Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters #2)(35)

But I resist because what the f*ck, she’s kicking me out. No woman kicks me out. They’re always begging me to stay and I’m the one shoving them off, desperate to escape.

I didn’t even get a chance to search her suite for the necklace. I’m failing on all sides here. I need to play this off and see if I can get back in her good graces.

Were you ever in her good graces?

That’s probably a no.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” I tell her, pleased when I see her cheeks turn pink. “And that you can blush after everything that’s happened between us …”

“Yeah, that.” She points her finger at me, the sheet dropping to reveal her breasts. My gaze falls there, staring at them, the rosy nipples that match her name. Everything about her is pink and rose, creamy and sweet and so f*cking tempting. “Your mouth makes me crazy.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” I thought she liked my mouth. She definitely didn’t protest when I had it between her legs. Or pressed to her lush lips. Or wrapped around her nipples.

“In a bad way.” She glances down at herself and pulls the sheet up again, ruining my view. “Besides, we’ve run out of condoms.”

Like that would stop me. “I bet if I called the concierge he’d get us more.” I stride toward the phone sitting on the bedside table, reaching for the receiver, but she slaps her hand over it first, stopping my progress.

“You will absolutely not call them,” she says, her voice low, the sheet forgotten again, much to my pleasure.

“Why not?”

“Then they’ll know what we’re doing.” Her cheeks turn even brighter pink and I chuckle, curling my hand upward into hers so our fingers interlock.

“We’re consenting adults, Ro. If we want to get naked and f*ck for hours in a hotel room on a Saturday afternoon, then that’s our God-given right.”

“Ro? No one’s called me that before.” She disentangles her fingers from mine, scooting away from me until she’s sitting in the middle of the bed, the sheet still puddled around her lap, offering me that stellar view. I could stare at her chest all day. Now I get why artists are compelled to paint nudes of beautiful women. I’ve never painted in my life, but I’d love to capture Rose in this exact moment on canvas. “And please don’t bring God into this conversation,” she says weakly.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, not about to give up. I need to get closer to her and eventually get closer to that damn necklace she wore. Dexter wants it. He’s been hounding my ass for it. And I’ll get it.

Eventually.

I’d rather focus on her first. Earn her trust. So I’m not casing out her hotel room. I’m not looking for any stray jewelry lying around.

Hell, I’m in too deep now.

I’m here with Rose because I want to be, not because I want to steal something from her.

Yet. Don’t forget the “yet” part at the end of that last thought.

Yeah. Who wants to focus on trying to steal a necklace when I could be sliding back into bed with her? I want to feel the hot, tight clasp of her * milking my cock again. I want to feel her touch me, feel her lips on my skin, hear her moan when I hit a spot that feels particularly good. I want to learn all of those spots, memorize them for later. Because there will be a later for Rose and me. I plan on that. And she’d better plan on it too, no matter how much in denial she is.

“Rose.” She turns to look at me, her expression wary. Guarded. I know the feeling. More than anything, I know that look. I’ve been wearing the same guarded expression pretty much all my life. I trust no one. They’re all out to screw me over; it doesn’t matter who they are. I’ve become so good at playing the part, of being whoever I need to be at any given moment, I have no idea who the real me is anymore.

Being with Rose is the closest I’ve felt to myself since I don’t know when. I want to explore this. Explore what we share, what she makes me feel, what we are when we’re together.

She’s ready to kick me out and I’m ready to cling. Talk about a total role reversal. I need to get my head back on straight and focus.

“Caden.” She matches my tone, watching me expectantly. When I don’t say anything she rolls her eyes. “Do you realize I don’t even know your last name? What does that say about me, that I’d let you into my room and—fool around with you for hours and I don’t know your last name? It’s appalling behavior.”

“Appalling behavior? You sound like a crabby old school-teacher.” I want to laugh but I don’t. She’s dead serious. I think she’s just shocked herself with what we’ve done.

I’ve shocked myself too, but in a good way. While she acts like we’ve committed the ultimate sin.

“You wouldn’t understand.” She averts her head as if it pains her to look at me and I move closer to her, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s Kingsley,” I murmur, wishing I could kiss her. Comfort her. But that’s not happening, not yet. I’ve got to take it slow.

She turns, a little gasp escaping her when she discovers how close I am. “What?”

“My last name. It’s Kingsley.”

“Are you serious? Of course it is.” She tosses her hands up in the air, making her breasts jiggle, and I jerk my gaze away from her chest.