“Shit!” I take her hand. “We’ve gotta make a run for it.”
Rain drops chase us toward the detached building just as a crack of thunder booms. It must startle Rosalie, because Mr. Darcy drops to the ground with a thud.
“Oh, no!” Rosalie tugs my hand and motions to the dildo. “Not Mr. Darcy!”
It landed in the dirt, rain pelting the silicone base to make a puddle of mud.
“Leave him.” I wince, pulling her toward shelter from the rain. “He’s no good to us now.”
The entire thing is so ridiculous, and we’re out of breath and laughing as we make it to our shelter.
My laughter fades as I take her in. It was a short race through the rain, but she’s wet enough that her clothes cling to every curve of her body. I’ve always appreciated Rosalie’s beauty. Her sharp features and dark eyes would make anyone stare. But in this version—the one where laugh lines peek around her mouth and the corners of her eyes; where she’s not wearing much makeup, if any at all, and her hair curls with the moisture—I can’t seem to look anywhere else.
She’s goddamn breathtaking.
She’s unfiltered perfection.
And for tonight, she’s all mine.
If we had a script, it vaporizes from my mind. I can’t remember any lines from this book, nor do I give a fuck. It’s impossible to hold any intelligent thought when the most beautiful woman in the world is standing a breath away.
I step forward, leaning down to cover her mouth with mine in a sensual kiss. My mouth moves slowly, savoring the taste of her lips. My touch is unhurried as I trace the lines of her body. She shivers in my arms.
“Cold?” I ask.
“It’s the wet clothes.”
“I agree,” I murmur against her mouth, then move my kisses down the column of her throat. “They need to go.”
The hum of her agreement is all the encouragement I need to peel off her shirt, bra, shorts, and underwear. I step back and appraise my handiwork. She moves her hands to cover her body, unease clouding her gaze.
“Hey.” I bring her stare to mine. “What’s wrong?”
She swallows hard, and shakes her head as if she doesn’t want to answer. Maybe it’s just the lighting, but she looks close to tears. She definitely doesn’t look pleased or excited.
Fuck. I’m fucking this up.
“Tell me. Did I do something? Are you having second thoughts?” I’m usually good at reading signals, but I must have missed something. “Because you don’t owe me a damn thing. We can go back inside. We can stop.”
“No.” She glances at the floorboards. “It’s not that. I just feel so naked.”
Confusion furrows my brow.
“I’ve seen you naked before, Rosalie.”
“Yeah.” She crosses her arms over her body, hiding herself. “Well, last night I was high, and the time before that it was dark. Now. Here.” She blows out a frustrated breath. “Under these lights you look like a goddamn Adonis and I’m just . . . me.” She shakes her head, still not quite meeting my gaze. “Like, I know no one is perfect, but I’m far from being the object of anyone’s desire.”
“The fuck you aren’t.” The answer flies past my lips without hesitation or propriety. I take a step forward, crowding her, and take herwrists in my hands so I can drag them down to her sides. “You are so beautiful it’s hard to remember anything else.”
“You’re just saying that.”
She won’t quite meet my eyes. I’ve never seen this side of her. She’s always so sure of herself. So opinionated. Her insecurities seem so out of character that for a second I question whether I read the wrong book and she’s playing a character. But no. There’s nothing pretend about the emotion in her eyes when they lift to mine.
“I wish I was. Fuck, Rosalie. Swear to God, if you asked me to get on all fours and bark like a dog, I’d do it in a second.”
This earns me a grin.
I run my hands up her arms, massaging her shoulders, and then move my fingers to her chest. I trace the curve of her breasts and cup them in my hands. “I’d do anything you asked me to right now. You’re so fucking perfect . . . and pretty . . . and smart.”
