I was only feet away from my bedroom door when Oliver appeared at the top of the staircase—already dressed in black jeans and a hoodie. A mug of freshly brewed coffee in his hands. Probably for Fallon. Both those girls were fiends when it came to caffeine. He halted on the top step.
‘You’re half naked.’ Oliver pointed out, grimacing when his eyes panned down my body. ‘With a semi. Okay, you can add that to the list of things I never needed to fucking see.’ He clapped his free hand over his eyes. ‘Go get fucking dressed. It’s my birthday and you’re ruining it.’
My face split into a wide grin. ‘Happy Birthday brother.’ Before he could dodge out of the way, I wrapped my arms around his neck and yanked him in for a hug.
He squirmed against my grip, holding the coffee at arm’s length, doing his best not to spill it as I ruffled his hair with my knuckles. ‘Fuck’s sake, let go before it fucking touches me.’ Using his agility honed from years of football, he duckedout of my hold. His eyes scrunched in distaste, but I saw the reluctant smile he tried to hide.
‘Go get dressed. I don’t need my girlfriend seeing all that.’ He made a retching sound and shoved me hard in the shoulder.
As quickly as I could, I threw on some jeans, a grey T-shirt and my favourite red flannel and padded downstairs. No one else was down yet. The only signs of life was the coffee pot that Oliver left warming.
I got started on preparing breakfast. All the ingredients Rosie and I bought yesterday went into making the best damn English breakfast ever.
‘You’re whistling.’ Two warm hands encircled my waist, palms pressing flat on my chest. I stopped whisking the eggs that I was about to pour into a dish to make frittata.
Plucking one of her hands, I lifted it to my mouth and pressed a kiss in the centre of her palm before turning around. I’d seen her dripping wet in the shower, not a stitch of makeup or clothing on her body not twenty minutes ago, yet she fucking took my breath away, standing there in black leggings and a red and white stripped turtleneck. Her hair was still wet from the shower, her lashes were a deeper black and cheeks pink from makeup.
‘You sound like a guy who got laid.’ She grinned.
God help me, I couldn’t stop the matching smile from stretching across my face. ‘And you look like a woman who just got fucked.’
I cut her laugh short by swooping down and sealing our lips together. She tasted like mint and smelled like vanilla—I never considered scents to be arousing, but one whiff of Rosie and I was hard as a rock.
My arms wrapped around her waist, about to lift her into my arms and place her on the counter to take full advantage of that mouth when she pressed two palms on my chest,pulling back with a giggle. ‘Okay, I’m under strict instructions,’ she said, as I pushed her hands away and continued kissing her. Trailing my lips all the way down her cheek to her neck. ‘We have a birthday to celebrate,’ she continued, voice breathless. Her hands curled in my shirt and I took that as all the invitation I needed to keep going. My right hand cupped the back of her neck. I bent her backwards slightly, sinking my teeth into the skin right by her ear. The spot I found last night that rewarded me with the sweetest sound—and there it was.
‘We have to—’ her words trailed off to a long moan.
‘Go back upstairs and fuck breakfast,' I finished for her, nibbling on her earlobe.
‘My vagina needs a break.’
At those words, I pulled back with raised eyebrows. ‘Really?’
The corners of her eyes creased as she smiled. ‘No. But after yesterday, I don’t think slipping away to fuck when you’re supposed to be making breakfast is going to be a good start to Oliver’s birthday.’ She slid off the counter, rose to her tiptoes and brushed her lips gently over mine, pulling away with a firm pat on my chest.
‘I can multitask,’ I said.
She gave me another sweet laugh, winking at me over her shoulder. ‘Trust me, I know.’
I folded my arms over my chest, watching as she went over to the fridge and started pulling out the birthday cake we’d brought down yesterday. Grabbing candles from somewhere, she arranged them on top of the cake.
‘Think that’s a bit overkill?’ My hands found their rightful place on her hips, her back to my chest as I looked at the thirty-something candles she was placing on top of the white frosting.
‘Fallon asked me to get candles. She didn’t specify howmany.’ Rosie couldn’t keep the devilish glint out of her eyes. I gripped her chin between my fingers, tilting her head back.
‘It’s gonna be more candle than cake.’ I brushed a kiss against her lips.
She pulled back with an evil smirk. ‘Perfect.’
32
We stayedone more night in the cabin, playing board games—the girls consistently beating us—eating way too much food and having more fun than I had in years. As we crawled into bed Saturday night, slightly tipsy from the champagne Fallon had bought, Rosie stretched her beautiful body over mine, not a stitch of clothing on her, and curled up on my chest, falling asleep within minutes. For a girl who had never spent the night with a guy before, never let them cuddle her as they fell asleep, she’d acclimatised quickly.
I couldn’t lose the smug feeling swelling in my chest as I held her close. Breathing in her unique scent like an addict.
The skin on my arm was raw from how often I’d pinched myself throughout the last few days. The explosive chemistry between us had erupted, and it felt like I was waiting for the aftershocks. Rumbles that threatened to crack the foundation between us, tearing down what we’d painstakingly started to build.
I fell asleep with her body next to mine, lips parted as she breathed, not a single worry creasing her brow, and that niggle of panic bubbled in my veins. Things that were oftentoo good to be true, usually were. Years of hoping and praying for my mother to get better, only to watch on helplessly as cancer ravaged her body, had taught me that. You rarely got the things you wished for.
