Page 25 of Love At First Fright

E llis was pissed the fuck off. He’d sent Rosemary up to have a bath, and she’d been so good, so perfect. And then while she was up there, doing just what he’d told her to do, taking care of herself, he’d fussed over biscuits and made them tea.

She had been shivering so much, her bottom lip pale and tinged blue, and his brain had turned primitive—all Ellis had been able to think was get her warm.

Only, while Rosemary was still in the bath, Ellis had been called back to set for an impromptu meeting with Jeremy.

Some more studio bullshit, no doubt. And so Ellis had to leave her cup of tea, definitely cold now, and didn’t get to see the way her skin was all flushed and pink from the bath.

He certainly hadn’t pictured what colour her nipples would be from the heat, or how they might feel against his tongue.

The meeting might have only lasted four hours, but to Ellis it had felt interminable.

The second Jeremy stood to leave Ellis was out of the door, not caring how rude that made him seem.

All he could see was Rosemary: her plump backside as she’d bent into the window, the way her lips had parted when he’d said her name.

And Christ, the feeling of her underneath him.

He all but ran back to the Gatehouse, showering and changing at lightning speed.

He thought of a million ways of apologizing to Rosemary for earlier but when he eventually found her, sitting by the fire in the living room, typing on her laptop, all he managed was:

“If you’re writing I can come back later.”

“Ellis, hi,” she breathed, and something inside him lit up. She didn’t seem upset. Ellis ran his eyes over her; that peachy blush was back in her cheeks, her lips were no longer tinged blue. Good.

“The biscuits,” he blurted out. Smooth, Ellis. “I mean, did you find the biscuits in the kitchen. And the tea?”

“Oh.” Rosemary smiled. “I did, thank you.”

Ellis hovered in the doorway. “You were writing?” He asked. Since when was he this awkward around people he liked?

“I was drafting, yeah. But I think I’m done for the night. I know I need to stay up for the night shoots tomorrow night, but my brain already feels like mush.”

“Night shoots and turnaround days will do that to you. It’s like jet lag.” He sat down in the chair opposite her. He’d taken Fig on her evening walk, and the dog was so tired from all the excitement of chasing pigeons that she was already asleep upstairs.

“Did the bath help earlier?” he asked. “To warm you up, I mean.”

“It did,” she said, and when Ellis held her gaze, the desire he felt was echoed back at him in Rosemary’s eyes.

“That’s good.” God, she made him nervous. “And how is the writing going?”

“Better. I still haven’t had the courage to let my editors know it’s going to be late, but I’m actually writing again. And it’s not trash.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “I find it hard to believe anything you write would be trash.”

“You’re flattering me.”

Ellis leant forwards. “You deserve to hear how good you are, Rosemary. You deserve to be praised.” He let himself linger on those words, to let her know exactly what he meant.

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed a perfect peach as she pushed her glasses back up her nose. Rosemary rolled up her sleeves; the heat must be getting to her. Lord knows it was getting to him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why are all your tattoos night-blooming flowers?” Ellis asked.

“How did you…? How did you know?”

“I grow a few in my greenhouse.”

Rosemary tilted her face, as if she was looking at him in a new light. Then she traced a finger from the inner side of her wrist, up her forearm, to the inner side of her elbow. Ellis thought he might have just developed a new kink.

“This is evening primrose, and from my elbow it changes into two plants, tuberose and moonflowers. My parents own a flower farm, back home in Georgia. Night blooms were my mama’s specialty.

Some of my favourite memories were with her in the greenhouse after sunset, watching the flowers bloom.

The tattoos, they’re my way of staying close to her, now she’s gone. ”

“I’m sorry, love.”

He watched as Rosemary blinked back tears. “It was a long time ago, it’s okay.”

Ellis thought briefly of Hank, and even though he knew losing a pet wasn’t the same as losing a parent, the grief of that often surprised him at the most unlikely of times.

“It can still hurt,” was all he managed to say. “Do you still live in Georgia?”

Rosemary shook her head. “I’ve been in New York for a couple of years. But now, I’m in between places.”

“Your dad?”

“Oh, my dad is still in Blossom Ridge, and I’ll see him at Christmas. But that’s my childhood home, you know, it’s not my home now.”

“I get it. Will you go back to New York, after the movie is done?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. All my friends are here, in England. I don’t know what’s left for me there, but moving permanently here feels like a big step.”

Stay, Ellis thought, even though he had no right to, no reason to. Stay close.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said instead. He hadn’t planned this, but the idea unfolded now in his mind.

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Hmph. I don’t like surprises,” she said, sucking on a sweet in her mouth. Why did the thought of her tongue lapping at a sweet have him fighting an erection?

“Come on, you’ll like this one.”

Ellis took Rosemary’s hand, so soft and small in his own, and pulled her up off the sofa. He didn’t let go of her hand as he led her out of the room, and she didn’t seem inclined to let go, either.

“You’ll need to put a coat on,” he told her, and zipped her into a cosy parka. They didn’t speak much as Ellis led Rosemary, under the clear night sky, from the Gatehouse back to Hallowvale. The house was dark and empty at this time, everyone back at their crew accommodations now the sun had set.

He led her up the narrow staircase on the way to the Belltower, where he’d caught her in his arms that first day at Hallowvale, but this time Ellis let his gaze rove hungrily over Rosemary’s luscious curves, visible even under the chunky coat.

Should he be doing this? Ellis wasn’t even sure what his plan was.

Only that when Rosemary had begun talking about not having a home, he had this instinctual urge kick in to make her smile, make her feel good. To make her his.