Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"

Автор книги: Becca Ritchie

Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

[ 35 ]
CONNOR COBALT

Rose is close to manic.

Her eyes dance wildly over the papers in distress. The last time I’ve seen her like this, she was pacing her room, crying, shouting things that made no goddamn sense. It was after her best friend betrayed her—helping Lily cheat in Princeton behind her back and blaming it on me.

But this is so fucking different.

Because it’s Loren Hale. No matter if he curses us both to hell, I can practically taste his pain that throttles his body. He says cruel things in hopes that we’ll say them back and hit him.

It’s that simple.

And neither Ryke nor Rose has to consult with me to learn this. We all understand him by now.

So no matter how much I want to throw Lo against the fucking wall for putting Rose in a state of distress, I can’t touch him. I can’t curse him to hell. I can’t punch him in the fucking face. It’s like abusing a kid that’s been shit on his whole life. I’m not going to add to those bruises.

I just need to concentrate on my girlfriend who breathes sporadically, tiny sharp gasps leaving her lips. I bend down behind her and whisper a line of French in her ear to gauge her response. She hardly pays attention, shuffling hurriedly through papers, accidentally smudging the charcoal on one. And her blackened fingerprints stain another.

She pauses in a horrific daze, and for a split second, my whole world tilts.

I make an impulse decision. I grab her around the waist from behind and lift her from the papers, most fluttering from her hands.

“No!” she screams, kicking out to try to reach them.

“Stop,” I force in her ear.

She screams again, a high-pitched wail that rips out my heart.

I only want to calm her. I grip her wrists in front of her body, about to whisper to her again, but Lo interjects.

 “It took you twenty-three goddamn years to finally lose your virginity.” He pulls at another loose thread, this time, hitting me full force. “And you lost it to a guy that’s just fucking you for your last name.”

“LOREN!” I shout. My face pumps with an unbridled, irritated, hell-bent rage. I don’t think Lo has ever seen me this upset. I want to kick him as badly as he wants to be kicked. I would never go after Lily the way he’s going after Rose. She may be strong, but she has her moments of fucking fragility. And he’s purposefully breaking her.

His face immediately falls, blanketing with an intense guilt. His mouth opens, and I worry that an apology won’t be on the other end. I can’t have him tearing at my girlfriend anymore today. She can’t handle it.

I cut in, “Don’t.” The word is controlled and powerful enough to quiet the room. “Give me a minute.” I pick up Rose around the waist while she breathes heavily, no longer fighting me.

I glance back at Lo. He stares at the ceiling, his legs a little loose like they’re going to give out on him. Ryke tries to talk to his brother, but Lo just shakes his head and stares out the window. I look for Lily, but she stays seated on the edge of the bed, rooted there with a faraway gaze.

I set Rose by a vanity in our room, placing her on the bench.

“Darling,” I say, wiping her hot, stray tears. I hold her face between my hands while I bend in front of her, eye level.

She raises a shaking hand to my face, as though to say, give me a minute.

I take her hand and tenderly kiss each one of her fingers. Her eyes finally focus on me, and they soften considerably before she grips the sleeve of my shirt. I slide on the bench next to her, and she tries to hide behind my body so no one sees her splotchy face.

“It’s already past,” I tell her in a breathless whisper, my thumb skimming the black mascara beneath her eyes.

She once told me that as a child, she would lock herself in her closet after she fought with her mother. The arguments revolved around many things. Like her schedule for the day, being forced on a date with a boy she found repulsive, being made into a person she didn’t want to be.

She’d grab an old fur coat and scream, muffling the noises in the clothes. She made sure to have her mental breakdowns in private. Even in her madness, there’s still a level of control.

She takes a deep, trained breath, blowing out of her lips like she’s meditating. And then she grazes my features and says, “Thank you.”

My heart beats rapidly and I fight the urge to pull her away from everyone, this situation and the worries. To lock ourselves alone and find solace in silence. She frightened me tonight. I realize how easily this could have escalated. How it could have gone another way. What if it had? What if she writhed in my arms until her screams punctured the sky? What if I lost her to emotions so deep they’d swallow her whole?

I want to protect her. From everything, even herself.

Her breathing steadies, and I place a hand on her cheek and my lips linger on hers. She responds by shifting her body towards me, and my tongue encourages her lips to part. I grip the back of her head, pulling her closer.

We kiss desperately, and I draw her so near that she sits halfway on my lap.

She breaks away abruptly, her breath heavy, but at least she’s breathing this time. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes for making a scene, for being a handful, for having a moment of pure panic. “I’m—”

“Human,” I finish for her. I tuck her hair behind her ear. “You’re human, Rose. We all are.”

I glance at the rest of the room. At Ryke, Lo and Lily who waver in uncomfortable silence. We have things we need to get to, but I’m not moving until she’s ready.

She holds my arm in a half-tight, half-frightened grip and nods to me.

“Let’s finish this then,” I say, rising with her, right by my side.

Where I always want her to be.

[ 36 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY

I may be calmer after Connor’s short talk and reassuring presence, but no one else looks as mild-mannered. Ryke has his arms crossed over his chest, staring between Lily and Loren who uncommonly start fighting.

She asked him if he drank booze. And the one question pummeled him backwards. Her words, her feelings towards him, mean more than whatever Ryke, Connor, and I can say or do.

“I just…I don’t understand why you wouldn’t get your pills to prove it,” she says in a small voice.

“So you’re going to take their side over mine?” he chokes.

“I’m not taking sides.” Her face contorts as she thinks about everything. “I just want the truth, Lo.”

“I didn’t drink.” He shakes his head repeatedly, but his eyes redden the longer he does so, telling us a different story. “But I can’t prove it. I stopped taking Antabuse months ago.”

“You did what?!” Ryke shouts.

Lo touches his chest in defense. “They were driving me nuts! I’m paranoid about everything I eat—if it’s accidentally cooked in alcohol. I picture myself puking from a shitty fucking meal. I can’t do that for the rest of my goddamn life!”

Before his brother can respond, Lo turns his attention back to Lily. “You have to believe me,” he says, desperation lacing his voice.

“I do,” she says, no hesitation.

Relief floods his face. He walks to the bed and reaches for a hug.

But then something strange happens. Lily pushes Loren in the chest and then she points her finger at him. “But it’s not okay. It’s not.” Her chin quivers and she tries to gather this shadowy strength that likes to flit away from her. “You can’t stop taking them just because it drives you nuts. And it’s not okay that you kept this from me…from us…”

They’re both crying now, and it feels intrusive watching them fight like this.

“My chest is on fire,” I tell Connor. I really want to leave. But we still have to talk to Lily about the videotape.

He rubs my back and kisses my temple.

It feels good. To have him. In these moments, I can’t imagine reverting back to being alone. I would feel outnumbered and unspun.

Loren holds my sister in his arms. Or maybe she’s holding him. It’s hard to tell.

“We’re in a fight, just so you know,” she whispers. “I’ll sleep in Daisy’s bedroom.”

His face twists in hurt now. “You haven’t had sex in three days. I was going to…” He drifts off as Lily shakes her head.

“I don’t care about sex. I care about you being healthy and not drinking.”

I’m grinning. I can’t stop it. It’s fucking happening. My chest lifts. Doused with water. Those words I don’t care about sex have never left that girl’s mouth.

Loren looks just as surprised, just as in awe as me.

“We have another issue,” Ryke interjects.

I glare hatefully. “We don’t have to bring that up now,” I say. My sister just denounced sex, the compulsive, harmful kind. We should throw her a party not question her about the alleged bathroom blow job.

Ryke looks at me like I lost brain cells and then grabs the camera. “Watch this,” he tells Lily and Loren.

They stand behind the camera as the footage replays, and Lily’s cheeks redden the further along. When we all hear her say “Can I give you a blow job?” her eyes bug, and her hand shoots to the air like she’s ready to answer a question in class.

“I was having a bad day,” she defends.

“Shhh,” Loren hisses, his eyes narrowed at the camera. The moaning and groaning begin and Lily suddenly shares his confusion. “What is this?” Lo asks. “Is this some kind of fucked up joke?”

“You tell us,” Ryke refutes. “You’re fucking in a public bathroom in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Nooo,” Loren says the word slowly. “We didn’t fuck in the bathroom. We don’t fuck anywhere but our bedroom. Someone must have tampered with the video.”

“So you didn’t ask to give Loren a blow job?” I question my sister.

Her rash-like flush spreads to her neck and arms. “I did do that…” she mutters.

“And then I told her no,” Loren adds. I don’t know what to believe. I want to put faith in them, but the evidence is convincing. How does a person even edit a video on the actual camera? It’s not as if we’re watching the footage from a computer.

“What were you actually doing for thirty minutes in the bathroom?” Connor asks casually. His questions always seem less like an interrogation and more like a conversation.

Ryke and I fail on that front.

“I was giving Lily a pep talk,” Lo explains.

“I needed one,” she agrees. Her eyes flicker to his in gratitude, but then she must remember her earlier declaration because she takes a step to the side to put distance between them. “We’re still in a fight.”

Loren’s throat bobs at her words. “I’m going to start taking Antabuse again, Lil,” he whispers.

“Good,” she says with a nod. Then she looks to Ryke. “Fast-forward to the end. When we come out of the bathroom, I know I’ll look disappointed.”

Ryke presses a button and the footage speeds up, when he hits play, we all wait in anticipation, as if this is the only piece of evidence we have left.

On screen, Lily and Lo exit the bathroom, and before anyone says a thing, Lily goes, “Ah-ha!” She points to the footage. “I look so upset.”

I frown and bend closer to the screen. She needs her eyesight checked. I put my hands on my hips as I lean further. Really, what is she looking at? All I see is Lily’s flushed face and her hand in Lo’s. Their demeanor is natural, almost content.

“That’s you disappointed?” Ryke says in disbelief. “You’re sweating and your face is red.”

“It was hot in the bathroom,” Lily defends.

“It was,” Loren agrees but his voice has changed. Where Lily is frantic, Lo looks resolute as if he’s accepted the fact that this looks bad for them.

“Are they going to air this?” Lily wonders.

“Probably,” Connor says, “but it helps promote your wedding. The bad edit would be you slipping into the bathroom with another guy.”

“We’re just concerned about your health,” I say.

“I didn’t have sex, Rose,” Lily tells me with pleading eyes. “I’m doing better. I mean, I shouldn’t have asked Lo that...that question. But besides that, I’m doing better.”

I have to trust her. I know this.

But if Lily didn’t blow her boyfriend in a public restroom and if Loren didn’t drink, then there’s only one other guilty party.

Production.

Scott Van Wright.

I’m going to kill him.

[ 37 ]
CONNOR COBALT

I convinced everyone to keep their production-tampering suspicions to themselves. If we give production a reaction, they win. They all agreed after a few hours, but Rose, Ryke, and Loren have short fuses. It’s only a matter of time until one of them detonates.

Five days later and I have other obligations to attend to. Like an apocalyptic dinner with my mother and my girlfriend.

I wait for Rose in my limo that hugs the curb. The townhouse is lit by bulbs in the dining room, flickering through the windows. Our home is also guarded by her father’s hired security. I’m about to call her to see what’s taking so long. I doubt she’d want to be late the first time meeting my mother. If I could, I’d drive this limo past the restaurant and into a hotel or Rose’s office. Anywhere to avoid the chaos of the night.

Rose has expressed about twelve times in the past three hours that she wants to impress my mother. The confession nearly had me laughing. Rose Calloway wants to impress someone, a feat she has never been a hundred-percent successful in. But for some reason, I feel like if she fails this time, I’m partially to blame. Katarina is my mother after all.

My phone pings before I call her.

Daisy, Lily, me – Rose

My eyes narrow at the list. We started playing Fuck, Marry, Kill again on the plane. And when I gave her three inanimate objects, she almost whipped out her pepper spray and used the whole canister on me.

She’s been simmering. Waiting for a chance to get me back.

She definitely has.

I cringe as I try to find a suitable answer without offending anyone.

And then I press send.

[ 38 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY

I’d fuck, marry, and kill you. – Connor

Oh. He is not getting out of this one that easily. He made me admit to fucking a tree, killing an orange and marrying a book. He is not cheating. I didn’t.

With the phone in one hand, I struggle to text him back and snap my high heels at my ankles. My old silver peep-toes betrayed me today. The heel broke when I walked down the stairs, so I’ve had to hurry for an alternative, which happen to be black heels with too many buckles.

“LILY!” I shout.

After a long pause, she says. “I’M NOT COMING OUT!”

I purse my lips. I forgot. Loren and Lily have been isolating themselves in their rooms for three days and counting. They’re waiting for Scott to apologize for the Magic Mike ploy and generally every vile comment he’s made to Lily. I think what finally tipped the boat was when he told her to go suck a cock with Lo right there. Just to start a fight.

Instead of attacking Scott, they’re both hoarded in their rooms, outsmarting him. He’s not getting any footage with the couple unless they have to sneak to the bathroom. I don’t know how they’re eating because neither I nor Ryke will feed into this crazy plot. Being isolated from us is a way to fester their addictions. I don’t like it, but I can’t coax them out without letting Scott win.

I do have a suspicion that both Daisy and Connor have been supplying them with breakfast essentials and microwaved meals. I caught Daisy with three empty bowls of cereal in her hands. And since her photo shoot for Marco Jeans is quickly approaching, I highly doubt she’s eating that much.

And I can’t call Daisy down here either. She’s not at the townhouse. I’ve seen her for maybe three hours total in the past two weeks. That’s how busy she’s been with school and modeling. I asked the guards when she got in last night and they said three a.m.—riding home from New York. The perks of being wealthy: we have a family driver that each of us can use if we want, so no one has to worry about her sleeping or drinking at the wheel. But it hardly helps diminish the other concerns I have for my little sister.

Savannah points her camera at me, and she gives me a look like she wishes she could help me with my heels. I asked all of the cameramen to kindly stay behind while Connor and I go see his mother, who does not want to be filmed. They’ve all graciously accepted, and Connor had a guard sweep the limo to make sure there weren’t any hidden cameras.

Besides Savannah, the only one in the living room is Ryke. He drinks a bottle of water, his hands chalky from climbing some mountain.

I’m not joking.

He does it for fun. No ropes. No harness. He’s as crazy as my little sister.

“Ryke,” I say with the fakest girly voice I can muster. “Can you please come help me?” I feel like I just choked on a steak bone.

He nods, and I forget that he’s not his brother. He’s not going to put up a fight with me. Thank God. I don’t have time for that. He kneels at my feet, and before he touches my heels, I flinch back.

“What?” he asks roughly.

“Your hands, they’re dirty.” I crinkle my nose.

He glares as he wipes the chalk residue on the burgundy rug.

I cringe even more. My poor rug. But if I had to choose between my rug and my heels, I’m going to choose the heels every damn time.

He raises his hands to show that they’re slightly clean. Fine. It’ll have to do. I stick out my feet again, and he buckles them at the ankles while I text Connor.

I don’t fuck cheaters. Send.

That should get him to speak.

My phone buzzes, but the new text isn’t from him.

2 months and 13 days – Mom

“Who died?” Ryke asks.

I stare down at him with furrowed brows.

“You look upset,” he clarifies, fumbling with the last buckle.

“Worry about my heels,” I snap.

He shakes his head and lets out a short, irritated laugh before standing. “Finished, your highness.”

I smooth my dress as I head to the door. “Thank you.” See, I do have manners. “Try not to dirty the couch while I’m gone.” Translation: Go take a shower.

“Love you too, Rose,” he says with a tight smile.

My lips rise as I walk outside, down the brick stairs. The limo sits on the street, and I have to pass a couple guards to get there. He better text me before then.

Like he’s read my mind, he’s finally made a real decision.

Fuck. Kill. Marry. – Connor

He’d fuck Daisy.

Kill Lily.

Marry me.

He barely gives me any time to think this over before he texts again. Lo, me, Ryke – Connor

Now I have to level the playing field.

And it’s pretty easy to do so.

Kill. Marry. Fuck.

I send nearly the same answer as him. Now I think I’m ready to meet his mother. I take a deep breath. It can’t be as hard as having to admit to fucking Ryke Meadows or hearing that your boyfriend wants to kill your closest sister.

This will be easy in comparison.

Right?

[ 39 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY

“I can’t believe I did that,” I say with wide, petrified eyes, my chest rising and falling so heavily that it feels like I’m one small step from hyperventilation. We climb back into Connor’s limo after a dinner that literally lasted ten minutes. We didn’t even order food yet. “I stooped to the level of a child.”

Connor smiles, the first real smile all night. He grabs a bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket as the limo bumps along the road.

“There is nothing to celebrate!” I shout and slap his arm as he leans back next to me.

“I’m celebrating the fact that the dinner is over seventy minutes earlier than I expected.” His grin overtakes his whole face.

I gape. “Your girlfriend just threw wine on your mother’s silk blouse!”

He tries to hold in a laugh. He’s unsuccessful.

“It’s not funny,” I deadpan. “It probably costs a fortune. Can you tell her I’ll have it dry cleaned or replaced, whatever she wants.”

I haven’t been this embarrassed since the sixth grade at the Smithsonian science museum. I had started my period, and to make the event even more memorable, a stupid boy pointed and told me that my Uranus was bleeding.

This might be worse though. I was the immature one in this scenario.

“I’ll talk to her,” he says calmly. I expel a breath of relief. “I’ll let her know that I fully supported your decision to act like a child, and if you didn’t do it, I would have.”

I attack his bicep with my purse, whipping the black sequined clutch at him. “You’re not helping, Richard!”

He grabs my purse and tosses it aside before I have anything to say about it. And then he passes me the uncorked bottle of champagne. “Drink,” he orders.

I gladly take a swig, trying to sweep away the humiliating memories that I’ve created. The first two minutes had been cordial enough. She asked about Calloway Couture, and I told her that a couple department stores were interested in stocking my clothes. And then she brusquely swerved the conversation to my relationship with Connor.

She said, “While I admire your ambition, it’s going to ruin my son.”

“Excuse me?” I retorted, my spine arched and prepared for attack.

“He needs someone better than you by his side,” she elaborated. Her dyed red hair suddenly looked animatedly devilish. I understood that she was trying to protect her son, and she happened to be a very blunt woman.

Well, so was I.

I said, “And what makes you the best judge of your son? He spent his childhood in boarding school.”

“And you’d be a better judge? You’re just a silly little girl,” she retorted, cupping her white wine.

That line did it.

The silly part—saying I’m stupid. And the little girl. I’ve been called so much worse, but by her, it was like a punch-gut blow. And I blew back. I stood up on impulse and splashed my red wine all over her cream blouse.

Her eyes went big like saucers as she sprung from her chair in alarm.

I froze.

Connor set a comforting hand on my shoulder, silently telling me it was okay.

And Katarina pursed her lips, but she didn’t curse me to hell or make a bigger scene. After collecting herself, she calmly set down a napkin and pushed in her chair.

She neared us on her way out, stopping for the last word. “You think you have time for each other now, but when you both get older, you’ll see.” She looked me up and down. “You two continue this path, and you’ll realize that something has to give. And your ambitions will always trump each other. And you, Rose, will be the one sending off your little son to boarding school. Years will pass like minutes, and it will be too late before you realize you’ve missed everything.”

With this, she passed me and Connor to reach the door.

That woman was so full of regrets, and her words suddenly seemed less like insults and more like warnings. My cheeks burned. They still do. I feel so stupid. Like the little girl that she called me.

“She hates me,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose after I chug the champagne.

He steals the bottle from my hands. “She hates herself more,” he replies. “She’s been really nostalgic lately. You just caught her at a bad time.”

“If I gave up my profession for you, would she like me more?” I ask him.

“Yes,” he says. “But I would like you less. You can’t please both me and my mother. You can only make one of us happy.”

I narrow my eyes. I don’t like this fact. I want to squash it immediately.

But he leans close, his hand beside my thigh on the leather seat, and I smell the sweet champagne on his breath. His sultry gaze rakes my body. “Don’t ever quit Calloway Couture for me. Your drive turns me on.” He kisses me roughly, his lips hard against mine. His hand rises up the length of my bare leg, slipping beneath the hem of my black dress and plummeting between my thighs.

I let out a gasp. We’re in his limo, I remind myself.

And then his other hand falls to my neck, unfastening the thin chain.

I clutch the diamond pendant protectively. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to play with you.” He meets my eyes, and his lips curve in that arrogant smile. Instead of wanting to slap him for it, I only want Connor to take control of me.

He pockets my necklace and reveals another familiar piece of jewelry.

“You had the collar in your pocket the whole time?” I ask.

“Yes.” He reaches around my neck and snaps it on carefully, making sure not to pinch my skin.

“Even during dinner?” I say, aghast. His mother was there! …briefly.

He squeezes my chin between his fingers. “It’s a necklace, not a vibrator.”

“It’s a collar, Richard,” I rebut.

“And it looks beautiful on you.”

I go quiet more at the way he’s staring at me than his words. His deep blue eyes consume my features like he wants to fuck all of them. An ache fills me, and as it builds, he places a strong hand on my back and forces my stomach to the leather seat.

I sit up on my forearms and my knees. His movements are so fast and domineering. In a matter of seconds, he hikes up my dress, rips off my panties, and kneels behind me, his pants at his thighs, his boxer-briefs down. His cock hard and exposed.

Fuck…me.

Before he pushes in, he rubs my ass and dips his fingers towards the spot between my legs. “What do you say?” Connor asks.

I smile into the leather. “Please, sir?” I nearly laugh at the words.

He smacks my ass so hard that tears crease the corners of my eyes.

“Don’t call me sir, smartass,” he reminds me sternly, no humor to his voice. I turn to see his face, to check if his eyes say the same. But he grabs me by the collar and forces my face straight.

Fine.

Be that way, Richard.

“What do you say?” he asks again, more huskily this time. He lets out a low groan as he edges closer to me. And he drops his hold on the collar so he can massage my breast, lowering my dress so I’m free for his touch.

When he pinches my nipple, I gasp again.

“Rose…”

I swallow. “Please…fuck me,” I beg. I check to see if the privacy screen is still up in the limo. Yes. Thank God. Gilligan, his driver, has no view of this. But I wonder if he can hear my voice pitch high while my mouth opens in a giant O.

Connor is doing a number on my breast with one hand while his fingers rub my clit with the other. And then his fingers dive into me, filling me so much, and the short plunges try to catapult me into the door.

He scoots me back so I stay a safe distance away from it. And he grips one of my shoulders to fix me to this place.

His motions are decisive, hard and unrelenting.

“Connor!” I cry. He fucks me with his hand so fast that it’s not long before my eyes flutter, and I feel myself clench around him. The high is there—in sight. At the top of the hill. Just a few more—

He stops.

Pulls his brilliant fingers out. Every part of me, mind and body, pleads and aches for him.

I think I hate him now.

“I know you’re glaring and I can’t even see your eyes,” Connor tells me. “Would you call that intuition or magic?”

Well, Connor doesn’t believe in magic. If Hogwarts actually existed I’m sure they’d send an owl to shit on his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say rather than answering the question. I try to relax my face.

And then his long, hard cock barrels into me. Holy…

My arms weaken beneath me and I moan into the seat, biting the leather at one point. Fuck…fuck…

My thoughts have been fucked into submission—only curse words passing through.

Fuck…me…

He holds onto the crease of my hips and ass as he slams into me from behind. Thank God, not in the ass. I am nowhere near ready for that.

His breathing is more controlled than my ragged gasps. But he lets out deep, satisfied groans that vibrate my core. Each thrust against my body jellifies my limbs until I am being supported only by his hold around my waist.

Fuck…ahh…fuck, fuck, fuck… “Connor!”

And then the driver turns sharply, and my whole body jerks forward with the car, my head slamming into the door handle. Hard. My vision darkens to black for a split second before dots flicker in my eyes.

“Dammit,” I barely hear Connor curse.

I’m disoriented from the climax and the cranial impact.

I gather my senses when I’m in his arms, on his lap, his boxer-briefs and pants back up on his waist.

“Rose, Rose.” He snaps in my eyes. “Look at me. Rose!” His head spins to the privacy screen. “Gilligan, we’re going to the hospital!”

What?

“No,” I say softly, finding his gaze and trying to meet it clearly. I blink a few times. “I’m…okay. Just let me…” I touch my head, a knot swelling. I wince. Lovely.

Connor inspects the spot with concern tightening his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes. He rubs my arm and holds me tenderly like he’s trying to mend his favorite toy that he dropped on the ground. The possession feels good. Because it means he’s not going to leave anytime soon, and that he won’t ever hurt me. On purpose, that is.

“It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

He grimaces at that word. “I’m not a child who wet the bed. This is serious.”

“Adults have accidents.”

“You were unconscious for a few seconds, Rose.” He carefully slips my dress back over my shoulders, covering my breasts. The tender affection is a side of him that I dearly love. “I should have held you tighter.” He lets the pain pass through his features. Maybe he doesn’t care if I see his emotions anymore. “Gilligan,” he calls again. “The hospital.”

The driver’s voice sounds through the limo’s speakers. “Already on the way, Mr. Cobalt.”

“I’m okay,” I say again, “just dizzy.”

“I still want to get you looked at.” He places two fingers on my neck, checking my pulse. He studies my features with a focused gaze.

“What are you doing, Richard?” I ask softly. I blink a couple more times to keep his face in my line of vision.

“Making sure you’re fine.”

“You’re my doctor now?” I ask. “How inappropriate. You’re sleeping with your patient.”

He smiles only when he’s satisfied by the tempo of my breathing and all the other parts of me that he was examining.

I know what’s in his heart.

And if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t care so deeply. I just wait (rather impatiently) for the day when he can admit it to himself. If it never comes, then at least I’m smarter than him, able to see something he’s blind to. I’ll take that win if it’s all he’ll give me.

 I rest my head on his chest while the limo speeds down the road. Connor strokes my hair, keeping a trained eye on any bad signs in my movements.

“I feel safe with you,” I tell him, “even if you let me bowl into four car doors.”

“There won’t be a second, third or fourth,” he whispers, his lips beside my ear. His hot breath tickles my skin. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Promises from Connor Cobalt are like oaths spilled in blood.

Translation: I will die for you.

I smile widely.

I will die for you.

That will never get old.