Wild Love: Chapter 33

The first thing I did when Ford took his parents over to his house was pee. And then proceeded to laugh hysterically into my palms while sitting on the toilet.

Only me.

Only Rosalie-the-hot-mess would get railed by her life long frenemy and new boss and then get walked in on by his parents.

If I weren’t so amused by the whole clusterfuck, I’d want to lie down and die of embarrassment. But as it stands, I’m kind of invested in seeing how this all plays out.

Call it a morbid sense of curiosity.

I re-create our moment of insanity in my head as I wander back to my place in a happy sex daze. In the shower, I close my eyes and pretend my hands are his, roaming my body.

The way he switched from hard and domineering to soft and worshipful gave me the best kind of whiplash. My body aches with the memory of him.

When I step out, I apply body lotion and murmur his words back to myself.

You’re fucking perfect. I missed you like crazy this weekend. I wouldn’t feel trapped with you.

In the past, sentiments like that might have triggered an alarm. I’ve never been one to get easily attached. But with Ford, they don’t read like cheap pickup lines. They don’t make sirens go off in my head.

All I feel is a warm, floating sensation low in my belly. Like tension unfurling, soothing all the anxiety. Washing away that pesky itching sensation I always feel in his presence.

“Ah!” I jump when I see my roommate, the little brown mouse, scurry across the floor and run under my bed. “Seriously, dude,” I grumble, tugging on jeans and a sweater, feeling like I need to get out and walk, or be around other humans, or something—pace a circle or some shit. “You don’t need to run out and startle me like that. Just be cool. Strut out like you own the place. I’m too soft to evict you anyway. I’ll just make sure my brother doesn’t find out about you.”

I hear the light patter of him scurrying across the floor. He pops out on the other side of the bed, heading for the kitchen.

“I should name you Ratatouille.”

I watch it. Little, round ears. Beady, black eyes. I should take issue with a mouse in my space, but I just… don’t.

“Good point,” I say to absolutely no one. “You’re not a rat. I get it. I do. What about Scotty?”

Now that would be entertaining. I laugh at myself as it creeps along under the lower ledge of the cupboards, and I find myself watching it. Little nose sniffing, whiskers wiggling as it searches for crumbs.

Crumbs it finds—because I put them there.

“It would be nice if you could keep your poop outside. I’m getting a little tired of vacuuming and washing the floor every day.”

A knock at the door draws my attention away, and I walk across the open bunkhouse to yank it open. I was expecting West, but Ford is standing right in front of me. Filling all the space with his imposing height and broad shoulders.

His hair is damp, and he’s wearing a brown cable-knit sweater. The white T-shirt underneath peeks out, and I glimpse the flash of his silver chain disappearing beneath the layers.

He props a hand on the top of the doorframe, leaning in a bit closer. “Hi.”

My eyes travel back up to his. And what I see there is… nerves. He looks nervous.

“Hi.” I smile softly, take a deep whiff of him, and reach forward, hooking one finger around the chain and pulling it out. I brush my thumb along the tarnished key and shake my head. I still can’t believe he held onto it for all these years.

“Who were you talking to?”

“My mouse,” I reply absently.

“Your mouse?”

“Yeah, Scotty.”

I peek up at Ford and his grumpy, heavyset brows. The high peaks of his model-like cheekbones. No wonder they named him the world’s sexiest billionaire. The monetary status is just a gimmick for a face that is most definitely magazine-worthy.

“You named the mouse, who is living in your house, Scotty?”

“Yeah.”

A tendon at the edge of his jaw pops. “Why?”

“To piss you off.”

He rolls his eyes at me in his signature bitchy way. “You think I’m going to be jealous of a mouse?”

I lean against the doorframe, stare up at him with wide, innocent eyes, and shrug.

We have a stare-off, which is nothing new, but there’s an added heat. An added knowing.

“You’re infuriating,” he grumbles, and then he drops his head to kiss me, and I smile against his lips.

This kiss is different. It’s not edged in anger or frustration or overbearing tension.

It’s achingly sweet. Not soft, but drawn out. Again, his knuckles stroke along my cheek, and a shiver races down my spine. I step closer, wanting to be wrapped up in him.

Again.

All night.

All day.

If Ford were a blanket, I’d pull him over my shoulders and walk around like I was wearing a cape.

His tongue swipes against mine and his hand settles on my throat. “I came to invite you to our bonfire tonight.” His breath is damp against my lips. “But now that I know Scotty has moved in with you, I think you should pack your bags and stay with me instead.”

The tip of my nose runs over the stubble at the edge of his sharp jawline. “That might raise some eyebrows on the professional front. You fuck me once and move me in with you?”

He lands one hard kiss against my lips before pulling away and stepping back. “You know I don’t give a damn what people think of me. You can stay in the guest room if that’s more professional for you. I can fuck you just as easily in there.” He hits me with a cocky smirk, stepping farther back as though he’s preparing to leave. “Because we both know it wasn’t only once. It was just the first time.”

I bark out a laugh, grinning back at him. “I’ll think about it.”

“If you choose a mouse named Scotty over me, I’ll be offended.”

“I meant the bonfire. I’d be an idiot to choose Scotty over you.”

I half close the door on him, pleased with getting the last word in. But then I open it again and see him staring at the bunkhouse with a boyish smile on his face.

“But Ford, we need to tell Weston.”

I expect the smile to drop from his face, but it doesn’t. “I know.”

It’s from behind the closed door I hear him call, “See you tonight.”

Because he knows me well enough to understand, I don’t need to think about it at all.

I hope Ford doesn’t want to have sex with me tonight because I ate far too many hot dogs and s’mores. I’m so full that all I want to do is go to sleep.

Possibly right where I am. I’m already wrapped in one of Ford’s blankets, after all.

The fire is warm, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and the glass of wine in my hand tastes way too damn good.

West just ruffled my hair—more of a noogie, really— and took off with his feral daughter and bookish boy.

Gemma and Ford Senior took off a few minutes later. And Ford just walked Cora back up to the house. Being there to see Cora connect with grandparents she never knew she had was a highlight of my life. She watched everyone chat and laugh and tease each other with wide, starstruck eyes.

I could have watched her taking it in all night long.

My little storm cloud glowed bright as the moon.

And now it’s just me, my food baby, a glass of wine, and the stars.

I feel myself doze. A loud crack from the fire startles me awake and I shake my head. “Get it together, old girl,” I murmur.

Not wanting to fall asleep and spill red wine all over myself, I push to stand and walk down the slope toward the lake. Toward the dock. It’s my favorite place to sit.

Morning tea.

Peaceful lunch.

Bedtime wine.

It faces due west, which means it’s a spectacular place to sit at night. It’s chillier down by the water too, something I clearly need to stay awake right now.

I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stare out at the inky water as I mull over the day’s events. The boards shake before I ever hear Ford’s approach.

He crouches behind me, but I don’t turn to look at him. I keep staring out at the other side of the lake, now dotted with lights from a home opposite mine.

I swear I can feel his annoyance even though I haven’t turned around.

I smile into the cool night.

His hand wraps around my ponytail, and he gives it a gentle tug, pulling my head back. Forcing me to look into his eyes, their green almost black in the darkness.

In the past, this has always felt playful. Flirtatious even. But tonight, it makes my stomach flip and my blood pump faster. It’s downright commanding.

“Are you ignoring me, Rosalie?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I like fighting with you.”

His head quirks in an almost feline way. A shiver races down my spine. It reminds me of the look he gave me earlier, right before he flipped me over and fucked me on his desk, just like I wanted him to.

“Do we fight, or do we flirt?”

I wink at him, my head still tilted back. “With us, I think they’re the same thing.”

He shakes his head like I irritate him. But I know better. Now I know he’s always put on an act when it comes to me. To us.

And the kiss he bends down to press against my mouth all but confirms that.

When his fingers soften on my hair, he sits beside me, our bodies pressed tightly side by side. Not at all like the night I told him he would have to move closer to share my chips.

I hold my glass over to him, and he takes a deep swig.

“Tonight was a fun night,” I say, cutting the silence. “Cora is so…” I trail off, shaking my head. I can’t quite put into words what she is to me. So much like her dad that it hurts, so pure, so self-aware, so awake. I don’t know her parents at all, but I know they raised a good one under less-than-ideal circumstances.

“Cool,” Ford provides, taking another sip.

“Yeah. She’s really cool.”

“I’m gonna be sad when she goes back to her mom.”

I go still. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. We didn’t get much of a chance to talk about their trip since we were… otherwise engaged.

“You think she’ll go back?”

He gives a firm nod. “She’s a good mom. A good person. Good people get clinically depressed. She’ll recover, and I’d never want to interfere with that. Cora belongs with her.”

I drop my head to his shoulder. “I think Cora will always be in our lives now, in some way. And if her mom is as good as you say, she wouldn’t keep her from you. Not after the way you’ve been there for them.”

I hear him swallow, his body moving as he nods again.

“Stop hogging my wine, Junior.” My hand makes a grabbing motion and the vibration of his deep chuckle rolls through me as he hands it back.

“You said our lives.”

The wine is full-bodied and bursting with cherries as it spills over my tongue.

“Good listening. Gold star for you.” I nuzzle closer, hinting that I want him to drape an arm over me, but his fingers clamp around the edge of the deck.

“Do you think you’ll stay here in Rose Hill?”

That question has me straightening and turning to assess his profile. “Why wouldn’t I? I have my family, a job that I actually really like—and I’m not just saying that because you’re technically my boss—and a place to live.”

“With a mouse.”

“Scotty,” I correct him, which earns me an eye roll. “My boss overpays me, so I could probably get my own place. A rental maybe.”

I can tell he’s tense. I can tell the post-sex haze has lost a bit of its luster.

I can tell he’s worried about everyone leaving, even though he’d never say it out loud. I don’t think he’d want me to point it out to him, so I reassure him in the best way I can think of.

“Can I sleep at your house tonight?” That question gets his attention, and he turns an unreadable face to me. A light crease forms between his brows, like he can’t quite figure me out.

And that’s good. I like keeping Ford Grant on his toes.

Which is probably why I add, “Main floor guest room. We’ll keep it professional with Cora around.”