Kissed by a Rose: A Dead Roses Novel

by Workman, RaShelle

  I glace at the table where Gina and I sat. She isn’t there, and neither is Romney. I pull out my phone to text her, and see she’s already texted me.

  Cole again, huh? Be careful. I’m spending the day with Romney. Catch you later.

  Be safe. I text back

  Don’t worry, VTG.

  I shake my head.

  “What?” Cole asks, glancing over my shoulder.

  “Gina. She’s started calling me,” I pause and pull him down so that I can whisper in his ear, “VTG.”

  He gives me a confused look.

  “It stands for Virgin Tattooed Girl. She finds it hilarious that I’ve got tattoos but haven’t…” I can’t finish.

  Cole chuckles, wraps his arms around my waist.

  “Get a room,” Simone shouts

  I feel Cole’s body tense.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say and wink, hoping he’ll relax. I think it works because he takes my hand and we walk out of the cafeteria together.

  23

  Do What Comes Naturally

  Rosie

  We practice our duet for thirty minutes. I’m having a hard time concentrating. I thought as soon as we got in the music room, Cole would demand I tell him what Simone said. He didn’t. Instead we go to work. The duet is sounding great. Cole plays with such emotion. Sometimes I think my heart will break with the passion radiating from his notes.

  Cole looks at me. Smiles. “Had enough?”

  I have, but I don’t want to leave this room. When we’re here, together, it’s like nothing else matters. There’s only the music and us. “I guess,” I finally say.

  “Come here.” He says the words while quirking his finger at me.

  It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Walking is a challenge because my legs are shaky.

  He pats the spot next to him on the piano bench. I sit and do what comes naturally. Play a song I’ve been working on. It’s simple. The right hand plays broken chords while the left keeps the beat. As I’m playing, thoughts of Cole kissing me fills my mind and my face warms. When the last note is finished, Cole puts a hand over mine.

  “That’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  “It’s still a work in progress,” I respond, enjoying a contented glow at his compliments.

  “What were you thinking about while you were playing? Why were you blushing?”

  I take a deep breath. Time to spill. “I was thinking about you and me kissing and about all the talk that you’ve made the rounds with most of the girls here.” As I speak, my face burns. I’m too embarrassed to look at him, but I’m so glad I said it. Got it out there.

  “The kissing I like, but why the other part?” Cole whispers.

  I look at him then. His features are filled with an odd sadness, his jaws are clenched.

  “Gina has heard that about you and Simone also mentioned it today.”

  Irritation replaces the sadness. He wipes a hand over his face. “What else have you heard?”

  I clear my throat. There’s no reason to backpedal. “Nothing. That’s it, but isn’t that enough?” I stumble over the last word, humiliated I’m being so bold.

  His features harden further. “I guess.”

  I get the feeling he’s mad at me, but I’m not sure what I’ve done.

  “No mention of whips and handcuffs?” he adds, his eyes burning into me.

  Then I remember I texted him that when I thought I was texting Gina. “None of that,” I say, my face so hot I swear it’s going to explode. My stomach is twisting with worry. He’s upset. Angry. I’ve seen what furious Morrisons look like. The end result isn’t pleasant. I slide away, ready to stand, leave him alone. But he grabs me around the waist and pulls me back.

  “I think we’re through,” I say nervously, my eyes searching his.

  “We haven’t even started,” he says huskily.

  He wraps a hand around my neck, strokes it softly with his thumb. The movement sends tingles through my body and I’m grateful there aren’t any windows in the practice room.

  Shifting, Cole throws one leg over the bench so he’s straddling it. With both hands he pulls my hair off my shoulders. He takes the ponytail he’s made with my hair and wraps it around one hand, gently pulling my head so I’m looking up at him. It’s forceful, but in a good way.

  I gasp, closing my eyes, waiting for what I’m hoping comes next.

  He kisses a necklace across my neck, then kisses my jawline and up to my cheek.

  I lean into him, unable to stop watching him. “Kiss me.” I touch his face with my hands, suckle on his lower lip.

  He moans. “I want to, Freckles.” But he waits.

  “What?” I’m watching him, enjoying the fireworks between us.

  “I want you to kiss me.” His eyes linger on my mouth.

  My heart sings with excitement and desire. Without thinking, I lean in, kissing him softly, like butterfly kisses against our lips.

  “Rosie,” he whispers against my mouth.

  The sound of my name on his lips lights me on fire. I want more of him, to be close to him. His hands leave my hair and move along my shoulders and down my back. I can’t help but whimper in pleasure. It comes from a place inside I didn’t know existed. I clutch him tighter, hooking my angles together.

  He deepens the kiss and the tension in my belly is electric and delicious, like an ache of pleasure. It takes my breath away. My body is tuned in. Awake. Alive. This is new. Kissing. Touching. It’s amazing.

  He cracks a grin. “What are you thinking?” he asks tenderly when he break apart.

  I move my hands along his chest to his collarbones and down his arms. “I want to kiss you again.”

  He answers by covering my mouth with his, urging my mouth open and kissing me so deeply, so passionately, I feel it in my toes. His kisses are desperate, fierce, and hungry. I match his urgency, kiss for kiss. It feels like we’re one. He’s mine, and I never want to let him go.

  Many, many minutes later, he slows his kisses. His breathing slackens. I match his pace. My lips are swollen, and my face feels raw from his scruff. He suckles my bottom lip, and I sigh. Content. Happy.

  “That was… You are…” I trail off.

  Cole’s features are serious.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He takes my hands, and turns them over, like he’s studying them or seeing them for the first time.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, realizing he probably wants more. That he’s used to much, much more.

  He grabs me and pulls me tightly against him in a hug. “Rosie, you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known.” His voice is filled with tender astonishment.

  I feel the same way about him, but I can’t find my voice. We stay wrapped in each other’s arms a long time. Until finally he pulls me off the bench and walks me home.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks when we’re at my door.

  “I have a test to study for.”

  “Can I cook you dinner at my place?”

  My face lights up. “What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  24

  He’s Gravity and I’m the Moon

  Rosie

  “So, Romney? How’d you guys meet?” I ask Gina.

  She doesn’t answer right away. She’s playing coy.

  I haven’t told Gina about what happened in the piano room yesterday. The experience is too private, too amazing, and I’m not quite ready to share. Cole and I practiced our duet and he invited me over for dinner. That’s all I said. She seems to think tonight is the night. I’ve told her more than once that isn’t going to happen. I’m not ready yet and I want to be ready.

  I pull on my slightly baggy jeans and a white shirt and fluff my hair. I’m wearing it down and wavy. Lip gloss on my lips. Ballet flats on my feet.

  Gina hands me her heart necklace, the one she let me wear the other night. “Keep it. It looks better on you.”

  “Really? Thanks, Gina.”

>   “No biggie.” She plops on her bed and flips open her Psych book.

  “Romney?” I remind her, rubbing on some deodorant.

  “Uh.” She picks up her yellow highlighter and marks a line on the page. “He’s in my Biology class. He’s my lab partner. We talk. He seems to like that I’m crazy. And I like his pretty hair.” Gina slams her book shut and sits. “End of story.”

  I’m about to tell her she’s lying when there’s a knock on the door.

  I know it’s Cole. The boy I’ve loved since I was nine. The man whose very presence makes my heart pound in a beautiful melody. My veins sing in harmony. The butterflies in my belly are back and pirouetting eagerly.

  Gina opens the door. “Hey.”

  “Hello.” He waves at her.

  I walk toward him like he’s gravity and I’m the moon. I can’t resist his pull. I don’t want to. I move into his atmosphere and bask in his radiance. He smiles at me. And I’m whole. The feeling shocks me.

  When I’m close, he reaches out his hand and I take it. My hand in his. Our hands together. It’s right. I know it. I know my parents somehow know it too. And they would approve. What Cole’s father did has nothing to do with him. He is his own person, his own man. Cole is kind, generous, giving. I can’t blame him for my parents’ deaths any more than I can forgive his father. Life is what it is. I am who I am. Cole is who he is.

  It’s time for me to move on.

  “What are you making her for dinner?” Gina asks, her hands clasped behind her back.

  He looks at her, and then at me. “I was thinking peanut butter and jelly?” He raises his eyebrows in question.

  Gina bursts into laughter. “Sounds about right.”

  I don’t comment, just smile and enjoy the easy tension between Gina and Cole. She’d harbored ill feelings toward Cole the other night. It had surprised me, but we’d talked, and she supported my decision to see how Cole and I would work.

  “Actually, I’ve got Chicken Cordon Bleu in the oven, a green salad in the refrigerator, some French bread, and chocolate soufflé for dessert.” Cole looks at me when he says the word dessert, and my thighs quiver.

  “Who made it, your mommy?” Gina is teasing him, and under any other circumstance, it would be funny. But not with Cole.

  I inhale. Glance at him carefully. His mother died when he was a baby. He doesn’t remember her, and he’s always been touchy about it. A few times, when I was over at Cole’s house, his dad would fling around words about his mother, words like: trash and junkie. I think his dad did it to make Cole angry. It worked.

  And the way Cole tenses, I know he’s thinking about everything I am, and more.

  Gina and her big mouth!

  I squeeze his hand. “Sounds fantastic,” I say, moving closer.

  He walks me to the door.

  “You two have fun.” Gina waves. She’s none the wiser about the pain she’s inflicted.

  I wave. “See ya, Roomie.” The smile on her face is tinted with sadness.

  I want to make her feel better, do something to ease her pain. But I’m not sure what that something is. At least there’s a beginning happening between her and Romney. Hopefully with Romney she can have many good firsts. A relationship. Maybe even love—if Romney deserves it.

  I glance at Cole as we ride down the elevator. He’s watching me. Amused by something. His tension gone.

  “What?” I ask, leaning against him.

  “I love watching you think. Every emotion flashes across your face. You’re so open, so good. Are you sure you want to get involved with a guy like me?”

  I kiss him gently on the mouth. Suckle his bottom lip. “You’re the only guy I ever wanted to get involved with, Cole Morrison.”

  25

  Marinated MOMENT

  Rosie

  I help Cole clean up after dinner. “You’ve got serious skills,” I say, placing the remainder of the salad in the fridge.

  “Thanks. I’ve been cooking for myself a long time. A guy can only eat so many PB&Js before he has to take matters into his own hands.”

  I force a laugh. We are suddenly moving toward territory I want to avoid. Talk about his home life, his dad. I know he can’t help what happened. I know it isn’t his fault, but I can’t talk about his dad like he’s some normal guy. He isn’t. He’s a murderer.

  Cole closes the fridge and grabs my hands. “What are you thinking now?” He brushes some hair off my face, stroking my cheek with his thumbs.

  “My aunt likes to cook strange meals.”

  He smiles, a little sad. “Like what?”

  I think a second. “Marinated meatballs in crisp taco shells was a weird one. Sushi with spaghetti, lima beans and tofu.”

  Cole’s face twists in disgust.

  “You want me to go on?”

  He chuckles. “Nah, I get it.” He takes both of my hands in his and pulls me into the living room. “Want to watch some TV?”

  “Sure.” We sit on his couch.

  He locates the TV remote and turns it on. Football highlights fill the screen.

  “Football?”

  “If you want.” I sit back against the cushions.

  He turns so he’s facing me, touches my lips with his forefinger. “What do you like to watch?”

  I’m momentarily distracted by the way my body is suddenly humming at his nearness. He touches me and I’m like a light, on and ready to shine. My eyes focus on his lips. I want to kiss him, touch him. So many ideas fill my head.

  He bats at my nose playfully. “Earth to Rosie. Come in, Rosie.”

  “Oh.” I blush. “I mostly watch what my aunt and uncle watch. The Brady Bunch, I Dream of Genie.” I tuck my hands in my lap. “I prefer to read.”

  He scoots closer. “What do you read?”

  His nearness is making me nervous. “The Great Gatsby. Anne of Green Gables. Lord of the Flies. The Count of Monte Cristo.”

  Cole trails his finger along my eyebrows. Under my eyes. Along my nose. Across my lips. My jaw. “What about movies?”

  “I watch The Ten Commandments every year. My aunt and uncle love that one. I think it’s kind of dull.”

  He sits up like I’ve smacked him.

  My mind has travelled back further to when my parents were alive, when life was good, easy. My mom and I watched Pride and Prejudice together. She called it a mother-daughter date. We went to the movie and ate Junior Mints. After, we got burgers and fries and talked for hours.

  That night is one of my favorite memories with my mother.

  Cole cups my face in his hands. “You have a lot of catching up to do.” He’s more than eager to be the one to help, and I’m thrilled. “Want to watch one of my favorites?”

  “Sure.”

  He kneels in front of the cabinet under the TV and pulls open a drawer. There are dozens of movies standing at attention side by side. “The Matrix or The Avengers?”

  It is fun watching him. I push myself to the edge of the couch. “Either sounds good.”

  “If you want pure entertainment, there’s Black Panther or Deadpool…” as he says the name of the movie, he pulls out the case. “Star Trek is actually pretty good.”

  I rest my face in my hands, unable to help but smile. “Let’s watch Black Panther,” I say.

  “You read my mind.” He grabs the movie and puts it in the DVD player. Then presses something, and the movie previews appear on the screen.

  “You mind if I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course. I even cleaned it because I knew you were coming.” He walks over and flicks on the light.

  I can’t help but notice the closed doors to the left of the bathroom and I wonder what’s behind them. Cole follows my eyes, and I know he knows what I’m thinking.

  “You want to see the rest of my apartment?” He moves to the door on the left and opens it. There is a small, brown upright piano on the far wall, a window directly across from the door, and a closet to the left. Sheet music, music stands, and boxes of old music b
ooks are scattered all over the floor. “Piano room,” he says, nonchalant.

  “I love it,” I say, and mean it. “You’re so lucky. I miss having a piano so close by. You can roll out of bed and practice, play until your heart is content.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty cool.” Then he closes the door and moves on to the door at the end of the small hall and opens it. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s just a normal room. “Spare bedroom.”

  I peer in, looking around more closely than I need to. I don’t know why.

  His features are furrowed. He’s sad. I can see it and sense it.

  “What were you expecting? A dungeon?”

  “No. I don’t know. I guess something that proves you’re a womanizer… or something.”

  He crosses his arms. “Look, I know what people say about me. And to some degree I deserve it. I’ve dated. A lot. But I treat every woman with respect. I’ve never hurt anyone—at least not on purpose.” He’s frustrated and sad.

  “I’m sorry Cole.” I hug him tightly. Because I’m letting him down again. The things people say about him, the rumors, they’re just that. Rumors. College kids making stuff up. I know the real Cole. He’s shown me over and over again the past few weeks what kind of man he is. He isn’t evil, but kind. Maybe a bit hot-headed too, but only when he’s trying to protect me.

  He hugs me back. Tilts my head so I can see his face. Kisses me. His lips are gentle, filled with care.

  “Mmm, you are a great kisser,” I whisper against his lips.

  He smirks, his lips still on mine. “And you’re such an authority.”

  “Hey, I have good taste.” My fingers have found their way under his brown t-shirt, stroking the tight skin over his ripped abs. My pinky fingers keep brushing against the band of his jeans. Goosebumps constrict his skin, and he breathes out slowly. “You smell like garlic,” I say.

  He chuckles. “Ooh, tell me how you really feel.”

  “Nothing wrong with garlic.” I kiss his chin, knowing full well I smell like garlic too. I had more than one piece of garlic bread.