Ready.

Sliding beneath the sheets, I lie on my side facing him, my gaze roaming over his sleeping face. His features are relaxed, his lips slightly parted, his breathing slow and even. His hair is a mess, but what else is new? The man is in desperate need of a haircut, but I refuse to suggest it because, well … I love his hair. It’s long and soft and constantly bothers him, and I love it when he flicks his head to get the annoying strands out of his eyes.

I love it more when I feel it brush against my skin as his lips make their way down my body.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed, his expression not really changing beyond his moving lips.

A squeal escapes me and I press my lips together, irritated that he caught me. I shove at his shoulder but it’s like pushing a wall of steel, so he doesn’t so much as budge. “You scared me.”

“Good. Stalkers scare me too.” He cracks open one eye and smiles. But as fast as it appears, the smile fades, and he moves so fast he turns into a blur. He’s sitting up, pulling me by the shoulders so I’m in his lap. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Great. Not only is he knowledgeable in the orgasm department, but he’s also perceptive to my moods. “I’m fine,” I say with a shrug, refusing to crack.

He streaks his fingers down my cheek, his gaze never leaving mine. “You sure?”

I waver. Should I tell him? We’ve never discussed anything too personal. Nothing about our pasts, very little about our present, definitely no discussing the future—absolutely nothing about it is mentioned. We don’t talk about my job or his. We don’t talk about my family or his. Current events, movies, what’s going on around London, what’s happening at home … those are safe topics.

He mentioned a friend who’s visiting in London like he is, a guy named Mitchell who’s a total asshole and worth a ton of money, but other than that, there’s been nothing. No major reveal, no intimate conversations beyond the I want your pussy or Please let me suck your cock variety.

Okay, we’re not that crude all the time. But our moments together are hotter more often than not and I love it. I love losing myself when I’m with him.

But maybe … I do want his help. His input with this problem. It could bring us closer. “I’m sure.” I nod, trying to breathe past the sudden ache in my chest. I’m such a chicken. From the skeptical look he’s wearing, I know Caden doesn’t believe me, and that’s fine. I’m not ready to share this piece of me all the way yet. “Could you just … hold me for a while?” I grimace the second the words are said and I shake my head, burying my face in the crook of his neck. “Never mind. That was so incredibly cheesy …”

“Sshh.” He silences me and gathers me close in his strong embrace. I wrap my arm around his waist, splaying my hand across his back as I press my face against his chest. I hear the steady beat of his heart, and it reassures me as it always does.

He rubs my back, his touch gentle, but then … slowly … it becomes firmer. His hand sweeps across my backside as he picks me up and readjusts me so I’m straddling him, my legs wrapping around him so my ankles press against his spine.

“I know how to make you feel better,” he murmurs in my ear, nuzzling my cheek with his nose as he reaches for my breast, cupping it in his big hand.

“I’m sure you do.” This is what I was counting on, what I needed from Caden. He does know how to make me feel better. He washes away any of my doubt, my uncertainty, my insecurities with his irresistible hands, his smart mouth, his perfect cock …

But there’s more to this man than his body. He’s inherently kind. He wants to take care of me. Though he might not say those words out loud, his actions speak for themselves. It doesn’t matter to him who I am or what I represent. He just … likes me. Rose. Not Rose Fowler, youngest daughter of Forrest Fowler and heiress to the Fleur Cosmetics line. I’m not Violet’s sister or Lily’s sister or Dahlia’s granddaughter to Caden.

I’m just me. Rose. Or Ro, as he likes to call me sometimes. I like that too because no one else calls me that. Just Caden.

Together we’re just Rose and Caden, hanging out in London. And that works. No matter how temporary or fleeting this moment is, I’m here, in it. Living it.

And I’m going to make the most of it.

Chapter Fourteen

Caden

“Violet wants us to go out with them tonight.”

I’m sitting in bed—we walked around earlier, getting some fresh air and picking up coffee—watching Rose as she gets dressed for work. Yes, work. She’s actually going into the Fleur offices for a mid-afternoon meeting after much wheedling and persuading on her sister’s part. I don’t know exactly what’s going on between the sisters and Fleur and the rest of the family, but I know it’s not good. It’s making Rose upset.

And I don’t like seeing my girl upset.

Not that she’s talking to me, confessing all of her problems, which I get. I totally get it. Really¸ she’s not my girl. I have no right to think of her that way—even though I do.

“Go out where?”

She adjusts the thin black belt that goes with the cream-colored sleeveless dress she’s wearing and turns to face me. “You’ll never guess.”

“The White Swan,” I say in perfect deadpan.

“You’re so smart.” She leans over me and drops a kiss on my waiting lips. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Tags: Monica Murphy The Fowler Sisters Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net