Fowler Sisters: Stealing Rose Part 12

"Work," I finish for her.

"Right. Work." Her voice is faint and she turns to study the view, offering me a glimpse of her profile. The single candle sitting in the middle of the table casts her face in a golden glow, emphasizing the shape of her jaw, the straight angle of her nose, the plumpness of her lips. The longer I stare, the more I become entranced. She's stunning, looking a little sad, a little lost.

"Ready to order?" The waitress appears and I turn to her, my gaze dropping to the neckline of her dress, her cleavage on obvious display. She's a pretty girl but there's nothing subtle about her, from the bright blond of her hair to the short skirt and loads of makeup on her face.

"I haven't had a chance to look at the menu yet," I admit, tearing my gaze from her b.o.o.bs.

"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 c.o.c.ktail 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.

"G.o.d, 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. d.a.m.n, 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 b.o.o.bs."

"Fine, and her b.o.o.bs." 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 a.s.s," 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 G.o.d, 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 embarra.s.sed 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 ma.s.saging 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 o.r.g.a.s.m 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 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 b.i.t.c.hy and I clear my throat, mentally telling myself to ease up. The man is worth keeping around for the o.r.g.a.s.ms alone.

Ack. That's the s.h.i.ttiest thought ever.

I like him for more than just o.r.g.a.s.ms. 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 p.i.s.sed?" He finally looks up, those deep brown eyes meeting mine, filled with amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 pa.s.sion," he says.

I go completely still. "What?"

"What's happening between us. It's called pa.s.sion." His smile fades and he leans across the table, his voice lowering. "You get mad at me and then you want to kiss me and then you're yelling at me and then ... we're f.u.c.king. Pa.s.sion."

He makes it sound so simple. But it's not. It feels terribly complicated. "Pa.s.sion," I repeat.

"Yeah." He shrugs, as if it's no big deal. Which, of course, infuriates me.

"Have you ever experienced this with someone else?" I ask. That has to be the reason for his total nonchalance over it. He talks of pa.s.sion like it's nothing special, while I sit here filled with it. I feel like a bottle of Champagne that's been shaken up so much the cork is this close to popping across the room and sending half the alcohol shooting out in a white frothy mess.

That's me. I'm the white frothy mess.

His jaw works and he leans back, as if he needs the distance. "No," he says, his voice short. And he doesn't look very happy about it, either.

Pleasure fills me at his admission and I want to say more, but the waitress makes her reappearance with our drinks, setting them in front of us before she takes our dinner order.

"What are you drinking?" he asks after the waitress leaves.

"It's called a Trafalgar Tease." I swirl the thin red straw in the gla.s.s, mixing everything so I won't take a sip of straight alcohol.

"I should call you a Trafalgar Tease," he says, his voice deepening in that way of his that makes me think of naked skin and twisted sheets and s.e.x.

"Why?" I pluck the cherry out of the drink and pop it into my mouth, the tart sweetness spurting all over my tongue as I chew.

"There are a few reasons." His gaze is locked on my lips, and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s grow heavy the longer he stares. "First, for the way you just ate your ... cherry." Okay, that sounded incredibly dirty. "And second, for the fact that you're not wearing panties. Again."

I swallow the cherry. "How do you know?"

"I caught a peek up your dress when you were climbing the stairs." He flashes this wicked, one-sided, closed-mouth smile that makes everything inside of me go fluttery and weak. "Like you didn't do that on purpose."

"I didn't." I had no idea that he was looking up my skirt. Though I should've known.

"And then there's the way you were grinding your a.s.s against my c.o.c.k in the elevator." He shakes his head but he doesn't look mad. No, he looks very, very pleased. "You were just daring me to lift your skirt and f.u.c.k you right there, weren't you?"

"N-no." Oh G.o.d, I'm stuttering. He's saying these things so casually, all while we're surrounded by plenty of people. The rooftop restaurant is crowded. I can hear the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of gla.s.ses and silverware against plates, but it all fades as we continue to stare at each other. Until I feel like Caden and I are the only two people in this restaurant, in this city, in this country.

He leans back in his chair, looking every inch the casual playboy h.e.l.l-bent on seducing me. Though it wouldn't be much of a seduction. I'd give in too easily and he knows it. Whatever he wants to do to me, I'll take it. And I'll enjoy it. Because he's not a selfish lover, oh no. He makes sure I get my pleasure.

Lots and lots of pleasure.

"I think I'll make an attempt when we leave," he declares as he grabs his beer and drinks straight from the bottle despite the gla.s.s the waitress left for him.

"An attempt at what?" My mind is awhirl with all sorts of ... things. I can't keep up with the conversation and I feel a bit of a wreck.

"f.u.c.king you in the elevator." He takes another swig. "Don't give me that look. You know you want me to."

He's right. I do want him to. G.o.d, what's wrong with me?

My throat is dry. Reaching out with a shaky hand, I grab my drink and take a big sip, the sweet liqueur going straight to my head and empty stomach. I feel Caden's eyes on me and I lift my gaze, my lips still wrapped around the straw, to find him staring at me, his dark eyes filled with hunger.

Slowly I withdraw the straw from my mouth and set the gla.s.s on the table, my breath increasing, my skin growing hot. The table we're sitting at couldn't be called a table at all, more like a narrow counter attached to the low wall, a candle burning in between us, our chairs sitting next to each other but at an angle. We have the best view in the entire restaurant, straight out over Trafalgar Square, the National Gallery lit up like an elegant beacon in the night. Tons of people still fill the square, spilling all over the stairs that lead to the gallery.

I keep my gaze focused on the view, the billowing British flags snapping in the wind that top so many of the buildings spread out before us like a blanket. This city seems to go on forever, majestic and white and full of history and beauty. While I'm here, I should be out touring, wandering through museums and absorbing the history. Becoming inspired so maybe I, too, could one day have my own cosmetics collection like Violet.

Instead I'm having dinner with an impossible man who makes me feel impossible, wonderful things. It's crazy. I'm crazy.

His hand settles on my knee, a casual touch that looks like nothing to anyone else who would happen to see but feels like everything to me. I keep my gaze purposely averted from his, watching the people mill about below, the music some kids are playing drifting up as they put on a performance for a handful of observers standing around.

All the while, Caden's hand moves up. Skimming past my knee, along the top of my thigh, farther up, until he's sliding it down to my inner thigh and I hear him say in that s.e.xy, gruff command of a voice that's barely above a whisper, "Open your legs."

I do so without hesitation, my breath hitching in my throat when his fingers brush against my bare p.u.s.s.y. I close my eyes, my legs falling open even more when he slides his finger inside my body.

"Look at me," he demands and I snap my eyes open, turning to face him. His eyes are hooded, his lips parted, the candlelight playing shadows upon his face, and I've never seen him look so s.e.xy.

"Can I make you come right here in the middle of the restaurant?" He presses his thumb to my c.l.i.t and I jolt in my chair, the little whimper sounding in my throat earning a stern look from him. "Be quiet, Rose. Don't want to draw a crowd."

No. I definitely don't want to draw a crowd. But I do want to come. I glance around the restaurant to see that no one is paying us any mind, everyone too wrapped up in their own conversations, their own personal dramas. All the while, I have a man's hand up my skirt, his finger buried in my p.u.s.s.y, trying his best to draw yet another o.r.g.a.s.m from me.

He can do it, too. I have faith. My body responds to his touch, his words, as if he owns me. He steals words and thoughts from me so effortlessly it's as if I have no control. I'm his to play with as he chooses.

"Come here," he whispers and I lean closer to him, sucking in a surprised gasp when he presses his mouth to mine, kissing me right there in the middle of the restaurant, his fingers busy, his tongue tangling with mine, and I can't take it. The o.r.g.a.s.m sweeps over me, short and hot, just enough to send a shiver through me, my belly clenching, my inner walls grasping around his finger, wanting more before he withdraws his fingers from my body and breaks the kiss.

The satisfied expression on his face cannot be denied. He enjoyed that tremendously and I can't lie, I did too.

"You're flushed," he says, his voice a lower murmur that p.r.i.c.kles along my nerve endings.

"Do I really need to explain why?" My hands are still shaky as I grab my drink and drain it, the potent alcohol swimming in my veins.

He grins and brings his hand to his mouth-the very hand that had just been between my legs. "I already know why. What I'd like to know is did you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

"Ever done anything like that before?" I swear he's sniffing his fingers, sniffing me, and I want to melt. I want to take his hand and drag him off somewhere private so we can finish what we started.

"No." I shake my head, all the breath leaving me when he licks the tip of his index finger, his eyelids wavering the slightest bit.

"Pa.s.sion." He rubs his fingers together and I see them glisten in the candlelight. "You're still on my fingers."

I don't say a word. I can't. He's stolen my ability to speak yet again.

"And you taste pretty f.u.c.king amazing, Rose. Better than any drink or dinner I can get here." He sucks his index finger into his mouth for the briefest moment before he withdraws it, reaching out to draw a line of dampness across the top of my forearm. "Marked."

I feel like everything inside of me is being strangled. I can't breathe right, I can't think, I can't hear or smell or see. The waitress is back but I have no idea what she's saying to us, and Caden is chatting her up as she places his dinner in front of him, then sets my plate in front of me. I think I murmur thank you to her but I can't be sure.

I'm not sure of anything anymore.

The moment she's gone, I focus on Caden, see that he grabs his beer bottle with the hand that had been between my legs and rubs his fingers all over the surface, gathering up the condensation so he can clean his hands of ... me.

That's sort of hot.

He picks up his silverware wrapped in a pristine white cloth napkin and unrolls it, setting the napkin in his lap and placing the knife and fork on either side of his plate.

"Rose?"