17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
B raxton
I click the end call button, a satisfied grin finding its way to my lips, the voices of my agent and publisher echo in my mind, their excitement about the new manuscript contagious.
"Great moves for Damian Black," they had said, referring to the brooding detective that's been my bread and butter and my albatross. But now, it seems, I've injected enough life into his character to make the critics want more.
I snap the laptop shut, and I lean back in my chair, considering the view from my window. The Mississippi Bay stretches out beyond the glass.
"Fresh starts," I murmur aloud, watching the way the sunlight dances on the waves, thinking about the town and my little neighbor, both of whom were growing on me. My mind wandering back to the last forty-eight hours.
Nursing Rose back to health wasn't part of the plan, yet I did it because I wanted to do it. Needed to take care of her. Caring for someone was something I wasn’t capable of doing before meeting Rose.
Shaking my head at the craziness and speed of it all. This woman, with her tiny denim shorts and rose vine tattoo ankle, has done more than inspire my main book character. She's turned my life upside down in a short period of time and brought out a side in me I didn’t know existed.
Lord, the things I want to do to her.
The restraint it took not to lay a single inappropriate hand on her while she was recovering is a testament to strength I didn't know I possessed. The memory of her innocent blue-green eyes and luscious curves flickers across my mind. My body tightens with the recollection, the desire coursing through me as strong as the whiskey at Salty’s Tap Room.
"Patience, I should be patient with her," I whisper to myself, running a hand through my hair. Not only is she recovering, but I had been clear about not taking her innocence that night in my living room. Resisting her had been the right thing to do. Now that I’ve realized the extent of my desire for her, I know, without a doubt, I have to be her first and her last.
My thoughts drift to the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin, and the way her hair spills in golden waves down her back. I feel the pull of something primal deep within me.
It's time. Time to explore the need I have for Primrose Flowers, to lose myself in her innocence and bring her pleasure she's never known.
Startling me, I hear a splash, breaking up my lusty thoughts. I'm on my feet, striding toward the French doors that lead to the backyard. The afternoon sun winks at me as I push them open, and there she is.
My Rose, with that sweet smile that could make a man sin.
"Rose!" My voice carries over the water, but it's more of a huff of amusement than anything. Her laughter tinkles back at me like wind chimes.
"Mr. Barrows, I think Honeybun has the right idea. No better way to cool off than sneakin’ a dip in your neighbor’s fancy pool. It’s hotter’n blue blazes out here," she calls out, her Southern drawl wrapping around each word.
I shake my head, a laugh escaping. That dog of hers, with more energy than sense, paddles around in circles. Rose is floating on her back, her bikini so tiny it should be illegal, the fabric a pale aqua that matches her eyes. Eyes that offer a sexy challenge.
"I’m thinking he must be a bad influence on you," I say, noting the way the water clings to her curves, making her skin glisten.
"Wouldn't want him to have all the fun now, would I?" She bats her eyelashes in a flirty manner.
"You were supposed to stay inside and rest. Feeling better, I take it?"
"Back in the saddle and ready to swim!" she says with a grin, and I smile because I don’t think she knows how badly she mixes up her metaphors and idioms.
"And what about you, Mr. Barrows? You seem all dressed up today." She gestures to my khaki pants and button-up shirt.
My heart’s thumping a heavy rhythm and there's no denying the heat that's building in my blood to be with this woman. Not anymore. "Well, Miss Flowers," I start, taking my glasses off and carefully setting them on the nearby patio table, toeing off my shoes, then stepping closer to the edge of the pool, "let's rectify that situation."
Without another thought, I plunge into the cool water, clothes and all, sending waves crashing over the edges. Her squeal of delight is music to my ears, and when I emerge, shaking water from my hair, she’s laughing.
"Nice dive. I’d rate it a ten, but next time I need to see some skin," she teases, swimming closer.
"Darling, you don't know what you’re asking …," I reply, my voice low with promise.
Before she can get away, I close the gap between us, my hands finding her slender waist. The shock of her soft skin under my fingertips sends a jolt right through me. With a swift movement, I lift her out of the water and onto my shoulder. Her shriek is swallowed by the sound of Honeybun's excited barks.
"Braxton!" she protests, but there's laughter in her voice, and her hands don't push against me. They grip my back, fingers pressing in a way that tells me she's as caught up in this madness as I am.
"Time to dry off," I say, but the implication is clear as day. We're not heading for towels. We're heading for the bedroom.
Her legs kick against my side as I stride out of the pool, water dripping from both of us, leaving wet footprints across the patio. I kick the door closed behind us, the cool air of the house enveloping us.
"Put me down," she says with mock sternness.
"In due time," I answer as I carry her through the hallway.
“But Honeybun…,” she trails off, worried about her baby.
“He’s fine. He knows his way around.” I assure her.
It’s then that she must notice my new dog door.
“Braxton Barrows, you are a big marshmallow!” she says in an accusatory tone, slapping my ass. “You've been spoiling Honeybun all along! I thought you didn’t like my baby?”
“Never said that,” I growl. She doesn’t need to know about all the playtime, bacon, or God forbid his “souvenirs” he brings me daily.
When we reach my bedroom, I put her down gently on the bed; her damp hair fanning out like a halo. There's a moment, a heartbeat, when we simply stare at one another, and everything unspoken hangs between us.
"Rose Flowers," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, "you have no idea what you're in for."
And with that, I claim her lips with mine.