Blossoming Flower (Wildflowers Book 1)

by Vivian Winslow

  “Tomorrow will be a long travel day for you. You need some rest,” Collin urges as he leads her to the bed.

  My bed. It’s hard for her to imagine this house is really hers. Two short months ago she didn’t have a permanent place to call home. For a few years, she was forced to make her dorm rooms her home since the Brazilian government had taken away virtually all of her family’s properties. Even the fazenda, the place occupied by her father, never felt like home. Now, this incredible house and beautiful land is hers.

  Flor lands softly on the bed and smiles up at the ceiling.

  “Why are you smiling?” Collin asks.

  She rolls her head to the left to look at him. Reaching for his hand she says, “I’m home.”

  Forbidden Rose

  Wildflowers, Book 2

  The Gilded Flower Series

  Vivian Winslow

  Text copyright © 2015 Vivian Winslow

  Prologue

  Six months earlier

  “What the hell are you doing here?” A strong hand grips the chef’s shoulders.

  Eliseo nearly jumps off the barstool in surprise. He’s always anxious around 2 a.m. after his shift. It takes a while for the adrenalin that’s been pumping through him full throttle since 6 p.m. to work its way out of his system. When he was in his twenties, he used sex and plenty of drugs to come down or keep up the high after a long night’s work. Now 32, all it takes is a bit of añejo and a cigar. Sex too.

  He used to be able to screw indiscriminately from the hostess to a customer, but now he’s found comfort in a familiar fuck. That won’t happen until 4 a.m. when Camila finishes her bartending shift down in Nolita where she slings overpriced cocktails in a dingy bar to a pretentious Wall Street crowd. What they have is casual, born strictly out of a mutual need and nothing more.

  “Coño,” he shouts, ready to punch the owner of the hand until he sees it belongs to his childhood friend, Rodrigo Cruz.

  “Holy shit, brother,” Eliseo says, a bright smile spreading over him while he pulls his friend into a bear hug. “How long has it been?”

  “Too long, too long, bro,” Rodrigo replies.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? Dahlia finally kick you out on your ass?”

  Rodrigo laughs at the thought, unable to imagine the possibility. “Nah man. She has some insane craving for pastelito de guayaba.” He holds up a bag, the grease from the sweet pastries already soaking through the white paper bag.

  “Angela makes the best ones,” Eliseo nods toward the kitchen where the proprietor of Café Martí and surrogate grandmother to all Cubans in New York prepares traditional dishes throughout the day. She keeps the place open late for restaurant lifers like Eliseo who need a place to decompress.

  “I called her a few hours ago, and she told me they’d be ready at 2. That woman is unbelievable. Does she ever sleep?” He holds up a hand when Eliseo offers him a cigar he’s pulled from his shirt pocket.

  “I always say, los Viejos are determined to outlive Castro just to spite the bastard.” Eliseo puffs on his cigar. Even though restaurants are smoke-free, Angela believes cigars should be the exception.

  “My mom used to say the only time she’d go step foot back on that island is to spit on that man’s grave.”

  “So how is Dahlia? Her pregnancy driving you crazy?” Eliseo asks, turning the subject to something lighter. Cubans always flip flop their conversations like this. One minute they can be talking seriously about politics and changes in Cuba and the next, their wives. “I thought my brother-in-law was gonna leave my sister the way she kept carrying on about baby stuff. Shoot me if I ever end up with a Cuban woman.”

  Rodrigo’s smile fades. “She thinks I’m the crazy one right now. We have four weeks to go so the doctor’s put her on bed rest since . . . , well, to be cautious. So far she’s fine, but she’s carrying twins so we have to be careful.” He’s understating the need for caution, but only a handful of people know about Dahlia’s previous pregnancy and complications giving birth. She had thought the baby died, only to learn years later about the illegal adoption her own mother had engineered. The whole sordid ordeal took its toll, but fortunately, Dahlia’s been reunited with her daughter who lives in Westchester with loving parents. And now, Rodrigo and Dahlia will have their own twins to occupy every minute of every hour of their days.

  “Soon, brother, you’ll be buying diapers at 2 a.m. instead of pastelitos.” Eliseo slams down his empty glass, the buzz from the nicotine and alcohol finally setting in.

  Rodrigo sits down next to him and waves for the bartender to bring him a glass of rum. “Now that you put it that way, might as well why I have the time.”

  Eliseo holds up his glass for a refill and tells the bartender, “And get everyone a round of drinks. My friend here is going to have a baby in a few weeks.” The dozen or so people, all having come off their own restaurant shifts, cheer.

  “How’s the restaurant going?” Rodrigo asks.

  Eliseo shakes his head. “I don’t know man. For years I had it in my head that I wanted to be a chef. But this kitchen I’m working at, I’m just not inspired. Chef is just this asshole who thinks that because he’s got a few restaurants and a TV show he can let the rest of us do his work while he takes the credit. I do his job but make a fraction of what he makes.”

  “Then why don’t you go out on your own?” Rodrigo asks, sipping his añejo.

  Eliseo pats his friend on the back. “Says the entrepreneur. Opening a restaurant in New York City takes more than just money, my friend. It takes a piece of your soul, and I need that to keep cooking.”

  “Fair enough. Then how about moving back to Miami? The food scene is becoming big down there again. Who knows, maybe you can stand out in a smaller market.”

  Eliseo stubs out his cigar and scoffs. “I swore when I left that I wouldn’t go back to that hole.” He points to a large Calle Ocho tattoo that runs down his left forearm. “This is so I never forget.”

  “It wasn’t all that bad,” Rodrigo says. He misses it and would rather be living in Miami than in New York and, in fact, would be if it wasn’t for his wife, Dahlia, who doesn’t want to live far from her daughter. He still hasn’t acclimated to the long winters, preferring the year-round warm weather.

  “Says you. Look, bro, I don’t begrudge you and your family all your success. Your parents worked hard. I mean, it took cojones to do what they did in a decade. But my abuelita and my mom are still in that tiny one bedroom off Calle Ocho where I grew up. I can’t go back.”

  “You never know. It could be different this time. Listen, don’t tell Rosa I told you because she’ll think I’m meddling but . . . .”

  Eliseo holds up a hand. “You realize that by saying what you’re about to say that you are meddling.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s my little sister so I think I’m allowed. Anyway, she’s opening a restaurant in Wynwood,” he says, referring to an area north of downtown Miami. “Remember what a shit hole that area used to be?”

  Eliseo nods but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Rodrigo to get to the point.

  “She plans to open her place at the end of this year. Her chef just quit for some huge gig out in Singapore.”

  Rodrigo writes something down on a napkin and slips it into his friend’s pocket. “In any case, give her a call if you think you might be interested. I’m sure she’ll pay you double what you’re making here.”

  Eliseo positions the glass at his mouth. “You backing her?” He asks, before taking a shot of rum.

  “Had to or my mother wouldn’t have supported it. She’s totally against Rosa going into business by herself. She turned twenty-five this year so now my mom is starting to ask when she’s going to get married and have babies. La Vieja even enlisted some matchmaker to set her up. Can you imagine?”

  Eliseo laughs. “Your sister married? Who in the hell would be crazy enough to want to marry her?”

  Rodrigo smiles. “She usually dumps them before a second dat
e.” He slides off the stool and hugs Eliseo one more time. “Give yourself a month. If you’re still miserable, then consider that you have nothing to lose.”

  “Fuck!” Toby cries, sweat dripping down his chest. “I love fucking you,” he groans, his hand coming down over Rosa’s ass, leaving a bright pink handprint.

  Rosa whimpers. She loves it too.

  “And this ass,” he says, grabbing the flesh between his large hands. “Fuuuuck, baby.”

  Rosa bites down on her lip as he continues to ram into her. Toby is by far one of the best lays she’s ever had. As a pro athlete, he’s so into his body, it’s a machine. A very fine-tuned one at that.

  She looks over her shoulder and notices his eyes are closed in concentration. Like hockey, he takes sex very seriously. “Oh god,” she moans when he hits that sweet spot, his large cock grinding into her mercilessly. This is why she likes to fuck him when he comes to town. He finds that spot every time.

  Toby reaches his right hand down to squeeze and tug her nipple while the other closes down around her neck. Rosa drops her head to the mattress and closes her eyes, overwhelmed by the deepest sensation that can only be described as pure sex. The kind of sex that sets her entire body on fire and makes her pussy quiver whenever she thinks about him ramming his cock into her. Sex that compels her to crave it like a child craves sweets.

  She can’t think now. His cock filling her, his balls crashing against her clit are bringing her up to that precipice of pleasure.

  Then he stops. “What the hell is that noise? I can’t focus,” he complains.

  Rosa searches through the pile of pillows for her phone. “It’s New York. I have to take this. My brother’s babies are about to be born.”

  The information doesn’t register, however. Toby closes his aquamarine eyes once again and starts over slowly. Rosa answers with a breathless, “Hello.”

  “Hey Rosa, it’s Eliseo.”

  “Eliseo?” She asks hesitantly. “Oh right,” she muffles a cry into a pillow. “I remember you.”

  “Yeah, hey, so I was wondering if that Chef position at your restaurant is still open.”

  Rosa’s eyelids flutter. She’s so close to coming. “Um yeah, it is. How’d you hear about it?”

  He mumbles something about word getting around, but Rosa doesn’t catch it.

  “Listen, I’ll have to call you back in a few minutes,” she says through gritted teeth. Rosa shuts off the phone before letting out a guttural cry, Toby pushing her once again to the edge. Her pussy trembles at the sensation. What’s next is nothing short of bliss as she feels her insides become turned inside out.

  Toby’s thrusts become uneven and jagged as his cock stretches her more. “I’m going to come,” he groans, bending over her back, his hand squeezing her neck ever-so-slightly until she’s completely undone. Hot jets of cum shoot into Rosa, her cunt milking him until they’re both spent.

  About the Author

  Vivian Winslow was born and raised in Southern California. Before becoming a writer, she made a career out of moving around the world every couple of years thanks to her husband’s job. She currently lives in New York City with her husband and two elementary school age children, and is grateful to finally have a place to call home for more than two years. New York is the perfect city to indulge her love of shopping, the arts and especially food. If she’s not at home writing or running around the city with her kids, you’ll most likely find her indulging in pizza on the Lower East Side or having a cocktail at her favorite bar in Alphabet City. That said, she’s still a California girl at heart and would gladly trade in her heels for a pair of flip-flops to catch a sunset on the beach.

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