Page 64 of Rooster

"We talked about it last night, and he's fine with it," she says, but I can still see the hint of doubt in her eyes.

The sun and moon rise and set with her as far as Ellis is concerned, and there will come a day when she realizes it. Everyone else can see the devotion, but she didn't have the best life growing up. The man will prove to her that she's worthy of what he has to offer, and she isn't the only lucky one. Ellis is lucky to have her as well.

"What are you going to do here all alone?" she asks as Ellis comes around the back of the vehicle.

"But you won't be alone, will you?" Ellis asks, and I scowl at the sparkle in his eyes.

"Morgan," Kaylee says with more than a little judgment in her tone. "Really?"

I pull in a deep breath, trying my best not to start an argument with her. I don't have time to explain to her just how different Robert is and that I'm not the same person I've been in the past.

I'm too excited about our plans today to let her ruin it for me.

"Have a great time at the show," I tell her with a little wave when Ellis touches her shoulders and directs her to climb into the waiting SUV.

I'm nearly bouncing on the balls of my feet as I watch the two SUVs pull out of the driveway, the gate coming to a close behind them.

I scramble back into the house, the widest smile on my face, but come to a screeching halt when I step into the conference room and find it empty. If this man backs out today, I may drown him the next time we're in the hot tub together.

The kitchen is empty, as is the living room and den downstairs. Annoyed, I head back up to my room, and a cute little basket is right in the center of the bed. I've gotten gifts from men in the past. Hell, you could say showered with them by men who wanted more than I was ever willing to give them, but this feels different.

There's no extravagant jewelry or expensive chocolates. In the basket is a bottle of body oil, a bottle of water, and a small pack of fruit snacks. Tucked beside those items is a handwritten note telling me to join him in his room in half an hour. He also requests that I dress in layers because the room might heat up during his performance.

This man is going to drive me insane, and we haven't gotten started yet.

Thirty minutes drag on like a lifetime, and my watch buzzes with completing my exercise goal for the day just from pacing the width of the room in the meantime.

I've looked down at my watch a million and a half times. After telling myself to stop checking so frequently, I ended up being later than what he requested. I swallow thickly, pressing my forehead to the door with my hand frozen on the doorknob.

I don't know why I'm so anxious. Maybe because he's the first man who has moved at a pace slow enough to give me time to think about my actions and conversations. I'm able to form opinions rather than moving so fast and getting started on the physical stuff, spending a moment to actually evaluate if he's someone I'd want to spend more time with.

I pull open the door and step into the hallway because there's absolutely no way I won't join him in his room. The butterflies in my belly aren't familiar to me at all. They're different from arousal, although I feel that for this man as well.

I pull in one last deep breath before tapping on his door. When the request goes unanswered, I question if he's even in there.

I reach for the doorknob, remembering that I forgot the basket on my bed. I spin around and rush back to the room to retrieve it. When I step back out into the hallway, he's in the doorway watching me.

"I thought you were backing out," he says, and I can sense the hint of vulnerability in his tone.

"I forgot the basket," I say, holding it up a little higher. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

His smile is slow, but it eventually spreads across his entire face. Now, I want this guy more than words could ever explain. The grin is playful with more than a tiny hint of deviousness.

"Come in," he says, stepping to the side.

The room is dark, his blackout curtains leaving nothing but a thin line of sunlight peeking around the windowsill.

"That chair," he says, pointing to one of the chairs I recognize from the kitchen. It's placed in the middle of the room wide access all the way around it. "Have a seat."

I place the basket on the end of his bed and do as he's directing me, a tingle building in my lower belly with how assertive his tone is.

The second I'm in the chair, the lighting in the room activates, mimicking what a disco ball would do, shooting prisms of light all around the room.

"That's unexpected," I whisper as he steps in front of me.

I resist the urge to grab his hips and pull him closer, but it's a losing battle, I realize as my hands reach out.

He takes a step back. "No touching the dancers. House rules."

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