Page 20 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Rose

I’ve only gone speed-dating once in New York. Not in hopes of meeting someone special, but for moral support for a college girlfriend of mine. It sounded like fun, and it was. But only when you go with a friend and exchange notes—over lots of drinks.

Willow thinks this is my way of getting the attention I’m not getting from Wilder. But she’s wrong.

I do have Wilder’s attention. Just not in the way I want.

Tonight is more about having a good time. I don’t plan on calling any of them afterwards. Not for a good time and certainly not for forever.

As much fun as it sounded to hang out with Wes and Silas and his teammates tonight, I wanted to be on my own. I really don’t want to be talking to a bunch of hockey players—or any guys for that matter—with my brother across the table watching me.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

I certainly don’t tell myself that I wanted to go out alone tonight—in hopes of getting caught.

But I’m on date number twelve and .?.?. I don’t think he’s coming.

I’ve been sitting with Rob or Bob or Andrew for a solid two minutes now. He’s been staring at my cleavage since he sat down. Only making eye contact for a few seconds at a time.

I’m not a fan of this one. At least the others made me laugh. Sort of.

Like Todd, the poet, who attempted to come up with a unique poem on the fly that starts with “Roses are red.”

Even Gary, who proudly bragged about winning a hot dog eating contest last fall, was funny and sweet. Not in a romantic sense, though.

I fight back a yawn, listening to Bob and mentally counting how many more before I’ve gone through all sixteen dates.

A towering frame approaches my table. “Clock’s up—move along.”

My stomach squeezes as I look up. Wilder .

Confused, my current date glances between us. “Uh .?.?. I don’t think—”

“I said beat it.” Wilder’s voice is low but sharp. He doesn’t look at me—and something tells me he’s saving it for when we’re alone.

My heart flips with mischievous excitement. Still, I feel some sort of obligation to defend this poor man. I’m about to when I catch date number twelve glance back at an unpaired table six. He smirks as he stands. “Have a nice night, you two.”

Wilder’s lips are pressed in a thin line as he fills the seat. His jaw is tight. But his eyes, when they finally meet mine, aren’t equally angry. They’re not tender either, just .?.?. amused? Challenging?

“Wilder,” I say with a steady breath.

“Yes, I’m Wilder, and you are?”

“Surprised.”

He leans in and his face is even more gorgeous in the candlelight. “Oh, I was too, but enough about me. How do you plan on getting home tonight?”

I cross my arms. “In my cart.”

He shakes his head. “I just had it towed. Stolen property.”

“You can’t do that. It’s mine for the summer. You said so yourself.”

“Oh, you’ll get it back. When I replace the tires you took without permission.”

I glare at him until a waitress sets a drink in front of him. “Thanks, darlin’.” He takes a sip and leans back in his chair, watching me. “So, what’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

I lean back too, playing his game. And I think I might be better at it. “Lookin’ to take the edge off.”

He growls to himself, voice strained when he says my name. “Rose.”

“What, like I’ve never done it before?”

His jaw tenses, eyes darkening as he exhales.

The halftime buzzer goes off, signaling we have three minutes left.

“Enough. Now, let’s get out of here.”

“Why would I do that? You’re a terrible date.”

“How’d you figure?”

“The second you sat down you accused me of stealing.”

“Got a point.” He takes another sip of the amber liquid.

“You haven’t asked me what my favorite color is.”

“Blue,” he says in one breath.

“My flaw.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know .?.?. trouble sleeping?”

My breath catches in my throat. I didn’t think it was noticeable, but then he frowns, sets his drink down, and leans in, his voice low but not judging.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

I swallow. “Sleep is overrated.”

“Sorry you feel that way. When that buzzer goes off, we’re leaving.”

“I’m not going home.”

He swirls the remaining liquid in his glass. “Who said anything about going home?”

I look over his shoulder. “I’ve still got three more dates.”

He looks over mine to see what he’s got ahead. I watch his face for a reaction, fighting the urge to turn around and see. Are they older? Blonder?

His quick peek doesn’t give anything away, but that’s not new for him.

I glance at his drink, and he holds it out for me.

I shake my head. “I don’t drink.”

Wilder cocks his head, narrows his eyes, and watches me for a moment—even after the buzzer goes off.

“To be continued,” he says, then inhales the remains of his glass and stands, holding his hand out for me. “Let’s go, Blue.”

I stare at it for a few short seconds, a smirk playing on my face as I meet his eyes. Because I realize it doesn’t matter who’s behind me.

Wilder Thorne is leaving with me.

When the hostess tried to stop us from leaving, Wilder looked about as interested in staying as I was.

So he hooked his arm in mine, thanked them for helping him find his soulmate, and we walked out of there laughing.

Well, I was laughing. He seemed annoyed. “You’re turnin’ me into a liar,” he grumbles.

“Oh stop, you enjoyed that,” I tease.

He doesn’t say another word, but I catch him in another lie as we cross the street. My cart is parked where I left it.

But I don’t call attention to it. Just like I don’t call attention to the fact that my arm is still tucked under his.

He skims my outfit once more. “Startin’ to not believe you had art supplies in two of those suitcases.”

I decided against that outfit I told Willow I’d wear. It was too uptown city girl. Instead, I’m wearing a long black skirt with a slit up my thigh and red top. My makeup is minimal, mascara with light shimmery eyeshadow and pink gloss.

“You’d be surprised how many clothes I can fit into one suitcase. Shoes tend to be the problem.” I lift my burgundy boots. “And I only brought one pair. Well, and slippers.”

He’s quiet as we walk along the street, and I wonder what he’s thinking. A million things go through my head at the possibilities.

How to fire me without hurting my brother.

How to let me down gently since I’m failing miserably at hiding my attraction.

The best route to Bones, since that’s where Wesley and his friends are. There, he’ll tell my brother where he found me tonight.

Feeling like a bother to him, I start to slip my arm out of his, but he holds tight, keeping his eyes ahead.

“So, when do you paint?”

The question throws me off, but then I see his thought process. “You think I stay up late painting?”

“When you’re not sneaking out, stealing vehicles, caught in a bar fight, or dating random strangers for six minutes at a time, I imagine you might have an actual hobby.”

“I used to paint at night. It’s how I started actually.”

“Now?”

“Now, I .?.?. paint whenever, I guess.”

“So it didn’t start as a hobby?”

I get a flashback to a therapy session where I told Dr. Sandra about my art. Which she explained was my outlet. A way to escape stress and overwhelming feelings.

I shake my head. “It was a way for me to focus, help calm me, and keep my head in a better state of mind.”

“Wesley says you gave up becoming a doctor for art.”

My heart constricts. “Therapists don’t heal,” I correct.

“Then what do they do?” he challenges, but answering that question will tell him more about me than anyone needs to know.

“Did you know over seventy percent of graduates don’t end up in the field they studied?” I deflect.

A smirk touches his lips, his eyes flicking to mine. “I suppose that sounds accurate.”

There’s a question in his brow, that makes me ask, “And yet .?.?.”

He lifts a brow with a grin, pleased that I can read him.

And it’s so sexy, I almost forget what we’re talking about. “And yet, something is off with your claim that you’re just like that seventy percent of people.”

“You think I’m different.”

“I know you’re different.”

We turn onto the corner where his truck is parked. There’s a bar that looks slightly more upscale than Bones. But not more appealing. A group of women are crowding the front. One smoking a cigarette, the other two laughing. All three are blonde and beautiful.

Wilder pauses, and there’s a shift in his vibe I pick up on. It’s so abrupt it almost hurts.

“Wilder,” I whisper, looking up at him.

He releases a slow breath. “Come on,” he mutters low, nudging his head toward his truck, only one storefront away from the girls.

“Bon,” one of the girls starts, her tone almost a warning.

Instantly, I know who she is.

Why Wilder stopped and wants to get out of here.

It’s her. The woman he was ready to give up everything for.

The woman who betrayed him and gave him up in return.

I pretend I don’t see her when we draw close and press myself against Wilder’s hard frame, slipping my arm around his back.

Like I’m made to be under the crook of his arm, he tugs me close, with a subtle furrow of his brows.

“Wilder,” the blonde I can only imagine to be Bonnie says when we reach them.

Of course her voice is perfect. Angelic with a hint of gruff.

“Hello, Bonnie.”

Her eyes are on me, and I give her a small wave and a pretty smile. “Hi there, I’m Rose.”

Bonnie perks a brow. “Ya’ll look cozy.” Her comment isn’t directed at me.

“Good to see you.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your new girl?”

I prepare for Wilder to tell Bonnie and her friends that I’m nothing more than his employee, his best friend’s sister.

“She just did that,” he says flatly. “This is Rose. And we’re on our way home. Excuse us.”

The two girls step aside, but Bonnie doesn’t move. She scans me just before Wilder takes my hand and walks around her.

When we reach his truck, I plant myself in front of the passenger door. My eyes are on his lips as I tug him close.

“Rose,” he warns. “Not doing this. I’m not using you to get to her.”

“What if I’m using her to get to you?”

His eyes drop to my lips, but he still hesitates. It’s a struggle, like he wants to but is holding back.

Because he doesn’t want to use me to make Bonnie jealous? Because of my brother?

Apparently, I’m not above begging.

“Put your morals aside and kiss me, cowboy.”

He moves into me like he can’t help himself, sets his hands on my hips and growls into my ear. “I said no .” He pulls me against him and cracks open the passenger door. “Inside.”

To our audience, we look playful, like we’re drunk on each other and can’t wait to make out.

To him, I look like his best friend’s kid sister who needs to calm down.

To me, I feel like a fool.

Fifteen minutes later, he parks his truck around the back of the cottage. It almost seems intentional. Like he doesn’t want the nearby cabins to see him here this late with me.

“Sorry,” he says with a sigh as he helps me out of the passenger seat and shuts the door behind me.

“For what?”

“I said I wasn’t taking you home.”

I wouldn’t have remembered if he hadn’t said anything. Because we did walk around for a bit before we ran into his ex.

I shrug with a soft smile. “I guess you owe me.”

“I’ve sent someone for your cart. He’ll have it here by morning.”

“Let me guess, the tires will be taken off and I’ll have to put the old ones back on myself?” I try to make light of his mood because I can tell he’s distracted by something.

It’s probably her.

He’s about to respond but hesitates. And for the first time in a long time, I’m tired . This man is exhausting.

“Forget it.” I turn, walk up the steps and pull my keys out.

But he’s behind me in an instant, flipping me around and pressing me against the door, caging me with his palms. “We need to clear some things up.” His hands curl into fists like he’s fighting to hold back.

“First off, you can keep the tires. On one condition. You only take it outside these gates during the day. You want to go out at night, you call me.”

“You adding babysitting to your list now, cowboy?”

“And second, I’m pretty damn sure you wouldn’t have wanted an audience for this.” His big hands rake into my hair and his lips crash against mine. I suck in a sharp breath, then moan into his mouth, lifting my hands to his face. I kiss him back with equal hunger.

He growls in response and I revel in the sound. The gravelly, masculine, out of control sounds he makes when we’re this close.

Lightheaded with heat and lust, I barely feel him unlock the door behind me before it swings open and we move inside.

Wilder breaks the kiss for a moment, shutting the door behind me, but keeping me in his grasp.

The second we’re behind the pretty blue door, he hooks his hands under my thighs and lifts me, guiding my legs around him. And holy crap what this does to my core.

I whimper into his mouth. I want to cry out his name but fear it will only snap him out of this rage-filled desire.

That’s what this is. A release of pent-up frustration that’s been driving him mad.

He breaks the kiss with a growl, still holding me with a fist in my hair. “Did you want people watching me devour you like this, Rose? Or did you think it was going to be an innocent little kiss?”

I throw my head back, exposing my neck to him with a plea in my voice. “Wilder.”

He nips at my jaw, then yanks me back to face him. “It would do you well to understand what you’re asking when you tell a cowboy to put his morals aside.”

His eyes drop back to my swollen lips.

“How can I not now?” I breathe, lust-eyed and hungry for more.

He growls again, setting me on the kitchen counter and spreading my legs to stand between them. “I’m not crossing this line with you, Rose.”

I cradle his strong jaw, stroking it lightly, then lean to kiss along that line I’ve silently memorized.

His eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, your lips are like a drug.” He turns to meet them with his. “The best kind of drug.”

He moves me onto the couch, the lights still dim from before I left the house.

Wilder squeezes my thigh, then uses one finger to lift my skirt, dragging it up by the slit.

Anticipation doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel in my bones. I want him.

And I’m about to have him.