“I’ve never been interested in anyone,” I say flatly. “I’ve never even been close to being interested. But when I saw you, I was. I was interested. More than interested.”
“You’ve never wanted anyone else?”
“No,” I say at once, fire flaring in my voice, the very thought of another person makes me almost roar like a beast at the wrongness of it. “Only you.”
“That’s crazy though,” she says passionately. “All the options you must’ve had—”
I dart my hand across the table and squeeze onto hers, staring deeply into her eyes. “Only. You. I mean that, Rosie. You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel…”
Careful, careful, careful.
“What, Ryker?” she whimpers. “Feel what?”
“Anything,” I growl. “Before I met you, I never felt anything for any woman. Ever. But for you, I feel… I feel fucking everything.”
Stop, stop, stop.
But I can’t, not when her eyes widen in that captivating way, not when they shine, not when her hand tightens in mine and I can feel all the emotion coursing through her.
“Rosie, I don’t just want you for the night. Or a week. Or a month or a year. I want you forever.”
Fuck.
Did I make a mistake?
Chapter Eighteen
Rosie
I stare across the table at him, suddenly feeling like we're in a bubble. The soft jazz, the noise of the other patrons, the footsteps of the waiters…
All of it recedes into a hazy background as I try to work out if I’ve just heard him correctly.
I want you forever.
That was what he said, wasn’t it? I was sure I heard those words come out of his beautiful lips, even if they should be impossible, even if I can’t dare to let myself hope he’s truly feeling all the insane things I am.
“What?” I murmur.
“I didn’t mean to say that.”
“Oh.” I let my gaze drop. “Okay.”
“No,” he snarls. “I meant it, Rosie. I want you. I need you. I just don’t want to scare you away.”
I look around the restaurant, and suddenly all the surrounding noise comes barreling back to me. I’m too aware of how public this is, how any passing person might overhear our words.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” he says, nodding at our plates. “We’re both almost done anyway. And then I can explain.”
He must’ve read my uncertain look as I scanned the surroundings, but of course, he can read my look.
Of course, he’s going to take the extra effort to try and see what I’m feeling, what I want, what my desires are.
Because he wants me, needs me, the same way I need him.
I nod. “Okay.”
I sit next to him in the parked car, my hands clasped in my lap the same way they were on the way to the dinner when I told him about what happened to my parents.
We left the restaurant quickly after he paid the check, his hand on the small of my back, guiding me as though he needed to get me someplace private as quickly as possible.
Now I risk a glance over at him. His hand is a tight fist resting against his leg, his eyes scanning the parking lot, his whole body emitting a world of heat.
I can feel it permeating the air, brimming and pulsing, as though the scorching heat of his body is slithering inside of me and igniting all those silly thoughts again.
All those thoughts of a family, a baby, a future, all the signals firing inside of me…
They burn in me, as I push away my anxiety and reach for him, grabbing hold of his arm firmly. I squeeze through the fabric of his suit, feeling his corded forearm, the muscles pulsing in time with my desire.
“You have to explain,” I tell him. “You have to tell me what the heck you meant by that.”
He turns with a jolt, almost violently, and his hands move across the car and clasp my face. I freaking love when he holds me like that, his palms against my skin, causing warmth to cascade over every part of me, trickling down my body and setting me alight.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” he snarls.
“Try me.”
He smirks. “Didn’t you hear me back there? I said I wanted you forever, Rosie. For the rest of our lives.”
“I heard you,” I say fiercely.
“So…”
“So what?”
He chuckles, letting his hands drop. One of them comes to rest on my leg, near my knee, but he might as well have pushed himself against my sex for the way my body responds, my sex tingling, my clit pulsing fiercely.
“So I don’t understand why you’re not running a mile,” he says. “I don’t understand why you want to hear me out. We met a couple of weeks ago. Surely you think that sounds crazy?”
“Why don’t you stop telling me how I feel,” I say firmly, “and let me decide for myself?”
“You’re so damn sometimes confident, so sassy, it drives me insane…”