Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters #2)(27)

“I’d say you’re probably lying, thinking you can get in my panties,” I throw back at him. I’m just saying this out of spite, feeling defensive. I have no idea if he really is lying or not.

“You don’t usually wear panties,” he drawls, and I want to punch him.

Or kiss him. Take your pick.

Caden moves closer, the heat of his body emanating toward me, drawing me in. I take a step forward, as if I have no control over my feet, and he grabs my shopping bag, snatching it right from my fingers. He opens it, pushing aside the tissue to examine the contents nestled within. “Looks like I can get in your panties right now, hmm?” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of colorful lace.

I pluck a few scraps of lace from his grip, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. “Put those back,” I hiss when he lifts the bag high above my head right as I reach for it.

“Are you embarrassed, Rose? After everything we’ve shared?” He shakes his head, then glances down at the small pile of lace in his palm. “I thought you weren’t a big believer in panties. You weren’t last night.”

I hate him. Making fun of me, throwing my underwear around on a public street. God, it’s so embarrassing. “Give them back.” I hold out my empty hand, clutching the rest of my new panties in my other hand behind my back.

“Say please.” He smirks. I usually hate when guys smirk at me but for whatever awful reason, this guy looks particularly hot while smirking.

“No.” I scowl.

“Then you won’t get your new panties.”

We stare at each other for a long, heat-filled moment. People are still passing us by. We’re on the sidewalk, for God’s sake, and fighting over my new underwear. This is the stupidest thing ever. I don’t need to deal with this crap.

“Fine,” I finally say. “Keep them as a memento.” I turn and walk away, one last time.

And this time, he doesn’t follow me.

Chapter Eight

Caden

I followed her, though she didn’t see me. Feisty little thing, calling me out on my shit. No one ever does that. I get away with everything. Hell, I’m a criminal. I steal jewelry for a living and I’ve yet to be caught. I’m either extremely lucky or extremely good.

I’m going with the former mixed with a hint of the latter.

It’s easy to believe the lies I tell myself. I staked her out because I want another chance at that necklace. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I found her, why I’m following her.

But deep down inside, I know that’s not the truth. I’m here because I wanted to see her again. Talk to her. Touch her. Kiss her …

It feels like a battle of wills every time I interact with Rose and I like that. She feels like a challenge. And there is nothing that I appreciate more than a challenge. No woman has ever truly interested me because they always feel so damn easy.

But not Rose. She gives off mixed signals. I know she’s attracted to me. Last night I’d barely touched her, kissed her, and the minute I had my fingers between her thighs, she was drenched. That had been hot.

Everything about her is hot, even when she’s mad. And I definitely make her mad. I almost enjoy it.

Fine. I do enjoy it. Around her I feel like a twelve-year-old antagonizing the girl he has a wild crush on. I’ve turned into a stupid twelve-year-old giving the girl he likes endless grief. I lose all my cool when I’m around her.

The moment she walked away—again—I let her go. But I never let her out of my sight. I kept my distance as I followed her, tracking her every movement, and she stopped at a lot of the shops, wandering in for a few minutes before she came back out empty-handed. She’d stashed the remaining new panties in her tiny purse, and every once in a while I’d see a flash of turquoise lace peek out of the top of the black leather. Or neon pink lace.

Looks like Rose has a fondness for bright colors.

I tell myself I’m still following her so I can get to the necklace. The f*cking necklace I can’t forget about, though the woman who wore it looms in my mind much more than the stupid necklace. That’s what I should be focusing on. That’s what I tell myself.

But I want the woman too. I want the woman more.

After almost an hour of aimless wandering, she finally makes her way to a hotel. She’s staying at the Covent Garden Hotel, how original. If I’d had a single cell in my brain, I would have gone there first and just waited for her. Nigel had mentioned casually last night that Rose was staying at a hotel near the pub.

Increasing my pace¸ I catch up with her without being too obvious, not wanting her to notice me yet. She strides across the street, looking this way and that, and I follow after her once she enters the lobby, eager to reach her before she ends up in the elevator and I can’t find her.

I’m intent on getting into her room. She wants me. I want her. This is an easy second chance to snag that necklace. Why are we playing these games anyway?

You’re more to blame than she is.

Yeah. No shit.

I enter the lobby of the Covent Garden Hotel and see her standing at the registration desk, talking with two male employees. They’ve got dopey smiles on their faces, nodding and “yes, miss-ing” her over every single thing she’s saying.

Suckers. She’s got them wrapped around her finger, just like that.