Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters, #1)(104)

What?

“No,” I say softly, finding his gaze and trying to meet it clearly. I blink a few times. “I’m…okay. Just let me…” I touch my head, a knot swelling. I wince. Lovely.

Connor inspects the spot with concern tightening his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes. He rubs my arm and holds me tenderly like he’s trying to mend his favorite toy that he dropped on the ground. The possession feels good. Because it means he’s not going to leave anytime soon, and that he won’t ever hurt me. On purpose, that is.

“It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

He grimaces at that word. “I’m not a child who wet the bed. This is serious.”

“Adults have accidents.”

“You were unconscious for a few seconds, Rose.” He carefully slips my dress back over my shoulders, covering my breasts. The tender affection is a side of him that I dearly love. “I should have held you tighter.” He lets the pain pass through his features. Maybe he doesn’t care if I see his emotions anymore. “Gilligan,” he calls again. “The hospital.”

The driver’s voice sounds through the limo’s speakers. “Already on the way, Mr. Cobalt.”

“I’m okay,” I say again, “just dizzy.”

“I still want to get you looked at.” He places two fingers on my neck, checking my pulse. He studies my features with a focused gaze.

“What are you doing, Richard?” I ask softly. I blink a couple more times to keep his face in my line of vision.

“Making sure you’re fine.”

“You’re my doctor now?” I ask. “How inappropriate. You’re sleeping with your patient.”

He smiles only when he’s satisfied by the tempo of my breathing and all the other parts of me that he was examining.

I know what’s in his heart.

And if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t care so deeply. I just wait (rather impatiently) for the day when he can admit it to himself. If it never comes, then at least I’m smarter than him, able to see something he’s blind to. I’ll take that win if it’s all he’ll give me.

I rest my head on his chest while the limo speeds down the road. Connor strokes my hair, keeping a trained eye on any bad signs in my movements.

“I feel safe with you,” I tell him, “even if you let me bowl into four car doors.”

“There won’t be a second, third or fourth,” he whispers, his lips beside my ear. His hot breath tickles my skin. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Promises from Connor Cobalt are like oaths spilled in blood.

Translation: I will die for you.

I smile widely.

I will die for you.

That will never get old.





[ 40 ]





CONNOR COBALT


1 month and 20 days – Mom

I read the text on Rose’s phone after it buzzes on the desk. She’s downstairs cleaning the kitchen with Daisy. It was taco night, which meant the entire place exploded in cheese and chips, only adding to Rose’s neurotic hysteria.

I’d be helping if it wasn’t for this damn term paper. I can almost see the finish line for the first semester, but papers and finals stand in my way. I doubled my Adderall dosage last week just to concentrate.

The door swings open, and I swivel my chair to watch Rose walk into the bedroom. She glares at Brett who stands in the hallway. “I’m in the no film zone. Run along, now,” she waves him off and then shuts the door. She’d never be as rude to Ben or Savannah, but Brett and Rose get along about as well as her and Lo.

When she turns to face me, I notice a…bulge where her breasts are. No wonder Brett followed her up here.

Curiosity compels me to my feet, and I cross the room to Rose. “Something’s a little off about you,” I say and my eyes drift up to her hair as if I’m focusing on her nonexistent bangs.

I reach towards her breasts, and she slaps my hand away.

“I’m a lady,” she chides. “I don’t let boys touch me there.”

Fuck. My cock stirs at her words. I grab her waist and pull her body against mine in one swift motion. She sucks in a sharp breath when her hips knock into me. She’s still in her five-inch-fucking-heels. Almost the same height as me, a few inches off.

“What about men? Do you let them touch you?” I ask, holding her tight.

“Definitely not.” Her eyes drift to my mouth.

I lick my bottom lip, moving my tongue slowly, as I watch her chest inflate with the motion. I slide my hand up her leg, her thigh, between them—her lace fabric already wet to my touch.

“And here?” I ask.

“Never,” she says in a whisper.

When she’s sufficiently distracted with my hand, I take the opportunity and reach down the top of her dress, grabbing whatever’s hidden in her bra.

“Hey!”

I already have the baggy in my possession, and I hold it above her head.

She doesn’t make a pass to retrieve it, just pushes me in the chest for tricking her. I’m too fixated on her contraband to respond.

“Why do you have a bag of marijuana?” And where did she get it? Four messily rolled joints fill the plastic. The papers don’t have neat creases, which means that Rose didn’t roll them. It takes her two hours just to meticulously fold her panties and place them in her drawer.