Page 19 of Rose's One Night to Forever
She opened her mouth as if ready to protest then shook her head slightly. She pointed to the far wall. “Use that one. Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve been a butterfingers.”
Chance hurried to the wall and grabbed his weapon, careful to sweep everything to one side as he took a direct route toward her. The instant he reached her, he leaned the broom on the large island counter beside her. “You need to be somewhere safe.”
Rose gasped and clutched his shoulders as he caught her by the hips and lifted her onto the countertop. “Chance, stop it. I need to—”
“You need to not slice yourself to ribbons,” he informed her. “There are glass shards all over your feet. Let’s get them off before something happens.”
She lifted one foot and grimaced. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Which is why I’ll be helping you clean this up.” He reached for the clasp of her sandal and realized his shirt was splattered with paint. The last thing he wanted was to add that mess to her already complicated evening. He stripped his shirt over his head then rolled it up carefully so the paint was all on the inside.
He had Rose’s foot in his hands before he looked up to discover her staring at him, her mouth hanging open slightly.
She blinked and then lifted her gaze from his chest to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure how taking off your clothes helps clean up glass, but I’m having trouble demanding you put your shirt back on.”
A delightful confession. He let a smile rise even as he focused on removing her sandals and gently brushing the glass slivers away. “Let me finish sweeping the floor before you get down.”
She nodded then pointed toward the sinks. “If you bring me a wet cloth, I’ll use that to make sure we’ve got all the shards.”
“Of course.” Inspiration struck, and he swept the area clear before inching his way toward the sinks. Other than buckets and buckets of long-stemmed flowers, the rest of the work space was pristine and tidy. Just the way he’d imagined Rose’s territory would be.
When he returned with a wet cloth, instead of handing it over, he kept control, once again lifting her foot into the palm of his hand then washing carefully from her ankles, over her foot, to the tips of her brightly painted toes.
“You don’t have to do that,” Rose said softly.
“I want to.” Chance twisted her on the countertop to wipe her other foot clean. His body was only inches away from hers, and the little quiver in her breathing as he touched her sent the blood pounding harder through his own veins.
Deliberately, he put the wet cloth on top of his shirt then twisted her again. This time toward him, her legs falling apart as he stepped between them and let his fingers drift along her thighs. “How are you now?”
She inhaled, her breath rattling for a moment. “I seem to be not just clumsy but slightly feverish.”
Perfect. Chance slid his hands to her hips and tugged her toward him. Staring at her lips, knowing that all sorts of conversation should happen first, but damn if he didn’t want—
Rose caught him by the cheeks and pulled him into the kiss. Hungry, heated. Just the way he wanted and exactly what he needed.
He slid his hands around her body to mesh them together. Heat to heat, need to need.
Whatever questions they had, this part they absolutely had figured out. They were combustible together, and he gave himself over to the kiss. Stroking with his tongue, nipping at her lower lip before sliding kisses along her jaw to a spot right under her ear.
She arched back and moaned. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“Do what?” he teased. “Kiss? Touch?”
Her hands were on his belt. “Why stop there?”
Chance caught her by the wrists. He waited until their gazes met. “I want you. But I don’t want this unless you’re sure.”
She nodded. “I’m sure. Really, really sure.”
8
Maybe something had changed deep in her soul when they had met back in April. Maybe it was still some of the lingering magic from the bachelor auction. For whatever reason, Rose Fields was having an extraordinary moment, and it was perfect.
She stroked her fingers over the warm skin of Chance’s shoulders before slipping down his sides, palms caressing the firm expanse.
The music in the background switched from a cowboy singing about something romantic to a female singer warning she was going to bury the body where no one would ever find it—
“You’re smiling,” Chance noted. “And I don’t think it’s because of something I’ve done.” He undid another button on the smock she always wore while working.
