Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters 2)

I’m staring. Caught. Trapped by his gaze, and I want to be. My head is spinning. My body is … aching. Caden’s gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for what feels like forever, and my lips tingle. As if he’s just kissed them. And then his gaze drops lower, to my chest, and my nipples harden. Like I have no control over them, which I really don’t since I’m not wearing a bra and whoops, I’m not wearing panties, either, because I wanted to feel young and flirty tonight.

It’s as if my body knew and prepared itself. The restlessness has hit me full force and I squirm in my chair, my heavy breasts brushing against the thin fabric of my dress almost painful.

I can’t take it.

Touching Ryder’s arm, he turns to look at me questioningly and I murmur, “I’ll be right back.”

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Just going to the ladies’,” I reassure him as I get up and leave the table.

I can feel Caden’s eyes on me as I walk away, and I’m tempted to look back so I can gauge his reaction.

But I don’t look back. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I stare straight ahead, making my way through the crowded pub, toward the hall on the opposite end of the room where the bathrooms are located.

Once I make it inside, I brace my hands on the edge of the counter and stare at myself in the mirror. Again. Just like earlier, before I left my hotel room. Though now I look different. My cheeks are flushed, as is the skin on my chest, and my nipples are still poking against the fabric of my dress. My hair has lost some of its curl and my eyes sparkle with an almost unnatural glow.

I look drunk.

I look aroused.

I am definitely both.

The door swings open and my gaze darts to the doorway in the mirror’s reflection, my mouth dropping open in shock before I whirl around. “What are you doing?”

Caden closes the door and leans against it, his arm sneaking out behind him to turn the lock. He doesn’t answer my question. He doesn’t say a word as he pushes away from the door and stalks toward me. His stride is predatory, his expression full of dark intent.

I grip the counter, my fingers tight around the tiled edge, my knees weakening as he draws closer. The scent of him—citrusy and clean—washes over me and I part my lips, the protest dying when he reaches out and touches my cheek. His touch is gentle, his fingertips rough as they slide across my skin, into my hair. My eyelids waver and my vision grows fuzzy when he presses his body to mine and dips his head, his mouth hovering above mine. His breath wafts over my lips and pleasure swamps me, settling between my legs, making me damp.

Making me weak.

Chapter Six

Caden

The moment we arrived at the pub and Whitney introduced me to Violet and Ryder, Violet mentioned her sister would be joining us later.

And I knew she wasn’t referring to Lily.

It was still a shock, seeing Rose approach the table. I thought her stunning the night of the movie premiere but seeing her now, in her pretty little dress that exposes a lot of leg, her hair down and her entire appearance so natural …

Seeing her in those first few stunned minutes, I felt … entranced. Intoxicated, and I hadn’t even had a drink yet. She was just so pretty, her skin damn near glowed. Everything about her was perfection, at least in my eyes, and I physically yearned to be close to her.

I should be focusing on my newfound opportunity to snag the Poppy Necklace. Not thinking about how I can possibly kiss her again. Seeing her, though, having her close enough to touch … I forget all about the necklace. All I can think about is her.

She hadn’t expected to see me and my being at the table threw her off, I could tell. She tried her best to ignore me. I think she was mad that I came with Whitney, who acted like a possessive girlfriend. Made me wonder if Whitney could sense the sparks flying between me and Rose and was doing her best to play interference.

That didn’t stop me. Whitney started talking with Violet, and that freed me to watch Rose unabashedly. The way she laughed and joked with Ryder and his friend. I liked the sound of her laughter. Full-bodied and unrestrained. She drank at least three beers, maybe four, and she consumed the bloodiest steak I’ve seen in a long-ass time, like she was one of the guys.

It was sexy as fuck.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. And eventually, she couldn’t take her eyes off me. I wanted her. Just like before, that night in Cannes with her naked and in the pool, her beautiful body on display just for me. I had my hands on her, my mouth on hers, and then I walked away.

Now, at this moment, in a small bathroom in a pub in the middle of Covent Garden on a Friday night, I’m not walking away. Hell no.

I cradle her head between my hands, my fingers buried in her silky, soft hair, my thumbs caressing her cheeks. Her eyelids are heavy, her lips damp and parted, and I want to kiss her as much as I want to take my next breath.

“Tell me you feel this,” I demand, needing the confirmation before I go any further.

“Feel what?” She’s playing dumb. Her breath quickens as I continue to touch her, and the shiver that steals over her skin is a sure sign she’s just as affected as I am.

“This … connection between us.” I touch the corner of her mouth. “I feel it.” I earn an eye roll for my words but I’m not deterred. She’s putting on an act.

“What about your girlfriend?” She meets my gaze steadily, those honey-gold eyes doing things to me. Like making my dick hard.

My girlfriend? Oh … Whitney. “She’s not my girlfriend.”