Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

Instead, he stayed serious. Not even a silhouette of a grin. “You’re not curious as to who I’ve been talking to?”

It had crossed my mind more than a few times. “It’s not my business,” I told him honestly. “Unless you’re cheating…” My eyes seared.

“No,” he said. “I would never cheat on you, Rose.”

I didn’t want to pry into personal parts of his life without his consent, just as I expected the same in return. We’d only been together for eight months, and it’d be a lie to say that I understood him completely. I only understood the real parts that he let me see.

He continued to ignore the board game. I couldn’t read his features. In hindsight, I think he was nervous to bring up a subject that we never discussed in depth.

I mentioned, “We haven’t even dated for an entire year. If it doesn’t affect me, you’re not obligated to tell me anything, Connor.” I wanted to know, but I wouldn’t force anything out of him. Not if it was personal. Not if it was so soul-bearing. I’d wait, just as I would’ve waited for Lily to open up about her sex addiction, even if it took her years to share with me.

He rested his forearm on his bent knee. “When we’re married, it could affect you.”

I snorted. “You’re delusional if you think I’d ever marry you, Richard.”

He almost grinned, but the truth weighed heavy on him. “Then in years, when we’re still together, it could still affect you.”

I swallowed hard.

“I want to tell you who I called. In case you’re ever pulled into this, I want to be completely, entirely, back-breakingly honest with you, Rose.”

I was scared. “Okay…”

He flipped a wooden tile between his fingers, mentally forming the precise words before he spoke them. “I’ve been locating all of my exes.”

My chest caved, but I let him talk before jumping to irrational conclusions.

“Only the guys I’ve been with,” he said in a short breath. His eyes flickered up to me, to gauge my reaction. I nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I paid them off, and they’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement. I couldn’t take the risk of any of them outing me to the media. It could make things more complicated with our relationship, and it could harm…” His reputation. Cobalt Inc. He wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure. Connor barely expressed this part of his life with me back then, and he wasn’t ready to announce anything to the whole world. Not with unknown consequences hanging over his head.

So he did damage control and swept his past into dark corners.

I was glad he told me—that he’d even trust me with this information. It said more than enough. I would’ve supported his choices. “Okay,” I said more confidently.

He still hesitated. “One of them wouldn’t sign, no matter how much money I offered and no matter what I said.”

I froze. “Who?”

“Theodore Balentine.”

I remembered him. “What does he want?”

“Nothing,” Connor told me. “He said that he morally couldn’t do this to me. He didn’t want to slam me into a closet, even if I was the one shutting the door.” Connor shook his head repeatedly. He was pissed that a string was going to be left untied. “I just have to trust that he won’t say anything to the press.”

“If morality is his reasoning, he won’t.”

“People change,” Connor said, leaving me with those two haunting words before he returned to the board.

I have no idea if Theo has changed since then. It’s very likely corporate America has had some impact on him.

So even if I just acted like his boss…he silently holds all of the power.

[ 17 ]

CONNOR COBALT

Rose carries Jane on the crook of her hip around the kitchen, gathering a tray of mugs. The early start of Christmas morning is quiet with everyone still asleep at 8 a.m. and no time planned to wake. I enjoy this more than spending all day and night at my mother-in-law’s house, which was reserved for Christmas Eve.

I finish pouring pureed peaches into a pink bowl with a small spoon.

“There are three things you can never go without, Jane,” Rose says, setting six mugs along the wooden tray. “A great pair of heels, an outfit to your liking, and coffee. Or if you prefer hot tea, that will work too.”

“Amending your own declaration already?” With the bowl in hand, I block Rose’s path to the coffee pot.

“If I could, I would’ve amended your personality on the first date.”

I smile. “And then you would’ve downgraded me. You should be happy you don’t have that power.”

“I’m happy that I have the power to do this.” She covers my mouth with her hand, and my lips lift beneath it. “Stop grinning.” I don’t, and she lowers her hand with a growl.

“Clearly your power is limited, darling.”

Jane giggles, dissolving the heat in Rose’s eyes faster than usual. “That’s right,” Rose says, “your daddy likes to boast. It’s his worst trait.”

“That’s debatable.”

Rose snorts beneath her breath and then brings Jane over to her highchair by the breakfast table. Of course I follow. Jane babbles a few syllables, reaching out for the bowl in my hands. She kicks her little legs. I set the bowl down, and she curiously observes the pureed peaches first, as she usually does. We’ll spoon-feed her after she grows comfortable with what she’s eating.

Rose spins around to me, much shorter in just slippers and no heels. She crosses her arms over her silk robe. I take the opportunity to hold her around the waist, drawing her closer to my chest.

She asks, “What English monarch was born near London but her mother near Madrid?” Her eyes flit to my lips. “If you answer wrong, I won’t be speaking to you for the rest of the day.”

The way she declares these rules almost hardens my cock. The stakes are relatively high for me. Unansw

ered texts, dropped calls and refusals to banter back—it’s a particular torture that would only derive from Rose. Anyone else, I think I’d be fine ignoring.

I go quiet for a moment, passing through my knowledge quickly.

“You have thirty seconds.” She raises her chin, her eyes still on my lips.

Do you want me to answer or to kiss you hard, Rose? I rub my own lips, her lingering stare pooling my desire.

“Ten seconds.”

The answer hits the front of my brain. “Mary Tudor.”

She nods once. “Congratulat—”

I kiss her hard, pulling her into my body with force, and her arms uncoil, palms flat on my chest—and she breaks us apart with a push.

She breathes shallowly. “Richard.” She’s not finished toying with me. I’ll try to wait, only because I’m curious what else she has in store. I take note of how my hand is in hers. Rose doesn’t seem to notice, and I won’t enlighten her to the fact. I want her hand in mine. Always.

“Yes?” I ask.

She looks to Jane once. Our daughter sticks a finger in the peaches and then puts it in her mouth, tasting the food in measured steps. Rose walks to the bar counter and obtains a thin napkin that I never spotted.

Then she shoves it in my face.

I can’t hide an overwhelming grin. There are three names scrawled neatly on the napkin: Snow White. Ariel. Rapunzel. I lower her hand. “I have an impeccable memory, and I clearly remember giving you three Disney princes to choose from years ago, and you argued about it.”

She waves her hand. “Then I grant you the right to argue, but you still have to answer like I did.”

There is a wrong answer in this Fuck, Marry, Kill game. There’s always one that will make us question each other more than usual. When I test her, I have an idea of her answer, and if she chooses something different, my mind goes into a tailspin with intrigue, craving to understand why.

She places a pen in my hand, not wanting me to say the words aloud. We never do. This game is written in text or on paper. These rules haven’t been amended in years.

I stumble on Rapunzel’s name. Daisy’s hair used to be that long and that blonde, and in the media, journalists compared her to the fairytale character too often.