Today, I’m happy to be sharing an exclusive excerpt from Stealing Rose by Monica Murphy. Enjoy!
I’m staring. Caught. Trapped by his gaze, and I want to be. My head is spinning. My body is . . . aching. Caden’s gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for what feels like forever, and my lips tingle. As if he’s just kissed them. And then his gaze drops lower, to my chest, and my nipples harden. Like I have no control over them, which I really don’t since I’m not wearing a bra and whoops, I’m not wearing panties either because I wanted to feel young and flirty tonight.
It’s as if my body knew and prepared itself. The restlessness has hit me full force and I squirm in my chair, my heavy breasts brushing against the thin fabric of my dress almost painful.
I can’t take it.
Touching Ryder’s arm, he turns to look at me questioningly and I murmur, “I’ll be right back.”
He frowns. “You okay?”
“Just going to the ladies’,” I reassure him as I get up and leave the table.
I can feel Caden’s eyes on me as I walk away, and I’m tempted to look back so I can gauge his reaction.
But I don’t look back. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I stare straight ahead, making my way through the crowded pub, toward the hall on the opposite end of the room where the bathrooms are located.
Once I make it inside, I brace my hands on the edge of the counter and stare at myself in the mirror. Again. Just like earlier, before I left my hotel room. Though now I look different. My cheeks are flushed, as is the skin on my chest, and my nipples are still poking against the fabric of my dress. My hair has lost some of its curl and my eyes sparkle with an almost unnatural glow.
I look drunk.
I look aroused.
I am definitely both.
The door swings open and my gaze darts to the doorway in the mirror’s reflection, my mouth dropping open in shock before I whirl around. “What are you doing?”
Caden closes the door and leans against it, his arm sneaking out behind him to turn the lock. He doesn’t answer my question. He doesn’t say a word as he pushes away from the door and stalks toward me. His stride is predatory, his expression full of dark intent.
I grip the counter, my fingers tight around the tiled edge, my knees weakening as he draws closer. The scent of him—citrusy and clean—washes over me and I part my lips, the protest dying when he reaches out and touches my cheek. His touch is gentle, his fingertips rough as they slide across my skin, into my hair. My eyelids waver and my vision grows fuzzy when he presses his body to mine and dips his head, his mouth hovering above mine. His breath wafts over my lips and pleasure swamps me, settling between my legs, making me damp.
Making me weak.
Huge thanks to Monica for letting us host this and to Autumn for arranging it!