10. Rosalie

10

ROSALIE

I wake abruptly, and it takes me a moment to puzzle out how I got here. The last thing I remember was walking out to my car on a high from selling all my paintings. I was a little sad to let the woman and bear painting go, and I refuse to think about what that means. I painted it last minute when I got back from California. It wasn't even finished curing when I took it to the gallery.

The image kept showing up in my dreams, and even though the subject matter disturbed me, I knew the only way to stop thinking about it was to paint it. Otherwise it would be the only thing I'd be able to see and I wouldn't get anything else done.

When the muse tells you to paint something, you paint it. If you try to ignore it and paint something else instead, you're only asking for a creative block, and I'd just recently broken out of one of those. I wasn't about to invite another.

I'm glad Cooper backed off. I am. We come from two different worlds. And he is not the bear in that painting. It's just a bear. It doesn't mean anything.

I still don't remember how I got home and in bed though. I stretch and roll over. Wait… my bed is not this comfortable. I've needed a new mattress forever. There's a dip I tend to roll into, and yet… this mattress is firm all the way across. I stretch out like a starfish to prove my own suspicion.

And then I remember the parking lot and the foul smelling cloth going over my face. I bolt upright and look around. Yep, not my bed, not my house. I'm in an enormous lavish room with expensive yet understated furniture. It gives the vibe of actual rich, not pretending-to-be rich. A cream-colored leather sofa sits along one wall with a beige blanket draped over one side. The leather looks soft and buttery. Who has furniture this color? What if you spill something on it?

In this moment I've decided beige and white are wealth flexes because you don't need to hide stains, you'll just get another one! The entire room is done in these shameless neutral shades. The only spot of color is a large vase of pale pink roses on a table in the middle of the room—and at this point pale pink feels like just another airy neutral laughing all the way to the bank.

And… the painting.

The bear and the woman painting mocks me from just over the leather sofa.

Sun streams in through floor-to-ceiling windows, and I can see the city skyline. We are way high up. Well, he wasn't lying about being a rich werebear. Not that that changes anything.

Oh come on, Rosalie. A hot, rich, protective bear shifter just whisked you off to his castle and you want to go back to sharing a cramped apartment on the third floor in the bad part of the city? Sure.

Is there a way to murder my internal monologue without harming myself?

There's a knock on the door. I tense and just stare at it. I mean, I'm not going to say "Come in." That would be insane and seem like I was A-okay with this situation.

And how do I even know it's Cooper? Maybe someone else is fixated on and stalking me. I didn't see him last night. It could be anyone.

Yes, Rosalie, all the men want you. Every single one feels a strong and deep compulsion to take you as his bride. And they all have penthouses in the city. Aren't you just lucky?

I roll my eyes.

A moment later the door opens and Cooper walks in carrying a covered tray. His feet are bare. Jesus, even his feet are hot. He can't even have a single imperfection? He wears gray sweatpants slung low over his hips and no shirt. And even though I've seen him naked, somehow the little bit of mystery makes him that much hotter, drawing my attention sharply to that mouth-watering "V".

"I made you some breakfast," he says, like he didn't just drug and kidnap me.

"Are all shifters this… defined, or do you have to go to the gym?"

He smirks. "I work out." He says it nonchalantly as if it's no big deal to be chiseled like a Greek god.

He sits the tray on the bed, and that's when I notice the scent. What is that smell? I mean, I know it's Cooper. I smelled it at the club in LA. That warm, musky, woodsy, mossy… god it's driving me crazy. And it's stronger than it was in LA.

"Are you wearing cologne?" If he is, he took a bath in it, but it's not too much. I mean it is definitely too much, but it isn't repellent. Quite the opposite, unfortunately.

"No, it's the mate thing. Only you can smell it."

I find that very hard to believe. How could anyone be in this room with him and not smell this? I catch myself before I crawl across the bed to him. What the actual fuck ?

It's magic. I do not like this.

It's just so… compelling… Is it hot in here?

No, he's hot in here.

Shut up, brain. I do not need your input right now.

"It'll get stronger until the mating is complete," Cooper says. He puts the tray on the table next to the roses and walks to my bed.

Stalks like a jungle cat, you mean.

He sits on the edge and touches my arm. It's meant to be a light, comforting touch. I haven't even had a chance to yell at him for committing a felony. My brain is all scrambled by his nearness and scent.

And now that his warm hand is on me—even just my arm—I feel like I'm about to crawl out of my skin with need. The arousal building between my legs is embarrassing. He just touched my arm… for fuck's sake. He just smells so good .

My breathing comes out in sharp pants, and I'm sure if I looked into the mirror I would appear wild, my hair crazy from sleep, pupils dilated.

"Why isn't this affecting you?" I ask, warily. Maybe he gave me more than one drug? But no… this scent was affecting me all the way back in LA at the club.

He takes my hand and guides it to cover his erection. "It is, I'm just not fighting it."

I pull my hand away and jump out of the bed. Only now do I look down and realize I'm wearing pajamas. A pink cami top and little white boxer shorts with tiny red hearts on it.

I must look confused because Cooper says, "You have a whole closet full of clothes." He gestures to a white door that must be a walk-in closet.

He had to have been stalking me since LA to know all my sizes.

"I thought that was a bathroom," I say.

"The bathroom is a second door inside the closet."

Well, that's a unique layout option. I'm curious, and a part of me wants to check it out, but a bigger part of me wants to put as much distance between me and the bear shifter as possible, so moving into smaller and smaller spaces with no escape doesn't sound like a solid game plan if I want to reclaim my sanity and freedom.

A phone rings, and Cooper pulls a cell phone from his pocket. He holds a finger up in the air. "Yeah… I checked the online public records database, but the blueprints weren't there…"

I'm eyeing the door and wondering how distracted he is by his call.

"Yeah, I thought they might be in one of the boxes in the basement in the records room. Tomorrow's a bank holiday, but I'm working. Can you leave me a key at the office and the passcode? I'll swing by there after my meeting."

He's engrossed in his conversation and clearly doesn't think I'm a flight risk. I take one more look at him—because who can blame me—and race out of the room. I stop short when I get to the main part of the penthouse, momentarily caught off guard by what I see.

Holy shit, this place is huge. He has a grand piano in the living room. Not even a baby grand, like a grand grand. And… a… a waterfall .

What?

I think my brain is short-circuiting. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend out here and to the massive kitchen. Everything in this place is neutrals. Clean lines. Grays and blacks and whites and beige with pale pink accents as far as the eye can see—mostly more fresh flowers—including but not limited to roses.

This guy must have a decorator. When we were out in the woods, Cooper didn't strike me as the kind of guy with an interior design degree. Or hell, maybe this isn't even his place. Maybe he broke in. Once you kidnap and imprison a woman, how much more of a stretch is it to steal a whole penthouse?

And… there are stairs that go up to an even higher floor. A two-story penthouse? Is that even a thing? I bet he has a pool and garden on the roof. Hmmm, does he have a pool and garden on the roof?

I decide I don't care and run for the door. But there is no door. I mean, there's a door, but there's no door knob. It's just a metal sliding thing like an elevator. I finally realize it IS an elevator. I must be still foggy from whatever he drugged me with last night because I swear I'm not normally this stupid. I can see now that the elevator opens directly into the penthouse, which, now I remember from movies is quite common. Not that movies are a window into actual reality.

Well, that's convenient, I guess.

I press the button but the doors don't open, and that little ding that elevators do doesn't happen. The button doesn't even light up. I jab it several more times in quick succession but nothing happens.

"The elevator only opens with my fingerprint," Cooper says.

I didn't even hear him enter the room. He stalks closer. I turn toward him, my back flattened against the cool metal of the elevator door, praying to melt through to the other side so I can ride the electric box down to the safety of the ground.

"Let me out of here." I try to sound firm and in control, but it comes out breathy. I feel panicked, like a deer in the middle of a field in the clear sights of a hunter.

"You don't want to leave." He slinks closer and that smell… god why does he have to smell so good, and look so good? I try not to stare at his tattoos or his abs or his… anything. But looking into his face isn't any better. He's just too overwhelmingly attractive.

"I, I do," I say weakly as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. And just this light touch has me wanting to straddle his leg and grind my pussy hard against it until I come.

No, No! I will not be doing that today.

Or ever !

He moves in like he's going to kiss me, and I come back to my senses. I shove him away, and he takes a step back. But it's clear he didn't have to take that step back. He's stronger than a normal man so my little human push certainly wasn't going to phase him.

"You lied to me! You said you'd wait as long as it took!"

"And this is how long it takes," he says.

I shake my head. "You knew this would happen if you got me in a closed space with you for long enough."

This wasn't happening back during the full moon in his den. I was attracted, sure, but I'm a heterosexual woman with a pulse. It didn't seem odd at the time—despite the extreme circumstances. But the more time passes, the more intense his presence is. His smell, his…

He just stands back, studying me. He thankfully hasn't moved back into my space, but even as I think this, I want him to move back into my space.

"Do I smell like this to you?" I ask.

"I don't know what I smell like to you so I couldn't tell you. You smell like citrus and honey to me. And I love those two things. I'm using amazing restraint here, Rosalie."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, you're a model citizen drugging and kidnapping me."

He just shrugs. "It was what had to be done."

I choose to ignore this rationalization.

"I thought people have rejected their mates." To me that implied that they actually got away and got to go back to their old lives.

Cooper nods. "Distance will stop this intensity. That's why you're in here with me and not out there." He gestures toward the windows and the big outside world beyond them.

It's hard to imagine there's any world outside this space and this man even with the windows and view of the bustling city below to remind me.

He offers me his hand. "Now, come back to your room and eat something. That cover will only keep the food warm for so long."

I sigh, defeated, but I try one more time anyway. I feel like I need to. Yes, he's hot, he smells amazing, and this penthouse is incredible, blah blah blah. I'd be crazy to not want to live here, but I don't know this man. Life isn't a fairy tale or a rom com. A rich and attractive man can abuse you just as easily as a broke and ugly one.

And he's far too possessive for me to just trust that I'll be safe in his hands for centuries.

"Just let me go. You're rich and hot, you can have any woman you want." I'm not even trying to appeal to his ego. It's not flattery, just facts.

He smirks. "Except you, apparently."