“I can walk,” I’d mumbled.
“That’s good, baby, because you just got over a concussion and I could get you up normal stairs, but it’d be a tight fit not to slam your cranium into the center pole of these.”
He put me down at the foot of the staircase and I glanced groggily around as, with Snap’s hands on my hips spotting me, I lurched up the stairs.
The space was dark and empty.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“Joke and Carrie drove her home.”
“Oh.”
I made it up to the bedroom, through the bedroom and bathroom, managed to snap on the closet light and stood swaying, staring at a set of drawers in the closet.
“Where do you think my pajamas are?” I asked Snapper, who’d followed me.
He opened and closed two drawers.
And there they were in drawer number three.
I snatched up a pair that was shorts and a loose cami in a peach/mauve/lavender/gray paisley and then pulled off my tee.
That was when I sensed Snap leaving me.
I put on my pajamas, saw High had set my suitcases just inside the closet, decided I was too exhausted to dig through them for my toothbrush, and then lurched into the bedroom.
Snap was standing at the end of the bed, arms crossed on his chest, ankles crossed with boot heel up, toe down on the wood floor, watching me.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” I asked.
His body jerked and his brows cocked.
“Bed,” I muttered, making it to the side of that piece of furniture and yanking down the fluffy duvet.
Very fluffy.
Upon sleepy inspection, totally choice.
“Babe,” Snapper called softly.
Bent over the bed, I looked to him, focused on him, saw he had not moved, and stated, “I’m stupid, dreamer, happy Rosalie right now, Snap. Please don’t mess it up.”
“You’re not drunk,” he noted.
“No,” I confirmed.
“Honey—”
“Don’t,” I whispered.
In the dark lit generously from the huge window behind the bed, we stared into each other’s eyes for long moments before he reminded me quietly, “We haven’t had our conversation.”
“You’re messing it up,” I said quietly back.
“I’m not that guy,” he informed me.
“You’re still messing it up,” I shared.
“Help me out here, Rosie, ’cause you mean the world to me and I don’t wanna do dick to fuck my chances of having a shot with you.”
Okay.
God.
Just when I thought he couldn’t get better.
He got better.
“Then don’t leave me tonight. Because tonight has been perfect. Mom was happy. I was happy. We haven’t had a perfect night since Dad got sick. The only thing that could make it not perfect is you leaving me to sleep alone. I’m not talking about anything else. Just sleeping and not doing it alone.”
“All right, baby, you want that, I gotta know, the dawn comes, you aren’t gonna be pissed I took advantage.”
“We’re gonna sleep. There won’t be any advantage to take,” I replied.
“Sleeping together is an intimacy, Rosie, no matter what happens, or doesn’t, when you’re doin’ it,” he informed me softly.
I loved he thought that.
God.
Better and better.
“The dawn will not bring that for you, Everett,” I whispered.
It took him several very long seconds to make his decision.
He made the right one when he pulled off his thermal and let it fall to the floor.
Rather than stare at his chest and perhaps start drooling, I crawled into bed.
I watched as, drawn by moonlight, his beautiful body in gray boxer briefs got in the other side.
He settled on his back.
I scooted toward him and settled into him.
He shoved an arm under me and curled me closer.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fuck yeah,” he answered decisively.
“Maybe this isn’t fair,” I muttered, having second thoughts.
“Rosie, honey, you put me here, you change your mind now, you’re gonna have to pry me out.”
I smiled against his pec and draped my arm across his abs.
They were tight.
They felt nice.
“How much do you work out?” I asked.
“Enough.”
“Enough for your average shmoe or enough for a semi-pro middleweight boxer?”
“Classed light heavyweight, Rosie.”
I lifted my head and looked to his face in the moonlight.
“You box?”
“No. But I know the divisions and I’m not middleweight.”
“Oh.”
I saw him grin in the silver beams. “How much you work out?”
“Nine hours a shift.”
He chuckled.
“No, seriously,” I told him.
His fingers started drawing a pattern on my hip. “When you go back?”
“They told me to call when I’m ready. I think I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Ribs good enough for that?”
“I’m not supposed to do much to aggravate my torso, so I won’t be carrying a tray for a while, but they said they’d put me behind the bar.”
“They like you,” he murmured.
“I’m likable,” I teased.
His hand gripped my hip. “Yeah, you are.”
I settled again into his pec.
“Those ribs, baby, you should sleep on your back,” he noted.
“I’m here, you’re gonna have to pry me away.”
His body shook gently with his humor but his arm around me got tighter.
It felt sweet.
“These mattresses are super-comfortable,” I remarked.
“Rosie?” he called.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“You were dead to the world and barely able to maneuver the stairs ten minutes ago.”
“Is that biker speak for you’re tired and want me to shut up?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” he told me.
I smiled against his pec.
We both fell silent and it was Snap that broke it.
He did it careful. He did it gentle.
He did it Snap.
“You scared of bein’ alone, honey?” he asked.
Man, it was crazy how well he knew me.
“A little,” I whispered.
He gently rolled me toward him so I was more full-frontal against his side, murmuring, “I got you.”
I closed my eyes tight.
I had not been “got” in a really long time.
I did not want to be one of those women who could not do without a man.
But I feared I was one of those women who couldn’t do without a man.
Or, alternately, I lost the man who had me my whole life, and like Mom said, I’d gone reeling. And at the time when I was ready to attempt to stand on my own two feet, God had thrown into my path the man who was perfect for me.
But I was on a long, ugly roll of losing men that meant something to me. I’d barely survived the most important one.
What would happen if I lost the only one on this earth who was perfect for me?
“It’s all gonna be good, Rosie,” he said.
I really wished I could believe he was right.
“Okay, Snapper.”
“Go to sleep,” he ordered.
“All right, honey.”
He drew in a deep breath and let it go.
I kept my eyes closed (I just didn’t do that tight).
It didn’t take long before I fell asleep.
The pain in my ribs drove me to my back in the middle of the night.
But now, here I was again, tucked to Snapper’s side with his hand resting on my hip.
“Awake?” Snap asked, his deep voice thick with sleep.
“It�
��s past dawn,” I told him.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“And right now I’d totally kiss you if I’d grabbed my toothbrush last night and wasn’t terrified of morning breath,” I declared.
I just got out the word “breath” before I found myself hauled full on top of Snapper’s long, lean body and I was looking in Snapper’s downy-snowy-sleepy eyes.
“I don’t give a fuck about morning breath,” he growled.
So be it.
I tilted my head.
And I kissed him.
Now this…
This…
This was the perfect first kiss.
Both our mouths were open before our lips touched and both our tongues were out and tangling before our lips settled.
I didn’t know about me but he tasted wet and warm and musky and I barely had that taste before I wanted more.
So I tilted my head further and gave Snap more in order to get my more.
I knew he wanted it because he didn’t hesitate to take it.
He also gave it, keeping one arm wrapped firm around my waist, the other hand trailed up my back, twining in my hair to hold me to his mouth.
It lasted long and it went deep and every millisecond was a thing of pure beauty before he gently fisted his fingers in my hair, tugged back a bit, and pulled his mouth from mine.
“That was fuckin’ spectacular, Rosie, but I gotta ask you to help me out again,” he rumbled.
I’d help him any way he wanted.
“What?” I breathed.
He shifted me on his body so “what” was without a doubt digging with steely determination into the flesh of my belly.
And “what” felt heavenly.
“Gonna get up and grab a shower, yeah?” he said. “You snooze. I’ll make you breakfast then I gotta go.”
Wait.
He was going to…
What?
“Snapper—”
“I want that,” he all but snarled, his eyes suddenly flooded with heat, which sent a reciprocal wave of the same blazing through me.
Unfortunately (but also amazingly), he kept talking.
“But we’re doin’ this right, Rosie. We’re talkin’ and we’re gettin’ shit straight because we’re not just doin’ this right, I’m doin’ you right. For years, you’ve had a rough ride, what’s happened recently just the most recent. You’ve been jacked around since your daddy died and I don’t think either man meant to do you wrong but in the end they did. And I’m the man who’s gonna do you right, Rosalie. With me, that rough ride is gonna end, baby. So as much as I want more of what you’re offering, I’ll take it tonight when we both know where we’re at and I can be assured you’re right there with me.”
Perfect for me.
I stared into his eyes as I slid my hand up his chest, his neck, into the bristles on his cheek.
Holding him there, holding his gaze, only then did I whisper, “Thank you for being you, Snap.”
He made a noise that sounded in my womb before he rolled, his rock-solid cock now pressed to my hip, his chest looming over me for a scant second before he laid another wet, hot, crazy-awesome one on me and then lifted his head to me panting and holding on to his shoulders.
“Stop bein’ you for five seconds so I can get outta this bed,” he ordered gruffly.
Snapper sounded nice talking gruffly.
But I nearly burst out laughing, contained it and beat back the snort doing that welled up in me before I asked, “Who do you want me to be?”
“Someone annoying.”
“Snapper,” I whined dramatically, “you know I don’t like it when you throw your clothes on the floor.”
“Now you’re bein’ cute and I still wanna fuck you.”
“I have syphilis,” I lied.
He started laughing.
“And I used to be a man,” I went on.
He started laughing harder.
“A gay man, so we’re good,” I told him.
He laughed even harder.
I slid my hands from his shoulders up to cup his jaw and said quietly, “I hate to end this goodness because you laughing is a beautiful thing but I need you to take a shower, have breakfast, and leave me by myself, because except in my car, I haven’t been alone since it happened and I’ve gotta learn to do that again, hopefully without freaking.”
The laughter vanished and he dipped his face close to me.
“I’ll show you how to use the alarm before I go,” he said.
I nodded.
“And whatever I do today, I’ll do it close so if you get too freaked, you call me and I can be here fast.”
“Don’t change your—”
“Rosie, that’s just the way it’s gonna be today and every day until you’re feelin’ good about things.”
Perfect for me.
I nodded again.
“And I’ll be back tonight around six. I’ll bring dinner. What do you want?” he asked.
“What are my choices?”
“Any place that does takeaway in the Denver Metro Area.”
“That’s an alarming amount of choice, Snapper Kavanaugh.”
“It’s what you got, Rosalie Holloway.”
“Narrow it down for me, Mulder,” I ordered and the instant I did, the look in his eyes…
Man.
I’d leap through rings of fire to give him that look again.
He liked we had that. Him my Mulder, me his Scully. He liked getting it back. He liked that familiarity. That history. That sweetness we shared, him and me.
Perfect for me.
“Indian or Mexican,” he said softly.
“Indian.”
“You got a favorite?” he asked.
“Butter chicken,” I told him.
“Noted,” he said.
“Or chicken tikka masala,” I shared.
“Right.”
“Or chicken korma,” I said.
“Rosie—”
“Or shrimp biryani. And onion bhaji, mushroom bhaji, tikka skewers, samosas. Anything with paneer in it. I also like keema. And don’t forget the pilau rice, naan and papadums.”
I shut up.
Snap stared at me.
I continued to be silent.
“You done?” he asked.
“Aloo gobi,” I said quietly.
He busted out laughing.
He gave me a quick kiss on the lips still doing it, and continuing to do it, he pulled away and asked, “What do you want me to make you for breakfast?”
“LaMar’s,” I shared.
He shook his head, still laughing, and also asking, “You got one or two choices to give me or do I gotta get through another recitation?”
“Buttermilk glazed or Bavarian cream.”
“Gotcha,” he said, gave me another quick kiss, then rolled away.
I watched his ass as he got out of bed and I watched a lot of things as he walked around the end of it to the bathroom, all of them awesome.
Then I lay on my new mattresses (that Snapper gave me) and looked to the ceiling of my bedroom in my new house (that Snapper gave me).
And I thought, What the hell am I doing?
I knew.
But I didn’t know.
I knew it was right.
And I was terrified it was wrong.
I wanted to grab hold to all that had been given to me (and my mom) from the instant we walked into this carriage house.
And I felt fear tearing into me that if I did, I’d finally have it all again.
Which meant having everything to lose…
Again.
Chapter Six
Beautiful
Rosalie
I stood in bra and panties, leaning over the basin in my new bathroom, staring at my face in the mirror.
The bruising down either side of my inner eyes was now just shadows. Except for the pad prints of Beck’s fingers, all the discoloration on my neck was gone. Sometime since yesterday, the final stitches had fallen out of the g
ash in my brow and the one on my jaw, leaving only red marks I hoped would recede. And the tape was coming off my nose tomorrow at my final follow-up with my doctor.
Lifting my chin so I could see them both, I stared at the red marks.
Rainman had opened up my brow. When it happened, I felt it tearing. He always wore heavy rings and made it clear in heinous ways that he felt like continuing to be accessorized during the festivities.
Those rings had skulls on them.
And some had crosses.
So he’d opened me up with what amounted to a crucifix, marking me maybe forever, reminding me every time I looked at myself or someone’s eyes drifted that way of my time spent in that warehouse.
Every time any brother of Chaos looked at me, they’d be reminded too.
And most of all, Snapper would too.
I lifted my hands, rubbed them through the wet hair I’d combed back after my shower and moved to the closet, doing an inventory and finding out where all my stuff was.
I tugged on jeans, went back to the bathroom, sprayed on deodorant and perfume, then back to the drawers in the closet to grab a cream cami-shell. I pulled it on, then snatched out a thin, nearly see-through, dusky-blue, five-button thermal that didn’t even pretend to be about keeping me warm.
The buttons undone (like they were then, like I always wore them) showed some cleavage. The material clearly displayed the shell. It was a full torso, subtly sexy peek-a-boo worn by a scarred, beaten, disposed-of biker old lady.
“Okay, damn, where is my head at today?” I snapped, forcing myself to pull it together.
I had to call Colombo’s and tell them I was good to go on the next schedule. I had to unpack the bags that were filled with stuff Mom had run to my old place to grab while I was in the hospital because we both knew I wouldn’t be going back there until I could face it before we knew I wasn’t going to go back there at all. I needed to familiarize myself with where the Chaos old ladies had put my stuff and move anything if they’d done it the way I didn’t want it.
And I needed to think about what I wanted to get out of the conversation that night with Snapper because I’d let stupid, dreamer, happy Rosalie get the better of me last night and I’d used him to cuddle with and sleep with and make myself feel safe.
But now I needed to decide where my head was at because he didn’t deserve me playing with his heart.
I went to the bedroom, made the bed, padded down the stairs and inspected the kitchen, doing the minimal cleanup of the donuts Snap and I had dragged on last night’s clothes and went out to get, that we’d brought back and eaten standing up at the counter before he took off. This being crunching up the donut bag and tossing it into the built-in trash drawer.
Rough Ride Page 11
