow heavy, and she’s expecting me to kiss her. I know it.
But I can’t.
I fucking can’t.
I have no goddamn right to bring her into my shitstorm of a life.
“If I tell you that, then I’ll have to put you on the first plane back to New York,” I grit, sounding harsher than I intend to.
Her eyes pop wide. “But—’
“Thanks for cleaning me up. I appreciate it.” I grab my hoodie from the back of the sofa. I pull it on and zip it up.
She jerks back onto her heels, which allows me enough space to step up from the sofa and hold out a hand to help her up.
She shoves it aside and is on her feet in a split second. “See you at work, then,” she snaps.
The pinch at the corners of her eyes has me stepping into her space again until our chests graze one another’s. I keep my eyes on hers as I take her chin between my finger and thumb.
“You make me feel, Sunbeam. That’s all you need to know.”
“Sunbeam?” She stares at me, her eyes alight with energy.
I open my mouth, then close it again as I swipe my thumb over her bottom lip, following its path as my chest squeezes.
“Dax?”
I keep my lips sealed together, and when I say nothing, she shakes free of my grasp and stalks toward the door. I don’t try to stop her or call after her as she slips through it.
And then she’s gone.
And even though it’s for the best, it still stings like a bitch.
I spend the rest of the evening pacing up and down in front of my bedroom window, staring over at the cottage and the light in the front room. I pace until the light turns off and the one in the upstairs bedroom goes on. Her bedroom. What’s she doing in there? What’s she thinking? Maybe she’s packing? Maybe she’s going to leave. She should. It would make things simpler.
Bile rises in my throat, then retreats as the light goes out. She’s not going anywhere. At least, not tonight.
And yet I still pace for another two hours, my eyes trained on the front door of the cottage.
Just in case.
