Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 26

I can hear the phone ringing from outside the office.

And when I walk in, my gaze lands on Rosie as she lifts the receiver and says, “Good morning, Ford Grant Junior’s office.”

She looks me right in the eye as she does it.

But then she winces and blinks away.

I take her in. She’s wearing a simple cap-sleeve dress, blue like her eyes, and covered in a small print of daisies with little yellow centers. She’s paired it with off-white cowgirl booties. Her hair is natural and wavy—just a little bit messy.

She looks fucking edible.

“Gemma.” Her voice comes out with a light hitch. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Oh good, my mom.

“Oh, yeah, he’s a great boss. No complaints.” She nods, then laughs softly. “We both know I can handle him. It’s really been fine. Fun even.” Her eyes slice up to mine. They’re filled with a hint of worry. Like she doesn’t want me to know she’s having fun working here.

She stiffens. “No, no nice, small-town girls have been sniffing around him.”

Lord help me. I shut the door and head toward my desk. I drop my leather shoulder bag and flop down into my chair to endure the next several minutes of my loose-cannon mom plotting with my loose cannon… whatever Rosie is.

Dick Manager is feeling entirely too accurate, since she not only manages me but practically leads me around by mine.

“Yes, superior looks. And all those moods. Really, who can keep up?”

Now she’s back to glaring at me. I can hear my mother’s voice but can’t make out anything she says.

I glance down, and there sits another ripped page from the chaotic mind of a teenaged Rosie Belmont. I pick up the piece of paper and read it.

Tonight at the beach party, I saw Ford try to talk to a girl. She was cute, and honestly, she’d have been overachieving if she landed him. He’s growing into himself and was hands down out of her league. Still, he struck out so hard. It would have been funny if my secondhand embarrassment wasn’t so far off the charts.

He doesn’t do himself any favors by being so damn sarcastic. And knowing Ford, whatever he said likely bordered on insulting, so I almost don’t blame her.

His intelligence comes off mean sometimes. I like it. But I can keep up. Some people can’t. He needs a girl who can challenge him. And I could tell this one wasn’t up to the task.

Sometimes I think I should let Ford hate fuck me just so he can lose his (alleged) virginity. I may not have loads of experience, but probably more than him. Maybe he’d frown less if he didn’t have to walk around with an untouched dick all the time. A little practice wouldn’t hurt the guy. I could send him back to college knowing where a girl’s clit is and that would basically be philanthropic.

A coughing fit overtakes me, and I cover my mouth, thumping a hand on my chest a few times to clear my throat—and catch my breath. When I glance up, Rosie looks like the goddamn Cheshire Cat with her lips curving up, knowing what I’ve just read. And for once, her cheeks take a turn flushing.

“I couldn’t agree more. Getting laid would really take the edge off for him,” she replies to my mother.

Fucking kill me now.

I scrub at my hair, messing up any semblance of style it may have had when I arrived.

Rosie’s brows pop up. “So, when you orgasm, it releases endorphins? And those make you feel happy? Well, dang, Gemma. I’m no doctor, but I’m definitely going to prescribe him an orgasm. Buy him a magazine and send him to the back or something, ya know?”

I run my finger over my throat in a clear threat while I stare back at Rosie. It just makes her smile harder.

“Wait. Did you just say orgasms help with—” Rosie bites down on her lip and nods. “All right, well, you actually are the doctor, so I’ll take that under advisement. Do you want me to hand you off to Ford?”

Rosie presses her lips together to stifle a laugh. “You just wanted to talk to me? How sweet!” Another nod, and then, “I’ll let him know. Bye, Gemma! Oh, and say hi to Senior for me.”

With that, she hangs up and stares at the receiver for a moment before turning her wide eyes on me. “Your mom is so cool.”

“I’m glad you think that conversation made her so cool.”

“They’ll be here next week. That’s what she wanted me to pass on to you.”

I pick up my trusty blue Pilot felt-tip pen and chew on the end as I boot up my computer. Chewing on a pen is a nervous tic I haven’t been able to rid myself of since high school. While I wrote. While I listened to music. It’s part of my process at this point. I’ve just accepted it.

Based on the box of brand-new identical felt tips in my drawer, I’ve damn near embraced it.

“She also suggested that a”—she holds her hands up in air quotes—“release might be beneficial for you and your moods.”

“Yes, I heard that part. Thank you for reiterating it, Rosalie.”

“Oh good, we’re back to Rosalie. Because you don’t want to fuck me, right?”

I click on the unopened emails in my inbox. I’m not reading them, but I can pretend that I am.

“Silent treatment. Very original. Well, in that case, should I set you up in the back? I could scrounge you up an old Playboy? I bet West has one kicking around. Or there are websites now where anything you want is at your fingertips.”

Maybe she’ll stop talking if I don’t engage.

From the corner of my eye, I see her lean back in her desk chair. I don’t need a full view of her face to know she’s getting a real kick out of this.

“Did you like my journal entry?”

I point the pen in her direction but say nothing and keep my eyes fixed on my computer. Then I go back to chewing on it and ignoring her entirely.

But Rosie isn’t having it. Her boots click against the floor. She comes all the way around my desk and leans against the edge, facing me.

Today’s Rosie differs from yesterday’s version.

Yesterday, she seemed distraught over me going to an event with a plus one. It was obvious to me that it would be her. Who the hell else would I take? Did she think I’d kiss her and run off with someone else?

Because no, I’d kiss her and get all up in my head over it.

Torment myself. That’s far more on brand for me.

I lean back in my chair, pen in my mouth, and regard her. No, today she seems hell-bent on torturing me.

“You’re being weird,” she says.

“Rich coming from you.”

She crosses her arms and smirks, edging farther over until she’s in front of me and I can’t avoid her gaze.

“Did you ever lose that pesky V-card, Ford?”

I swallow. “I did, Rosalie. I appreciate your concern.”

“To who? You know some of my dating history. Now I want to know about yours.”

“I don’t talk to my employees about my personal life.”

“I’m not asking as your employee.” After the words fly from her lips, we’re left staring at each other once again.

Then she pushes my keyboard back, props her hands on the desk, and slides herself on it like she’s settling in for story time.

She winces again, cheeks twitching in a pained grimace.

“What’s wrong?”

“My body likes to warn me about my impending cycle by giving me the kind of cramps that could keep me in bed all day. Your mom said orgasms can also help with that.”

I chew on my pen and zero in on the hem of her dress, the way it drapes so daintily over her crossed legs. I roll my chair back to create some distance.

“You should go home and rest, then.”

She laughs and waves me off. “I’ll give myself a hand later and see if it helps. But for now, I want to talk about you.”

“Bash is going to walk in and wonder why you’re sitting on my desk.”

Her head tilts. “I thought you were checking your emails—he got called away for a fire. He’s sending a painter to finish up the interior and will confirm a date and time. Now tell me about your dating history.”

I cross my free arm to keep from reaching out and playing with that flimsy fucking hemline, pen tapping against my lips.

“I remember the night in that journal entry. I asked that girl if she was reading anything interesting. She told me she wasn’t a big reader.”

Rosie’s eyes twinkle with mirth. She knows.

“And I believe I scoffed and said, ‘Figures,’ to which she gave me a dirty look and walked away.”

“Your mom once told me that if I went home with a guy and there weren’t any books at his house, I shouldn’t fuck him.”

I chuckle at that. “She’s told me the same thing.” I shake my head as I think about my mom. The advice she gives is outlandish and direct and… not wrong. “That night, when you drove us home, I asked you what you were reading.”

Her eyes widen with interest. “I don’t remember that part.”

“You told me about a five-book fantasy romance series you were reading in very over-the-top detail. I pretended I was annoyed. But I went and put it on hold at the library as soon as we got back to the city.”

Now her lips pop open. “Please tell me it was the Fever Series.”

My mouth twists in a wry grin, and I push my wheeled chair closer. An invisible pull between us. “It was.”

“Did you love it?”

I think back on reading those books. I mostly imagined Rosie reading them. Remembered the way her hands motioned as she drove and talked. West had passed out in the back seat, and I kept having to remind her to keep her hands at ten and two.

Her response was to roll her eyes and steer on the straight highway with her knee.

“Yeah, Rosie. I loved it.”

“Oh. Back to Rosie, huh?”

“You said you weren’t my employee right now.”

I reach forward and flick a finger against her top knee. I don’t know why I do it. It’s childish and unnecessary and yet I can’t stop myself.

Her eyes trace the motion, and then I smooth the spot with my hand before losing my brain entirely as I stand, grip her knee, and uncross her legs myself.

She sucks in a breath but otherwise forges ahead like nothing has changed.

“Okay. So, spill the beans.” She leans forward a bit, her thighs falling open as she draws closer, her knuckles almost white on the edge of my desk.

I consider her question and nervously toy with the hem of her dress as I step closer. “I met a girl in my second year of college. She was smart and kind, and we had a good time together. I think we dated for two years.”

Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly. “And?”

I move the hem higher on one side, exposing an extra inch of skin. “And I broke up with her after undergrad when she wanted to move in together.”

“You didn’t want to live with her?” Her voice sounds strained.

“No,” I say simply.

“Why not?”

Because she wasn’t you is what’s on the tip of my tongue. But I say, “It just wasn’t right. I didn’t want to settle down,” and lift the dress higher on her opposite leg as well.

Rosie swallows and nods slowly. “Okay, and then?”

I sigh and try to step away from her, but she nudges me with one booted foot. An unspoken challenge for me to stay in place.

Not one to back down, I swallow and move in closer again, my quads against her knees. And then I continue— talking and testing the limits with the hem of her skirt.

“Then I dated a woman for a few years while I ran Gin and Lyrics and worked on Gramophone with my business partners. But after the app went public, everything changed. That was a hard time for me. I learned a lot of valuable lessons about friends and relationships. Mostly that when unfathomable amounts of money are involved, people often change.”

“In ways you don’t approve of?”

I swallow, thumbing the thin fabric as a distraction. “I didn’t want to give artists a platform only to rake them over the coals and pay them a pittance. I made my feelings on reducing their royalties known—rather publicly—and my opinion was not appreciated.”

“And this relates to the girlfriend how?”

“I would like to be more than the number of zeroes in my bank account to the people in my life who I choose to trust.”

“So, you didn’t trust this woman?” Confusion paints her dainty face and I move to pull away, but her feet shoot forward and her boots hook around the backs of my legs, pulling me in closer. Keeping me from retreating.

The position leaves the dress draped down between her now-spread legs, covering any view I might have. It has her leaning back over my desk. It brings me closer than I should be.

Close enough that I prop the pen behind my ear and reach forward, my hands gripping her bare thighs as though that might keep her from pulling me any closer.

Then I tell her what I’ve told no one else.

“No. I learned I couldn’t trust her. Or the people I went into business with. When I offered to personally fund artist royalties to offset the cut she became awfully concerned with ‘our’ fortune. “Obsessed, really.” I scoff. “Like it would even have made a dent. Luckily, my one business partner, and former friend, is a big proponent of hoarding his cash and fucking people over. Jumping into his bed was a very convenient transition for her.”

Rosie gasps and I watch a range of emotions play out in her ocean-blue irises. First comes shock, then sympathy, and then outrage. “I hate her,” she spits.

My fingers pulse on her thighs and a low chuckle spills from my lips. I love her ferocity. Her loyalty. But I don’t tell her that. Instead, I say, “I trust sparingly now.”

Her top teeth nip at her bottom lip as she regards me keenly. “Do you trust me?”

I watch my hands on her bare legs. Moving them down over the tops of her thighs to the bend behind her knees and then back up to where they started. Then I finally meet her crystalline gaze. “Yes.”

She sucks in a breath and nods. “Good. Tell me who else there’s been.”

“No one else.”

She sputters. “Wait. What? That’s it?” Disbelief drips from her tone as her fingers flex on the edge of the desk, grappling for control.

My stroking turns to massaging. My cheeks feel warm, and my dick is rock hard.

“It’s adorable that you think fewer partners means I’ve had less sex.” I tilt my face up to hers as I say, “It’s also adorable you treat me like I’m still the bumbling teenager I was back in the days recounted on the pages of that journal.”

She blushes, and I watch it spread down her throat. Pink skin cropping up over her chest, expanding beneath the neckline of her thin dress.

“Rosie,” I continue, trailing the tips of my fingers over the backs of her legs. “I think you may have confused my self-control and sense of integrity with lack of experience or interest.”

She makes a breathy little noise that sounds like a long drawn-out “Ha,” as though she’s having a good laugh at how dead wrong she’s been. Her chin drops, and she watches my hands trailing over her skin. Gooseflesh pops up on the tops of her thighs.

“You’re really telling me you’ve only ever been with two women?”

I move my palms up over the top of her thighs. We both watch my hands disappear beneath her skirt.

“Yes, but I’ve only ever really wanted one.”

I hear her swallow. But she doesn’t respond. That realization might take her a while.

“One I can’t fucking have.”

I flip her skirt up around her waist abruptly and she gasps. My eyes soak in the sight of her slender thighs leading up to the apex, covered in a plain white pair of boy shorts.

“Oh my god,” she whispers as we both take in the sight before us.

She attempts to squeeze her legs together, but all it does is clamp me more tightly in place.

I don’t stop touching her. Can’t peel my eyes off the way my hands look gripping her thighs.

“One who’s been driving me crazy. Wincing all morning like she’s in pain.”

All Rosie does is pant and watch me move my hands over her. Up the sides of her thighs.

I dip the tips of my fingers under the line of the shorts, not far enough to go anywhere. Just far enough to tease.

She whimpers.

I already know I’m planning to tear down whatever wall I tried to build between us just to get to her. Keeping my distance is downright excruciating, and thinking I can keep up with it is borderline delusional.

“Should I help you feel better, Rosie?” I growl out the words, frustration lacing each one. My thumbs brush up her inner thighs, painfully close to her pussy.

I shake my head at my utter lack of restraint.

“I told myself I was going to stay the hell away from you. But here I am, making you spread your legs for me on my desk and dreaming about fucking you senseless.”

I thought I’d rendered her speechless, but now she rises up on her elbows and volleys back. “Might be hard to fuck me senseless considering you still haven’t figured out where my clit is.”

Now my eyes are on hers, reading the heat in them. The dare in them.

“Is that what you think?” I feel my body shift, rising to her taunt. My eyes narrow. My skin hums. I love that Rosie Belmont is a constant challenge.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you think it’s in my thighs somewhere. Maybe I really should have helped you out all those years ago.”

I smirk and pull the pen from behind my ear, eyes latched on her center. “Let’s see what I can come up with.”

I drop back down into my chair and roll myself between her legs. Using my teeth, I tug the cap from the pen and lean closer. Rosie pants as I splay a palm over her stomach, but when I peek up, her eyes are shiny and bright. Lips parted in anticipation.

So, I carry on.

I hold the pen in my right hand and make my first stroke.

One downward line, diagonal, across her underwear.

“Oh god,” she mutters, hips bucking.

I know I crossed her clit based on her reaction.

“Stay still, Rosie. I’d hate to fail this test.”

I clamp my tongue between my lips and cross my first line with an upward one. I hear her hum, feel her legs shake as she struggles to stay still. Then I lean back to look at my handiwork.

When she glances down at herself, I hear a muttered, “Fuck,” between her heavy breaths. A blue X is drawn over the pristine white fabric.

“X marks the spot,” I grumble, both hands holding her thighs open.

“Yeah.”

“You’re soaking through your panties, Rosie,” I say, flipping my pen around and dragging the dull, rounded tip of it up the line of her inner thigh.

“I know, I know.” Her voice is breathy as I approach the seam of her underwear.

“Does that mean I got it right?” I take another peek at her flushed face, but all I see are green lights, the all-clear to keep going. “Tell me to stop, Rosie.”

“Please don’t stop, Ford,” is her response. Because of course she has to drive me fucking crazy at every turn.

Without another thought, the pen dips under the fabric. It’s barely a touch. I graze her pussy carefully, as though it’s somehow breaking fewer rules than if I were to hook a finger into her panties.

Her head falls back, and I can’t pull my eyes from her. The wall I’ve painstakingly built crumbles. Disintegrates.

When I pull the pen out, it’s wet and shiny. I toss it onto the desk beside her and stand again, leaning over her body as I press against the pen mark with my thumb. Telling myself the flimsy cotton stretching between us makes this somehow less depraved.

But the truth is, nothing about this feels wrong. Everything about this feels right. So I go with it. I trust it.

I trust her.

“Admit it, Rosie.” I press in firm, even circles. “I found it on the first try, didn’t I?”

She arches her back now, hands gripping my shoulders as her eyes glaze over. She keeps her lips clamped shut and shakes her head defiantly.

I chuckle and switch to gentle upward swipes. Feeling the fabric beneath my thumb go wet. Feeling the hard point of her clit.

I know I got it right. And I know Rosie doesn’t want to admit it.

But that’s fine. I’ll let her have it.

Her moans turn to breathless gasps. Her cheeks turn from pink to red. I switch back to firm, slow circles.

“Fuck, this is so good,” she murmurs, eyes downcast as she watches me work her. “This should not be this—” I cut her off by increasing my pace.

“This is exactly how it should be.”

Her gaze snaps to mine and she nods. Then her breathing quickens. I watch her big blue eyes go from hooded to widened. Her eyes have always been her giveaway. So I’m not at all surprised when she gasps, “Ford!” as her back arches off my desk and her lashes crash down.

She comes with my name on her lips. Then she collapses back onto my desk, panting, and slings an arm over her face while I continue to gaze down at her, all beautifully disheveled.

This will play on repeat in my head for years to come. A moment I’ve imagined for far too long. All I can see is how perfect she looked when she came. My new go-to fantasy when I need to take the edge off.

Which is what I need now. My cock is uncomfortably hard against the stiff denim. And Rosie is altogether too soft and pliant.

Too easily flipped around and bent over this desk.

So, I lean over her, grip her head, and press a quick kiss to her hair before I cross into a zone there’ll be no coming back from. I worry about fumbling my words.

I worry about fumbling her.

The only girl I’ve ever really wanted.

I’m about to talk about this—about us—when my best friend’s voice filters in from outside.

“Ford! Get your ass out here! I wanna tell you about today’s delivery!” My stomach drops and we both freeze. West sounds downright amused. But I’m not.

Rosie’s eyes go round as they meet mine. Time stands still for a few beats. And then we both leap into action. It’s not a challenge since we’re both still fully clothed.

I flip her skirt down, and she smooths her hair as I gently guide her to standing. But a simple glance down at her face tells me I need to keep West from walking in here at all costs.

Rosie looks freshly fucked and my cock is doing its best to burst through my pants.

So with one firm nod at her, I adjust and stride for the door to cut her brother off and protect our privacy. This is not how he should find out.

I round the back deck and almost crash straight into him.

“Whoa.” He steadies my shoulders with his hands, a mocking smirk on his lips. “Didn’t expect you to come running quite that eagerly.”

“Dick,” I mutter, desperately hoping he doesn’t bother looking down at mine.

West nudges his chin toward the office. “Let’s go have a coffee. I’ll catch you up on my day.”

My jaw pops, and I peek back over my shoulder. “Can’t. Rosie’s working in there. Just let me grab my wallet and we can take a trip into town. I need to grab some things anyway.”

“Yeah, cool,” is all he says as he turns back to the parking lot with a pleased swagger to his step.

I march back into the office to find Rosie sitting primly at her desk like nothing happened at all. Her eyes move from my face to beyond me, clearly checking for her brother.

“Did he leave?”

I nod and walk to my desk—the scene of the crime—and grab my wallet that’s still lying on top. “Yes. I’m going into town with him. I have… errands to run.”

“Oh, errands?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” When I look across the room at her, she holds her hand up and mimes jerking off while tilting her head at me.

Normally, I’d chuckle. But I feel guilty.

I don’t like running out on her after what just went down. But the truth is, the way my brain works, I need processing time. I need overthinking time. I need to get West away from her because what I really feel is obnoxiously territorial when it comes to her.

Rosie knows how I work. Understands me in a way I’m not sure anyone has before. She doesn’t try to stop me—she just giggles and continues pumping at an invisible dick as a way of teasing me.

And when I get to the door, she calls out to me smugly, “You still missed the spot, Junior. Guess you’ll have to try again sometime.”

I turn back and glare at her, all mussed and totally full of it. She knows exactly how to press on my competitive streak. “Sure, Rosie. That would be a hell of a lot more believable if I hadn’t just watched you come all over my desk.”