Wild Eyes (Rose Hill, #2)

by Elsie Silver

It’s like people go from having “see a bear” on their bucket list to “get killed by a bear” on their bucket list.

Only now, face-to-face with his child, does it really hit me that West—the West I’ve been eye-fucking all day like a hungry little ho—is a dad.

She’s smart, brash, and downright hilarious. I wouldn’t have her any other way. And if anyone ever tries to put out her fire or make her feel like she’s somehow too much, I’ll break their face.

My brain is a horny little slut today, and she wonders what it would feel like to have those lips on my body.

I, Weston Belmont, am the world’s best friend.

“You look like a teenage girl who got kissed by a Jonas brother. Are you going to swoon? Not wash your face for a week?”

She went with being responsible. And I was going to say Fuck what I said. I want you.

I’m not sure where she thinks her food comes from, but then again, this is a woman who brought her purse fishing with us as though she could use her black Amex out on the water.

That’s why I stare straight into her amber irises and say, “Stay.”

Night check that I haven’t been accompanying him on because that feels like a slippery slope. Put us in a quiet barn together and one of three things happens: I spill my deepest, darkest secrets. I kiss him. We stand in silence, eye fucking the hell out of each other.

“What I really want to tell you is that I’m a fan of you in my shirt,” I breathe out against her damp lips. Restraint shot, I nip at her jawline. “I’m a fan of you in my house.” My lips travel to her neck. Her head tilts and her legs widen further, offering me better access. “I’m a fan of you in my lap.” My hands glide under the fabric, and I squeeze the sides of her bare ass as I bite down on the crook of her neck. “And once we have this place to ourselves,” I murmur against her skin, “I’m gonna be a big fan of you in my bed.”

“West…I thought we were taking a breather.” “Right, but the week is almost up.” I drop my lips closer to hers, watching her eyes heat as I do. “Then this fucking breather is over. You can go ahead and breathe through your nose because this mouth will be busy.”

“Breathing is overrated. I’d rather be drowning in you.”

I kiss her once more, taking liberties I shouldn’t, but everything about her is a green light right now. So why the fuck not? She tastes like pancakes. Syrup and chocolate chips. And mine.

But he’s also mine. In a world of things that have never been my own, it feels like he is. And I’m fucking sick of sharing. With my parents. With my record labels. With Bree. “Going twice…” “Ten thousand dollars!” I yell, and my hand shoots up before I can think better of it.

“And third of all, the only foolish thing you’ve done is continue to refer to us as friends.” I spit the word. “That word makes me want to break something.”

“I’m done pretending that being your friend is enough.” I grip her thighs. “Now spread your legs.”

“Woman, we pulled up to underwear and a condom on the driveway. We both knew he was just fine. Now let’s go. I didn’t get you that fake ID for nothing.”

“What’s wrong?” West’s voice is downright glacial from across the kitchen, and when I look up at him, his eyes trace the tears on my cheeks like they offend them. “Who made you cry? I’ll fucking⁠—”

“Nice horse,” Ford announces as he slides onto the same bench Skylar always sat on. I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from snapping at him to get off of it. That would be entirely unhinged of me.

I don’t think twice before calling out to Ford’s retreating form, “Can I borrow your private jet?” And I can only imagine the smug smirk of on his dickish face as he responds, “It’s fueled up and ready when you are.”

Right to where my parents and agent are seated. My dad is red-faced. Again. Clearly not a fan of my acceptance speech. But he still has the gall to stand up and reach around West to shake my hand. Which is when West strikes. His fist flies hard and fast. The blood that sails from my father’s mouth, though? I follow its arc in fascinated slow motion.