Page 25 of Rooke
“That’s sacrilege,” Rooke says. He, of course, polished his dessert off in record time.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Hold out your hand.”
“Pardon me?”
“You heard me. Hold out your hand.” He places his own hand face up on the table, reaching for me. I stare at it for a moment. Why should I do what he’s asking me? Why should I play along with this game? It’s a reckless game, one that could get me incomprehensibly hurt. The very last thing I should do is give him my hand, but I’m tired and the alcohol in my veins is telling me to just give in for a second. It’s only a second. How much damage can be done in a second? And we’re in a room full of people, besides. It’s not as if holding his hand is going to lead to raw, animalistic sex on the table.
I place my hand in his. As soon as our skin makes contact, I realize my mistake. Even in my slightly drunken, numbed state, I can feel the electricity zipping between us. The connection is undeniable. His fingers thread with mine, entangling themselves, and I can feel my resistance faltering. Even after what he’s told me this evening, I’m softening toward him, losing myself a little. Without really thinking, I close my own fingers around his, returning the pressure.
“We fit well together,” Rooke observes. “I think the rest of us will fit well together, too.”
“Rooke, I’m not sleeping with you…”
“Why not? Don’t you like fun?”
“I like fun. I love fun. Sex isn’t just fun to me, though. It’s a commitment you make. With your body.”
“Are you super religious?”
“No. I’m just not careless with my body. It has value. If I went around, giving it to everybody, it would mean less and less each time.”
He strokes his thumb up and down my curled index finger, and a rush of adrenaline surges through me. It’s really crazy how he makes my head spin. “Okay, then. I can understand why you’d feel like that, even though I don’t agree with you. But I am willing to propose a solution to this problem.”
“Which is?”
“A proposal.”
“I get that.But what is it?”
“The normal kind,” he answers. “A proposal of marriage.”
“Marr—” I can’t even finish the word. He can’t be fucking serious. He cannotbe serious. Can he? He looks like he is. I try to scoot my way out of the circular booth, going the long way to avoid him, but he still has hold of my hand and he won’t let go.
“Where are you going?” he asks calmly.
“Away from you. You’re a madman.”
“All right, all right. Slow the fuck down. I was joking.”
I don’t slow down though. I rip myself free of him and I throw my napkin down on the table. I make an entirely graceless exit from the booth, leaving Rooke behind to pay for the meal. He’s the one who brought me to this godforsaken place to begin with, so I don’t feel in the slightest bit bad about making him fork over the cash for dinner.
I leave the dining area, exiting through the same doorway we came in through, and I find myself back in the darkened corridor. I’m not paying attention to where I’m going. I hurry blindly toward the exit, pushing through a doorway marked by a glowing blue neon cross…
…and I come to a grinding halt.
My mistake is instantly obvious.
Bodies…
There are bodies everywhere, naked, clothes scattered on the floor. The room is filled with a wash of white-blue light that highlights the curve of bare breast here, the arch of a strong, muscular back there. The scene before me is like nothing I have ever witnessed before. I stand frozen, my heart a clenched fist, risen up into my throat. A man turns around and faces me, and I do my best to meet his eyes. It’s hard, though… hisdickis hard, and he’s pointing it right at me.
“If you’re coming in, bella, close the door behind you.”
“Uh—I—I’m not—”
“She’s not coming in, I’m afraid. She can’t have sex until she’s married.” A hand circles around the top of my arm, and I’m pulled sharply backwards. I almost stumble, but Rooke catches hold of me, balancing me so I can rush out of the room under my own steam. He pulls the door closed behind us, smirking savagely.
