When do I not want him? And there is no better time than now, when I’m feeling at my lowest point. Caden will know how to make me feel better. A teasing comment accompanied by one of his sexy smiles will help me forget. An orgasm will chase away all of my blues. I take off the tank top and boy shorts I wore to bed, leaving them in a pile on the floor. My nipples are already hard and between my thighs I’m wet. Eager.
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.”
“Who’s going to be there?” I ask warily, waiting for her answer.
“Violet, Ryder, and Nigel. Maybe another woman from work, but no Whitney,” she adds hurriedly.
Thank Christ. I haven’t talked to Whitney since I fled her flat and I know she’s pissed at me. I need to call her soon and make up to her, but not yet. She needs more time to get over it. “I like Nigel.”
She smiles. “So do I.”
“I think we should go.” I lean back against the padded headboard, bending my arms behind my head and interlocking my fingers against my neck. “It’s time for you to get back out into the real world, sweetheart.”
Rose rolls her eyes as she grabs a pair of earrings from the top of the dresser, slipping one pearl into her ear, then the other. They’re gorgeous pearls. Perfect luster, perfect color, and the perfect size, they’d get a fair amount on the black market. I know this because if they weren’t Rose’s earrings, they’d already be in my possession. Hell, I probably would’ve already cashed them in and wired the money into Mom’s bank account.
She’d notice, though. She wears them every single day and no way could I risk snagging them. The Poppy Necklace on the other hand … I have no idea where it is. And I’d like to find it.
But the minute I find it, I’m out. Headed back home to cash it in and then go see Mom in Miami.
Thinking of my mother reminds me that I need to call her. This afternoon would be good, since I’ll be alone for the first time since Rose and I got together. Or whatever we can call this … thing we’re doing.
“And what do you do in the real world anyway?” she asks, her voice casual though I know she’s fishing.
Finally. I wondered how long it would take for her to start asking questions.
“I do exactly what you see.” I grip my hands together tight, hating the lie that’s about to fall from my lips. “Travel around, see the world.” Well, part of that is true. I just left off the other part. I tried going to college, but it was too damn expensive and I couldn’t focus. Tried going straight and finding a real job, but that was an epic fail on all accounts. Got Mom the hell out of New York and moved her to Florida, somewhere I’ve thought about going mor
e than once.
But I don’t. Maybe I should. It might be easier, going there. Then I’d have to explain to Mom what the hell I do for a living, but I’ve been lying to her for this long. I can keep it up.
I’m all she has. Stealing keeps her and me afloat. I don’t know how to do anything else.
I am a world-class fuckup.
“Must be tough,” she teases.
“Oh yeah.” I thunk the back of my head against the headboard, wishing it weren’t padded and soft. I need to knock some sense into my stupid brain. Not like I can come clean to Rose, but maybe I can turn my life around for her. I’ve tried before, but I could never stay clean. She could give me purpose, though. A real reason to be good—all for her. If she’d have me.
She won’t have you.
I tell the voice in my head to shut the fuck up.
Rose comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, her gaze wistful as she studies me. “You really shouldn’t sit like that.”
“Sit like what?” The woman straight up makes no sense sometimes. Like right now. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
Slowly she shakes her head as she approaches me. “With your arms behind your head. Your biceps are bulging and your shoulders and chest look exceptionally broad. Makes it hard for me to leave. I’d rather stay here with you.”
Ah, poor Rose. She’s scared to go back to Fleur. She mentioned that she didn’t approve of the woman her father is involved with and that this woman works at Fleur, which makes her uncomfortable. But that’s all I know. And they’re back in New York, not here in London. “Then don’t leave.” I drop my arms and reach for her, but she sidesteps away from me. “Stay with me.”
“You just encouraged me to go and now you’re trying to tempt me to stay?” She laughs. “You’re a bad influence.”
She has no idea.
After ten minutes of heavy kissing, I finally shove her ass out of the suite, glancing around the room after I shut the door behind her. This is the first time I’ve been left alone in the suite. My first opportunity to go through her stuff, and I’m hesitating like a wimp.
I need to see if she has anything of value stashed in her suitcase. Like maybe the Poppy Necklace, because I’d really like to know where it disappeared to. Though she’d be damn crazy to keep that thing in her suitcase. The hotel provides both an in-room safe and an even harder-to-crack safe behind the front desk. The in-room safes are useless. I’ve cracked hundreds of them over the years.
So I decide to go ahead and crack this one. Just for curiosity’s sake. No way would I take whatever I find in there.
My heart squeezes when I open the little metal door and see there’s a box inside. Slowly I reach in, tentatively grabbing the box, as if it’s some sort of wild animal ready to bite my fingers off at any given moment.
Withdrawing the box from the safe, I examine it. It’s old, covered in faded black velvet, and I open it, not surprised at all to see the necklace nestled within. Pink and white diamonds, each cut precise and perfect, each stone chosen for its flawless clarity. The necklace is going to fetch me an absolute fortune when I turn it in to Dexter. He’ll add it to his private collection, never to be seen in public again.
Collectors of rare stolen goods are weird. Me? I’d want to show that shit off, but in this kind of situation, you can’t. Everything’s a secret.
I’m starting to really hate secrets.
Without thought I shut the safe and take the velvet box with me, stashing it deep in the bottom of my duffel bag. Sweat dots my forehead when I zip up the bag and sit back, my heart hammering so hard it’s all I can hear.
I shouldn’t have taken the necklace. If Rose finds out, I’m ruined. Not only because she could rat me out to the police.
But because she’ll hate me for stealing from her. And I can’t blame her.
Muttering under my breath, I go to the closet and slam the door shut, banging the wall with my clenched fist. I don’t know what the hell is going on between me and Rose, but she means something to me. She’s more than a friend. More than a casual fuck. I like her. I could see myself falling for her if I don’t watch it.
Which means I need to fucking watch it.
Grabbing my cell, I call Mom, waiting for her to answer. She does on the third ring, sounding breathless and harried and so fucking annoyed I almost hang up.
But she has caller ID and she will know it’s me on the other end, so I don’t bother. I’d rather get this conversation over with.
“Mom,” I say, and she cuts me off before I can get another word out.
“Caden! Where the hell are you? You need to come home.”
Shit. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, you’re going to be so mad at me.” She’s walking through the house, I can tell by the briskness of her words, the sound of her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. I hear the yip of one of her annoying-as-fuck dogs in the background and I settle heavily in a chair, bracing myself for the bad news.
“What did you do?” I ask wearily, ready for one of her usual excuses, wondering which one it’ll be this time.
“Well, you know I’ve been having trouble lately with my headaches. Did I tell you about them? No? Anyway, I’ve been taking it easy, staying at home because I think the weather is causing them. It’s so blessedly hot here. But I broke down because I needed to go to the store a few days ago so I hopped in the car, went shopping, and when I was done, I had a blinding headache. Positively blinding. It was awful. So miserable. The sun hurt my eyes and not even my sunglasses could help, and those Chanel glasses are some of the best I’ve ever owned. I’ve had them for twenty years. Did you know they were a gift from your father? Well, anyway …”
“Mom,” I interrupt her. “Get to the part where you did something that’s going to make me so mad.”
“Right, right. Fine.” She takes a deep breath. “I became frustrated with the headache and the fact that I couldn’t get rid of it, so I finally just got back into the car and drove home. I miss not having a hired car and driver, Caden. I miss it so much.”
Oh my God. The woman wants and wants. I’ve wondered more than once if she drove Dad to do what he did. Not fair, but …
Yeah. Something to consider.
“So I’m driving. The sun is so bright and traffic was so heavy. I panicked. I don’t do well under pressure, you know. And then I …” Her voice drifts and I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
It’s going to be bad. I think I know where she’s going with this, but I need to hear what she has to say. “You what?”
“I wrecked the car. Oh, Caden, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what happened. One minute I’m driving along and everything is fine, though the headache is making it a bit hard for me to see, but the sunglasses helped a little. And then the next thing another car darts out in front of me and I hit it. God, the noise! The crunching and the squeal of the tires were so loud. I got so scared I swerved right and hit the curb, smashing right into a fire hydrant.”
Of course she did. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were, darling. It was just a mess. Water everywhere. The horn got stuck and went on and on, bleating like a dying cow. The accident made the local news,” she admits, her voice low. She sounds embarrassed. “It was awful.”
Hell. It sounds like my very worst nightmare come to life. “So the car is a lost cause.”
“Both cars a lost cause, and since it was my fault … and the lady got so mad at me she started to yell and was throwing around words like lawsuit and, well, I didn’t know what to do. So I called Stanley.”
Great. Here comes another bill. “Why did you call your lawyer?”
“I thought he could help me. Give me the proper advice I needed,” she admits, her voice small.
“Mom. He just wants to keep you talking so he can then send you a ridiculous bill for three hours’ worth of assistance on a phone call. And he can’t help you yet. You need to talk to the insurance company first.”
&nb
sp; “That’s exactly what Stanley said!” She sounds surprised, like she has zero faith in me and I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Oh, you know me. I get confused about the time change with you being in London. And you’re with your little friend, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“What little friend?” Unease creeps over my skin. What does she know? How could she know who I’m with? Hell, how could she know anything?
“That Mitchell Landers. Remember how pudgy he was when you two were in the seventh grade? That boy drove me crazy. I know he’s the one who introduced you to marijuana,” she says irritably.
I almost want to laugh. Almost. “Mom, I’m the one who gave Mitchell his first joint. Not the other way around.”
“You’re so funny, trying to make jokes during a time like this.” She sighs. “When are you coming home?”
“When do you want me to come home?”
“Tonight? Get on pudgy Mitchell Landers’s jet and come right home, Caden. Come to Miami. I’m tired of you living in the city. That place is awful. I need your help. I’m getting phone calls from the insurance company and I don’t know what to tell them. You’d know what to say.”
Hello, real life, you’ve just come pounding hard on my front door. “I can’t come home tonight. Mitchell’s not leaving London until early next week.” Thank Christ. We’ve both been in agreement about extending our stay here in England. But that leaves me only a few days with Rose before I have to return.
And that’s not enough time.
“Oh, poo. Come home now. Book a flight, then.”
“You can wait a few more days, right?”
“I suppose,” she says sullenly.
“Besides, a last minute flight costs big money and I don’t want to waste a dime. Not after your car accident. God knows what else you’re going to be billed for,” I say, exasperated with her, with my entire life. “I bet the city is going to make you pay for that busted hydrant.”