Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

She smiles now. And it’s fucking blinding. It’s not demure or shy. It’s a weapon, and she knows exactly what she’s doing by pulling it out on me.

Yeah. Tabitha, sister of my new tenant, is hot, looks like she thinks I might have bodies buried in my basement, and has a mean handshake. Strangely, I’m into it.

I just know that usually I go out of my way to hide from too much attention. But I don’t mind the way she looks at me.

What I see in his dark irises is an apocalypse of storms. Fire and brimstone. And I’m certain mine are no better.

But the most attractive thing about Tabitha Garrison might be the way she’s gazing back at Milo, like he’s one of the wonders of the world.

The man whose full name has been haunting me since I read it on that will. He looks miserable and delicious all at once. That seems to be his brand.

And yet, only a fool could witness the tender way this man rests his cheek against Milo’s, taking a deep whiff of the little boy’s hair before letting his eyes flutter shut, and still think he doesn’t love him in some way too.

She’s a fucking spitfire. Has been since the first day I laid eyes on her. I’m glad Milo has someone like her in his corner.

I watch her leave, hips swaying, head held high, almost regal in the way she carries herself. I should not be this attracted to her. But here I am, unable to look away all the same.

Holding grudges is my superpower. Alarmingly, in this case, it’s true. Rhys might as well know what he’s up against. That I’m combative, snarky, and slow to forgive. Character flaws, yes. True? Also, yes.

He grumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, I don’t bite. It rumbles through the air between us and vibrates over my skin. It’s so deep that I feel it more than I hear it. I snort and volley back with, “I do though.”

This woman needs a target for her anger. Someone to blame so that she hurts a little less. And without even thinking it through, I decide I can be that person for her.

I think deep down I dread the thought of never seeing them again—adding them to the list of families I was never welcome to join. So I keep coming back.

I pride myself on being cool, calm, and collected—even if I have a scrappy streak. But she just… she fires me up.

I have a feeling we’d hate-fuck this entire building to the ground. And truthfully, I don’t really want Tabitha to hate me. I wish she didn’t.

I fucking hate when he stares at me. It makes my stomach flop over on itself. The same dropping sensation you get on a thrilling carnival ride. Except those are short-lived. Those end. Rhys Dupris is the carnival ride that I just can’t manage to get off of.

I’ve never been the girl who dreams about her wedding day with the perfect white dress and Pinterest-worthy decorations. But there’s still something hollow about the moment. A pang of longing for something I never knew I wanted.

It makes me realize that I’d do anything for him. Even marry a woman who can’t stand me. One who I can’t stop thinking about.

I swallow roughly, reminding myself that this day is a farce. A carefully constructed facade meant to fool everyone. But not me. I’m not meant to be fooled by it. Yet here I am, heart pounding in my ears, lungs struggling for air, fucking hearts in my eyes as a woman who tolerates my presence glides down the aisle toward me.

Over the past weeks, it’s become clear that the only person looking out for Tabitha is Tabitha. And fuck if it doesn’t make me want to look out for her too.

We may not love each other, but this marriage could be called caring for each other when life is not simple. There is nothing simple about Tabitha and me.

I’m torn in a million directions when it comes to him. We clash, but we also work together. My mind constantly contradicts itself with Rhys.

The first press of our lips borders on chaste, but heat suffuses every limb. The pressure recedes ever so slightly, and then I kiss him back. Our lips move in perfect synchronicity, with more urgency than I expected and less fervor than I crave.

Everything comes back to her. My head keeps circling back to her. My body keeps moving toward her. And it’s instinctual. If I could stop it, I would. I’ve tried. But nothing works.

“Tabby, I’m not the kind of guy who fucks around. So you can make up all the rules you want, but I’ll be following my own. And that rule is that there won’t be anyone else while I’m wearing this ring.”