Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters #2)(44)

Right at the moment the little hideaway phone in the control panel of the elevator starts ringing.

“What the hell is that?” she asks breathlessly.

“Shit.” I withdraw from her reluctantly and pull off the condom, tying off the end before I go to the stupid phone and answer it.

“Sir, is everything all right? We received an emergency notice that the elevator you’re in has come to a complete stop,” the nasally disembodied voice asks.

“We’re fine,” I say gruffly, hitting the button again so the elevator starts once more with a violent jerk. I hang up on her before she can ask me anything else just as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open.

Thank Christ no one is waiting for it. I turn to Rose to see she’s set herself back to rights, though her hair is still a bit of a mess. I smooth it down for her in the back, earning a quick smile for my efforts.

The sight of that smile sends a strange little pang straight to my heart. I’d do anything to see it again.

You’ve turned into a complete *.

I ignore the shitty voice in my head and take Rose’s arm, leading her out of the hotel so that we’re standing on the sidewalk, the busy Saturday night traffic passing us by.

She turns to face me, her expression unreadable, and worry fills me. Is this it? Is she going to tell me thanks for the f*cks but she’s gotta go? I don’t know if I can take it.

“Well, that was … interesting,” she finally says, making me chuckle. That’s exactly what she said to me after our incident at the White Swan, when I had her coming all over my fingers in minutes.

Our every encounter is what I would call interesting. And I’m interested in seeing her more.

I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her in close, relief flooding me. It’s time for me to be honest. “I don’t want this night to end,” I whisper close to her ear.

She leans into me, her hair brushing against my chin. “I don’t, either,” she admits.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” It’s late, but the city is still busy and it’s a Saturday night. There’s plenty we could find to do.

But all I want is her. Naked. Beneath me in bed, her legs wrapped around me, our bodies locked together.

Rose slowly shakes her head, tilting her head back so her gaze meets mine. “Let’s go back to my hotel room. That is, if you want to. Or maybe you need to get back to …”

I rest my finger over her lips, silencing her. “I don’t need to get back to anything or anyone. Just you.”

She smiles and I drop my hand, wrapping it around her nape so I can pull her in for a kiss. “Come back with me, then,” she whispers just before I kiss her.

We kiss for so long out on the sidewalk a passerby tosses out a glib, “Get a room,” bringing us back to reality. I hail a cab, Rose hanging on me like she’s become an extension of my body, and when the little black cab pulls over, we pile into the backseat, my hands on her ass since she crawled in first.

She rattles off her hotel name and address and then she’s falling on top of me, her hands scratching down my chest, her mouth on mine. I pull her closer, my hands on her waist as I lose myself in her kiss. This all just feels so normal. So f*cking regular. This is what guys do, right? Find a girl and fall hopelessly in lust with her. Think about her all the time. Flirt with her, fight with her, have awesome makeup sex with her. Eventually fall in love, move in together, get married and have kids.

I have never in my life wanted that. I saw what marriage did to people. It f*cked them up. Look at my parents. I figured from a young age that I was better off alone. I protected myself. No way did I want to fall for one girl. Why would I want to do that when I could have many girls?

But I like this one girl. I like her a lot. And I don’t want her to know anything about me. My truth is my shame. If she knew what I was really about, if she learned why I originally started talking to her that night in Cannes not so long ago—because I want to steal her family’s necklace—she’d hate me forever.

I don’t think I could deal with that.

What are my choices, though? Keep up the pretense that I’m something I’m not and eventually let her go? Eventually steal the necklace and leave in the dark of the night, never to return?

That’s your only choice, *.

Then I guess that’s what I’m going to do. Savor every sweet smile she gives me. Savor the way she touches me, kisses me, looks at me …

And then walk away.

“I really like kissing you,” she murmurs against my lips, pulling me back into reality.

I brush her wild hair away from her face and smile up at her. “I like kissing you too.”

“Even in uncomfortable taxicabs.” She kisses my cheek, my jaw, my chin. “I could do this all night.”

“Kiss me in the back of a cab?” I ask her.

“No.” She rolls her eyes. “Just … forget it. I’m being silly.”

“Tell me.” I cup her cheek, my expression serious. I’m dying to know what she’s going to say. “What is it, Rose?”

She lifts up a little, adjusting herself so she’s straddling me, her breasts in my face, her slender legs wrapped around my thighs. I don’t have another condom, they’re all back at her hotel room sitting safely in the box I bought them in, and besides, I’m not about to f*ck her in the back of a cab.