Page 38 of Billionaire Bachelor
I bite down on my knuckles, barely holding back a groan.
Work Rosie is sexy, yet professional, all no-nonsense confidence and effortless grace. I wonder if she’d be into a little office role play. I’d bet those heels would look even better perched on my shoulders.
Damn, that’s a nice visual.
“Logan?” Rosie says, startling me out of my X-rated daydream.
I grin, stepping forward. “Surprise.”
She tilts her head to the side. “What are you doing here?”
I reach into my pocket and pull out a pair of fuzzy socks, holding them up for her to see. “You left these at the cabin. I thought you might need them.”
Rosie’s lips part, but she seems to be at a loss for words. Her dark eyes meet mine, softening as she realizes why I’m really here. “You couldn’t take being away from me any longer, huh?”
I wrap a hand around her hip, pulling her closer. “Exactly.” I lean into her ear and whisper, “And I bet you missed being woken up by my tongue this morning, didn’t you?”
I can’t resist brushing my lips against hers when Rosie’s cheeks flush the prettiest shade of pink. It’s just a taste, not nearly enough to satisfy the growing need inside of me, but the hallway of her apartment building isn’t the best place to do all the dirty things I’ve been imagining.
She swats my chest, a teasing glint in her eyes and a soft smile playing on her lips. “Wow. You really are a stage-five clinger, aren’t you?”
“Only when it’s something, or should I say someone, I really want.” I grin, watching her blush deepen.
Her brows lift. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Edwards.”
“You’re awfully cute when you’re pretending to be so disinterested.”My gaze falls to her lips. They’re painted a dusty shade of pink today, perfectly accentuating her cupid’s bow. “Open the door, Pip.”
Rosie punches in a code on the keypad and pushes the door open. I’m right behind her, nudging it closed with a soft thud. Her subtle scent drifts through the air, mingling with a warm hint of jasmine, likely lingering from the jarred candle on the coffee table. Her new place is small, but the high ceilings and exposed ductwork give it an open, airy feel. The wall of windows showcasing LA’s skyline adds a sense of grandeur, making the space feel far more expansive than its modest size suggests.
It’s an open floor plan with a neutral base, but Rosie’s personality shines through in the details. The first thing you notice is an exposed brick wall with a huge canvas of Frida Kahlo wearing a crown of marigolds. The painting is bold, like its subject. Unapologetic. Maybe even a little rebellious. I smile to myself, thinking how much it reminds me of Rosie. Wouldn’t surprise me if she picked it to anchor herself…to remember who the hell she is every damn day.
Just beneath the painting, nestled into the gallery wall, is a framed photo from Rosie’s graduation trip to Ireland. The Cliffs of Moher stretch out behind her, mist curling at the edges, while she and Sylvie beam at the camera with frizzy, wind-swept hair. Their moms stand beside them, equally disheveled and just as fierce. Four women, locked arm in arm, laughing like they owned the damn world.
“God, I remember how excited you were while on that trip like it was yesterday.”
She smiles softly. “It was a pretty magical week.”
Rosie and I communicated often while she was gone. I was constantly on alert because she flooded my phone with daily photos while I was hanging out with her brother. I didn’t want to explain to Ry why I was talking to his sister so much, but I also didn’t want her to stop, so I encouraged her to send as many pictures as she could.
I spent more hours than I’d care to admit scrolling through those snapshots of her trip while I was at Stanford. If I was feeling particularlyhomesick, they were guaranteed to make me feel a little less so. Rosie and Sylvie standing in front of castles or houses with oddly short colorful doors. The numerous traffic jams—aka sheep walking along the road—they encountered while driving through the countryside. Celtic cross headstones, beautiful cathedrals, rolling green hills, random ruins, jagged cliffs, you name it. I even got the occasional dirty souvenir item she found hilarious. I felt like I was right there with her sometimes.
I desperately wished Iwasthere with her theentiretime.
Shaking out of the memory, my eyes continue to scan the room, catching on a turquoise coffee cart with hand-painted mugs hanging from a rack, then a Talavera plate brightening the corner of the white kitchen counter. Next to the plate is a small silver dish I swear I’ve seen before, but I can’t quite place it. I step closer, narrowing my eyes as the overhead light catches on four faint etchings around the rim.
“Why does this seem familiar?” I ask.
Rosie glances over and smiles. “It sat on my dresser when we were kids. You probably saw it a million times without realizing.”
I nod slowly. “Okay, now I remember. You used to keep your lip balm and loose change in it.”
“And hair ties.So manyhair ties.”
I chuckle, running my thumb along the worn edge. “What do the symbols represent?”
“They’re the four treasures of the Tuatha Dé. The sword, the spear, the cauldron, and the stone. My Nana Mór wasveryinto ancestral magic. Her stories about the Irish warrior gods are what spawned my obsession with romantasy, so can’t say I’m mad about it.”
I laugh. “Any excuse to read fairy smut with you.”
