Page 47 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

i do love to be his good girl

Rosie

“ R osie?” Caleb’s voice is soft and soothing. He runs a thumb under my eye, and the fuzzy white edges begin to fade, a blurry image of Caleb’s face becoming clearer.

I go to open my mouth to say something but then there is the sound of little feet running into our—his bedroom, where I’m seated on his lap.

Before I can ask, Caleb is shifting to get out from under me, placing me gently on the bed and standing in time for a…child to round the corner.

“Daddy!” The little girl runs straight into Caleb’s arms and they hug.

I stand. My heart racing.

“Daddy?” They both turn to look at me with matching looks of amusement. The kid is probably no older than four and then she’s running in my direction, except I back away, and keep backing away, expecting to hit a wall but not finding one. And then the kid has its gangly arms wrapped around my legs.

“Hi, Mommy.”

THE FUCK?

I’m no one’s mom.

I look down to the girl, deep navy eyes paired with the most adorable mix of smooth caramel skin and light brown curls. She’s the kind of cute you want to squeeze, and my heart starts to slow as I feel Caleb’s finger on my cheek again.

Only, when I look up, he’s across the room.

“What—”

“Rosita!” My name is shouted by a voice I recognize instantly.

I spin around, my feet tumbling on the edge of the roof—when did I get on a roof?

I turn back, trying to find Caleb, trying to understand what the hell is going on.

When I find him, he’s got the little girl crying in his arms. They stand in the stairwell, and the man holding the door from closing…

My father.

“Padré, what are you doing?”

“They don’t belong in our world, Rosita.”

“What—”

“You need to let them go!”

“No!” I can feel water falling down my face, my fingers reach up and I wipe, realizing I’m crying. “Padré, don’t do this.”

“If you won’t, I’ll be forced to do it for you.” He slams the door closed and gestures behind me. I spin again, stumbling but catching my footing before I fall. When I turn, my stomach nearly bottoms out.

Standing in a cage, hanging from a rope over a canyon, Caleb and the little girl.

“Mommy!” the girl screams, and Caleb just looks over at me, concern, sadness, and something like despair across his face as he holds the girl, attempting to soothe her. I don’t register the face of the girl. But something in my heart tells me she owns most of it.

“Say goodbye, Rosita.” My father’s words whisper close to my ear, and I watch as the cage drops and disappears into the fog below it. The only sound is the scream that burns and tears its way from my throat. I try to go to them, try to save them.

But my feet, they won’t move.

Why won’t they move?

A chain?

I follow the path with my eyes, watching it lead right to the hands of Mickey. He watches me with a saccharine smile, yanking on the chain tied to my ankles, pulling me back.

The air in my lungs dries up, my chest constricting, and I’m suffocating.

No. No! This can’t be happening, this can’t…NO!

Warm hands hold my face, thumbs swiping against my cheekbones, and I can hear the echo of Caleb’s call to me.

“Rosie.”

“No!” I scream.

“Rosie! Jesus, it’s just a dream, Rosebud.

Just a nightmare.” My eyes are blinking away a haze.

I feel my heart thrashing around in my chest as I pant, hard.

Trying to catch my breath, my eyes begin to focus, and they find Caleb’s dark eyes, the violet looking more purple with the moonlight shining right into them.

“Breathe,” he implores, his hands firm on my cheeks, and I do.

I suck in a deep breath before letting it go.

“Just a dream,” I whisper, and he slowly dips his head in confirmation. I never get nightmares though. I’m a deep sleeper. If I dream, it’s brief and not really detailed; I don’t always remember them. But this? This was the most vivid thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Yeah, pretty girl. Just a dream.” His lips tip slightly on one side, but his brows pucker in concern.

“Oh thank fuck. ” My forehead falls into his shoulder, and I manage to garner my surroundings.

We’re in his apartment, on his bed, with his silk sheets as I sit now perched in his lap. I tense when he moves his arms to wrap around me and I make sure to disentangle myself, looking down at my dress.

“Do you, uh, have anything more comfortable?”

“Oh, of course.” He gets up, heading to his wardrobe, coming back with a T-shirt. “Obviously I don’t have any women’s clothing, but this should work. Also, I realized you like to wear a lot of…uh, panties that look like shorts?—”

“They’re called boyleg.” I smirk up at him as he throws the clothes in my lap, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, I put some boxers in there for you too. I’ll go make a tea while you get changed.” He turns and heads for the door, his hand scratching at the back of his head.

“Tea? You drink tea?” He turns when he gets to the door, opening it and giving me a playful grin.

“God no. But apparently it’s soothing, and I’m going to make you some tea. Okay?” He nods and closes the door behind him.

“Okay,” I say to the empty room. Well…that was thoughtful. I look around seeing my purse on the bedside, my phone plugged into a charger.

I climb from the bed, tapping the screen—a surprise to no one that I have three missed calls from my father, but I pay attention only to the time. One in the morning, which tells me I napped on Caleb’s bed for an hour.

A shiver goes down my spine at seeing my father’s name, memory of the dream flashing through my mind again.

“What the fuck was that,” I whisper to myself, but I don’t allow myself the time to dwell on it.

The nightmare was batshit crazy—I mean, a kid?

! Why the fuck was my brain putting children in my dreams?

Nightmare, for sure.

Not that I don’t want them, I just never thought about it, never planned for it.

I sure as hell wasn’t bringing spawn into the hell that is the Garcia/Castillo life, so I never figured it would be for me.

Plus, I don’t even think parenting is something I can do.

Like, nurture them? Care for them? Listen to them cry and wipe their shit? My whole body shivers. “Yuck.”

It’s probably just the result of not enough sleep and too many work hours. I really should take some time off.

“Ha! Time off.” I sputter at my own joke. “Hilarious.”

Oh look, I’m talking to myself, maybe it’s a psychotic break.

I would normally get Halle to give me her dream interpretation—she loves that shit—but I can’t exactly divulge all the issues with my family. So maybe I’ll just google it later.

I stand from the bed, taking off my dress and panties before throwing on the oversized black T-shirt and boxers.

I look around the room, finding a door I assume is an adjoining bathroom, and head in to clean the toy.

Before I can make it all the way in, though, I find a full-length mirror opposite the door, and I stop dead.

The shirt I’m wearing, it isn’t just a plain, oversized black T-shirt. It’s a Beyoncé World Tour shirt. In big, white writing across my boobs is her name, and in giant print down the center of the shirt is Beyoncé herself, looking hot as fuck in her silver cowboy bikini getup. My jaw drops.

Caleb isn’t just a fan, he’s, like, a super fan.

With my jaw still hanging open, and a disbelieving laugh working its way up my throat, I continue farther into the bathroom, mulling over the fact that Caleb Smith—the self-named closer, playboy idiot is a die-hard Beyoncé fan. Who would have thought?

Woah.

My analysis of Caleb’s weird side obsessions comes to a halt when I’m faced with the most stunning bathroom I’ve ever seen.

Twin basins sit in white stone that is thick and smooth, low backlit mirrors above both sinks with an entire wall for a shower, together with two black shower heads and a bench seat that runs the entire length of the shower wall.

The toilet is in a separate little room, accessible by a door near the sinks, but the main feature of this room is opposite the shower.

In front of an industrial-style floor-to-ceiling window that looks over the city, with an incredible nighttime view, is a small, raised platform with a wide circular bath right in the center of it.

Like the bath is the main event on stage or something.

I gaze longingly at the bath before heading to the sink to wash the toy.

I’m only just finished when Caleb knocks lightly before entering and slowly walking up behind me. He places a cup that has steam billowing out of it on the vanity before sliding his hands into his pockets. Is now a good time to tell him I don’t drink tea?

“Didn’t pick you for a Queen B fan?” I say instead, biting down on the smile trying to break through.

A little hint of a blush hits his cheeks but he just pouts, trying to hide his smile too.

He comes up close behind me, the warmth from him seeping into me as I feel his chest brush against my back.

I make a conscious effort not to lean back into him.

“She is the queen. I won’t hear criticism.”

I raise my hands in defense. “Hey, no criticism here. Renaissance was one of my favorite albums.” A sparkle hits his eye as genuine happiness covers his face.

“My personal favorite is the 2014 Beyoncé: Platinum Edition , but Homecoming: The Live Album ?” He shakes his head.

“Never mind.” His bashful boy-ness wins out and I turn to face him.

He doesn’t back up and I let him drop the Beyoncé topic.

Holding the toy between us, I tell him, “I’m keeping this, by the way.

She’ll be besties with Vivienne.” He winces slightly, but then starts to chuckle before heading over to the bath.