Kiss the Sky (Addicted #3)(60)

“The wine is for you,” she says curtly.

My eyebrows rise. So the tequila is for her. She’s that nervous.

She pats the mattress. “Take a seat, Richard. You look like a scared little cat. Sadie would claw you for your cowardice.”

“My cat loves me unconditionally,” I reply. The bed rocks as I climb onto it, and I set the paper bag in between us. “And I’m fine, so you must be projecting your fear onto me.” I smile, just so I can see that flicker of contempt in her eyes.

“I’m not scared.” She straightens up and pulls her shoulders back. “I know exactly what we’ll be doing tonight. I can’t say the same for you.”

“So what are we doing tonight, hun?” I ask. “Other than getting drunk.”

She reaches into the paper bag and pulls out the bottle of Patron. I watch her unscrew the cap and start rubbing the lip with the hem of her black thigh-length nightgown. It’s silk and looks like a slip underneath a dress.

I immediately imagine myself slowly lifting the thin fabric off her body, leaving her bare for my touch. I want her naked. Now.

Patience.

I place my hand on the smoothness of her leg, her skin nearly as silky as her nightgown and exceedingly warmer. The minute I pull her closer to me with that one hand, her chest rises. But she focuses on wiping the rim of her Patron.

Rose plans on drinking straight from the bottle. She’s trying hard to progress our relationship, willing to forgo a glass. That’s a big deal in Rose Calloway’s world. Her effort hasn’t gone unnoticed in my eyes.

When it’s successfully clean for her lips, Rose takes a swig from the bottle. She nods to the bag. “Get your wine. And then we’ll play the game.”

“What game?”

“Truth or dare.”

She says it with a straight face, almost challenging me to laugh. I keep my expression complacent, but I can’t help what I say. “Shall we spend seven minutes in heaven too?”

She shoots me a heated look. “We’re playing. Don’t make me tie you up.”

I laugh and rub my lips, unable to contain my amusement. “Darling, if anyone is going to be tied up,” I say, my hand descending towards her ass, “c’est toi.”

It’s you.





[ 21 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY



“Don’t be a *,” I tell Connor. “If I can do it, you should be able to.” Although with that confident declaration of tying me up—my brazen attitude feels more like a front than anything else.

“Name calling gets you nowhere in life,” he refutes with ease. “And just so you know, I was only going to drink from a glass in case I spilled it on your comforter. But your loss.”

He acts like he’s going to tip the wine bottle accidentally onto my white-laced bedspread. My heart jumps into my throat, and fear bulges my eyes.

He grins and then puts the bottle to his lips, taking a large swig. The wine and tequila are strategic. I need more liquid courage than him, and I’d rather be buzzed. I’ve never seen Connor drunk, which means he could very well turn into an inebriated *. Someone I do not want to play truth or dare with. But it’s a risk I’ll take.

“Truth or dare?” I ask him after another sip of tequila. The liquor slides sharply down my throat, but I’m too nervous to care. Normal couples who share a bed would be fine playing truth or dare together. Another piece of evidence that I am not normal. We are not normal.

He doesn’t blink. “Truth.”

I don’t want to ease in. “What’s your favorite position?”

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, reading into my question. “I know you’re nervous to have sex, but I promise I’ll be…” He smiles at his own thought. “…no that’s not quite right.”

“You were about to say gentle, weren’t you?”

His lips rise further, validating my assumption.

The aftertaste of tequila sticks to my tongue, and my head dizzies at the idea of Connor being anything but gentle. I’m not the softest girl, so the image of being handled by a soft, careful boy makes me squirm.

“I promise I’ll be me,” he says, grinning into his next swig of wine.

“It’s a good thing I like you then.” My voice is still icy. The alcohol hasn’t kicked in just yet.

“Like me? Qu’en est-il de l’amour?” What happened to love?

“You don’t believe in love,” I retort. “So you’ve lost the right for me to love you back.” I nod assuredly at this new stance I’m taking. “But I still like you. Don’t worry.”

“I never worry,” he says. “I do believe in love. When I was a child I thought it wasn’t real, but I’ve come to see that it does exist for some people. Just not me.”

Right. He can’t love anyone. He’s too analytical, I suppose. I’ve come to accept it, but there’s a part of me that wants so badly to be his first love the way he’s mine. His hand keeps descending, gripping my ass above my silk nightgown. I tip the bottle of Patron against my mouth, taking half a shot.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say.

“What’s my favorite position?”

“Yes.”