Chapter 10
Roman
Iwake up with Eloise on my mind. Again.
It’s been like this since Thursday, her smile and laughter haunting me in the best way. Her glassy eyes and hurt expression haunting me in the worst way.
Of course I’d wanted to fix it. I’d do fucking violence for her if she needed me to. Without a second thought. Because she’s mine.
Or at least, that’s how I’ve started to think of her.
Which is ridiculous.
I’ve known her for barely a minute, and already I’m possessive over her. But I can’t help it. There’s something about her that draws me in, makes me want to claim her as my own.
I roll out of bed, my cock hard. Which isn’t unusual, especially lately. I think I’ve beaten off almost every morning since the day I met Eloise, thinking about her.
If she still wants me—hopefully she does, but she seems like the type of woman who might change her mind at the spur of the moment—I know I won’t have a problem pretending to be her boyfriend.
Hell, I won’t be pretending any kind of attraction to her. It’s hot and bright, right there in the middle of my chest. And straining against my underwear every morning.
Mazie’s in the living room, watching her favorite cartoon.
The theme song drifts down the hallway, and I know I have a few minutes to myself, so I slip into the bathroom, turning on the shower.
But before I even step under the spray, I mindlessly wrap my hand around my cock, too keyed up to wait for the water to heat.
I lean against the counter, eyes closed as I stroke myself.
I picture Eloise here with me, her green eyes bright with desire, stripping off her clothes to reveal each and every one of her curves, inch by delicious inch.
I bet she’s soft everywhere, her skin smooth and creamy, from her face to her toes and everywhere in between.
I imagine her nipples, big and perfect, hardening under my touch.
How they’d feel under my tongue. How she’d moan when I sucked on them.
My hand moves faster, my grip tightening as I think about how she would taste, my mouth on her pussy. Definitely not of sugar and cinnamon, but of something better. Something wholly mind-altering. I know I’d crave her every day if I ever had the chance to lick up her sweet little treat.
I imagine her laid out on my bed, messy blond hair spread across my pillow, her legs open and welcoming.
I can almost hear her breathy cries as I sink into her, legs wrapped around my waist, tits pressed up against my chest, fingers in my hair.
I’d pound into her until all she could do was scream my name.
I come with a groan, my release spilling over my hand, and I clean up quickly, stepping into the shower to wash away the evidence.
But even as I soap up, my mind is still on Eloise.
But now I remember how she explained to her best friend and a perfect stranger that her family routinely makes her feel like shit.
How Clara marched into my shop, informing me that Ian needed my help with an emergency, only to find my brother wasn’t even there. But yes, there was an emergency.
Eloise crying is a travesty.
I’ve never and would never hit a woman in my life, but I’m not averse to telling her mother, aunt, and cousin to get fucked. It would be my absolute pleasure. Truly give me happiness.
After my shower, I dress and find Mazie still glued to the TV with Steve cuddled in her arms. “Morning, Maze,” I say, ruffling her hair and then between the rabbit’s ears. “You ready for breakfast?”
She lifts her hands, Steve awkwardly dangling between them, feet out, ears down. “You didn’t say good morning to Steve.”
I take him from her and hold him against my chest, murmuring a quiet greeting into his fur. This guy’s great for stress. I bet Eloise would love him.
Mazie stands on the couch, jumping until I glower at her. She immediately falls to her butt. “Can we go to Sweet Cheeks?”
I shake my head. “You can’t eat cinnamon rolls every day.”
She pouts, but only for a second. Then she grins up at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I like Eloise.”
“Yeah?” I put Steve back in his bunny condo.
“I like her ’cause she likes pink like me and let me stay at the table with her. ’Member that? When she let me hand out those cards? And she makes lots and lots and lots of cimanin rolls.”
“Cinnamon,” I correct, turning back to her.
“And she’s pretty and nice and makes you smile,” she adds, standing from the couch.
I pause mid-step in reaching for her. Mazie’s only six, but sometimes she sees more than I give her credit for. “She does, huh?”
“Uh-huh. You smile at her like you smile at me. Like you’re happy.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I don’t have a lot of time to consider just how much I like Eloise because Mazie starts in on where else I might take her for breakfast. Forever trying to convince me take her out.
I’ve been trying to adjust my schedule to fit Mazie’s and take off as many weekends and evenings as possible.
It severely cuts into work hours and, therefore, money, but it’s more important for me to have time to spend with my kid.
We went out to eat yesterday and caught a movie, where we shared a refillable popcorn.
My daughter can take down a large popcorn like it’s nothing. I refilled that thing twice.
“We’re not going out today,” I tell her.
“Because we’re staying home to play Barbies?”
I blow out a breath. I hate playing Barbies because she always tells me I’m doing it wrong.
As if there is a right or wrong way to make plastic dolls sit.
Apparently, my Barbie voice is not lifelike enough.
And I can’t ever get the tiny goddamn clothes on and off them.
Most of the time, my doll’s naked, like I’m some kind of pervert.
“No, I need to do some things around the house. You said you wanted me to paint your bedroom pink, right?”
“Yes!” She freezes, fist mid-pump. “But Barbies first.”
“What? No. I’m not wasting time playing Barbies.”
She positions her hands on her hips. “You haven’t played with me in soooo long, Daddy. It’s rude.”
“Rude?” I wrench my head back, a mix of amusement and melancholy settling in my stomach.
My kid is so funny—and also really smart.
She’s curious and inquisitive, always so interested in learning about the world.
She reminds me so much of my mom. A person who took genuine interest in everything and everyone around her.
The older my daughter gets, the more I wish my mom could have known Mazie.
I think they would have been best friends.
It’s why I chose Violet as her middle name. I wanted her to have something from the woman who was my world growing up. Now, as my world grows up, I am happy to know she takes very little after me. Even less after her mother.
She is Violet Stone through and through.
“Yeah. Finley in my class taught me that word. It’s rude. You’re rude for not playing with me all the time.”
“I can’t play with you all the time. I’m an adult. I need to work so you can be a kid and play.”
“But you’re supposed to play with me because you’re my daddy. Who else am I going to play with?”
It’s been only Mazie and me for a long time, and she’s used to it, but this was why I moved us here, so she could have more people in her life to play Barbies with. Not solely me.
Still… “You get fifteen minutes of Barbies after breakfast.”
“Woo-hoo!” She races off to the kitchen. “Fuck yes! I’m gonna have Cocoa Puffs, and then we’ll play Barbie camping.”
I heave a sigh and fall onto the couch, my head back and eyes closed.
Is it bedtime yet?
Before I head into work Monday morning, I stop in at Sweet Cheeks, hoping to catch Eloise.
She’s behind the counter, loading trays of fresh pastries behind the bakery case, hair up in a messy bun, stray wisps framing her face, and she’s wearing a pink apron dusted with flour. Fuck, she’s adorable.
She glances up when the door opens, and I absently rub at my chest when she hits me with her smile. “Hi! I can’t believe you’re here so early.”
“Morning, sunshine,” I reply, even though I don’t even think she hears me since she immediately starts up her engine.
“But you know what? I’m glad you’re here early.
We can get this out of the way.” She puts the empty trays aside, not meeting my eyes.
“I’ve been going over and over this all weekend, and I know you said you’d help and you’re so sweet for that, but I think it’s a really bad idea.
The shower was a nightmare. My mom was relentless, asking me questions about my boyfriend, and to be honest, I did consider saying it was you, but I thought that was weird because we don’t even really know each other that well, and what would I say?
He’s twenty-seven feet tall and gorgeous?
I mean, she probably wouldn’t even believe me. ”
I shrug, playing it cool with the gorgeous comment. “I don’t think she would believe you saying anyone was twenty-seven feet tall, boyfriend or not.”
She giggles, sounding a bit nervous, and plays with her necklace. It looks like a mini tire, pink, gold, and black. She rolls it between her fingers as she rounds the counter.
I almost reach for her but shove my hands into my pockets instead while she continues, “My aunt was a complete bitch. Condescended to me about showing up on time then didn’t even say thank you to me or anyone else who helped set it all up then stayed to clean.
And Lily kept going on and on about her perfect, stupid life and—”
“Lily’s your cousin, right?”
She nods. “So, yeah, I think we should forget about you coming with me to the wedding. It’s a terrible idea, and I would never force you to hang out with them.
Pretend I never even mentioned it or the whole fake boyfriend thing, okay?
” She claps, waves her hands back and forth, then snaps like she’s performing a magic trick or something and squeezes her eyes shut. “Forgotten.”
Unfortunately for her, she can’t erase time or my memory, and I’m still standing in front of her when she opens her eyes to me again. Clearly disappointed, she wrinkles her nose.
I rub my palm over my mouth, smothering my smile.
It’s too easy to relax with her, enjoy it—her energy and, hell, her silliness. She’s beautiful and funny and clever. All I want to do is be around her. Cloak myself in everything she loves, so that I can love it with her.
“I won’t forget,” I tell her. “And I’ll do it.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ll go to the wedding with you.”
Before I even fully have the words out, she squeals and throws her arms around me in a hug, and I not-so-surreptitiously drag my nose over her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo mixed with cinnamon.
She pulls back slightly to look up at me, her eyes sparkling. “Are you sure about this? You really don’t have to.”
I brush a loose strand of hair from her face. “I’m sure.”
“It’s a terrible idea. You pretending to be my boyfriend.”
“Maybe,” I agree. Though it’s the perfect excuse to spend more time with Eloise and get to know her better, without the pressure of an actual relationship.
Because as drawn as I am to her, I’m still not sure I’m ready to dive into anything real.
Not with my past still hanging over me like a dark cloud.
“You’re going to hate the wedding,” she says, and there’s no doubt about that.
“Most definitely.”
She tosses her head back to laugh, and I barely restrain myself from planting my lips on her throat, tasting her skin over her pulse point. With a pat to my shoulders, she steps away from me, but I let my hands linger on her sides.
“Do I have permission to tell your family to go to hell?”
She tips her head to the side. “To do that, you’d have to talk to them. You really want to do that?”
“Not particularly. Unless it’s to tell them to go to hell.”
She thinks on this for a moment. “No, no telling anyone to go to hell, but that’s a good idea. We should go over the rules or permissions or whatever.”
“Rules?”
“Yeah.” She vaguely gestures between us. “What we can say, if or where we can touch each other, you know?”
I have no rules, and she has all my permissions. Matter of fact, if she could start at my chest and make her way down to my dick, that’d be great.
“Maybe we should go out,” she says and then immediately backtracks. “No, never mind. I’m already asking so much of you—”
“Dinner?”
She stills. “Hmm?”
“Let’s go to dinner and talk about your rules or permissions or whatever.”
She playfully smacks at my arm when I parrot her words back to her, as if she thinks I’m kidding.
I step toward her, crowding her against the glass counter.
I’m careful not to touch it and leave handprints she would need to clean up, though I’m all but crushing her.
I can feel each of her inhales and exhales against my neck, her tits brushing my chest with every breath.
Reaching around her, I snag her cell phone from the top of the case and enter my phone number into her contacts before setting it back down.
“Text me a night that’s good for you. I’ll find a babysitter for Mazie,” I tell her, and she nods, a bit like a bobblehead.
I allow myself one last touch, a pinch of her chin, and then I force myself to leave.
Because my feelings for and attraction to Eloise are anything but fake.