Chapter 20: Still Think I Need a Doctor?

The private elevator carries them from Angel Lounge to the underground garage.

When the doors open, Adrian walks straight to the waiting Rolls-Royce with Rosalie still in his arms.

“I can walk.”

“You had your chance.”

The chauffeur opens the rear door. Adrian settles her into the back seat and slides in beside her.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Rosalie assumes he means the Aster Hotel.

Only when the car stops outside Adrian’s six-story limestone mansion just off Fifth Avenue does she realize otherwise.

Adrian steps out and lifts her from the car again.

“Put me down.”

He ignores her and carries her up the front steps.

“When did you become so shameless?”

“I’m shameless.” He accepts the charge easily. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this.”

His pace quickens inside the house. By the time they reach the living room, his patience is gone.

He lowers her onto the deep-gold leather sofa and follows her down.

Her back has barely touched the cushions when he kisses her.

Rosalie dislikes the whiskey on his lips and pushes at his chest. Adrian catches her wrists, pressing her deeper into the sofa until she is breathless.

When he finally releases her, their noses nearly touch.

“Rosie.” His thumb brushes her swollen lower lip. “We need to work on your lung capacity.”

“Adrian—”

He kisses away the insult.

This time, she stops fighting. Her arms slide around his neck, and soon the soft tear of foil brings her drifting thoughts back into focus.

At least he learned from last time.

Adrian takes his time until her impatience becomes a frustrated whimper. Then he sits back and draws her onto his lap, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of him.

“Your turn.”

Rosalie stares at him. “You’re serious?”

“You were in such a hurry before.”

The challenge in his blue eyes leaves her no graceful retreat. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and begins to move.

Adrian barely helps. He leans back and watches her, enjoying the flush spreading down her neck and the irritation in her eyes.

Her rhythm soon falters.

“I’m tired.”

“That quickly?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

Before she can argue, Adrian rises with her still wrapped around him.

Rosalie gasps and locks her arms around his neck. “Adrian!”

His hold immediately steadies beneath her. “What?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of falling?” He kisses her mouth. “I’ve got you.”

He takes another step.

“You used to love this,” he murmurs.

“That was five years ago.”

“And you’re holding me tighter now.”

He carries her slowly around the living room, shamelessly taking his time. Each step pulls another broken breath from her.

“Put me down.”

“Call me Daddy.”

Rosalie lifts her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Then we keep walking.”

She buries her face against his neck and bites him, leaving a row of marks along his skin.

Adrian laughs. “What are you, my little puppy?”

She bites harder.

He brushes his lips against her ear. “Still think I need that doctor?”

Rosalie presses her lips together. A helpless sound slips out anyway.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

When he finally returns her to the sofa, Rosalie curls into the corner, clutching a throw pillow against herself.

Adrian watches her. “Rosie, if you curl up like that, you’re making this difficult.”

She ignores him.

He pulls the pillow from her arms, turns her toward the back of the sofa, and slides it beneath her hips.

Rosalie looks over her shoulder. The hunger in his eyes makes her grip the cushions.

“Be good,” he murmurs. “I’m almost done.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Twenty minutes later, Rosalie decides anything a man says in bed should be treated as a lie.

“Adrian, wait.”

He stops immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“My stomach hurts.” She presses a hand to her lower abdomen. “My period might be starting.”

Adrian pulls away. There is no blood yet, but he is already reaching for his clothes. He wraps a throw around her.

“Did you bring tampons?”

“They’re at the hotel.”

Adrian grabs his car keys, then remembers the whiskey.

“Stay here.”

He drops the keys and rushes outside with his phone.

Rosalie curls beneath the throw. Minutes later, a familiar warmth spreads beneath her. She looks down and finds a small dark-red stain on the gold upholstery.

Wonderful.

She folds several tissues beneath herself and waits.

Adrian returns in less than twenty minutes, his shirt damp with sweat. He has bought tampons in every absorbency, along with overnight pads, pantyliners, period underwear, disposable heating pads, and Midol.

“Give them to me,” Rosalie says.

He notices the tissues. “It started?”

“Yes.”

Adrian hands her the bags, then lifts her with the throw still wrapped around her.

“I can walk.”

“Stop moving.”

He carries her to the bathroom. Rosalie clings to his neck, urging him to hurry.

At the door, she drops from his arms and takes the bags. When he tries to follow, she presses a hand to his chest.

“Wait outside.”

The door shuts in his face.

Standing there, Adrian remembers Rosalie at fifteen.

They attended the same boarding school. One evening during study hall, her classmate appears outside his senior classroom, breathless from running.

“Something’s wrong with Rosalie. Her stomach hurts, and she won’t stop crying. She refuses to see the nurse.”

Adrian grabs his backpack and runs downstairs.

Rosalie is folded over her desk, her shoulders shaking.

“Rosie.”

He crouches beside her and touches her forehead. Her temperature is normal.

“Where does it hurt?”

She only cries.

Panic takes over. Adrian reaches beneath her knees.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!”

She jerks away.

Adrian freezes. “What happened?”

Rosalie stares at her uniform, tears falling onto her sleeves. After a long silence, she finally whispers, her voice breaking.

“There’s blood, Adrian.”

She looks terrified.

“There’s blood everywhere.”