Claimed: The Complete Short Romance Series

by Nichole Rose

  God, I can't wait until she trusts me enough to call me daddy again. I need it, more than I ever imagined I would.

  "Let's go see what she made for us, hmm?" I suggest, tossing her coat over the bench beside the door and then taking her hand. "When I told her I was going to have company, she kicked me out of the kitchen and refused to let me back in again."

  Caroline laughs softly. "She sounds like my mom. No one is allowed in her kitchen except for her. My dad has tried convincing her to hire a cook, but she refuses. She loves being in the kitchen. It's her happy place."

  "Are you close with your family?" I ask as we head toward the living room.

  "Yeah, I am. My parents have a house here, but they spend most of their time in Los Angeles now that Kennedy and I are grown. My brothers both live in California with their wives, too. I miss them."

  She stops in the living room, taking it all in. The room is open and airy, with big windows to let light in. The furniture is gleaming wood and soft satin. My house is far bigger than it needs to be, but I like having space.

  "Your house is beautiful," she murmurs.

  "I'm glad you approve." I don't know much about her family, but I do know their worth outstrips mine by billions. Her father is in the oil business. If she chooses me, it won't be for what I can do for her financially. She's more than capable of providing for herself.

  She draws to a stop in front of a picture of my family. "You have a sister?"

  "Mmhmm," I hum, smiling. "Jocelyn is your age. She'll probably take over the family business when she's out of school."

  "You don't want to take over?"

  I quickly shake my head. "I have a stake in the company and sit on the Board but taking the reins has never been my dream. It's been Jocelyn's since she was a little girl. She's more suited to it than I am."

  "How come?"

  "I'm a writer, not a businessman." I grimace. "I was a writer. It's been a long time since I've written anything. Until yesterday."

  Caroline spins to face me, her lips slightly parted. "You started writing again?"

  "I told you that you were a muse, princess," I say, smiling at her delighted expression. "You inspire me. It's been a long time since anything did that."

  There goes that breathtaking smile again, knocking me on my ass.

  "What about you?" I ask, shaking my head slightly to clear it.

  "What about me?"

  "Do you want to take over your family's business?"

  "God no," she says with a horrified laugh. "I want to be a climatologist."

  "Why?" I ask, pulling her into the kitchen.

  She stops right inside the door and looks around, smiling. The smell of freshly baked bread permeates the space. As expected, Mary is nowhere to be found. Hopefully, she took some food with her when she left. She's stubborn enough to try to cook twice when she should be resting. She's been having problems with her back lately.

  "Because the world is changing whether we like it or not," Caroline says, growing more expressive as she talks. "We're all so focused on what's convenient that we forget that we aren't the only species who has to survive on this planet. It's time we start doing something about it before it's too late. I don't want my kids to grow up in a world hurtling toward destruction."

  Fuck. The thought of her having my kids has my dick aching for relief.

  "You want kids, princess?"

  "Yes," she says, her chin coming up as if she expects me to gainsay her. "I want at least four."

  "I'll give you as many as you want," I murmur, dropping a kiss on her head before I slip past her to prepare our plates. "Whenever you're ready for them, sweet baby."

  Chapter Seven

  Caroline

  "You don't like to read?" Jared says, staring at me in shock.

  "No. I mean, yes, I like to read. Who doesn't like to read? That's madness," I mumble, wiping my mouth on my napkin. Ms. Mary made us stuffed meatloaf, fresh bread, and mashed potatoes. I'm so full. But she also made apple pie. It's against the law to say no to apple pie. "I don't like to be forced to read, and teachers never pick anything interesting."

  He narrows his eyes on me, which makes me laugh.

  "Sorry, but it's true," I say with an unrepentant shrug. "You guys pick the worst books! Why can't we read Journey to the Center of the Earth or Peter Pan or Lord of the Rings? They're just as important literary works as Agamemnon or Hamlet. They're more interesting too. Too many kids learn to hate reading because they're never introduced to books that spark their imaginations or engender a love of literature."

  "You're not wrong," he mutters, tossing his napkin down on his plate. "I hated reading Agamemnon."

  "Me too!"

  He chuckles, his expression softening. "Reading should be encouraged, no matter the genre. One of my favorite things about Kingston is how diverse the catalog is. It's exclusive as hell, but my parents travel the world, looking for fresh voices to add to their lineup." He tips his head to the side. "Your sister would be a good fit."

  I blink at him.

  "I'm not saying she has to go with Kingston," he hurries to say, "but if she ever wants to try, I can open that door for her."

  I don't have to ask to know he's serious. I see the sincerity in his eyes. "Maybe don't mention that to her yet," I suggest, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. "She should get to decide her future on her terms. I worry that she may jump to make a decision before she's ready."

  He smiles at me in reassurance. "Understood. That's why I think she's a great candidate for the Braxton Prize. It's a great way for her to see what's out there and decide what her future will look like. She's lucky to have you, you know."

  "I'm lucky to have her too," I say, smiling. "It's a rare thing to grow up with your best friend living in the room right next door to yours."

  "You two are very different."

  "Is that a bad thing?" I arch a brow, mostly sassing him.

  "No." He smiles at me again like he knows I'm messing with him. "I probably should have guessed you were related, but it never crossed my mind. You're both innocent." When I snort, his smile grows. "You are, sweet baby. You still see the best in people and believe they're worth fighting for. I love that about you."

  I feel my cheeks heat and my heart flutter.

  "But you're more…fierce than Kennedy, more outspoken." His eyes heat as he stares at me, darkening as if he finds that trait sexy. "You're a little lioness when something matters to you. You were ready to read me the riot act this morning to protect your sister."

  "It gets me into trouble sometimes," I admit. "I tend to get caught up in the moment and not think things through."

  "You're passionate. And you know what matters to you." That divot in his cheek appears, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he stares at me. "I think that confidence is sexy as hell, baby."

  "My parents would not agree. They despair of me ever learning to be still or calm." I peek up at him through my lashes, feeling vulnerable. "You make me feel peaceful."

  His eyes shine with pride. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm your daddy, isn't it, sweet baby? I'll never be anything less than proud of you." He rises to his feet and holds his hand out for me. "Come on. I want to show you something."

  I let him lift me to my feet, and then sway closer to him, taking a moment to cuddle up against his chest. I swear, there is no better feeling than being in his arms. He seems to love it too. All evening, he's been finding reasons to touch me or to cuddle me. I love it.

  He feathers a kiss across my crown and then tangles our hands together before leading me out of the kitchen and back into the living room. I glance over at the picture of him and his sister again and smile. They look so much alike. She's tall and willowy, with the prettiest eyes and brightest smile.

  More photos of his family hang in orderly rows all the way down the hallway. He's a replica of his father, only somehow more handsome than the giant standing next to his mom in front of a mansion the size of a small city. It's
obvious that his family is close. They're always smiling and laughing.

  There are at least a dozen photos of Jared at signings or speaking events. The dictatorial professor is nowhere to be found in those photos. The charming prince is everywhere, though, smiling with fans or posing with family. Until we near the end of the hall. The pictures of him with his books just abruptly stop. In later pictures, he seems more reserved and distant, like there's something missing.

  It makes my heart ache for him.

  It's obvious that he's not the autocratic despot everyone thinks he is. He just lost his way, I think. I'm not sure exactly why he stopped writing, but I know it had to have hurt him. Even Kennedy gets cranky when the words won't flow. How much harder must it have been for him, someone surrounded by reminders of his success and that of his family?

  It doesn't excuse his dictatorial insistence on perfection, of course. But it does explain it.

  He's a man who feels deeply, grieves deeply. And he's been in mourning for a long time, all while trying to teach his students to avoid that same sort of pain. It must have been hard to encourage the passion of others even while mourning the loss of his own.

  "This is my favorite room in the house," he murmurs, drawing to a stop in front of the last door on the left. "You ready, princess?"

  "Yes."

  He swings the door open.

  "Jared," I gasp, staring around in stunned disbelief.

  Most people who say they want a library in their home mean they want wall-to-wall bookshelves and somewhere comfortable to read. Jared has a literal library. It extends upward into the second and third floors of the house, staircases twisting like ivy around massive wooden and glass bookcases. They're filled with tomes in leather and paper bindings. Some are in temperature-controlled display cases, so fragile they look as if a single touch might send the papers crumbling to dust.

  I step into the room and spin in a circle, overwhelmed by how beautiful it is. Everything is dark wood so finely wrought it seems as if the bookcases and furnishings sprouted up from the wooden floor. It's absolutely breathtaking.

  "It's so beautiful," I whisper, melting into Jared when he steps up behind me to wrap his arms around me. I lean against his chest, turning my head to graze my cheek across his jaw. "I can't believe you have an entire library hidden in here."

  "When I stopped writing, I stopped spending so much time in here," he admits, his voice soft. "But a year or so ago, I dragged myself out of my self-imposed exile and made myself face it. I found peace here."

  "Why did you stop writing?" I ask, turning to burrow into his arms.

  "Bitterness stole my inspiration. I trusted the wrong person and they took everything. Every word I'd ever written was wrested out of my control." His sigh ruffles pieces of my hair. "I spent two years in court, fighting to regain what rightfully belonged to me."

  "That's awful. I'm so sorry."

  "By the time it was done, the words had dried up. So had the passion," he says. "Finding it again has been an exercise in futility." He tips his head down to look at me, his bottomless eyes searing me. "Until you, Caroline. You make me feel…hopeful and excited about the future again. It's been a long time since I felt that way, princess."

  "I feel the same way," I whisper, running my hands up his chest and then around his neck to pull his head down toward mine. "You make me feel like I'm allowed to be me and that's okay. I've never felt as connected to someone as I do to you."

  "That's because you're mine." His soft breath hits my lips, sending desire spiraling through me. "Since the minute I met you, you've consumed me, obsessed me. Had you refused to give me a chance today, I would have gone mad in want of you."

  "Me too," I breathe, lifting up on my tiptoes to brush my lips against his.

  He catches me around the waist, pulling me up against his body so we're pressed together in one long, delicious line. The heat of him rolls over me, sending choppy waves of desire spiraling higher. His scent swirls around me, until I feel as if I'm breathing him in with each pull of air into my lungs.

  "You're going to fall in love with me," he growls, nipping at my bottom lip. "I'm going to obsess you as thoroughly as you've obsessed me. Until you can't imagine not being in my arms."

  "Jared?" I whisper, grazing my lips across the smooth plane of his cheek to his ear. I wrap my tongue around the lobe, making him growl my name in a way that has my nipples turning to hard little buds and arousal dampening my panties. "I'm already falling for you."

  His entire body shudders, his hands clamping down on my hips. A feral sound leaves his lips, somehow more primal, more visceral than a growl. It's…obsession, spilling forth to stoke my own.

  He takes my lips in a bruising kiss, staking his claim on me with so much passion, so much unfettered need, that my legs buckle.

  "I need to make love to you, sweet baby," he whispers, swinging me up into his arms as if I'm something precious and priceless. His mouth meets mine again and again, as if he's unable to stop himself from drinking from my lips. I don't want him to stop. Nothing feels as good as being in his arms, with his mouth on mine.

  "Please," I plead, as desperate to take that step as he is. To be claimed by this man, possessed by him…I think I might actually die if he doesn't make me his in that way soon. I ache for it so badly my entire body shakes in his arms, trembling with the force of my desire.

  It's overwhelmingly powerful and pure.

  He groans my name as if my plea makes him ache as badly as I do. We stumble forward, deeper into the library. I think he's going to lay me out on one of the sofas, but he doesn't. He moves for the stairs, trying to climb them and kiss me at the same time. We bump into the railing and then the wall. He stumbles. His grip on me never loosens or falters. I never feel anything less than safe.

  Somehow, we finally make it to the top. The library passes in blurs of book bindings and dark wood before we pass through a doorway and then into another room. His bedroom. Like the library, it's all dark wood and masculine colors, elegant and austere at once. His bed is massive.

  I fall in love with it as soon as he lays me out in the middle of it and takes my lips in another drugging kiss. For long moments, we do nothing more than kiss. I get lost in him and the glide of his tongue against mine. In the way his breath rasps in his throat and his hands open and close on my hips as if he's incapable of stilling their movement.

  How can something so perfect ever be anything less than right?

  In this moment, the only thing that exists is the two of us and the powerful clutch of desire that ensnares us both. I forget everything but him and how right this feels, as if we were always meant to find one another, always meant to be this way together.

  "You're trembling," he whispers, brushing strands of hair away from my face with gentle hands. His skin is so much rougher than mine, but his touch feels like heaven. "You need me as badly as I need you, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  He exhales a soft breath so full of relief, I feel it echo in my soul. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and you'll have been a figment of my imagination. You're so goddamn beautiful. You shatter me."

  "I feel the same way about you." I reach up to press my palm to his cheek. "I can't believe I never knew what you looked like. I thought you were old and crotchety."

  "Compared to you, I am old. Nearly forty."

  "Does it bother you?"

  "Not a bit," he swears, turning his face to touch his lips to my wrist. He nips the sensitive skin there, making me moan. "The only thing that bothers me when you're in my arms is the clothes separating my mouth from your gorgeous body."

  "Then maybe you should do something about that."

  He chuckles and kisses my wrist again. "Are you on birth control, Caroline?"

  "No. There was never a need," I admit, refusing to be embarrassed by the fact that I'm a virgin. It's my body and my choice. Besides, talking about birth control before we're naked is the responsible thing to do. But part of me is a little di
sappointed, though I'm not sure I even know how to articulate why. Perhaps because the thought of having his babies makes me ache with longing.

  "Fuck," he groans, leaning down to take my lips in a deep kiss. "Knowing no one else has ever touched what's mine is sexy as hell." He drags my lip through his teeth and then kisses me again. "I want to be bare in you, princess."

  "Jared," I gasp, shuddering when his teeth close around the shell of my ear.

  "I want to breed you."

  Oh my God.

  "Knowing I can't claim you publicly is making me fucking crazy. I want everyone to know you're mine…that I'm the only one who will ever get to touch you like this, kiss you like this"—He trails his mouth from my ear down my neck and then onto my chest—"fuck you like this."

  His mouth closes over my nipple through my dress, his teeth closing around the hardened nub. I arch toward him, crying out as a powerful jolt shoots straight to my core. Reality swirls away, leaving nothing but him behind. One hand glides up my leg, his fingertips rough against my softer skin. Before he ever slips my dress up my thighs, I'm trembling in anticipation, in desire.

  My body remembers what he did to me last time. Vividly.

  "God, sweet baby, I can already feel how wet you are," he groans, his hand shaking against my inner thigh. He presses his forehead to my chest and takes a breath as if to calm himself down. I don't think it helps because he groans again, and his hand tightens on my thigh. "Fuck. I can smell how wet you are."

  A bout of wickedness flares hard and fast.

  "Jared." I tug on his shoulder until he leans closer to me. Pressing my lips to his ear, I scrape my nails down his neck. "I've been that way all night…daddy."

  His body goes rigid above mine. He growls so loud my ears hurt and then falls on me like a beast. He's not my charming prince now, but the autocratic king, possessive and in charge.

  "Goddamn, princess," he growls, bucking his hips into mine to grind his erection against my center. He grabs my hands at the same time, pulling them up to pin them against the bed. His heated eyes meet mine, so full of desire they leave me gasping. "I've been waiting for you to call me that again. You're a naughty little thing when you're turned on, aren't you?"