Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters #2)(39)

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,” I admit, tearing my gaze from her boobs.

“Me either,” Rose says, her voice tight.

“Want something to drink then?” the waitress asks, sounding bored.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” I order a beer and Rose orders some fancy little cocktail I’ve never heard of before and the waitress walks away, an extra swish in her step, as if she wants me to look.

And I do.

“God, you’re a pig,” Rose says with a little groan.

I look in her direction. “What do you mean?”

“Staring at the waitress like you want to molest her while you’re sitting at the table with me,” she accuses, her eyes flaring with anger.

“She wants me to stare at her like that. Look at the way she’s dressed,” I say in my defense. Damn, look at her, acting like a possessive girlfriend.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off her bad makeup,” Rose retorts.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t take my eyes off her short skirt.”

“And her boobs.”

“Fine, and her boobs.” I shake my head. “Are you jealous?”

“What? No.” She sounds horrified. “Why would I be jealous? You can look at whoever you want.”

“Uh-huh.” I let my gaze return to the menu, checking out what they have to offer, which is a lot. Just reading the descriptions of the various entrees is making me hungrier.

But I can feel Rose’s anger radiating off her in palpable waves. She doesn’t like that I called her out on her jealousy.

“You’re an ass,” she finally says, the last word ending in a hiss.

“Just speaking the truth.” I don’t look up from the menu and I can feel her glaring at me. That old saying “if looks could kill” would definitely apply here.

I’d be dead right about …

Now.

Chapter Eleven

Rose

I’m mad because Caden’s right. I am jealous. He stared at her chest right in front of me like he couldn’t help it and fine, he probably couldn’t, but oh my God, have some restraint, please. We’re on a date.

Staring at the menu, my vision blurs so bad I can’t even read it. Is that what we’re doing? Are we really on a date? I went from asking him to leave my room to behaving like an embarrassed idiot to letting him take a shower with me, all in about a five-minute span.

That shower had been so worth it, though. The man fulfilled his promise, washing my hair and massaging my head until I wanted to melt into the tiles. Then he proceeded to soap up my entire body, rubbing his hands all over me, making sure to get “everything clean,” as he said. He then proceeded to bring me to orgasm with just his fingers. Oh, and his mouth wrapped tightly around my nipple after he rinsed off my chest, sucking it so deep I felt the pull of his lips and tongue to the depths of my being.

Dramatic but true. I bet he could make me come with only his mouth on my breasts. I’m squirming in my seat just thinking about it. Doesn’t help that I didn’t wear any panties. Again. He makes me do these things, I swear. And I don’t understand why.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I spy on him, my anger slowly dissipating. The breeze makes his hair flutter across his forehead, into his eyes, and he absently swipes at it, brushing it back. He’s wearing the same clothes from earlier because of course, he didn’t have anything new to change into after our shower. It doesn’t matter, though. He looks good.

Too good.

“Are you plotting my death?” he asks, startling me. He still hasn’t looked up from the menu but I can see the faint smile curving his mouth. I feel myself start to smile in return, and I immediately frown instead.

“What are you talking about?” I sound bitchy and I clear my throat, mentally telling myself to ease up. The man is worth keeping around for the orgasms alone.

Ack. That’s the shittiest thought ever.

I like him for more than just orgasms. He’s … challenging. Funny. Fun. I’ve been so serious lately. So wrapped up in my own problems, my own worries and concerns. Reading my mother’s diary brought me further down and I feel terrible that I haven’t even mentioned it to Violet or Lily. If I were them, I’d want to know.

But what good would it do, telling them? What would it gain? Nothing but sadness. I’m sick of feeling sad.

Caden makes me smile. He makes me moan. More than anything, he makes me feel good. I need that right now. I need to remember that I can smile and laugh and have a good time. Caden is the ideal remedy to my problem.

“I can feel you staring at me. Still pissed?” He finally looks up, those deep brown eyes meeting mine, filled with amusement, the smile stretching into a full-on grin, and I can’t help but smile at him in return.

“Why can’t I stay mad at you?”

“I don’t know. My irresistible ways?” He raises his brows, making me laugh.

“Not so sure about that. We seem to argue a lot.” The laughter fades. I don’t know how I feel about that particular fact. It’s disconcerting, how easily we fall into an argument and then into each other’s arms. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.

“They call it passion,” he says.

I go completely still. “What?”