by Belle Brooks
I eat everything on my plate. The grilled chicken with a salsa-type sauce is enjoyable, yet the steak my father is now revisiting would have been more to my liking.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The walls appear as though they could quite possibly be shaking from this overpowering noise.
“Good grief. Where is that noise coming from?” Dad scrunches and releases his hands with each beat. His diamond cufflinks reflect the crystal lighting from above the table.
Alfred is swift in taking the phone from his pants pocket and contacting one of the staff to ask the location and source of this booming music. God, I like listening to Alfred talk.
Turning my eyes down, I gaze at the crisp white table linen, I focus on the pounding in my chest matching that of the timed rhythm.
“The music, sir.” Alfred’s accent is stronger than ever. “It’s coming from the property between yours and the Banters’.”
I rotate my head towards my father, who clenches his jaw.
“Alert the authorities and have it sorted.” Dad takes his knife and fork, cutting another large portion of beef away from the chunk of thick juicy meat.
“Paracetamol, Kristen, please.” He doesn’t look at our mother when he asks for some pain relief, and this annoys me, but I’m not sure why. It never has before.
“I’m finished. May I please be excused from the table, Father?” I’m apprehensive in asking.
“Why?”
“I have some studies I’d like to do.” I hold my breath, hopeful he’ll buy it.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Each step is timed and ladylike until I’m out of my family’s view, then I begin to hurry. Taking the back exit of the house, I make my way down the side yard, my heels digging into the soft, lush turf as I go. It places more strain on my legs, but for some reason I take it upon myself to approach Finlay on the chance he’ll just turn down the music and understand my father’s position on it being too loud so the police don’t have to talk with him.
Why do I care to stop trouble coming his way? After all, I’d like for him to move, and maybe if he finds trouble here, he will.
Rounding the concrete stump of the fencing separating our yards, I take to the long driveway, trying to flick some of the mud compacted to the points of my heels away. It proves pointless.
Without warning, Finlay steps out from the shadows of a poorly lit area and swaggers in my direction. He’s wearing loose jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. He’s overly muscular and tall. He’s beautiful to look at.
“Rose, can I help you?”
Ironing my hands down the sides of my figure-hugging red dress, I purse my lips and showcase my best impression of a concerned neighbour. I’m not exactly sure how it’s going, because there’s this warmth rushing through my veins, and my heart is fluttering in my chest.
Finlay stands under the erected spotlights on the front of the property, and I stop dead in my tracks.
“Rose.” It’s muffled in a way sound would be when covered by thick cloth.
I look at the black lines peeking out from his short-sleeved T-shirt. He has tattoos? Why hadn’t I noticed this? Of course he does.
He moves forwards, closing the gap between us. The black ink I spied is now surrounded by patches of colour.
“It’s called a bicep, love. That fiancé of yours lacking?” He smirks, and I force myself to shift my eyes towards his mouth. It’s such a smutty look he’s displaying.
“Nooooo.” I drag out the word, sounding like a teenage girl. What was that?
“Sure. Come on, now, it’s okay to admire them. I’m happy to show off my guns.”
“Guns. Really?” I say. “So, who are you trying to be? Some inked up action hero or something?”
“I could be an action hero, if it’s what you’re looking for.”
“Are you flirting with me?” I can’t contain the flutters in my stomach when I say this.
“Nooooo.” His tone is condescending when he draws out the word before planting his feet a half-metre from mine. He smells like a bad mix of cologne and a brewery.
“Are you drunk?”
“It’s a party. What do you think?”
Rolling my eyes, I stomp my foot to the pavement.
“You’re a fiery thing, aren’t you?”
“Finlay, I’ve come here this evening to ask you to lower the music and noise. My father has called the police, and they are on their way. I felt it courteous to at least offer you the chance to rectify the situation. I believe you’ve already had a visit from authorities today—well, it’s what I overheard in conversation earlier this evening anyway.”
He launches his hands to the back of his head and throws his chin in the direction of the stars sparkling above. “Fuuuuuuck!” He roars like an irate wolf at the moon.
I jump, not prepared for such a noise.
“Your father—” He stops. “Your father…” He laughs. “What an arsehole.”
I’m guessing this is a private joke only he’s privy to.
Tipping his chin to the ground has his head limply swinging from his neck. “He’s going to make my life a living …” He stops speaking mid-sentence. “Okay, Rose, whatever. Go home to your fancy posh place and leave me alone.” He’s mad at me, even though I’m trying to help him. Of course he is, selfish man.
“Fine.” My entire body tenses, and my heartrate escalates further. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks and hear the rumbling growl in my throat.
Swivelling on his shoeless feet, he yells, “Hey, turn the fucking music down. Cops are coming.”
He’s gone before I have a chance to say another word.
For the last four nights, music has shaken the walls of our formal dining area in the midst of dinner. Every night, I’ve excused myself from the dinner table and snuck down the side yard—not to mention ruined another pair of my expensive stilettoes—to warn Finlay of the impending police presence. Tonight is no different. The only difference I’m faced with is that Finlay doesn’t stagger down the driveway as he’s done each time before—he’s nowhere to be seen.
Approaching the closed double doors, I swallow hard and iron my hands down either side of the dark navy dress I’m wearing. There is no warmth rushing through my veins, as per usual on this trek. There’s no fierce fluttering in my stomach. There’s a knot sitting heavy in my chest and it hurts. Why does he have such an effect on me? How does he do this even when I can’t see him?
I decide to use a soft knock against the door. No answer. I knock with a bit more vigour. Still no answer. I pound with the side of my clenched fist on the third attempt and wait. The latch turns over.
“Come in.” He’s smiling at me, or is it because of me? Why does Finlay have to have such a beautiful smile?
I clear my throat, in preparation of a stern “no” in reply.
“You’re going to let the flies in. Rose, get inside.”
Why does he always have to be a jerk? “No, thank you. The police have been contacted and will be arriving again momentarily. Can I ask why you continue these games? You’re going to be asked to leave the area in no time if you keep it up.” Isn’t this what I want? So why am I here?
He cocks his eyebrows. “I’m not breaking any laws, sweet cheeks. It’s not after ten p.m. I can have my music as loud as I want. If you’re not coming in, then do us all a favour and go home.” His words seem more slurred tonight, and he sways as he holds on to the doorframe. It’s a new level of drunk for Finlay, it seems.
“What?”
“You’re not deaf. An uppity princess, sure, but you’re not deaf.”
“You’re very rude.”
He laughs. “Yeah, because I call the police over any noise after dusk. Sure, you’re not rude, you just like calling the kettle black at every chance you get, don’t you, Rose?”
“I’m the one warning you. My father is the one calling the police.”
“You’re all the same … same blood
and shit.”
Without thought, I step forwards and bring myself closer to the man I not only can’t stand, but I can’t stop thinking about.
“Guess you’re coming in. Wouldn’t hurt you to have some fun and loosen up a little. I might even be able to remove the stick permanently planted between your arse cheeks, if you allow me a few hours.”
Chapter Fourteen
Finlay
Rose shifts uncomfortably on the lounge beside me. Her hands are laid neatly on top of her lap, and she sits upright as if a plank is tied to her back, keeping her posed in such a way. She doesn’t look at me—instead, she keeps her eyes planted to the television, even though the television is an empty black screen of nothingness. Oh, bringing Rose down a few pegs is on. I wonder if she realised when she stepped foot in my home that she was entering the lion’s den. I’m about to eat her alive and pick my teeth with her bones.
The beat of the music vibrates through my chest, and the laughter of others, as well as heightened squeals of delight, can be heard far off into the distance. Where Rance and Blocker found these guests, I’m not sure, but it’s an enjoyable atmosphere. Rose, on the other hand, makes no attempt to relax or smile. I believe she’d rather be locked away in a library where peace and quiet is guaranteed.
“The police will be here any moment. I can’t be here when they come.” She speaks softly.
“Why? Nothing is going to happen, you know. Again, not breaking any laws. It’s not after ten p.m.”
She huffs.
“So, would you like a drink?”
“No.”
“Would you like to go mingle, and I can introduce you to some of my friends?”
“No.”
“Would you like to strip naked and bathe with me?”
Her head turns with a whip. “I beg your pardon.” She’s snarling, and I find joy in watching her nostrils flare outwards.
“Well, it got your attention, didn’t it?” I’m smirking—I know I am.
Her lashes fold closed. “You’re a pig.”
“If you say so.”
The air grows thicker with every passing second, and if we stay like this, I’ve no doubt we’re going to suffocate.
Leave it to Blocker to walk on by, shirtless and with a whipped cream bikini top sprayed to his pecs, to break the tension.
“And who are you?” He runs his tongue along his lower lip as he points to Rose.
She ignores him.
“Rose,” I reply, amused.
“Roselette,” she’s quick to refute.
“What type of name is that?” Blocker scrunches his nose in distaste.
“Mine.” She stands.
“I think Rose sounds better, love. Do you want a lick?” He points to the whipped cream applied with perfect dolloped mounds on his chest.
I expect Rose to turn a bright red and lose her temper, but she doesn’t. Instead, she laughs whilst holding her hand over her mouth.
The tension consuming the area we’ve been sitting in explodes into tiny fragments before dissipating completely. The thick air has been shattered. Maybe now I’ll convince her to have a drink.
Three White Russians later—this is what Sailor, who’s working the bar, tells Rose he’s made her—and it’s almost as if Rose becomes a completely different person. It’s as if she’s morphed into the best version of herself she can be. She’s laughing, relaxed, and mingling.
Meeting the boys goes down well, and after she places the third tumbler down on top of the bar with a heavy thud, she bends sideways and removes her heels one by one before discarding them on the floor where she stood. She walks off and I follow behind her, finding great pleasure in the way she swings her hips as she begins an exploration of the lower level of the house. She jolts to a stop. She hovers in the doorway to the room housing the pool table Tardo ordered. It’s also the room where Tessa handed us an arse whopping at poker recently.
“Do you play?” She knows I’m hot on her heels because she doesn’t even look behind her when asking.
“Well …” I chuckle. “I play. I’m pretty good, darling.” I’m cocky.
Rose continues forwards, and the giggle floating on the air has me excited. She swings her hips and I’m mesmerised as my eyes stay focus on her perfect arse.
“Stop looking at my arse.” She doesn’t even look back at me.
Shit. And there’s her fire.
Her torso stretches as she removes a pool cue off the wall and then lowers it to the floor. Rose lays the cue against her body, the tip resting between her breasts. Lucky fucking cue tip.
“Chalk,” she speaks softly, seductively.
I stalk around the table and retrieve the cube of chalk resting on the table’s frame at the opposite end, before offering it to her.
She snatches the cube from my open palm, a competitive gleam in her eye.
Blowing against the end of the cue, she grins. “Rack them up then, will you?”
I can’t help admiring the free spirit she’s displaying—it’s just as she is when she undresses in front of her window.
“Shall we place a bet?”
“Yes.” She eyes me sideways.
I ponder for a moment what it is I’d want from Rose if I were to win. Running my finger the length of my chin, I fasten my eyes to hers and say, “If I win, you have to spend the afternoon with me on Saturday. I’ll take you somewhere.”
Her lips arch. She’s thinking about it. “This is what you would like?”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
It’s a simple nod followed by a seductive smile.
“Good. And if you win?”
She cackles, and when she throws her head back I almost regret giving her such power. “If I win, you move out of this house.”
Low blow.
I pause. How good is she at pool?
“Well, Finlay?”
“Done deal.”
“Good.”
Placing the balls into the rack I’ve laid onto the pool table, I’m alerted to how much my hands are shaking. Get it together, man. No way this spoilt brat could kick your arse at pool. It’s good. Focus.
Rose stands opposite me and winks. Fuck. I think she knows what she’s doing.
“How about a sweetener?” She’s not shy in asking.
“Go on.”
“If I sink a colour whilst breaking, you have to play shirtless.”
I can’t contain my humour as my lips spread wide. I like where this is going. “Deal. But what do I get if you don’t?”
“You decide.” She bends at her mid-section, lining up the cue to the white ball.
“You have to take off your dress and play the entire game in your underwear.”
She bolts upright, and a look of horror takes over her expression. “No way.”
“No deal then.”
Minutes pass, and I don’t take my attention from Rose. In fact, I go out of my way to intimidate her by staring her down.
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly—I can only imagine it’s matching mine. Her heart must be galloping from this proposal.
It would take a dumb prick not to realise when a woman is attracted to him. Rose is definitely attracted to me. And I’m pretty certain this is reason she wants so bad for me to move out. She’s engaged, but she has lurking eyes. This thought explains a lot about her behaviour. It also makes me want to mess with her more. This lion is hungry.
“Cops are here,” Rance shouts.
Rose becomes stiff. Her eyes widen. She’s frightened.
“And?” I turn away from her and look through the open door, catching Rance walking in my direction.
“Tardo’s sorting it. We’re all good. It’s not after ten p.m., son.” He laughs. That’s what they said, didn’t they?”
“Sure did.” I chuckle.
“Lower that music lads by ten p.m.” Rance changes his tone to a deeper one, mimicking the officer who arrived on the first night.
“Cheers for that.”
“
What are friends for?”
“Exactly.”
“Racking up.” I shift my eyes to his outstretched finger pointing at the pool table.
“Sure are.”
“Cool. I’ll be back.”
Rose breathes a loud exhale and her shoulders drop from behind her ears. I’m guessing Rose is petrified of authority by that reaction.
“I told you, we aren’t doing anything wrong. The music isn’t even that loud. Your dad is a prude.”
Rose doesn’t reply.
“So? Do we have a bet? Your dress comes off if you don’t sink the ball?”
Rose shifts from foot to foot. “Fine. I’ll take off my dress if I don’t sink a colour.”
“There we go. That’s the way.” The chuckle that explodes from my throat is louder than I expected.
“You’re an arse and a pig.”
“Eh,” I continue my taunting heckle.
Rose folds at her midsection, posing with the cue lined up with the white ball. She bites at her lip, holding it between her teeth. Her eyes stay glued to the ball in front of her. The cue slides between her thumb and forefinger while I wait for the strike, and boy does she strike well. The balls scatter in every direction and I’m not sure which pocket to look at until the pocket closest to me fills with a solid red ball.
Rose gasps, and then pushes off her feet in a leap.
Shit. She pocketed a ball. I’m impressed. Rose seems as shocked as me. Maybe she’s not as good at pool as she made out.
I wait for Rose to eye me before I slowly wrap my hand to the back of my neck and take the seam of my T-shirt with a tighter than normal grip. “Well played.” It’s the only thing I say before I rip the material over my head and allow it to hang from my outstretched finger.
Her eyes are no longer anywhere near mine—they are travelling along my torso.
“Like what you see, Miss Horton?”
She shifts her head towards the wall, and I watch her full bust heave in and out at an escalated pace.
“Rose,” I speak softly.
“I was looking at the tattoos—that was all I was doing, Mr Crossley.” Roses pauses. “What? You don’t think I’ve seen built men before? I’ve seen my fair share. You have nothing more impressive, unfortunately.”
