A Rose Blooms in Brooklyn: A Steamy Opposites Attract Historical Romance (The Flower Sisters Book 3) by Ginny B. Moore

Author:Ginny B. Moore [Moore, Ginny B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ginny B. Moore, Author
Published: 2023-11-01T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 18

In the nearly four years that Ben lived at 138 Willow, the building had never failed to deliver ample problems to keep his hands and mind occupied. But Harvey the ghost had gone into hiding, and every step and light fixture behaved as expected. The doors swung without creaking and not a single tenant needed assistance. Even Wig had pawed at the window early and now lay belly-up in a patch of sunlight on the rug. The gods of building maintenance seemed to mock him, leaving him nothing but free time to obsess over Rose.

The air rushed from his lungs as she burst through the door to his apartment in a flutter of lavender silk, smelling of something fresh and utterly foreign in the sultry heat of September in Brooklyn. Her green eyes gleamed as she spun to face him, grabbing his hands and squeezing.

Ben did not hesitate to pull her against his chest and wrap her in his arms, nor did he question the tension that fled his body to have her near, to have her home again. She came back, his heart said with each disbelieving thump.

“You wouldn’t have believed it, Ben,” she said in a rush, her cheeks flushed, her plush lips spread in a wide smile. “I couldn’t speak to Linden directly, but I spoke to his aide for quite a while. And you would have been so proud. I pressed him to consider the women and children his policies impacted. I’m uncertain if he listened, but with more time, I could probably convince him.”

Lord, she was beautiful. How could such an incredible creature exist in reality, in his arms? He ran his palms up and down the delicate silk covering her back, hesitating when his coarse hands caught on the fabric. His first assertion was still true; Miss Rose Waverly had no place in Brooklyn. And yet Ben felt the strongest sense of pride, as though he had planted the seeds for her to bloom, chased swiftly by the desire to keep her safe from harm.

He dropped his lips to her neck, pressing soft kisses against her pulse point. After last night, when he lost himself to her in an earth-shattering fashion, they tumbled beneath his blankets and into sleep. Ben had not rested so well in years, but awoke in a panic and slid from the bed just as sunlight streamed through his window. He stole from the room like a thief in the night, unable to look directly at the woman in his bed.

It had been four years since he slept with a woman—not the physical act of sex, but the intimate gesture of lying in another’s embrace until dawn. Ben hated how much he craved the touch of a woman, the soft skin and comforting arms, the contentment of belonging to another.

“I know you charmed them all,” he said, nibbling along the shell of her ear. He could not keep this English rose and needed to remind himself of that. But he could pretend she was his as long as he was able.

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