Crave the Rose

by Karen Kincy

  “You can keep talking dirty while you’re at it.”

  He gives me a savage grin.

  I’m losing my grip on the counter, the muscles in my thighs trembling with the strain. “I’m falling.”

  He yanks me closer and tilts my hips upward. When he thrusts at a steeper angle, he grinds against my clit. I groan and rock against him as he moves. An orgasm washes over me in slow waves of lazy ecstasy.

  Clinging to him, I sigh against his skin.

  “God,” he says. “I want to fuck you so hard.”

  I laugh between pants. “You are.”

  He bites my shoulder, just hard enough to sting, and pounds into me. He crushes me close and shudders, his cock pulsing. I kiss him on the mouth as he moans. He sags against me before bracing himself on the counter.

  The box of cereal topples and scatters puffs onto the floor.

  “Fuck.” He grunts against my neck. “Sorry, I killed your manatees.”

  I laugh. “Eat them.”

  He snorts and shakes his head. I admire his ass while he walks to the bathroom. I hop from the counter, my legs wobbling, and sweep up the puffs. I don’t give a shit about the cereal. It’s not too big of disaster.

  The biggest disaster has to be the skip in my heartbeat when he walks back in. Or the way I can’t stop smiling at him.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so high on sex. Drunk with fucking.

  That has to be it. Right?

  Bram’s wearing boxers again, and they hang low on his skinny hips. He grabs the broom from me and keeps sweeping. I lean back on the counter to check out the view. Damn, he’s sexy with or without clothes on.

  Smirking, he looks sideways at me. “See something you like?”

  I wiggle my eyebrows. “Do you cook and clean?”

  “If you have any ingredients that aren’t rubbish.”

  “Still hating on manatees?”

  “No, just Munchies.”

  I grin. “We used to eat Munchies for the munchies.”

  He dumps the puffs into the trash. “The munchies?”

  “God, you’re adorable when you’re confused.”

  He rubs the bridge of his nose. “I can only take so many Americanisms.”

  “You ever smoked weed?”

  “Marijuana? No. Have you?”

  I shrug. “When you smoke a lot of weed, you can get the munchies. Like you crave some favorite kind of junk food.”

  He furrows his brow before breaking into a grin. “I must have the munchies for you.”

  “Dude, that’s not how it works.”

  Jesus Christ, he’s been craving me? And wants to admit it? We barely know each other. Especially this time around.

  I tug my bathrobe closer, knotting the tie. “Let’s have soup for lunch.”

  His eyebrows descend, and for some reason he looks disappointed. Like he wanted a romantic confession from me.

  Nope. Not going to happen.

  “Which cupboard?” he says.

  I point it out. He fetches the soup while I slice some bread for toast. We cook together in silence. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it still feels like something is missing. Something I don’t want to understand.

  He brings our bowls to the table. “Don’t burn yourself. It’s hot.”

  I nod, sip the soup, and burn myself anyway.

  I’m bound to get hurt with Bram. At the bare minimum, I might break his heart. Damn, why am I such a bitch?

  He crumbles his toast over his soup. “What’s wrong?”

  I get up for a glass of water. “I’m fine.”

  “That means you aren’t fine.”

  I fake a smile. “You do remember something about me.”

  “Women never mean it when they say it.”

  “Been in trouble with a girl before?”

  He frowns at his soup. “Inevitably.”

  I’m curious who he dated before we met. I’m betting girls about twenty times more proper and British than me.

  He arches his eyebrows. “What isn’t fine with you?”

  I poke at my soup. “Finding you in the hospital wasn’t fantastic.”

  He looks away. That was a low blow.

  “Shit,” I say. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t your fault. You don’t deserve any of this. You’re too good for me, Bram.”

  He raises his head, his mouth tight, his eyes questioning. “What’s wrong with you?”

  My stomach tightens. “A lot you don’t remember.”

  “I meant it as a rhetorical question.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “Please, enlighten me.”

  The temperature drops by ten degrees. I’ve never seen his eyes so icy.

  I grit my teeth. “What do you think I did?”

  He doesn’t blink. “You’ve been hiding something since the hospital.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  His fingers curl into fists on the table. “What happened?”

  “I...”

  “Was there another man?”

  “What?” I fake a laugh. “I didn’t cheat on you, Bram, for fuck’s sake.”

  Some tension eases from his shoulders, but I can’t stop thinking of Spencer. Naked in bed. Balls deep in another girl.

  “Fuck.” Sour acid rises in my throat. “I don’t want to do this.”

  I shove my bowl away. Bram reaches across the table and touches my wrist with his fingertips. His forehead tightens, the ice in his eyes melting. “Was it my fault? Jesus, tell me. Tell me so I can apologize.”

  I can’t torture him. And the stress could trigger another seizure.

  “I walked out.” The words escape me in a rush. “I almost caught a flight home before I got the call about the hospital.”

  He slumps in his chair and rubs his forehead with his knuckles. “Why?”

  “It had nothing to do with your epilepsy.”

  “I bloody well hope not.” He looks more hurt than angry. “But was this my fault? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No.” I blink back tears. “I left you because I was afraid.”

  It sounds so fucking stupid when I say it. I shove my chair from the table and back away. I can’t bring myself to look at him.

  “Cassia.” He stands and touches my arm.

  I shake my head and take my bowl to the kitchen. “You want to eat this? I’m not hungry.”

  He takes the bowl, sets it aside, and tugs me to face him. He waits for me to look him in the eye. “Why were you afraid?”

  I stare at him. My vision blurs. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I don’t even know how to say it.” I swipe my hand across my eyes. “Let me go.”

  “Cassia, sit down.”

  It’s close enough to calm down that my hackles bristle.

  “I can’t do this. I’m not into commitment. That’s why I walked out on you, okay?”

  His jaw clenched, he looks at me for a long moment, scrutinizing me. “Is that all?”

  I glare at him. “You think this is something trivial? I left you, Bram, and I came back because I thought you might die.” My throat chokes. “You don’t remember, but our relationship was a fucking trainwreck.”

  His mouth twitches. “I can’t complain about the fucking.”

  “Don’t be such an asshole.”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “Because I don’t remember any of the bad times between us. Because I barely know you but we’re still so good together.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient.” I spit the words at him. “Wish I had amnesia.”

  His face twists. “No, you don’t.”

  I take a breath and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I said that. I’m trying to be honest with you. But seriously, I’m a bitch.”

  “If I’m an asshole, aren’t we a match made in heaven?”

  I don’t know how he can stand
there smirking. Like this doesn’t bother him at all.

  “Make this easy,” I say. “Pretend you never met me.”

  “Why did you pretend to be my girlfriend?” He stares at me, his eyes brilliant blue in the sunlight. “We promised no lies.”

  My nerves go numb. “What?”

  “No cheating. No lies. No falling in love.” He frowns at the floor. “Three rules.”

  “You remember.”

  A fat tear sneaks over my cheek. I turn away, but not before Bram catches me and clutches me in an embrace.

  “Hey,” he murmurs. “Please don’t cry.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and crush my face against his shirt. Pain grips my throat like a fist. I suck in a shuddering gasp.

  “Cassia.” He kisses my forehead. “Cassia, it’s all right.”

  His voice vibrates though his chest. I cling to him until I can breathe, then turn my face away and dry my cheeks on my sleeve.

  “Here.” He presses a paper towel into my hand. “I don’t have a proper handkerchief.”

  I laugh and blow my nose. He’s still so concerned with being proper.

  “You can talk to me,” he says. “I’m listening.”

  I twist the towel into a rope. “You don’t have to be so sweet.”

  “You cared about me enough to come back.”

  “Caring can hurt so much.”

  Bram frees the towel from my hands, walks me to the bedroom, and pulls me down to lie beside him on the bed. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, a steady metronome to my wild emotions.

  “God,” I say. “I wish I didn’t feel like this.”

  He grunts in a manly way and strokes my hair. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired. Anxious. Guilty.”

  “I don’t think you deserve to feel any of those things.”

  I keep my eyes closed. “What else do you remember?”

  “Sex.” His laugh startles me. “On the beach.”

  I smile. “That was a good memory.”

  “We should make more good memories together.”

  “Maybe later. I’m impressed by your stamina.”

  He laughs again. “Not sex.” A pause. “Not only sex.”

  “We’re pretty good at fucking. And professionals at fucking up.”

  He shrugs beneath me. “We haven’t fucked up too spectacularly.”

  I run my finger over my thumbnail. Back and forth. “I fucked up with Spencer.”

  “Your ex?”

  “The one who killed himself drinking and driving? After I caught him cheating on me?”

  Bram whistles low. “That is professionally fucked up.”

  I wish I could laugh. “You don’t remember the details. I beat the shit out of his BMW, and I wanted to beat the shit of him.”

  He’s silent for a small eternity. “And you blame yourself?”

  “Nobody held a gun to my head and made me do it. I was so angry at him. Do you know he invited me to join them? A threesome. He never promised not to screw around, and after he died, I wasn’t better than a slut myself.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  I bite my thumbnail. “I wish I could forget. I don’t think I can forgive him.”

  “Have you forgiven yourself?”

  Hunched on the bed, I stare at the wall. “No.”

  Bram strokes the small of my back, his hand warming my skin. He doesn’t need to tell me that I should forgive myself.

  “I don’t know how.” My voice sounds broken. “I wish I had an ordinary life.”

  “We can live an extraordinary life together. It has its perks.”

  “Like?”

  “Bizarre American breakfast cereals.”

  I laugh through the ache in my throat. “So you did like the Manatee Munchies?”

  “Not really.”

  “I knew it.”

  He hesitates. “Will you stay with me? For forty-eight hours?”

  “I said I would.”

  37

  Bram

  We finish our lukewarm soup at the table. I try to joke, though Cassia’s smiles never last long. I wish I understood her.

  But I remember being with her. Recognition jolts me every time I look at her face.

  And I remember the beach. My cheeks heat at the thought of making love in the middle of the day, plain for anyone to see.

  “Why are you blushing?” she says.

  I wash my bowl in the sink. “Nothing in particular.” I give her a hopeful smile. “Would you like to go out for a walk?”

  She tugs down the corners of her mouth. “You’re giving me puppy dog eyes again.”

  “Am I?”

  “Dude. Don’t try to deny it.”

  I break into a grin. “It’s not raining.” I peek out the window. “In fact, I see a bit of sun.”

  She heaves a sigh. “Let me get my shoes.” I catch her smiling.

  We walk through the gardens of Wolfenwold Hall. A skylark zips overhead and perches in the beeches. Dew glitters like diamonds on the lawn, clinging to every leaf, enchanting flowers into enamel jewelry.

  “Christ,” I say. “I remember everything.”

  She glances at me. “Everything?”

  “The blueprints.” I stare at the labyrinth of yew hedges. “Why do we even need another bloody golf course in Sussex?”

  “You tell me.”

  I frown at my boots. “The conference center will be elegantly modern. A tranquil setting for future business retreats.”

  “You sound like a fucking brochure.”

  My laugh sounds empty. “That’s what my mother told investors. Nobody cared about the gardens. Not even me.”

  She’s silent, her lips pressed in a tight line.

  “Cassia, Wolfenwold Hall can’t be a manor house anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Renovating the house and the grounds will cost at least a million pounds. Sometimes we can’t afford to preserve the past.”

  She brushes her fingers over the yews. “You would destroy this history?”

  “It’s out of my hands.”

  “Bullshit.” She stares at me with bright eyes. “Bram, you were supposed to be in charge. You were supposed to make the call.”

  “That’s not true. I don’t have absolute control.”

  “Are you saying you’re helpless?”

  “I’m not—”

  Copper. That dirty penny taste invades my mouth.

  No. God, no.

  “Cassia.”

  My stomach churning, I reach for her hand, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t catch myself from falling into the dark—

  ***

  Breathe. I can’t breathe. Like I’ve been holding my breath for too long.

  I gasp and gulp in a lungful of air. My ribs ache from the effort. Gravel biting into my cheek, I roll onto my back.

  Sky blinds me with bright clouds.

  “Bram.” A girl leans over me. “I’m here, Bram, calm down.”

  Who is she? Who is Bram?

  I can’t remember anything. I can’t piece together the puzzle in my head.

  Blood stains my tongue with iron. I spit, and spit again, but the taste doesn’t go away. I try to sit, my muscles screaming at me.

  God, it’s really starting to hurt. This has happened before. Hasn’t it?

  “Bram,” says the girl. “Talk to me.”

  I’m Bram.

  I’ve had a fit.

  Two thoughts click into place. The realization makes me sag with relief. I can sleep now. I’m so bloody exhausted.

  She shakes my shoulder. “Stay awake. Stay with me.”

  “It’s fine,” I mumble. “I have epilepsy.”

  “It’s not fucking fine. You had a concussion, and it hasn’t been forty-eight hours.”

  Cassia.

  I remember her. She’s everything but my girlfriend.

  “I called an ambulance,” she says.

  I shove myself onto my hands and knees. My skull aches in time w
ith my heartbeat. “Fuck. How long was I out?”

  “I don’t know. Three minutes?”

  “Fuck.” I say it with more emphasis. “That’s not good.”

  Her voice trembles. “I couldn’t stop you from falling.”

  Fatigue drags my head down, my skull heavy. She kneels by me and touches my cheek with her fingertips. I’m too bloody exhausted to feel humiliated. Never before has the gravel path looked like such an inviting pillow.

  “Bram?”

  “Let me lie down for a moment.”

  When I do, she shakes my shoulder. “Stay awake.”

  My eyelids fight gravity. Her fingers gripping mine, she doesn’t let go until the ambulance arrives.

  Staggering to my feet, I wave away the helping hands of the paramedics and climb into the ambulance. They offer me oxygen, but I shake my head and lie on the gurney. I can breathe now that my mind isn’t telegraphing nonsense to my muscles. Cassia stands outside the ambulance, her face frozen in a white mask.

  “Can she come?” I say.

  A paramedic glances back. “She can ride in the front.”

  The ambulance doors slam before it lurches into motion, the rumbling of the engine pressing on my ears, closing my eyes.

  I don’t wake until I’m in the hospital. Again.

  I’m lying sideways on a bed, which might even be the same bed as before. Cassia isn’t anywhere in the hospital ward.

  What if she left me again? What if she’s had enough of the epileptic?

  My stomach churns, my mouth sour. I look pathetic in this paper hospital gown. A clock on the wall ticks down the seconds. Over the sheets, my fingers clench into fists. I need to stop being so bloody useless.

  What is Wolfenwold Hall worth? Who would find it valuable?

  When a nurse walks through the ward, I catch her eye. “Excuse me. Ma’am?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could I have my phone, please?”

  “Of course.”

  She brings it to me and I thank her with a smile before browsing my contacts. Most of them are friends I left behind in Oxford or London. Most of them wouldn’t blink if Wolfenwold Hall were bulldozed to the ground.

  But then there’s Jebediah.

  Jeb was absolutely obsessed with crumbling ruins, castles, and old houses with pedigrees. When we were roommates, he once took me on a tour of Oxford while reading from a textbook on architecture. Jeb works as a location scout now, finding places for films, though I’m not sure where he lives at the moment.