Chapter 40 #2
As Sloane gathered her things, she gave Rosalie an apologetic look.
I crossed the room with measured steps. The space around me and Rosalie seemed to blur, and my vision zeroed in on her as I approached. “Rosalie,” I began, stopping at the edge of the bar. “I thought I’d made myself clear last time.”
Her expression hardened, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she settled on the barstool. “Yes, you made yourself very clear,” she replied sharply.
My back stiffened. “You have choices, Rosalie, and time and time again, you choose poorly.”
She looked down at me. “Oh, let me guess—you always make the right ones, hmm?” Her words were slurred by alcohol. She was unmistakably drunk, which changed things.
“No. I don’t always make the right choices,” I admitted, my voice softer this time. “But I try to learn from them, which is more than I can say for you right now.”
“Is that why you smell of smoke?” she asked.
Was it really that strong of a smell? I’d hoped she wouldn’t notice it since she didn’t like it, but I’d figured she wasn’t kissing me, so it didn’t really matter.
“You should know . . . I actually like it when you taste like smoke.”
Was she flirting with me? Now? When I was supposed to be mad? That little smirk, the way she looked at me—she knew I was losing my grip, and she was loving every second of it. Damn it.
Then I realized she was just trying to sweet-talk her way out of this.
“I don’t have time for this, Rosalie—this constant back-and-forth. I have people to deal with.”
“You’re always so grumpy. So hotheaded.”
“Always?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I seem to remember being very lenient with you these past few weeks. More than lenient, actually. I’ve been quite patient, all things considered.”
She took a deep breath, probably to buy herself some time to come up with a response, but ultimately, she had nothing. She knew I was right. Still, she smiled. “Well, honey, you can continue being patient over there.” She pointed to the corner of the room.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Over there?” I echoed, glancing in the direction she was pointing.
“Yes, over there,” she reiterated with a nod.
“And what makes you think you can tell me what to do, Rosalie?” I asked, folding my arms and giving her a pointed look.
She grinned. “Isn’t that one of the perks of marrying you?”
Rosalie was under the illusion she was in charge, but she was far from it.
“The only person who will ever be in charge of me is my wife. You may be wearing my ring, but the wedding papers are still missing your signature,” I reminded her.
Her smile faltered slightly, though she quickly masked it with an arched eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” I said, holding her stare, “and you’re welcome to change that whenever you see fit.”
“Oh, much as I’d love to tell you what to do, I prefer my freedom. Marrying you would be like having a ball and chain wrapped around my ankle.”
Her words were teasing, but I still felt the sting.
“That’s not a bad idea. It would keep you from sneaking around behind my back, wouldn’t it?”
“Sneaking around behind your back? I don’t sneak—I walk right in front of you.”
I chuckled at her audacity. “Should I be watching you more closely?”
Rosalie lifted herself off the stool and took a step closer, closing the distance between us. “You can watch all you want.”
“Watch all I want, huh?” I questioned, my voice dropping lower, matching her soft whisper. “What if I decide I want more than just to watch?”
“Well, that would depend on what you think you’re entitled to.”
The distance between us was practically nonexistent now, and I could feel the warmth of her breath as she spoke.
“Entitled? No,” I murmured. “But maybe . . . what I’ve earned.”
“Earned? That’s a bold claim. What exactly do you think you’ve earned?”
“I think we both know the answer to that, Rosalie.”
“Hmm. Too bad those papers are still missing my signature, huh?”
She was testing me. Irritating me. Frustrating me—and she was doing it all on purpose too.
She was feisty, and all that did was make my dick hard.
I had earned her. I’d done nothing but prove to her I was a gentleman.
I’d done nothing but prove to her my patience was unwavering, focused on her, and only her.
Much as I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, I was getting tired of waiting.
The front door swung open after Rosalie turned the handle. The alcohol in her system seemed to have worked its magic on the thirty-minute drive home. I wondered how much she’d had to drink.
She stumbled slightly, and I tightened my grip on her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. “I’ve got you,” I reassured her. With my other arm wrapped around her waist, I guided her through the doorway.
“Oh, please, Romano. I’m not drunk off one drink,” she protested, letting out a huff. The smell of gin clung to her.
One drink, my ass.
She attempted to pull away but swayed slightly. I steadied her again, unable to suppress a smile at her stubbornness.
As we moved into the living room, I redirected her toward the stairs. She stumbled in her ridiculously high heels on the edge of the rug, and I gripped her waist tighter, earning myself a glare.
“Think you can manage?” I asked.
She lifted her right foot onto the first step and took a confident step forward. “If you let me go now, I’ll fall.”
I laughed. “Well, I’d hate to see you hurt your pride.”
She matched my laugh. “My pride was left behind after the second martini.”
“Ah, so it was two, not one,” I mused, helping her up the stairs. “How many more?”
Her eyes rolled again, though her smile didn’t falter—not even for a second. The fabric of her dress snagged on my watch, which pulled her dress farther up her thigh.
“Details, details,” she muttered.
“Details indeed,” I said with a smirk, freeing my watch from her dress. “Like the detail where you can’t handle your liquor.”
“I handle it just fine. It’s the heels that are to blame.”
“The heels I tell you not to wear?” I asked, lifting her up into my arms.
She shot me another glare. This one seemed a lot like a warning. “They make my legs look great,” she quipped, lifting a brow. “Didn’t you notice?”
“I did. Hard not to when they’re wrapped around me.”
When we reached the top of the stairs, I lowered her to the ground. Her breath was warm against my neck as she leaned on me for support. I guided her down the hallway. Every step was a test of my resolve.
“You know,” she began, “you’re surprisingly good at this. I might make a habit of it.”
“Guiding you home after you’ve had too much to drink?” I asked.
“Guiding me, period,” she replied, her eyes locking onto mine.
I swallowed hard, feeling the pull between us. “Careful, Rosalie. I might take you up on that.”
We reached her bedroom door, and she pushed it open with a small nudge and then turned to face me. “What if I want you to?”
My gut warned me to turn away and tell her good night—a rational suggestion, yet my heart seemed to override the caution.
“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman.”
She laughed softly. “Who said I wanted you to be one in the first place?”
She’d been fighting me before, and now she wanted me? It must’ve been the drink. If I kissed her now, I’d be taking advantage.
“Your rules did—and I intend on keeping my promises, Rosalie. No breaking them.”
Her eyes darkened, and she took a step closer, her body barely an inch from mine. “But bending them, that’s different, right?”
My mind told me to stay away, but my heart wanted to tie a string to hers. Every time I looked at her, it felt like I was stepping on thin ice, just one misstep away from falling into a void of desire that threatened to swallow me whole.
It wasn’t just her physical beauty that enticed me, no matter how undeniably stunning she was.
There was something deeper that drew me to her.
It could be the way she carried herself with confidence or the way her eyes glimmered.
Whatever it was, it was like a magnetic pull I couldn’t resist any longer.
I had a breaking point, and I was nearing it.
I pulled back in the smallest way, enough for her to notice. I couldn’t break my resolve. I’d told her I was an honest man. I’d told her I was a patient one too.
Her breathing shallowed, and she bit down on her bottom lip. The same lip I wanted between my teeth. She was going to kill me one day, I knew, but not by plunging a knife into my chest. It would be by the sheer force of her.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she teased, testing me to see if I’d break.
I wanted to. God, I wanted to kiss her badly. I couldn’t stand her sometimes, punishing me like this. She made me feel like a damn dog. Her trust was hard-earned, and her love was even harder to have.
“No.”
“And why not?”
I’d grown so accustomed to rules that I’d forgotten what it felt like to let my desires win.
“You deserve an honest man, and I intend on being that for you. Have a good night, Rosalie.”