Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rose

"I could get used to waking up like this." Phillip nuzzles into my neck, his warm breath and the brush of his lips against my skin sending desire swooping through me, low in my abdomen. His well-muscled arm tightens around me, pulling me close enough to feel his hardness pressing against my back. Without opening my eyes I burrow closer, longing to stay in this floaty, relaxed state between sleeping and waking for a few more minutes.

Phillip's calloused fingertips trail patterns over my stomach, dipping lower each time, while his gentle kisses explore the column of my neck.

"Are you awake?"

"No," I mumble.

"Hmm, I guess I should stop then." I can feel the smile in his voice.

Untangling my arm from the covers I halt Phillip's retreat, guiding his hand to my waistband instead. A low chuckle escapes him at my less than subtle request, the seductive timbre only encouraging me.

"Teasing isn't nice."

"I promise you, teasing can be very nice if you're doing it right." His voice is low and dripping with lust as he continues, "Let me show you."

Sliding his hand underneath my waistband, Phillip gently drags one thick finger through the wetness already gathered at my core and groans.

"You're so wet for me already, fuck." Stroking around my opening he applies just enough pressure to get me worked up but nowhere near enough to satisfy me. When he finally moves his attention higher up to brush over my clit I moan, spreading my legs wider. His hand disappears and I start to protest until I realise he's only moving my pyjama bottoms out of the way. I help, kicking them off, then arch back to rub against him.

"Need these off," I tell him, reaching back to tug at his waistband. He's quick to give into my demand and soon enough the length of his naked body presses against me. His large hand moves back between my legs, stroking and teasing but still not giving me what I really want.

"Please," I moan in frustration when he starts to push a finger inside me only to retreat again. "I need more."

"You want my fingers, baby? Or do you need me to fill you up with my cock?"

"Yes, anything, just get inside me." Without warning Phillip thrusts two thick fingers inside me and I gasp. " Yes ." My hips rock against his hand, grinding my clit into his palm as his fingers plunge in and out.

"That's it, ride my hand." He places biting kisses down the slope of my neck and back up, nipping at the shell of my ear before continuing, "Fuck yourself on my fingers until your sweet little pussy clamps around me so tight I can't move." God, the mouth on this man. If he keeps talking like that I might combust. He adds a third finger and I cry out, so close to the edge already but needing more. Interrupting our rhythm for a moment, I yank my top over my head and fling it away from the bed. Sliding my hands up my body I cup by breasts and start playing with my nipples. Phillip groans at the sight.

"You're so fucking hot, Rose." Moving his free hand under me he takes over toying with my right breast, pinching my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. I feel another rush of arousal escape me as my core pulses around his fingers as they continue to thrust in and out. He rocks his hips forward against my lower back, leaving a trail of precum behind. It's almost enough for me to ask him to fuck me like that instead, but I'm so close, I don't want to stop for anything, not even the mere moments it would take him to put on a condom.

"So close. I'm so… so close," I pant, hips driving down to meet his every thrust.

"That's it, raincloud," he growls against my ear. "You're so good for me. You're taking my fingers so well." He shifts his hand, curling his fingers so they rub over just the right spot. A tidal wave of pleasure builds up inside me and I tilt my head back, our mouths meeting in a sloppy approximation of a kiss. His fingers pump into me with a few more forceful thrusts then the dam breaks and I'm crying out with the intensity of my orgasm, gripping his fingers tightly with the force of my pleasure, just like he wanted.

When my inner walls have stopped fluttering around him, Phillip pulls his hand away and, eyes locked with mine, licks his fingers clean. My gaze greedily takes in the length of his naked body, all those lean muscles on display just for me, his cock hard and glistening with precum.

Needing him to feel as good as I do, I roll, swinging my leg over his hips and kiss him deeply. Reaching beneath me I take hold of his cock and guide it between my legs, rolling my hips and coating his length in my arousal.

"Oh, fuck," Phillip gasps. "You feel so good." Calloused hands smooth up my thighs to grip my butt, helping to guide my rhythm.

"Condom?" I ask, my short nails digging into his shoulders as I rock my hips.

"Yeah." He reaches out fumbling with his bedside drawer before lifting one up in triumph. Sitting back on my heels I watch with deepening desire as he rolls it on.

A yelp of surprise escapes me when he swiftly pulls me back on top of him. Guided by his large hands on my hips I settle so the head of his cock notches at my entrance. Then he's tugging me down onto his length, filling me in one powerful thrust.

"Want you to come again but I'm not gonna last," Phillip pants, rolling us until we've switched places. His powerful frame hovers over mine while his hips continue to piston in and out working us both into a frenzy. He lowers his head to nip at the underside of my breast before sucking the taught peak into his mouth forcing a high pitched mewl from my throat.

My hands tangle in his hair, holding him to me as my thighs begin to shake. When he reaches one hand between us to rub my sensitive clit I shatter, bursting into a million shards of pleasure. Moments later, Phillip shouts with the force of his own release, his grip tightening almost painfully at my hips as his cock pulses within me. Cupping my face, he captures my mouth in another filthy kiss, drawing our pleasure out until the last possible moment.

We lie tangled in each other's arms waiting for our breathing to return to normal. Phillip's hand caresses up and down the length of my spine, almost lulling me back to sleep, but there's no time for drifting off. Reluctantly I start to roll away but his arms tighten around me like bands of steel.

"Not yet," he mumbles into my hair, making me giggle.

"As much as I'd love to stay in bed with you all day, we have lunch with your parents soon and we definitely need to shower."

"Fine." He sighs dramatically, releasing his hold on me. "You go first. If I come in there with you, I can't promise I won't get sidetracked." He grins cheekily. Rolling my eyes while fighting a smile, I head for the en-suite.

After showering, I blow-dry my hair since there's not enough time before we need to head over to Phillip's parents' house for it to dry naturally. Once my hair is sorted, I dress in a pair of light blue jeans, a floral top, pink cardigan, and a pair of low-heeled ankle boots. He said it's not a formal thing but I still want to look good the first time I meet his family. I add a little concealer, brow pencil, and mascara, and am just finishing applying some tinted lip balm to complete the look when Phillip steps out of the bathroom, towel hanging precariously on his hips. Preoccupied with tracking the journey of a stray water droplet as it runs down his sculpted chest, I jump when my calendar app chimes with a reminder for us to leave in fifteen minutes.

"No more of that. We've got places to be." Phillip playfully scolds me. But then he drops his towel to step into his underwear and I'm distracted all over again.

"If you want me to hurry you should stop taking your clothes off," I reply, giving him an obvious once-over. "Besides, I'm all set. This outfit's OK, right?"

"You look perfect." I try to calm my nerves while he tugs on his own pair of jeans and a Henley. "I can't wait to introduce you to everyone." Noticing me wringing my hands he continues, "Relax, they're going to love you. And I'm sure Toby will forgive you for stealing his mint-chocolate-chip ice cream."

"The ice cream was for your nephew ?" I gasp, eyes wide. "I can't believe you got me to take ice cream from a child, that makes the whole thing so much worse!" Phillip is unable to contain his laughter as he takes in my horror so I lightly bat him on the arm in reprimand.

"It's not funny," I argue, my scolding tone undermined by my shoulders shaking with my own barely-contained laughter.

"You needed it more than he did. Toby was fine with cookie dough instead."

"I feel like even more of an arsehole now," I grumble.

"He survived without it. I'm not sure the next person you came across would have been so lucky," he teases with a grin.

"You're the worst, you know that?" I deadpan, heading for the door to go and wait downstairs but Phillip captures my wrist.

"Not so fast, raincloud."

"Nope, I'm going to wait downstairs before you come out with any more embarrassing revelations." I've only taken a couple of steps when a thought occurs to me. "Crap, should I bring something for your mum—like flowers? Does she even like flowers?" I ask, nerves threatening to overwhelm me. Phillip is so sure we'll all get along, but what if his family doesn't like me? In a few quick strides Phillip is right there, guiding me into his arms. I let out a little sigh against his chest, calm washing over me.

"You don't need to bring anything, but we can stop for flowers on the way if you really want."

"Yes, please."

He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Come on then, we'd better get going if we don't want to be late."

Phillip's parents live in a pretty neighbourhood on the other side of town. The street is full of good-sized detached houses, all with well-maintained front gardens. It's still raining but luckily we're able to park right across the street from the house. I clutch the bunch of sunshine-yellow and burnt-orange chrysanthemums I bought for Phillip's mum tightly in one hand, crushing his hand in the other as we dash up the driveway. Beneath the front porch that acts as a shield from the rain, Phillip turns to face me, running his palms up my arms to rest on my shoulders and squeezing gently.

"It's going to be fine."

Before I can formulate a response, the front door whips open to reveal Phillip's mother. I recognise her from the photo in his living area. It's obvious he got his chestnut hair and blue eyes from her but I'm guessing his height must come from his dad's side—the gently rounded woman before me can't be more than 5ft 3.

"I thought I saw your car pull up. You must be Rose, it's so lovely to meet you. Phillip has told us a lot about you." She greets me with a wide smile and, sure enough, she has dimples too. Add in her floral dress and white apron with frilly edges, and she reminds me of the cartoon woman on the frozen cherry pie box in my freezer. This woman who radiates warmth and happiness is what a mum is supposed to feel like. For a melancholy moment it makes me wish my relationship with my own mother was different.

"Thank you so much for having me over. These are for you." I hold out the flowers.

"Oh, you shouldn't have! Thank you dear, chrysanthemums are my favourite." She accepts them gratefully. "Goodness, I'm being so rude—come in out of that rain, come in!" She steps back, allowing us inside then calls out, "Martin, they're here!" She takes our coats then leads us into the living room chatting away. "Always out in the garage tinkering away, your father. I thought retiring meant you weren't supposed to work all day."

"You know Dad would drive you nuts if he didn't have a project. Don't tell me you want him helping out in the kitchen instead?" Phillip replies and she laughs.

"Lord no, your father could burn water."

The room is cosy with two comfortable looking fawn-coloured sofas and a fireplace mantle covered in family photos.

"You can wait in here and I'll call you through when lunch is ready." She checks a delicate gold watch on her wrist. "The others should be here any moment."

"Do you need a hand with anything? I'm not an amazing cook, but I promise I don't burn water," I offer.

She chuckles before replying, "If you wouldn't mind setting the table that would be lovely."

"No problem," I say just as the bell rings.

"Phillip, would you get the door please?"

While I lay out cutlery on the dining table, a beautiful piece that I suspect is Phillips' handiwork, I watch through the window as Phillip steps out into the back garden with another man and a young boy. That must be his brother and nephew. They're soon joined by a dark-haired giant of a man who can only be Phillip and Eric's dad. A patio occupies the third of the garden closest to the house, shielded by a large covering that allows the adults to take shelter from the storm. Unbothered by the downpour, Toby zooms around the grassy area of the large back garden decked out in a long waterproof coat and wellies. It's not hard to imagine Phillip doing the same when he was that age.

From everything he's shared, it sounds like Phillip had a wonderful time growing up here and it's not hard to see why. The house is warm and welcoming, just like his mother, Patricia, who immediately insisted I call her Trish instead of Mrs Blackwell. They have an open plan kitchen and dining room spanning the back of the house and I look over to see her smiling, eyes shining with love as she watches her family out of the kitchen window while stirring something on the hob. I've only been here for a few minutes, but this house feels like a proper family home, and gratitude swells in my chest that I've been invited to be a part of it, even just for one meal.

The bell rings again and my brow furrows in confusion. Phillip didn't mention anyone else would be joining us today.

"Would you mind keeping an eye on the sauce for a minute while I get the door?"

"No problem," I reply, accepting the wooden spoon Mrs Blackwell, Trish , is holding out to me.

Moments later, a smartly-dressed man joins the others out in the garden. Unlike Phillip and Eric this man doesn't bear any resemblance to either Mr or Mrs Blackwell. Maybe he's a cousin? His copper hair is long enough to brush his sharp jawline, the angles of which are only enhanced by his close-cropped beard. Neither Phillip nor Eric appears pleased to see him and I can't help but wonder what the story is there. While Eric looks pissed off the man is here, Phillip looks almost panicked, moving to approach the latest arrival but getting waylaid by an enthusiastic Toby tugging at his sleeve for attention.

"Thank you, Rose," Trish says as she comes back into the kitchen. "Would you mind calling everyone in? I asked Blake to let them know lunch was ready but I can see he's caught up chatting to Martin." Another glance out the window does indeed show her husband and the man who is apparently Phillip's best friend deep in conversation.

"Of course." I smile, handing her back control of the wooden spoon and finding my way through the utility room to the back door.

"Lunch is ready," I announce somewhat tentatively, feeling awkward about summoning a group of people I don't know. Once again Phillip tries to catch Blake's attention, darting panicked looks between his friend and me, but Blake doesn't notice. An uneasy feeling creeps over me but it's probably nothing. It's obvious Phillip didn't know Blake was coming or he would have mentioned it. He probably just wants to make sure his friend doesn't tell me any embarrassing stories or something.

Lunch itself is delicious and the conversation never stops flowing as Eric and Phillip share stories about the things they got up to as young boys. Trish asks me more about my artwork and his dad and I talk about the project Phillip and I are working on. Upon discovering I'm an artist, Toby proudly tells me he does painting at school making the adults chuckle while Eric smiles down at his son fondly.

"So, Rose, what do I have to do to convince you to do my friend Kimaya's gallery show?" Blake asks. I almost choke rushing to swallow a mouthful of the most delicious apple crumble I've ever eaten.

"What?" I ask, sure I must have misheard. We just met. He's never even seen my work.

"From what I've seen online your work would be the perfect addition to her show, but if you don't confirm soon she might find someone else. It is a Kimaya Chatterjee show after all." Blake looks at me expectantly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and suddenly the crumble turns to lead in my stomach.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. You know Kimaya Chatterjee?" She's huge in the art world and known for putting together gallery shows that catapult the careers of up-and-coming artists to the next level.

"Phillip didn't tell you?" Blake looks between his friend and me, confusion tugging down his brows.

"Tell me what?" The rest of the table has gone quiet, all eyes on the two of us, and an awful squeezing sensation in my chest is making it hard to breathe.

"Really? You told me you would ask her over a week ago," Blake admonishes Phillip. Ask me what? The cardigan I put on earlier suddenly feels suffocatingly hot and I shift uncomfortably, looking between the two men and trying desperately to figure out what the hell is going on. "Kimaya and I were having lunch—right now she happens to be guest lecturing at Riverbend University where I work, anyway, that's when she mentioned an artist had dropped out of her next show. When Phillip showed me your work, I wanted to put your name forward as a replacement."

Blinking rapidly in a losing battle against the stinging sensation behind my eyes I look over at Phillip, hoping there's been some kind of misunderstanding. Surely, after everything, he wouldn't go behind my back like this? But one look at the colour draining from his face and I know.

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" I choke out the words, already standing. I need to get out of here but first I need to know why. Why would Phillip do this? He's known about the show for at least a week from the sound of it. Was he just waiting for the right time to push me into doing it? Or was he never going to tell me, keeping my list of achievements small so I'd feel all the more grateful for his attention and support? My thoughts ping-pong back and forth as we move away from the table.

By the time Phillip and I reach the hallway a vermillion haze of rage has descended over me and my hands shake with the force of my anger.

"When were you going to tell me? Were you going to tell me?" I ask, my voice sharp like the cool steel of a deadly blade.

"Of course I was but?—"

"But what?" I hiss. He at least has the grace to look ashamed when I pin him with my glare.

"It just never seemed like the right time. You're so sensitive about your painting and then you were ill?—"

"So this is my fault? Are you seriously blaming my chronic illness right now?" I ask incredulously.

"No, of course not." His expression turns pleading. "That's not what I… I just mean I kept making plans to tell you but something always got in the way."

Clenching my jaw in an attempt to stop myself from completely losing it, I fire off my next words.

"And last night? This morning? You had me all to yourself, what's your excuse for not telling me everything this weekend? Is there a reason? Or did you just not want to risk missing out on a good fuck?" My words are harsh but I don't care, he doesn't deserve any softness from me. I've been more vulnerable with him than anyone else and look where it's got me. I feel dirty. Used .

"No." He shakes his head, taking a step towards me, hurt flashing in his eyes when I back away. I can't stand the thought of him touching me right now. "I can't believe you'd even think that."

"What else am I supposed to think? Apparently you've had over a week to bring it up. If you really planned to discuss this with me there were plenty of chances before now."

"I was going to ask you about it tonight."

"That's convenient."

"I'm serious, Rose. You weren't feeling well and then you were stressed out about your flat and the storm. I knew you were nervous about meeting everyone today so I thought it would be best to wait until afterwards when we got home."

"Because you knew I'd be upset!" I force myself to stifle the yell, not wanting his family to hear even though that's probably a lost cause.

"That's really what you think of me?" Disbelief colours Phillip's voice as his brows draw down.

"What else am I supposed to think?"

"You're supposed to trust me, Rose."

"I did trust you!" I fling my hands up needing an outlet for my frustration. "I told you why I was struggling to paint, about Malcolm, and everything with my parents. I trusted you with all of it and you chose to keep this from me—something that could affect my future, my entire career as an artist."

"I was going to tell you, I swear?—"

My voice is bitter and tears burn in my eyes as I reply, "The problem is I'll never know if that's true, will I? I trusted you and you've been lying to me. How am I supposed to believe you're being honest now?" Embarrassment over being so easily fooled by his nice-guy act burns through me, heating my cheeks.

Phillip runs a hand through his hair in frustration, leaving the strands sticking up haphazardly. "You're not letting me explain." He clenches his jaw in frustration.

"You had a chance to explain. You had days!" I shake my head. "Right now, I don't really care what else you have to say."

"Don't shut me out just because you're afraid," he argues, blue eyes bright with anger.

" Excuse me ?" I stare at him in disbelief.

Phillip's next words hit me like a punch to the gut.

"I'm not Malcolm."

No, he's worse. It hadn't taken long for me to realise Malcolm wasn't a good guy, but I lacked the confidence to do anything about it, afraid all the shitty things he and my parents said about me were true in spite of what my real friends said. When I broke up with him, I promised myself that I wouldn't let anyone treat me badly and get away with it again. I won't go back on that now even if it hurts so much more this time. Phillip made me feel safe enough to show him every part of myself, trusting he would never use it against me. Turns out I'm a fool.

My hands shake and my throat is tight as I desperately try to hold back my tears. He doesn't deserve to see me cry.

"You said I was enough. You told me I was good enough exactly as I am." My voice is hollow, even to my own ears.

"You are ?—"

"No." I shake my head. "If you really believed I was worth anything, that what we were building together was worth anything, you wouldn't have done this."

"I haven't done anything!" he yells, truly losing his temper for the first time since we met. "The timing was just never right. I didn't think waiting until this evening to bring it up would hurt."

A small, distant part of me can understand his reasoning but it's drowned out by the storm of anger and hurt raging within me.

"I deserved the truth." I take a step back, towards the dining room. "I need to go home. I can't do…" My free hand waves between us. "Whatever this is right now." Phillip's face falls but he doesn't try to stop me.

Taking a shuddering breath in an effort to calm down I open the door to the dining room so I can get my handbag. All conversation stops when I enter. Heart pounding, I edge my way around the dining table in silence, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes. Once my bag is secured on my shoulder I turn to face Phillip's mother, shame curling low in my gut.

"Mrs Blackwell, thank you for a lovely meal. I'm sorry for… well, everything. I have to go." I rush out of the room before she has a chance to reply. Wrestling on my coat, I'm caught off guard when Phillip steps into my path.

"Can we please go home and talk about this?" Hearing him talk like his house belongs to both of us tugs at my battered heart. I wish I could say yes to his offer but I can't. If I say yes, it's like I'm saying what he's done is ok and it's not. As much as it hurts, I need to put some distance between us so I can figure out how I really feel without worrying about how it might affect him.

"No. I think I should stay with Aria and Bel tonight. I'll order a taxi, it shouldn't take long. This is for the best. I'll stop by your place for a few things but that's all." His expression shutters, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes snuffed out by my words. With a sharp nod, he steps back to let me pass. Hesitating with my hand hovering over the front door handle, I almost turn around but force myself to keep moving. I'm not sure what I would say right now anyway. The gentle snick of the door closing behind me feels heartbreakingly final.

Under the small covering of the Blackwell's front porch, I take a few gasping breaths to calm down, angrily swiping away a tear that's managed to escape. Once I'm no longer on the verge of crying, I use an app on my phone to order a taxi. My heart twists when I think about our perfect morning compared to the gaping wound this afternoon has left behind.

The chilly autumn air blows away the last of my anger while I wait, leaving me feeling like an empty husk. The sound of the front door opening fills me with a twisted kind of hope and I turn round quickly, heart sinking all over again when I realise it's only Blake. Embarrassed, I offer him an awkward smile. It's not like I actually wanted Phillip to follow me out here so it shouldn't disappoint me that he hasn't. A heavy sigh leaves me. Emotionally drained, all I want is to go and wallow in a cuddle pile with my best friends.

Instead of heading straight for his car, which looks like it must cost more than my flat, Blake tentatively steps up beside me.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." I shrug, feeling awkward about everything Phillip's family and closest friend just witnessed. I'm pretty sure they all heard at least some of our argument. Great first impression, Rose. It probably doesn't matter much now anyway.

"Actually, it is," he admits. "Phillip asked me to wait until he had a chance to speak with you about the gallery show slot. He said he'd ask on my behalf because he didn't want to keep the opportunity from you but that I shouldn't hold my breath for a yes." He runs a hand over his close-cropped beard. "I thought he was being overly sensitive. Who wouldn't want their work featured in one of Kimaya's shows? So, I told her about you anyway then got impatient when he didn't ask you straight away. I thought he knew I was coming to lunch today and assumed he would have discussed the opportunity with you before we were introduced. Clearly I was mistaken, and I apologise."

Releasing a soul-deep sigh, I tilt my face up to the gloomy sky like the storm clouds might show me what to do. Blake hovers and I know I'll have to say something before he'll leave. Unfortunately, I don't have it in me to conjure up the words he wants to hear.

"Look, I appreciate the apology but I'm not really interested in making you feel better right now."

His eyebrows rise in surprise. I guess if he's as rich as his car and outfit suggest he's not used to many people calling him out.

"That's fair." He regards me for a moment with something suspiciously close to respect. "Just in case you change your mind." He pulls a business card from his wallet and holds it out to me. Wanting this interaction to be over already, I take it and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans.

My taxi arrives just as Blake gets into his car. I jog over to it right away, desperately needing to put some distance between myself and this disaster of an afternoon.

Me:

Have you got room for one more tonight?

Bel:

I've always got room for you. What happened?

Lunch was a disaster. Tell you more when I get to yours?

OK.

Going to stop for comfort food but will be there in about an hour.

Not that there was ever really any doubt, but I feel better knowing Bel is happy for me to crash at his tonight. The taxi drops me at Phillip's place and, using the spare key he gave me, I let myself inside. Wanting to be gone before he gets back, I hurriedly toss a few things into my rucksack and do my best to ignore the ache in my chest that being in his bedroom brings. It's hard to believe we woke up in this bed together only hours ago. Happiness is a fragile thing that can shatter all too easily.

My tired mind swirls with questions as I push myself to keep moving instead of sinking to the floor in a mess of tears. Was Blake telling the truth? Would Phillip really have told me about the gallery show tonight? Even if Phillip and I talk it through without the heightened emotions of this afternoon's argument, I feel like I can't trust him now. I don't know how we come back from that. Bag packed, I take one last lingering look at the space before forcing my feet to carry me out the door.