Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

“Are you nervous?”

“Me? Nervous? Pfft. Have you ever known me to be nervous?”

Adam side-eyes me as we stroll down the sidewalk together, towing Connor along in a brand-new, top-of-the-line, fancy-as-hell wagon he just happened to have in his garage. In the wagon with Connor? Bear. Yes, this wagon is so fancy, it supports this one-hundred-and-forty-pound dog with ease. “Always.”

“This would’ve been an acceptable time to lie, in case you were wondering.” I look at Connor, bouncing along in his new favorite ride, clapping his hands and chanting I-lan , because Adam told him we were going to go meet his new friend Ireland. Then, I look down at myself, the outfit I changed four times, the jeans Archie swore hugged my ass just right, the oversized sweater I put on after giving up on everything else. “I just want your friends to like me.”

“They already love you, Rosie.”

“You can’t possibly know that, Adam. You’re only trying to make me feel better.”

“I absolutely do know it. We’ve been talking about you for three months now. They’ve been dying to meet the girl who has me smiling at my phone all the time.”

Heat touches my cheeks, and I hide my smile. It’s been two weeks since Adam and I decided to take things slow, and the man has picked right back up with being a permanent fixture in my life, except it’s even better than before, even without the physical stuff.

He finished his preseason games last week, and between all the training and practices and surgeries, we’ve seen each other every day. Sometimes I wake up to him confirming my Starbucks order, and thirty minutes later he’s at my door, helping me get Connor ready for daycare while I savor my coffee. Sometimes he’s leaning against his truck when I leave school for the day, a ridiculously handsome smile waiting for me, a goofy grin on Bear’s happy face. And sometimes—my favorite of times—he shows up in the evenings with teas and muffins, helps me with Connor’s bath, reads him his favorite books and puts him to bed, and then curls up on the couch with Archie, Marco, and me to watch Jeopardy! .

He’s squeezed himself into every crevice of my life, and everything feels so full I’m nearly ready to burst.

“At least I’ve already met some of them,” I say as we start up a long, winding driveway.

“You mean at the clinic after Bear’s surgery when they were all there?”

“No, when they came to Wildheart.”

“Hmmm?”

“Garrett and Jaxon? When they came to see me at Wildheart?”

Adam arches a brow. “Pardon me?”

“Yeah, they wore the…the fake mustaches. Did you not know?”

Adam trips over his own feet, somehow kicking a shoe off in the process. “Fake mustaches ?”

“Back up.” I come to a stop, and Adam’s still trying to put his shoe back on. “If you didn’t know they came to spy on me, where did you think Jaxon got Mittens from?”

He throws his arms overhead. “He told me he heard little meows coming from the dumpster in the parking garage of his condo, and he climbed in and saved Mittens! He sent me a picture of Mittens next to an old sock and a crumpled bag of Doritos and said, ‘Look what I found in the garbage!’”

“Wow. That’s a really elaborate lie. I’m impressed.”

Adam blinks at me, and then, again: “Fake mustaches ?”

“Garrett’s fell off and he ran away after pretending he got a phone call.”

Adam scrubs his hands down his face in slow motion. With a sigh, he gestures at the sprawling house before us. “Well, let’s go meet the rest of them.”

He tucks the wagon onto the front porch and takes Connor’s hand in his. When he opens the front door, a lively golden retriever welcomes us by dropping to his back, rolling around on the floor. Bear joins in, and Connor squeals with laughter, dropping to the floor so he can get in on the fun, and I’m busy freaking out over whether I should shake hands, hug, or offer a simple, friendly wave to everyone I meet tonight. I turn to Adam, about to blurt the question, but Garrett Andersen strolls down the staircase, grinning when he sees me.

“Rosie! Welcome to Carter’s Palace of Love.” He wraps me in a hug as soon as I start shoving my hand out in the space between us. “We’re huggers here.”

“Well, there was that one time you took a dildo to the face in way of greeting.” Jaxon Riley appears behind him, winding an arm around me. “Oh, hey, I can’t wait to show you all my pictures of Mitts.” His eyes dart to Adam over my shoulder. “Uh, this stray cat, I, uh…found in the dumpster.” He winks at me, then frowns at Adam. “What are you grumpy about?”

“Fake mustaches ?”

Jaxon grimaces. “Oh.”

Garrett grits his teeth. “You heard about that, huh?” Suddenly, his eyes widen, and he cups a hand around his ear. “What’s that, Jennie? Coming !” He takes off down the hallway at the speed of light, leaving Jaxon staring at us.

“So, I guess it’s just us. Well, I, uh…” He’s nearly as fast as Garrett when he makes a run for it, except he slips at the end of the hall, crashing into the wall. “Owww .”

“You deserved that,” a gorgeous woman says, tossing her long blonde locks over her shoulder. When Jaxon reaches a hand up for her, she nudges it away with her foot. “So cute you think I’m helping you. Cara Brodie gets on her knees for no man.” She winks at me, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Except my husband.”

Connor climbs to his feet, pointing at Cara as she hugs me. “Pwetty.”

“Oh, bless your soul, sweet boy.” She scoops him into her arms. “You have such amazing taste, don’t you?”

He runs his hand down her hair, fascinated. “Wooow.”

“I did the same thing the night I met her,” Emmett Brodie says, nudging my side as he appears at it. He smiles at me before wrapping me in possibly the sweetest, best bear hug I’ve ever received. “I’m the lucky husband.”

Adam’s hand slips over my hip, pulling me close, his lips at my ear. “You okay?”

“Oh shit.” I clap a hand to my forehead. “I haven’t said a word yet, have I? I’m Rosie.” I hold my hand out, then pull it back. “Oh right. We already hugged.” I wipe my palms on my jeans. “I’m nervous.”

“You know what’s great for nerves?” Cara asks, transferring Connor to her hip and looping her arm through mine. “Frozen margaritas.” She leans close as she leads me down the hallway, the sound of…singing? gracing our ears. “You’re gonna need at least five.”

The sight in the living room is interesting, to say the least. Every bit of anxiety I’ve been holding onto at the thought of meeting Adam’s family melts away as I watch Carter Beckett and his sister, Jennie, putting on a whole-ass show while they sing the karaoke version of “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Cara whispers. “You wouldn’t believe how often this happens.”

Garrett slips up beside us, sipping a can of cherry soda water. “Jennie’s ass looks unreal in those jeans, huh?”

“Shut up , Garrett!” Carter screams, spinning to us. He stops when he sees me, tossing his microphone over his shoulder. “Ollie ! Rosie’s here!”

Footsteps patter, and a moment later a petite brunette slides into the room, holding her teensy tiny twin. “Oh my God.” Are those…tears? “Finally .”

Jennie dances over, a brilliant, dimple-popping smile on display when she bounces to a stop in front of me, her long chestnut hair tied back with a ribbon. “Hi. I’m the funnier, better looking, and more mature Beckett sibling. Can I give you a hug?”

“I’d love one,” I say, swallowing down the emotion crawling up my throat as she gives me a squeeze, so warm, like being wrapped in sunshine. Everyone is so damn nice , and I had no less than three anxiety attacks today over the prospect of meeting them.

Carter saunters over, and I swear to God, I’m doing everything in my power to not look at his crotch. It’s been shoved in my face seventeen thousand times at the bus stop, I almost feel like we’re friends.

“Carter Beckett, NHL captain, Calvin Klein underwear model, GQ’s Sexiest Man, and DILF extraordinaire.” His chest puffs with pride, and he shrugs. The humble brag rolling off him in waves is astonishing. “Some people also call me Mr. Incredible.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Carter.” Olivia rolls her eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry. He’s…well, he’s like this all the time. I’m Olivia, and I’m stuck with him for the rest of my life.” She passes her daughter off to Carter and squeezes me against her. “It’s so good to meet you, Rosie.”

Carter shoves his adorable daughter in my face. “And I’m Ireland, my daddy’s biggest fan and his pride and joy. ”

“Hi, Ireland,” I snicker, shaking her tiny hand. “You are just perfect, aren’t you?”

“I-lan!” Connor squeals, tugging at Carter’s pants until he plops her down on the floor in front of him. “Woooah-ho-ho,” Connor wonders aloud, crouching to look at her, hands on his knees. He waves at her, then pats her fluffy, dark curls. “Hi, I-lan. Hi, baby.” He smiles, eyes alight, and points at his chest. “Conn’a hug I-lan?”

“Olivia !” Carter shrieks, waving aimlessly. “Get the camera! It’s happening!” He tears the video recorder from her hand when she returns with it, and sinks to his belly on the floor, eyes glittering as he records my son hugging this sweet little girl. “Her first friend .”

He stands, running his hand down his chest as he sighs, and it’s then I notice his shirt. It’s a picture of him and Ireland, Daddy scrawled overtop of it. My gaze goes to Ireland as Connor releases the giggling girl, and I fold my lips into my mouth when I spy her onesie.

Because the picture on it matches Carter’s, and scrawled on top of hers? Daddy’s Princess .

Adam shoves a frozen margarita into my hand. “You’ve met everyone, seen the Beckett siblings do karaoke, and been subjected to Carter’s shirts, which, by the way, he has a whole closet full of. You deserve this. Cara put extra tequila in it.”

The extra tequila is wonderful, and so is the strawberry daiquiri Cara makes me next, but if I’m being honest, it’s the people that make this night so effortless. To exist here with them, to be at ease with being myself. Watching them welcome Connor into their family, dancing around the living room with him, interacting with him the exact same way they do Ireland. There’s no difference here, not with them. Family is family, plain and simple.

And they’re treating us exactly like we’re theirs.

“He keeps whacking me in the balls every morning. Like, as soon as I step out of bed.”

“Maybe sleep with underwear on?” I suggest to Jaxon, who is apparently being abused by Mittens every day.

He flashes me a look of disgust. “No way. I like to free-ball it. My boys love to hang free.”

“Okay, well, you could slip a pair on before you get out of bed.”

“And take ’em off two seconds later when I go for my morning pee? Nah.”

“I might be out of solutions for you then, Jaxon. Wrap your junk, or Mittens will continue to use it for batting practice.”

He huffs, sinking back against the couch, but smiles at his screen saver. It’s his and Mittens’ faces, smooshed together side by side. “He’s lucky he’s so damn cute.”

My gaze coasts the room, finding the same people it’s been looking for all afternoon. Adam hasn’t been more than three steps away from Connor, and the only time he’s taken his eyes off him is to put them on me. Right now, he’s sitting on the floor with Connor, Ireland, Garrett, Carter, and Emmett, the kids squealing with laughter as the boys entertain them.

“There’s something so innately attractive about men with kids, isn’t there?” Olivia asks me on an exhale, her eyes on her husband.

I watch as they aggressively sing the words to “The Wheels on the Bus,” actions and all, until Connor and Ireland’s shrill giggles fill every inch of this house, and when Adam scoops my son against his chest, hugging him tight and dropping a kiss to his cheek, fireworks explode in my stomach. “So attractive.”

Olivia turns to look at me, grinning.

“What?”

“He deserves this, you know. You. He deserves you. Someone who sees him for everything he is and doesn’t ask for anything more. Someone who loves his gentle heart and matches it with her own. Someone who looks at him the way you look at him.”

Adam’s eyes come to mine then, a softness that melts me from the inside out, love that shines like the flecks of golden sunshine in his cerulean blue gaze, and when he smiles, my whole world rights itself.

“The same way he looks at you.”

I wave a flappy hand through the air to distract from the feelings that are staring me down the nose, demanding me to toss this slow notion out the damn window and pick up right where we left off: me, with three little words on the tip of my tongue, meant just for him. “You don’t know this yet, but I’m an exceptionally emotional person.”

“Oh my God, me too! Even more so after I had Ireland.”

“Postpartum hormones are wild. As if I didn’t cry over enough things before having a baby. Like those commercials with the puppies, you know the ones I’m talking about? The SPCA ones with—”

“—Sarah McLachlan! Yes! I had to bite my tongue to stop from crying over one the night I met Carter!”

“Is that song necessary? It makes it so much worse.”

“Kills me every damn time.” Olivia takes my hand, pulling me up with her. “C’mon. Let’s make another drink.”

She putters around in the kitchen, tossing ingredients into a blender while I examine the tray of snacks on the island. It’s BYFS Night—bring your favorite snack— something Adam explained to me as he loaded five boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups into the wagon. You’d think we were at a kid’s birthday party by looking at this elaborate setup, mostly made up of several kinds of Oreos, Dunkaroos, Pop-Tarts, and random assortments of fruit snacks and cereals, but apparently, this is just how they like to celebrate the start of their season, and tomorrow is their home opener.

“If you choose an Oreo over a Fruit Roll-Up, Carter will hold that over Adam’s head forever,” Olivia tells me.

I laugh, peeling open a Fruit Roll-Up, and Adam grins at me from across the room. He winks, mouthing, Good choice, trouble, and my insides heat.

“What’s this?” I ask, finding a scrapbook among all the food. The front cover shows a picture of Carter in his hockey equipment, holding a smiling Ireland, the words Daddy Goes to Hockey scrawled over the cover.

“Carter’s been working on that all summer. It’s a book for Ireland for when the boys are out of town for hockey. Go ahead and look at it.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I flip through the pages, obviously created with so much love, pictures upon pictures of their family, of Carter on the ice, Olivia and Ireland in the stands. It goes through their daily routines, morning snuggles and a messy breakfast, walks in the park, doggy kisses, and bubble baths before bed. And then it shows Carter boarding a plane, explains how he’s going somewhere far to play hockey but that he’ll be thinking of home, and soon, he’ll be with his girls again.

On the last page is a photo of Carter with Ireland tucked in the crook of his arm, Olivia held tight against his side. The love reflected in his gaze is staggering, but it’s the words beneath the photo that tug at every bit of my heart.

Daddy goes to hockey, but his love stays here.

Carter sidles up next to me, peering over my shoulder, wearing a small smile. “I don’t know what I’ll do being away from her so much.”

“You’re really gonna miss her, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m kinda obsessed with her.”

My gaze flicks to his Daddy T-shirt. “You don’t say.”

“What if she forgets about me, you know? What if she forgets what I look like?”

I look to Ireland, sitting in Garrett’s lap, her dad’s face on her outfit. “I truly don’t think that’s possible.”

“You’re right, Rosie. I should have more shirts made for us. One for every day of the week. Great idea, thanks.”

“What? I didn’t say—”

“Ollie! Rosie told me to make more shirts for me and Ireland!”

“Carter, you’ve given that poor girl down the street a full-time job making shirts for you, and she’s only fourteen. You need to give her a break.”

“Okay.” He winks at me. “I’ll definitely do that.” Wink, wink .

“You’re a menace,” I whisper to him.

“You have no idea how high I can soar, Rosie.”

The girls pull me outside, gathering around a fire pit with all the fixings for s’mores while we sip at our drinks.

“I can’t believe we’re trusting those five alone with the kids,” Jennie says as she rotates a stick of marshmallows over the coals.

“Are you kidding me? I found a giant roll of Bubble Wrap in the garage two days ago. When I asked Carter what it was for, he said it was for Ireland when she starts walking. I thought he was joking, but when I laughed, he said, ‘Our daughter’s safety is not a joke, Olivia.’”

Cara gasps. “He called you by your full name?”

She nods somberly. “Connor and Ireland are possibly too safe with those boys in there.”

Jennie hands me a gooey s’more, and something thick settles in my throat as I stare down at it.

“You okay?” she asks me softly.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. This is just really nice. It reminds me of my parents. We used to camp several times a summer, and s’mores were my dad’s specialty. I haven’t had one in a long time.”

Jennie smiles, squeezing my forearm. “My dad passed when I was sixteen. It’s weird, isn’t it? Doing things now that we used to do then? It’s nostalgic in all the right ways, and it makes me feel like he’s right here beside me. But it’s still hard too. Because sometimes the feeling that he’s right next to me is so strong, I look over to say something to him, and…”

“He’s not there.”

“Yeah. It’s almost like I forget how to breathe for a second.”

“I know that feeling.” I squeeze her hand. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

The four of us settle into easy conversation, and once the boys pop outside to let us know they’re going to lay the kids down, Olivia and Cara decide to add just a little more tequila to the next pitcher.

“I’m not a violent person—”

Olivia interrupts Cara’s monologue with a snort.

“—but if I were given five minutes alone in a room with her—”

I snicker, and Cara points at me.

“You’re laughing, but I’m serious. If Courtney was standing on the edge of a cliff, my elbow would absolutely accidentally nudge her ribs just right , and we’d never speak her name again.”

“Was she really that bad?” I ask. All three of them level me with a look, and I cringe. “I thought maybe the media was embellishing.”

“There was no embellishing.” Olivia sighs. “She was exactly as awful as they painted her to be, but truthfully, we’re just glad she’s out of Adam’s life. He’s always deserved so much more. She never felt like a part of this family.”

I look down at my lap at that f-word, the longing that pulls at me when I hear it. But then Cara speaks, coaxing my eyes back up.

“Not like you, Rosie.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re a family. We want you and Connor to be part of this family.”

Something happens then. The smallest shift but with the biggest impact. Like the final piece was already here, just slightly ajar, and someone tapped it, so gently I’d probably not notice it. Except finally, it slides right into place, this perfect fit that was just waiting to be filled, and suddenly everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.

My heart pounds a relentless beat, and I struggle against the tight grip on my throat, the emotion holding it hostage. Never in my life have I had this, this immediate love, this acceptance without question, without hesitation. It’s scary and beautiful and…incredible. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and when my voice breaks, these four amazing women throw themselves at me, wrapping me in a hug that fills me all the way up.

And all four of us freeze at Carter’s shrill shriek from inside.

“Ollie ! Come quick! It’s an emergency!”

We race inside, sagging with relief when we see the boys standing in the kitchen, piles of Fruit Roll-Up wrappers in front of them, half-eaten snacks clenched in their hands.

Carter holds his rainbow snack up, eyes alight with excitement. “It does tongue tattoos!”

“Jennie!” Garrett shouts excitedly, running over to her. He sticks his tongue out. “Wook at mine!”

Carter rushes over to Olivia, the whole Fruit Roll-Up hanging off his tongue. “Wook! Are you weady? Watch!” He pulls it off, proudly displaying the blue Yoda left behind. “It’s woda!”

My gaze slides to Adam, and pink blotches his sharp cheekbones as he smiles shyly at me. Slowly, he sticks his tongue out, showing me the unicorn tattooed there, and it’s so fucked up that the only thought in my head right now is how badly I want to take him into a bathroom and mount him.

“I want to ask you if you had fun, but you won’t stop smiling and you keep dancing down the street, so I think I know the answer.”

I spin around in the cool night air, then dance my way back to Adam, gripping his bicep as he tows a sleeping Connor and Bear along in the wagon. “I had the best time.”

“They didn’t scare you off?”

“Not even a bit.”

“Are you sure it’s not the alcohol talking?”

I giggle, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. “Don’t you love that smell? God, it makes me so happy, the smell of fresh air. Did you have a clothesline growing up? We did. In the spring and summer, my mom always put my bedsheets outside to dry, and climbing into them at night was the best feeling in the world.”

Adam pulls out his phone, tapping away at the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a note to install a clothesline.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll be this happy every night when you crawl into our bed. Happy wife, happy life, and all that.”

I giggle-snort, and I’m so tipsy, I don’t even care. “You really think you’re gonna marry me one day?”

“Sure as shit do.”

“What if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

“Cocky,” I murmur as he opens his garage, picks Connor up out of the wagon, ushers Bear and me inside.

“No. Just sure about you and me.”

Beyond all the alcohol running rampant in my system, it’s a funny, wonderful thing to hear those words, to know someone is so certain about your place in their future, and the entire walk up the stairs, with him looking at me, I can’t stop the heat from rising to my cheeks.

“You’ll have to sleep here tonight,” he says, showing me to one of his spare rooms. “I took the bed out of Connor’s room.”

“Connor’s room?”

“Yeah.” He opens the door to the room where the playpen is always set up, and my heartbeat trips when I step inside.

The once taupe walls are now a misty gray, with white clouds and black birds painted above, snow-capped blue mountains and midnight evergreens below. A dresser sits on one wall, a gorgeous bookshelf filled beside it, and on the other side of the room is a wood-framed bed, shaped like a house, with gauzy white material draped over its roof. Hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars dance on the ceiling above us, just like my heart dances in my chest.

“It’s a floor bed,” Adam says. “The mattress sits on the floor, so Connor won’t hurt himself. He was scared of the playpen, so I thought he might like this.”

“When did you do this?”

“This week. Do you like it?”

My eyes burn, because believe it or not, alcohol makes me a hundred times more emotional, but goddammit, I’m determined not to cry tonight. “You did this for him?”

“For you both, Rosie. I want you to feel like you have a place when you’re here. Like you’re…”

“Home.”

“Yeah. Like you’re home.”

Connor stirs in his arms, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fists. “Dada,” he whispers, smiling up at Adam. He looks around the room, eyes widening, wriggling until Adam sets him on his feet. “Whoooa-ho-ho! Birds!”

Adam follows him to the wall. “And trees and mountains too.”

“Ma-tins?”

“You got it, bud.”

He spies the bed, then makes a run for it, climbing onto the mattress. “Bed! Big bed! Whoooa, big bed!”

“I think he likes it,” Adam murmurs, looking back at me. He smiles softly when he sees the tears running silently down my cheeks. “Connor, go give Mama a hug goodnight, and then I’ll read you a book in bed, okay?”

He wraps his tiny body around mine, pressing a sloppy kiss to my mouth. “Lub you, Mama,” he says, and then dashes to the bookshelf to pick a book while I escape to my temporary room, swatting the tears away.

I listen as Adam reads Connor story after story, as he tells him goodnight and that he loves him, as the bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and his shadow pauses in the light streaming beneath my own door. And when I climb into bed, I listen to the sound of my own breathing, shallow and staggered, the frantic thump of my heart that wants nothing more than to be in the arms of the man I love.

When the house is quiet and dark, and I’ve given up on sleep, I tiptoe down the stairs, into the kitchen. Moonlight streams through the patio door, and the kettle boils as I root through Adam’s pantry for my favorite tea.

I curse Adam’s height as I struggle to reach the mugs, the cool air kissing my bare thighs as I press up on my toes, nearly nabbing it.

The cool air disappears, replaced with a sizzling heat that scorches through the thin T-shirt I wear as a body presses up against my back, warm breath kissing my ear. A strong hand grips my hip, pinning me between his body and the counter as he reaches above me, pulls a mug down.

“Imagine your height was above average,” Adam’s husky voice whispers. “Then you’d only need me for things so much more fun than tea in the middle of the night.”

Oh Jesus Christ .

He releases me, midnight eyes casting me an even darker stare as he fills the mug, dips my tea bag inside, and all I can focus on is that he’s wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, those flawless abs and those drool-worthy thighs on display beneath the fractured moonlight. “What are you doing up, Rosie?”

“I-I-I…I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

“I was thinking about…about…why does Carter call himself Mr. Incredible?” There ya go, Rosie. Much better than telling him you were thinking about sneaking into his room and asking him to fuck the sober back into you.

“’Cause he thinks he’s got the biggest dick.”

See, this is where the alcohol gets me in trouble, because instead of nodding, I respond.

“Okay, well, I’ve seen—everyone has seen—the outline of his dick, and is it big? I mean, sure. Yes, of course. But I’ve had yours in my body—more places than one—and I know yours is bigger, so, who’s the real Mr. Incredible?”

Adam laughs, a deep, rumbly sound that settles low in my stomach, tingling between my legs. “I like you a little drunk.”

“You like me all the time.”

“This is true.” Slowly, he stalks toward me, and my eyes dip down his body, settling without my permission on the bulge in his underwear as he cages me in against the counter. “I like you in your vet scrubs. I like you in the purple leggings you wore that second hike, the ones that clung to your ass.” He grips my waist, hoisting me onto the counter, spreading my thighs and stepping between them, hands on my knees, searing my skin. “And I like you in this, my T-shirt and nothing else, with your legs on display and your hips begging me to slip my hand underneath and grab hold.”

My brain stops working and my heartbeat drops to my clit, throbbing with need as Adam drags his rough palms over my thighs, taking the hem of his T-shirt as he goes. Dark eyes collide with mine as he pushes that material higher, until it pools around my hips, and my breath gets lost in my throat with no way out. He drops his gaze between my legs as the air kisses the warm, wet spot between my legs, and a heavy breath escapes him.

“I knew it,” he tsks, dragging his thumbs over the apex of my thighs, so close , and yet not close enough as he smears my arousal, wrings a whimper right from me as I lean back on my hands. “I could smell you the second you walked in here.”

“What do I smell like?” I whisper as he brings one thumb to his mouth, sucking me off him, a sight that makes me absolutely feral.

He dips his head, lips finding the hollow spot in my collarbone before trailing up my neck, to my ear. “You smell like trouble, and you taste like it too. Now get back to bed, before I get myself into a whole fucking pile of it.”

He steps away, watching as I scramble to my feet.

Heady words stop me at the edge of the kitchen.

“And Rosie? If I find you in my kitchen in the middle of the night again, I’m fucking you right there on that counter.”