“Maybe I am depressed,” I mutter, glancing out the window. I stare at the building across from me, the open windows full of happy people in their sunny flats. I see a couple enter their living room, holding hands as they turn toward each other and kiss.
Ugh. Romance. I look away.
“What happened to my tough, feisty little sister? The one who always had a smart comment and loved to give me endless crap?” Violet asks, sounding incredulous. “Because I know I’m not talking to that girl right now. It’s like she’s disappeared.”
“She sort of has,” I admit with a sigh, flopping backward so I lie sprawled across the bed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You know what I think? You need to do something different. After you graduated college, you immediately threw yourself into Fleur, and there’s been no looking back. It’s all work, work, work. It’s not healthy. You need to take some time for you.”
Really? The nerve of Violet. She’s no different. “You did the same exact thing,” I point out to her, and she laughs nervously.
“Yes, well … then I met Ryder. And he’s turned my world completely upside down in the best possible way.” I swear to God I can feel her blushing over the phone. My silly, embarrassed older sister.
“Are you saying he taught you how to take some time just for you?” I’m digging and I don’t really care if she gets mad or not. She’s the one who started this conversation.
“He’s taught me a lot of things,” she says softly. Vaguely. “More than anything, he taught me it’s okay to give up some—control.”
I don’t believe it. “Really? You, the ultimate control freak, learned how to give up control?”
“I’m not talking about business. I mean more like with my personal life,” Violet admits.
Hmmm. I think I know where she’s going with this conversation. And I’m delightfully shocked. “Are you talking about your sex life?”
“Rose!” She laughs nervously.
This conversation is hilarious. And enlightening. I didn’t know Violet had it in her, talking about sex. She’s always so straitlaced. She leaves the wild stuff to Lily. And lately, to me. “Give me a break. You’re the one who started this.”
“Fine, fine. You’re right. Yes. I’m talking about my sex life. There’s something rather … freeing in letting a man take over,” she admits, her voice low.
“Why, I never imagined you saying anything like this to me. Ever,” I say, stressing the last word. “Though I knew the minute I first saw him that Ryder McKay had a sexy streak in him a mile long.”
“I don’t even want to talk about this with you,” she says.
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “What? You’re not going to tell me Ryder’s penis size? Because I’m sure he’s got a monster in his trousers.” I’m trying to irritate her, like the old days.
It feels good.
“You’re disgusting,” she says good-naturedly. And that tells me all I need to know.
Ryder McKay’s penis is most likely ginormous. Lucky bitch.
“Whatever. Your protesting is way too happy.” I pause with a little sigh. “Okay, I’ll go.”
“Wait. What?”
She’s going to make me say it again on purpose. Fine. I’ll play along. “I’ll stop by the pub and have a drink. If it’s not my scene, I’m out. Are you happy now?”
“Yes, I’m happy.” And she really does sound happy, too, which makes me feel bad. I’ve let my sister down. I’ve worried her, and I hate that. “It’ll totally be your scene, I swear. Very low key. You know me. I don’t like to party and get drunk.”
No. She really doesn’t. We’ve both seen what happens when someone loses all control and parties nonstop, thanks to our big sister.
“Just stop by, have a drink, maybe eat dinner with us if you’re feeling comfortable,” Violet continues. “And if you’re not, you can leave after one beer.”
“I don’t even drink beer. Neither do you,” I say as I stare at the ceiling.
“I do now. Ryder’s taught me how to appreciate a good beer,” she says, sounding haughty, all while talking about freaking beer.
“I’m sure,” I say dryly, making her laugh. “Tell me what time and I’ll be there.”
We hang up after she gives me the details and I realize I have maybe two hours to get ready. I hop into the shower—first one I’ve taken in two days; yes, maybe Violet is right, I am disgustingly pitiful—and I soak under the hot spray of water for far too long, finally shutting it off before I turn into a complete prune.
I slather on lotion and do my hair. Apply makeup—the latest from Fleur, of course—and thumb through the clothes I brought with me that are hanging in the closet. I haven’t even gone shopping since I arrived in London, so it’s all old stuff. Boring.
With the exception of a sweet little summer dress I brought with me. Late spring in London has been warm and I know I can get away with the thin cotton dress, especially if I bring a sweater with me.
But I don’t want to bring a sweater. I slip the dress on, not bothering with a bra or even panties. It fits loose, the top a blue-and-white stripe with a button-up bodice, and the floral print skirt falls just above my knees, swinging about my legs in an almost flirtatious way. The mix of patterns shouldn’t work but somehow it does, and when I stop in front of the mirror on the back of the bathroom door I stare at myself.
I look young. Carefree. I’d curled my hair after drying it, just the ends, and it falls past my shoulders in free-flowing waves. The makeup is subtle since I always apply it with a light hand, and I have pearl studs in my ears. My mom’s earrings—we were all given a different pair from her jewelry collection when we turned sixteen.
Life has been so harried lately that I haven’t done much relaxing. Maybe my down-in-the-dumps wallowing in my hotel room has done me wonders.
I know I definitely feel good. The perk in my step as I make my way down the sidewalk toward the pub is a good sign too. The sun shines upon my skin, warming me, and I smile at a cute guy in a crisp suit as we pass each other by, thrilled by the light of awareness I see in his gaze.
When was the last time I was with a guy? I’ve been on a few dates since I broke up with my last boyfriend. That breakup messed with my head, but I’m over him now. I fooled around with a few of those dates, but nothing serious. I’ve been far more intimate with my vibrator lately—a gift I received at a bridal shower when I won one of those stupid games we’re always required to play. It had been a bit of a gag when they handed it over, much giggling and tossing around of innuendo-filled comments when I pulled the silver bullet out of the gift bag.
But that little silver bullet has come in handy over the last few months. It’s almost embarrassing to admit. I’m a girl in my early twenties. The world is my oyster and all that crap. I should be having the sexual time of my life with a hot guy, not a discreet vibrator I hide in my bedside drawer.
I immediately think of the guy I met in Cannes and I slow my steps, allow myself to daydream a little bit. He’d been hot. Tall and broad, with that gorgeous face and the sun-kissed hair. The perfect lips and that long, slightly rough index finger circling around my nipple …
“Watch it!”
The man’s voice startles me and I leap out of the way of the bicyclist riding past, who sends me a menacing glare. I return the glower, pissed that I almost ran into him, pissed even more that he had to yell at me like that.
Jerk.
I guess that’s what I get for daydreaming about sexy strangers who kiss me and abandon me, all in a matter of five minutes. Was the entirely too brief incident in Cannes a sign of things to come? Is that what I have to look forward to? Becoming consumed with work, having missed opportunities, and going home alone every night?
How depressing.
Stopping short, I realize I’m in front of the White Swan. It’s a beautiful pub, the exterior painted black with white-framed windows, the name painted in gold. Flowers spill out of boxes set just above
the pub, and a giant lantern flickers as it swings gently to and fro with the breeze.
Nerves assail me out of nowhere and I bite my lower lip, unsure if I should enter or not. Why am I cautious now? It’s no big deal. If I hate hanging out with Violet’s friends, I can leave.
“Rose.”
I glance up to see Violet standing in the doorway of the pub, looking adorable in a flippy black skirt and a plain white T-shirt, a bold, chunky silver necklace dressing up the outfit. Slowly I approach her, pleased at the smile on her face, the way she glances down at her left hand and twists the diamond ring Ryder just gave her into place.
My sister looks so happy. And I’m filled with the sudden need to keep on making her happy, too.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Violet says as she pulls me into a hug.
I cling to her for probably a little too long, but she doesn’t protest. “I’m glad I came too,” I admit as I pull away from her.
She sends me a look, one I recognize and that I’ve received many times. It’s the stern, I’m-going-into-mother-mode look she’s so fond of giving me. I step back and she holds out my arms, examining me before she nods her approval. “Cute dress.”
“Love your outfit too,” I return.
Violet takes my hand and pulls me into the pub. “It’s casual Friday at the office. You’d know this if you came in once in a while.”
“Give me a break,” I murmur, hoping she won’t keep badgering me for not going to the Fleur offices. I want a guilt-free night, not one where my sister is trying to make me feel bad.
“All the single guys in here are going to give you the eye, what with the short skirt,” she continues as she pulls me through the pub. It’s already crowded, filled with plenty of the work types who are just off for the weekend, many of the men clad in fashionable suits and with equally fashionable haircuts. The place practically breathes GQ.
“Maybe I’m trying to attract a few guys. Looks like there are plenty to choose from,” I observe.
Violet flashes me a smile from over her shoulder. “Well, you’re a breath of fresh air compared to the corporate working girls who usually fill this place up. You’re all cute and flirty tonight.”
I feel cute and flirty tonight. And I like it.
A lot.
“Okay, here we are. This is my sister Rose, everyone. Rose, this is … everyone,” Violet announces as she stops at a round table filled with people. I stand at her side, releasing her hand as Ryder gets up from where he’s sitting and approaches me, giving me a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Rose,” he says with a cheeky smile before he releases me and kisses Violet full on the lips, making her wobble a little on her feet.
I’m so caught up in my sister and her future husband that when I finally check out the friendly faces sitting at the table, my gaze snags on one in particular. A rather familiar face. One I had just been thinking about, believing I’d never see him again.
My mysterious stranger. The man who kissed me senseless, squeezed my ass, and then walked away from me as if I were a brief pit stop.
“Rose.” Ryder slings his arm around my shoulders, the grin on his face infectious despite my shock. I think he’s had a few beers already. “I’d like you to meet our friends.” He starts the introductions and I nod and smile at them, murmuring a hello as I try to avoid my stranger. Because really, this is incredibly embarrassing and weird considering the last time I saw him I was naked.
In his arms.
His hands on my ass and his tongue in my mouth.
“And this is Whitney,” Violet pipes up, going to stand beside a beautiful, very blond and very icy woman who’s wearing a brittle smile that could shatter at any moment. Her eyes are big and blue, her hair shaped into a stylish bob that frames her heart-shaped face perfectly. I think I hate her. “She’s my dearest friend since arriving in London. I know you’ll adore her.”
Considering the proprietary way she’s snugly pressed against my mysterious stranger, I’m sure I’ll just adore her too.
Not really.
“So nice to meet you,” I say weakly at Whitney, and she nods and murmurs much the same. Not that I really hear her.
My gaze is stuck on my stranger, who’s staring at me with the same sort of bewilderment that I’m feeling. He looks completely different tonight compared to the last time I saw him. Wearing jeans and a faded red T-shirt, his light brown hair mussed, stubble covering his cheeks, those intense brown eyes locked on mine. He looks like … a regular guy.
A gorgeous regular guy, though, most definitely.
“And this is Whitney’s friend Caden. He just came into town,” Violet says, patting Caden—hearing his name just made me shiver, oh my God—on the shoulder.
“Caden.” I repeat his name, liking the way it feels on my tongue, how it sounds when I say it. It’s a good name, strong and sexy, and it fits him. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and the disappointment that hits me as I watch Whitney put her arm around his shoulders and nuzzle his cheek with her nose almost makes me sag in defeat.
Almost.
Instead, I stand a little straighter and glance over at my sister, giving her a look that says plenty without having to utter a word. She rushes over to my side, asking Ryder to order me a beer, and I let her take over, finding me a seat, offering me a menu as she settles beside me and leans in close, her gaze imploring.
I tilt my head, my lips at her ear. “I know him.”
“Who?” She scrunches her brows, confused.
Dipping closer, I practically eat her ear as I whisper, “Caden.”
“How?”
Pressing my lips together, I move away from her, shaking my head. Can I tell her who he is? She’ll be shocked and heaven forbid, she might go to Whitney and ask about Caden. The last thing I want to happen.
He doesn’t deserve my attention and least of all, my interest. I am absolutely, 100 percent not interested in him. Not at all.
Nope.
So it means nothing that I polish off my beer in about five minutes after receiving it. And that I order a steak dinner—make that rare—and eat it with relish, drinking another beer … and then another. I’m laughing and joking with Ryder and one of his friends—his name is Nigel and he’s cute as can be, but I’m afraid he might play for the other team. Or maybe he doesn’t; I don’t know. But they help me forget, Ryder and Nigel. And Violet.
Yes, I’ve forgotten all about my mysterious, handsome not-a-stranger. How every time I glance in his direction he’s watching me. At first he looked away, as if he didn’t want to be caught.
But after about the tenth meeting of gazes, he doesn’t even blink. He’s blatantly staring at me and I can’t look away. Violet is engaged in some deep conversation with Whitney—God, I hate her and I don’t even know her, what is wrong with me?—and Ryder is listening to some work story Nigel is telling.
I’m staring. Caught. Trapped by his gaze, and I want to be. My head is spinning. My body is … aching. Caden’s gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for what feels like forever, and my lips tingle. As if he’s just kissed them. And then his gaze drops lower, to my chest, and my nipples harden. Like I have no control over them, which I really don’t since I’m not wearing a bra and whoops, I’m not wearing panties, either, because I wanted to feel young and flirty tonight.
It’s as if my body knew and prepared itself. The restlessness has hit me full force and I squirm in my chair, my heavy breasts brushing against the thin fabric of my dress almost painful.
I can’t take it.
Touching Ryder’s arm, he turns to look at me questioningly and I murmur, “I’ll be right back.”
He frowns. “You okay?”
“Just going to the ladies’,” I reassure him as I get up and leave the table.
I can feel Caden’s eyes on me as I walk away, and I’m tempted to look back so I can gauge his reaction.
But I don’
t look back. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I stare straight ahead, making my way through the crowded pub, toward the hall on the opposite end of the room where the bathrooms are located.
Once I make it inside, I brace my hands on the edge of the counter and stare at myself in the mirror. Again. Just like earlier, before I left my hotel room. Though now I look different. My cheeks are flushed, as is the skin on my chest, and my nipples are still poking against the fabric of my dress. My hair has lost some of its curl and my eyes sparkle with an almost unnatural glow.
I look drunk.
I look aroused.
I am definitely both.
The door swings open and my gaze darts to the doorway in the mirror’s reflection, my mouth dropping open in shock before I whirl around. “What are you doing?”
Caden closes the door and leans against it, his arm sneaking out behind him to turn the lock. He doesn’t answer my question. He doesn’t say a word as he pushes away from the door and stalks toward me. His stride is predatory, his expression full of dark intent.
I grip the counter, my fingers tight around the tiled edge, my knees weakening as he draws closer. The scent of him—citrusy and clean—washes over me and I part my lips, the protest dying when he reaches out and touches my cheek. His touch is gentle, his fingertips rough as they slide across my skin, into my hair. My eyelids waver and my vision grows fuzzy when he presses his body to mine and dips his head, his mouth hovering above mine. His breath wafts over my lips and pleasure swamps me, settling between my legs, making me damp.
Making me weak.
Chapter Six
Caden
The moment we arrived at the pub and Whitney introduced me to Violet and Ryder, Violet mentioned her sister would be joining us later.
And I knew she wasn’t referring to Lily.
It was still a shock, seeing Rose approach the table. I thought her stunning the night of the movie premiere but seeing her now, in her pretty little dress that exposes a lot of leg, her hair down and her entire appearance so natural …