Iwantsomeone.Iwantherbad.
I’vegother.AndI’mnotreadytoquither.
I’m smart enough to know I need to. To know she’s only here for the summer.
But I don’t want half-truths with Wesley. And I promised Rose I’d tell himaftershe leaves.
I sweep her hair behind her shoulder. She’s in a knee- length dress that hugs her petite body and her arms with those full sleeves.
I run my hands down the fabric. “You and these damn sleeves.”
She pulls back self-consciously. “It’s going to be a full house tonight.”
I sigh, pulling her against me. “But it’s just you and me now. And I want to see all of you.”
“Aren’t you going to show me around?”
I press my lips to hers. “Let’s start with the master bedroom.” I toss her over my shoulder and carry her up the stairs.
Her shriek is followed by a gentle laugh, but I haven’t a funny bone in my body.
My bedroom is considerably larger than the one in her cottage—the bed too. Which is all I’m focused on showing her right now.
“Nice view,” she says, staring out my window.
I hum agreeably behind her, untying her dress and pushing itdown her arms
Her neck falls to the side. “Do we have time?”
Notenoughwhenitcomestoyou.
“At least two rounds.” I drop to my knees behind her, lifting her feet to remove her dress. She’s already topless and these panties are going to go soon too.
She moans. “Finally. Was beginning to think you needed a warm-up.”
I like taking my time with Rose, never wanting it to be more than she can handle. But I’m also careful not to treat her like a victim, or with any kind of kid gloves.
“Ah,” she squeals when I bite her ass cheek. I pull to my feet, pressing my lips to the side of her face. “Get on the bed before I throw you on it.” I slap that same cheek for that comment.
Rose looks good in my bed, her back tucked against my chest. Too good to move, but we’re less than an hour away from four other men—and a pint-sized girl—knocking down my door for dinner.
But I’ve got one thing I need to get off my chest. “Got three weeks here,” I start.
“I can count,” she says back, barely thrown off by the question.
“Little late to ask, but .?.?. you got someone back home?”
She takes a moment too long to answer, leaving my heart in my throat. “No, cowboy. I don’t.”
“Anyone you .?.?. getting over?”
She doesn’t answer that one straight away. Instead, she turns in to me. “Tell me this, if I’m leaving in three weeks—does it matter?”
She’s got me there. Not because it doesn’t. It sure as hell does. But it’s not like I’ve asked her to stay.
And I want to.
I want to ask her to stay. But for how long? I can’t promise her anything.
