Fowler Sisters: Stealing Rose Part 11

"My last name. It's Kingsley."

"Are you serious? Of course it is." She tosses her hands up in the air, making her b.r.e.a.s.t.s jiggle, and I jerk my gaze away from her chest.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's such an-arrogant name. Caden Kingsley. Please don't tell me your friends called you King or something silly like that when you were in school."

h.e.l.l, no, they didn't call me that. They teased me unmercifully when my father lost all his money in bad investments and when he became involved in a pyramid scheme. In his shame and embarra.s.sment he did the unthinkable.

Killed himself.

And I've dealt with his choice ever since. Worn it like it was my cross to bear. I hate him for what he did. Hate him for how he destroyed my life, Mom's life, lost all our money until I turned to the one thing that was the easiest fix.

Stealing.

I guess I'm more like my old man than I thought.

"I was born with the name." I shrug, uncomfortable thinking about my past shames. "Not like I chose it."

She's studying me a little too closely and I want to squirm like a little kid. But I don't. I remain as still as I can, returning her stare, wanting her to think she doesn't scare me.

But f.u.c.k, she does. She scares the c.r.a.p out of me. Maybe I should leave. Bail out of here like she wants me to and forget all about this woman.

You won't be able to. It has nothing to do with the necklace or anything that you can gain from her. You just want her. Pure and simple. What's the harm in that?

It's who she is. What she represents. She's exactly the type of woman I need to avoid. Not cling to.

"I should go." I start to rise but she clasps my wrist, her fingers keeping me in place.

"Wait."

I stare at her hand clasped tight around my wrist, then lift my head to meet her imploring gaze.

"Don't go," she whispers.

Go. Go. f.u.c.king go. "What are you saying? You changed your mind?"

Her gaze never leaves my face and I know she's searching for something, some hidden secret I supposedly have. And I do have them. A ton of them. I'm not about to reveal them to her, though. She'll only use them against me. No one knows my secrets. I keep them close to my chest.

It's better that way. Easier.

"Do you want to go to dinner?" She's changing the subject and I'm okay with that. The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn, one I didn't want to deal with.

"With you?" I ask.

She laughs and shakes her head, her grip on my wrist easing, but she doesn't let go. And I like that. "I deserve that, don't I? Yes, with me."

Her honesty is refres.h.i.+ng. The women I've been with always play games. Natural, I guess, considering I'm a game player too. We say one thing and mean another. Being with a woman was always about chasing the pleasure, seeking the o.r.g.a.s.m. Whitney is the only female friend I have and I still end up seeking the o.r.g.a.s.m with her, so much so that I have her conditioned to want it anytime she's with me.

Meaning I'll eventually ruin that friends.h.i.+p too.

"Yeah, that sounds good." The relief in my voice is evident and for once I don't care. I don't want to hide it. For once in my life I'm tempted to be open with a woman.

Real.

More like real scary. What the h.e.l.l am I thinking?

"I need to take a shower first." She waves a hand at me. "So maybe you can turn around so I can go to the bathroom?"

"Are you serious?" I grab her, causing her to shriek. Clamping my hand over her mouth loosely, I roll over so she's beneath me, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against my chest, her sheet-covered legs squirming beneath mine. "Baby, I've seen you completely naked. You rode my face. You came all over my face. And now you're acting shy?"

She struggles against me, reaching out to shove me, and I grab at her wrists, lifting her arms above her head and pinning them there. "Let go of me."

"Don't be embarra.s.sed." I dip my head, brush my nose against her cheek, along her neck. Her struggle eases, her body going limp beneath mine when I run my mouth along her skin, scenting her, tasting her. My body is spent but my c.o.c.k is hard and I'm afraid I could become easily addicted to this woman.

"I'm not used to a man sticking around after s.e.x," she admits softly.

I lift my head so I can look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, they all bail right after, even the ones I'm in a committed relations.h.i.+p with." Her cheeks go red yet again and I kiss her there, my lips pressing into the heated skin of her left cheek, then her right.

"You've been in lots of committed relations.h.i.+ps?" I ask, almost afraid of her answer. Because if she has I should probably go. Now.

"No." The word comes out strangled, though that could be because I slipped my hand down to cup her breast. "I've had one serious boyfriend. And he was the worst of them all. I found out later I wasn't the only woman he was seeing, though I thought I was."

a.s.shole. I may not commit, but at least I don't string women along and pretend I want a relations.h.i.+p with them.

"I shouldn't even be talking to you about this stuff. Like you care." She turns her head to the side, staring at nothing, her body tense.

I kiss her jaw, her lips, my hand still on her breast, gently stroking. Her nipple pebbles against my palm, her body growing warm and pliant beneath me, and I place my mouth at her ear. "Let's take a shower together."

"I don't know ..." Her voice trails off when I kiss and nibble her earlobe.

"I'll wash your hair."

She smiles and lifts her shoulder, trying to shrug me away like she can get rid of me, but I don't budge. "That sounds nice," she admits.

"I'll wash your entire body." I lick her ear, making her s.h.i.+ver.

"Okay," she whispers.

"But no more shyness, all right? I like what I see. I don't want you to be bashful."

Her gaze meets mine, then drops to linger on my mouth before returning to my eyes. "Bashful? You make me sound like one of the Seven Dwarfs."

"You're the one who wanted me to close my eyes so you could run to the bathroom. That sounds like bashful to me." I'm still cupping her breast, and my c.o.c.k is hard as steel where it rests against her belly. "We'd better go take that shower before I give up and f.u.c.k you again."

Her eyes widen the slightest bit. "We don't have any more condoms."

"I'd pull out." Just the thought of coming all over her stomach and chest has my b.a.l.l.s aching.

"I don't have s.e.x without a condom."

"Neither do I."

"The pull-out method is one of the least reliable."

"I've heard that." What the f.u.c.k is wrong with me, suggesting such a thing and not being the least bit concerned about it, either? I'm a f.u.c.king nut job of the highest proportions right about now.

I blame the woman squirming beneath me.

"Yet you suggested it." She's calling me out yet again.

"You think too much." I kiss her nose and climb off of her, standing by the side of the bed with my hand held out. "Come on. Let's go take that shower."

She studies my hand warily, looking as unsure as I feel. There's a heaviness in the room. A sense that the two of us are about to embark on a crazy adventure neither of us will ever fully recover from.

Will she take my hand? Or tell me to get the h.e.l.l out? She should do the latter. It's the safest bet. The easiest out. And I'm always about the easiest out.

But she takes it. Curling her fingers in mine, she allows me to help her out of bed so she's standing in front of me, naked and beautiful. Without a word I lead her into the bathroom and let go of her hand, admiring her a.s.s as she walks over to the shower and starts the water, flicking her fingers in the spray as she waits for it to warm.

"Ready?" she asks when steam starts to billow out of the shower stall.

As I'll ever be.

We end up at a hotel in Trafalgar Square, taking a taxi to get there, one of those little black cabs you see on TV when you're a kid. I've been to England once before, but I was too young to care and not really paying attention to my surroundings.

London is exactly what you'd expect it to be. Bustling and full of people, quick paced and crowded, its streets packed with those red double-decker buses. History is everywhere, staring down at you in the form of one statue or another. They give everyone a statue in this d.a.m.n city. I bet if I paid enough money I could have my own motherf.u.c.king statue erected in some small park.

I tried to feel Rose up in the back of the cab since the driver wasn't paying us any mind but she wouldn't have it, slapping my hands away every time I tried to grab her. You'd think I wouldn't feel the need to grab her, since she gave me a soapy hand job in the shower that had me coming so hard I had to brace myself against the shower wall for fear I'd slip down the drain.

Not that I hadn't returned the favor, fingering her into another o.r.g.a.s.m while my mouth remained tight around her nipple. She's so d.a.m.n responsive, I had her coming in minutes.

"Why are you taking me to another hotel?" I ask her as we enter the building. There's a noisy bar to the right, filled with people around our age dressed to trendy perfection, standing around drinking and talking, loud music blaring over the speakers. I start to head toward the bar but she stops me, dragging me toward a short bank of elevators to the left, just beyond the registration desk.

"We're going to the restaurant up on the roof. It's supposed to be one of those hidden-gem secrets of the city. Violet told me about it. She came here with Ryder a few weeks ago and said the view and the food were excellent." Rose hits the up b.u.t.ton and we wait for the elevator to make its way to the ground floor.

"Better than The Shard?" The newest skysc.r.a.per, close to the London Bridge, is one of the more popular spots for tourists to check out a view of the city. Not that I'd been there, but I'd heard all about it from Whitney.

"Not as crowded, at least. I don't know about better." The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing a crazy interior.

I start to laugh as we walk inside, earning a weird look from Rose. "What's so funny?"

"This elevator looks like a d.a.m.n nightclub." It's dark inside save for the glowing purple and green lights that s.h.i.+ne on the black floor, the little glints of silver embedded in the solid surface s.h.i.+ning bright. The walls are mirrored and covered with a faint black brocade print, and there's even mood music.

"It does," Rose agrees with a little smile. She starts to move as if she's dancing, and I watch in fascination as she sways her hips in time to the music.

She's wearing a short pastel-colored lace dress and I'm not sure if she has panties on beneath it, but now is not the time to check. I'm hungry after expending my energy for the last five hours or so of straight f.u.c.king and eager to get to this restaurant so we can order something to eat.

"You trying to turn me on?" I ask her.

Rose flashes me a smile over her shoulder and shakes her a.s.s. Jesus, the woman is hot. "Maybe."

"It's working." I grab hold of her hips and pull her to me, stifling the groan that wants to escape when her a.s.s brushes against my c.o.c.k. It stiffens, though I can almost hear it protesting in agony, enough already. Let me rest.

She swivels her hips, her a.s.s pus.h.i.+ng against my c.o.c.k, and I hold her still, my mouth against her hair as I whisper, "Do you want me to f.u.c.k you in the elevator?" I bought condoms at the Boots drugstore not far from her hotel, running in to purchase them while she was getting ready, blowing her hair dry and all of those other things women do before they go out on a date.

My entire body goes still. Is that what this is? A date? I've never been on one in my life, not even when I was young. It was all about the hookup. That's all it's ever been. Why let someone get close to me when I had all of these deep, dark secrets I didn't want to share? My life turned into a tragedy, and then it turned into a joke. But the joke was on me and Mom, no one else. We became the punch line and it sucked.

I didn't want to share that with anyone else. Of course, I'd never met anyone like Rose, either.

"I'm just playing." She rests her hands on the outside of my thighs, her touch burning me even through the thick denim of my jeans.

"With fire," I murmur just as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open.

Rose pulls away from me, practically running out of the elevator, and I follow after her down the narrow hallway that turns into an even narrower staircase. She glances down at me, making sure I'm right behind, and I fall into step after her, c.o.c.king my head so I can sneak glances up her skirt.

Just as I thought. The little tease isn't wearing panties. She's going to drive me straight insane before the night is done, I swear.

We reach the top of the stairs and the night air hits me, cool but with that hint of lingering heat that declares summer is coming. Rose sends me a smug look over her shoulder and I'm about to say something when the hostess approaches, a cute, pet.i.te thing dressed all in black, the skirt of her dress so short I'm afraid one wrong move and she'll be showing the world-or at least us-everything she's got.

"Two for dinner or just drinks?" the hostess asks, her accent thick, a little sneer curling her upper lip.

"Dinner, please." I wrap my arm around Rose's waist, pulling her into me. She goes willingly, her curves fitting perfectly against my side, and we follow the hostess to a high table that faces directly out over Trafalgar Square. She hands us our menus with a quick smile and then scurries away.

"If she would let me, I would so give her a makeover," Rose says as she flips open the menu. "If I suggested it, though, she'd probably be insulted."

"You think she needs a makeover?"

Rose glances at me from over the top of her menu. "Did you see all the eyeliner she had on? And mascara? h.e.l.l yes, she needs a makeover. When I was in high school I worked the Fleur counter at Bloomingdale's for one summer. I was sixteen and loved it."

"Really? One of the Fowlers working the makeup counter?" I'm surprised. Figured they would think that sort of work beneath them.

She sends me an irritated look. "My grandma made me and my sisters do it at one point or another. I'm the only one who enjoyed it, though. I loved giving makeovers."

"Why?" I forget about the menu and my hunger and wait for her answer. I like that she's opening up to me. Though of course, her opening up means she probably expects me to do the same.

And I don't know if I can.

"I don't know." She shrugs, her expression thoughtful. "It was fun, to make that transformation happen. And to see the joy on the women's faces when they saw what I did, it made me feel good. I didn't even care about selling them the product. I just wanted to make them happy."

"Isn't that the point of a makeover at a cosmetics counter? So you can sell them the product?"

"Yes, and I failed miserably at that part. I'd take over an hour on a woman's makeup and let her walk without spending a dime." Rose shakes her head. "I was awful."

"Sounds like you did it just for the fun of it."

She smiles wistfully. "I did. That was the one time when working for Fleur truly felt like fun." Her smile falls, and it's as though she just caught herself in a terrible confession. "Lately working for Fleur, sometimes it feels like so much ..."