Page 58 of My Rose

My bare feet slid to a halt against the cold flooring as we passed a window and I felt Briggs tug gently before he, too, stopped and moved to stand beside me. Instead of rushing me along, he enveloped me in his arms, pressing his front to my back as I remained fixed on the storm outside. The snow was falling in heavy drifts, blanketing parts of the window and framing it in pillowy-white heaps. Bright rays fought to get through what was left uncovered of the glass, just barely illuminating my chest and face as I looked out.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I whispered.

Briggs bent down, his chin settling on my shoulder as his nose brushed the edge of my neck. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

I elbowed him and giggled. “You aren’t even looking!”

“I am.” He kissed the top of my shoulder, his lips grazing over each mark he’d made on my skin, causing me to shudder against him.

“I meant the snow, Briggs.”

He grabbed my chin and pulled my mouth to his in a demanding kiss, biting and sucking on my bottom lip between thrusts of his tongue as I melted into him. Then a door shut somewhere down the lengthy hall, around another corner, and I pulled back. “Maybe we should get to wherever you were dragging me to. I still don’t have pants on.”

“I never want to see you in pants again.” He kissed me deeply before releasing my waist and twining our fingers together. “Don’t worry, no one will come down here. They’ll be more focused on the snow and clearing it the moment it stops. Maybe we can go out once the doorways are all cleared tomorrow morning.”

“Who arethey?”

“The staff,” he said with ease, like it was normal to have people working throughout your house at all hours of the day.

“Don’t they ever go home?”

“Most live on site. There is another road that winds around the back behind the woods and leads to a street full of homes.”

My mouth popped open. “Your dad gave them homes?”

“No,” he stopped walking and turned his head over his shoulder. “He never considered they might deserve a cheaper home closer to their jobs.”

At this angle, his Atlas tattoo was mostly visible. He considered me before he continued pulling me along the hallway, putting the tattoo in clear view. It wasn’t his father who did anything for the people around him. Briggs took that upon himself, making it his burden. I’m sure the people would have found a home somewhere in town, maybe an apartment. Something small and economical, though I hoped they were being paid—

“You don’t think they make enough, do you?”

He stopped again, this time with his other hand on a doorknob. “No, Rose. I don’t.” He pried his darkening green eyes from me and opened the door, pulling me in behind him. For some reason, my legs seemed to work better when he held my hand and guided melike I’d suddenly forgotten how to operate my limbs around him, and he’d become my anchor.

“Don’t move,” he ordered. I nodded, though it was pointless. I couldn’t see a thing. The room was completely dark—only the feel of a low carpet beneath my feet and the sounds of Briggs’ sweatpants brushing together as he moved further and further away kept me from trying to find a light switch before he could.

I thought back to the night at the bonfire when I thought he was going around to the back of his car for something that was nothing like what he’d actually grabbed for me, and I relaxed, knowing I trusted him with everything I had. I hugged my arms, taking in the scent of his shirt right before a few neon lights turned on. My eyes widened as I glanced around the room before they fell to what he’d clearly taken me here for.

“Pool?” I asked as he moved to where long wooden sticks and triangles were hanging along the back wall behind the table. “Again?”

“The first time”—He tilted his head back towards me, his eyes lingering as he took me in from head to toe while his fingers traced the sticks still mounted in place—“you were using a stick that was too big for your gorgeous, petite body.”

I shrugged, smiling at the compliment. “I have no idea how to play, Briggs.” I moved to the other side of the table, pressing my palms flat as I leaned into it, watching him.

He smirked as he pulled two sticks from the wall and walked around the table towards me. “Stand up straight,” he said, and I did, clasping my hands behind my back, making his lips turn up more in a way that reminded me of the shower…and the movie theaterroom. I pressed my thighs together as he positioned both sticks right in front of me. “Chin forward, baby girl.”

“Yes, sir,” I said through tightened lips as he slipped both sticks under my chin. One of his thumbs moved to stroke the curve of my jaw, and as I leaned into his touch, I felt the end of one of the wooden sticks graze my skin.

“This one,” he said, pulling his hands away and moving back to the wall to put the one he didn’t want back. He took up another, then moved to one of the shorter sides of the table.

“Come here.” His voice was like molten lava to my core as I walked to him slowly. Perhaps, too slowly. He tossed the sticks on top of the table and lunged forward, pulling me to him by my waist, and I gasped. His arm tightened around me, his chest pressing into my back as he reached for the stick again.

“This one is yours, Rose. For now.” His arm smoothed over my stomach and up my side before brushing down the length of my arm until his fingers found mine. “You weren’t using the right hand at that party either, were you?”

I hesitated, my brows furrowing as I thought back to that night. “I’m left-handed, so probably not? I don’t know how it works with pool.”

“You use the hand that you write with to start. So, no.” He lifted my left hand, slipping the wooden pole into it with his right. “You were using the wrong hand the entire time.”

He’d been watching that closely?

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