She Said Yes (Falling For A Rose Book 6) Read online

  Adeline scowled. “Why do you and Desiree think she’s my mother? Sometimes I swear you two have forgotten who birthed who.”

  “We haven’t forgotten, Mom, but since Desiree and I have repaired our broken relationship, we keep each other in the loop. She would be outraged if I took you to get Botox without informing her or at least asking her opinion.”

  Adeline scoffed again and pursed her lips as Claudia glanced at her watch again.

  “Can you be ready in twenty minutes, please?” Without waiting for an answer, Claudia turned and left the room.

  Behind her back, Adeline mumbled, “When I’m done with Christopher Lee Rose, I’ll show you how to keep a man.”

  Pivoting with her cane, Adeline continued to put one foot in front of the other, determined to be the winner of Christopher’s heart.

  Across town, Phoebe Alexandria Rose glided into the Riverside Sport Fitness Center and signed her name into the machine.

  “Good morning Ms. Rose, how are you today?”

  “Phoebe, the name’s Phoebe.”

  Lisa Mano, the receptionist, smiled behind the desk. “You know I’ll never call you that. Why do you always try and get me to?”

  “Because It’s what I’m comfortable with,” Phoebe said. “Calling me Ms. Anything makes me feel as old as my dad.”

  Lisa laughed. “We all know you’re not old, honey.”

  Being the eldest of triplets, Phoebe had to make sure people didn’t perceive her twenty-five years as old. Glancing around the gym, Phoebe wondered if a special someone was present today.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Lisa said, “He’s here, straight to the back by the weights.”

  Phoebe tapped the counter with the palm of her hand. “Thanks,” she said, sashaying toward the back in search of the man she couldn’t get her mind off of. Sailing through treadmills and incline machinery, Phoebe traipsed to a tall, lean, caramel brother who stood strong spotting for a man who was lifting weights. She tapped him on his shoulder, causing the fella to turn toward her.

  “Do you mind?” she mouthed, asking if she could take the spotter’s place.

  The man lifted an eyebrow and shrugged, stepping to the side. He didn’t go far in case the small framed young woman couldn’t handle the weights when it was time to lift them from his hands. Phoebe stood over Quentin Davidson. He was in full workout mode with his earphones stuck in his ears and his eyes closed. Phoebe watched as, with each bend and stretch of his arms, his muscles bulged through his dark brown smooth skin. The T-shirt he wore was thin and soaked with perspiration, and the gray sweat shorts didn’t hide the thick print that sat against his pelvis. Carnal images of them wrapped between the sheets flooded Phoebe’s mind, and instantly her crotch heated, and her nipples bristled.

  He was so fine, Phoebe thought. What she would do to have him, if only for a night. Quentin was a machine, continuing to lift the weights without so much as a sign of weakening. Phoebe had been in male strip clubs that didn’t turn her on nearly as much as watching Quentin, or maybe she just had the hots for him that bad.

  Deciding to switch machines, Quentin took the weights up one last time and sat them on the bar without the assistance of his spotter. His eyes opened, and sweat dripped up his nose into the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision of what he thought was an angelic figure. Sitting up, Quentin pulled a towelette off of the bench and dabbed at his eyes. When he reopened them, Phoebe stood in front of him with her foot propped on the bench he sat on.

  Quentin’s gaze roamed over Phoebe’s chocolate skin. Long legs and thick thighs. She wielded no mercy on his imagination, standing there with her legs spread eagle in those skin-tight workout pants that curved to her womanly figure. Heat ballooned in his core and ran to his groin, extending the muscle in his boxer shorts. Phoebe was no longer his best friend’s young, skinny, annoying sister. She had grown nicely into a curvaceous unmistakably striking woman who threatened his very sanity every time she was near.

  When she’d made the decision to workout at his gym twice a week, on the days Quentin was there, it was even more of a forbidden temptation that Quentin was having a hard time dealing with. His eyes roamed up to her bare brown belly that housed a navel ring, and he imagined his tongue swirling around the bejeweled trinket. As his brow lifted and his gaze rose over the plumpness of her breasts, Quentin held tightly to his wildwood growl. It wouldn’t be apropos to be groveling at her where she stood, no matter how bad he wanted to lift her off her feet and take her against the nearest wall.

  Phoebe completed her look with a swaying ponytail that sat high on the back of her head and hung down to her neckline. It didn’t make it easier on Quentin as he imagined sinking his fingers in the long tresses and demanding she tell him she belonged to him. The possessive fury scorched his nervous system, putting him on the very edge of insanity. Quentin grew even harder as he took in her light brown eyes, perfect thin nose, and lustrous mouth and imagined the taste of her smooth polished lips. He would sink his teeth into her long brown neck and plunge into her pussy so fiercely she would cry and coat his penis with a cream he knew would be hot and sweet. Fuck, he thought.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Davidson,” her sultry voice purred. “Having a good day?”

  When he realized she’d asked him a question, Quentin blinked and pulled his eyes away from her mouth.

  “Splendid,” he said in a gruff tone.

  Phoebe smiled. “I’m glad I caught you. I was hoping you could help me out with an exercise.”

  Quentin was trying his hardest to imagine an exercise they could do in the gym, but his guttural thoughts landed them in the most erotic of activities his mind had ever conjured. Trying to save himself, Quentin took his gaze off of Phoebe completely and glanced around the gym.

  “Tanner,” Quentin called. His original spotter sidled up beside him. “Can you help my friend Phoebe here with an exercise please?”

  Phoebe frowned. “I asked you, Quentin Davidson,” she said pronouncing his name in slow syllables.

  Quentin glanced back to her. He didn’t want to turn her down, but there was no way in hell he could stand next to her longer than a minute without swallowing her whole. Quentin needed to get a grip fast. Reaching down to grab his hand, Phoebe tugged, unaware of the power she held over him. That small connection sent more heat riding his bloodstream, and so help him, God, Quentin was definitely in trouble.

  Allowing her to pull him away from the machine, Quentin tossed back over his shoulder, “It’s aight, I got it.” Tanner nodded and found his way to an elliptical machine. Once Quentin and Phoebe had made it to the dance studio doors, Quentin pulled back and looked at Phoebe questionably.

  “There’s no class in there,” he said.

  “I know it,” Phoebe responded. “That’s the reason we’re going into the room. So you can help me with my balance. Come on.” Phoebe tugged and dragged Quentin inside. When the door shut, the room closed in on him as he watched Phoebe traipse to a mat and stretch. Parting her legs, Phoebe kept them straight and bent to her feet with her hands touching the tips of her toes. Her derriere stretched the tights she wore, and if Quentin didn’t know any better, he would think Phoebe was trying to bring him to his knees. Being around her did some unruly things to his libido, and the dryness in his throat had him thirsting for water.

  “Phoebe,” he said, his voice low and thick.

  Arching her back up to stand, Phoebe turned to look at him.

  “I’m going to step out and get a bottled water would you like one?”

  Phoebe sauntered over to him and eased into his personal space. The warmth from her nearness spread over Quentin, and alarm bells sounded in his ears. She turned her face up to him with her arm reaching out to turn the lock on the gym door, making her intentions known.

  “What was that you were saying about leaving to get some water?” she purred.

  Quentin cursed, hard and volatile. “Phoebe, what are you doing?”

  “What does it look l
ike I’m doing, Quentin? Why is it every time I come around, you make yourself scarce? What’s up, you don’t like me?” She pouted her succulent lips, and Quentin grabbed her, lifting Phoebe off her feet.

  “Mmmm,” she said as a moan ripped from her lips at his powerful encasement against his broad chest.

  With his hands gripping a tumultuous squeeze on her ass, Quentin held on to Phoebe, and her legs spiraled around his waist. Leaning into him, Phoebe slipped her hands up his neck to allow her fingers to play in his dreads.

  “You’re going to get us in a lot of trouble,” Quentin said.

  Phoebe wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his mouth mere inches from hers. “The last time I checked, you and I were grown,” she said.

  “You know that won’t make a bit of difference to your brothers,” he said.

  “My brothers don’t run my life, and besides, they are not here. It’s just me,” Phoebe pointed to herself, “and you.” She stuck a pointed finger into his chiseled chest. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

  “You know that sexy little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

  “Oh yeah,” she purred, “I’m counting on it.”

  Quentin’s lids lowered to her lips, and Phoebe lifted slightly giving him more of an opening. “Shit,” he said, sinking his mouth into hers in a slow drugging kiss. The momentum of their erotic dance escalated, and Quentin entered her mouth with the prodding of his tongue. They both moaned, and their bodies torched as Phoebe ground into him. Quentin stumbled against the door, pressing her soft body against it. With his rough hands, he held her arms up and kissed down her chin to her neck. The hardness in his pants knocked against her center, begging to be set free.

  With his lips on her throat, Phoebe sucked in his earlobe, causing a wicked growl to tread from him.

  “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Phoebe said.

  Pulling his lips from her skin, Quentin hovered over Phoebe with his head hung low. “We can’t do this,” he said.

  Affronted after divulging a piece of how she felt, Phoebe snapped back. “What’re you talking about? I thought we moved past this?”

  Quentin fought with himself, torn between passion and restraint. With all the will he could muster, he untangled Phoebe from his body and sat her on her feet. Becoming even more insulted, Phoebe took a step back and eyed him.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  Quentin sighed heavily. “I respect your brothers. We’re more than friends. We’re family. They would hate it if I—”

  Phoebe held up her hand, silencing him. “If you don’t want me, just say that, no need to blame it on my brothers.” She whipped around to clutch the doorknob.

  Quentin grabbed her arm. “Don’t do that.”

  Phoebe shook her arm loose. “Whatever. I’ve got your point loud and clear. You won’t have to worry about me anymore, Mr. Davidson.” She unlocked the door and fled the room.

  “Phoebe!” Quentin shouted, stepping into the hallway. Phoebe kept walking. Quentin was tempted to go after her, but his feet kept him planted like a man walking the plank.

  Chapter Three

  “Why do we always wait until the last minute to do these things, Fred?”

  Fred and Sampson stood in the dressing room having their measurements taken for their tailored suits while Christopher waited outside.

  “Because it’s just what we do, ain’t any need in stopping now,” Sampson responded.

  “I hear ya.” The senior men grumbled back and forth.

  Outside, Christopher Lee Rose looked over an Armani suit that was royal blue with a sharpness that made him appreciate the brand. Waiting on his friends Fred and Sampson was something Christopher had become accustomed to, so he moved from one item to the next with his thoughts traveling to his late wife. Years had passed since Janet’s death, and in just a short few days, they would be celebrating her through a foundation named by their sons, Jan’s Roses. The fundraiser was near to all of their hearts, which is why Christopher struggled with the news he wanted to deliver to his sons.

  He was ready for another wife. One he could spend the rest of his days with, without regrets. And although Christopher believed his boys were old enough to understand, he was still unsure of how they would respond inwardly to the news. For over twenty years, it had just been him, his boys, and his girls. But Christopher longed to be with someone, and the time had come to reveal that. Christopher strolled around the store in deep thought.

  Christmas seemed like as good a time as any, so he made up his mind right then to break the news to his family on that day. The phone in his pocket rang, and reaching inside his pants, Christopher removed it and answered.

  “Good afternoon,” he said with deep baritone vocals.

  “Hello Mr. Rose, how are you?”

  “The day has found me well. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  “Martha,” she cooed, “Martha Jean.”

  “Ms. Martha Jean,” Christopher crooned, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

  Martha Jean giggled like a teenager, and Christopher smiled with a playful grin.

  “I was wondering if you didn’t have plans tonight, if you would like to get together? Maybe go out for a movie.”

  “A movie?”

  “Yes,” Martha Jean half sang.

  “Why, Ms. Martha Jean, I’m flattered,” he said, “but unfortunately, I’m out with Fred and Sampson. They will be here for the next few weeks, and if I don’t keep an eye on them, there’s no telling what could happen.” He chuckled. “However, you will attend the fundraiser, correct?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  “We’re having a private dinner afterward at our home, so that means I’ll see you there as well?”

  “Of course,” Martha Jean said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Good,” Christopher cruised.

  “I’d like to send you something if you don’t mind, Mr. Rose.”

  Christopher arched a brow. “What would that be?”

  “Just a little something.”

  Just then Christopher’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it away from his ear to look at the screen. A notification from Martha Jean’s phone number lingered in the window, and he double-tapped the display to open the message.

  A picture of Martha Jean poised in a blue dress that shimmied with a sparkle in the lens of the camera flashed across his screen. Her silver hair sat on her shoulders, and her face had been beaten with a goddess like fashion. Christopher’s brows arched as his eyes settled on her transformation. She was far from the hyperactive spunky woman he was used to seeing in blue jeans, a plain shirt, and some sneakers. Even the change in her hair was different from the solid black she’d once worn.

  Christopher thought back to a brief conversation he’d had with Martha Jean. One where he’d found out she dyed her hair with a dark rinse to keep the gray away.

  Christopher had slipped a finger through her hair for a touch and told her, “There’s no reason for you to be ashamed of your wisdom, milady. That gray would bring out the soft hue in your brown eyes. It would be a beautiful thing and such a shame to hide.”

  A smile sprinkled across his lips.

  “I can be good company,” he heard her say into the phone just as he replaced it on his ear. “So, when you’re done babysitting Fred and Sampson, give me a call.” And with that Martha Jean hung up the phone.

  Chapter Four

  Phoebe sat across from her sisters Eden and Jasmine as they chatted about their shopping spree. Inside Ridge House Tavern a popular bar and grill that sat on Fulton’s river district, the ladies waited for the rest of their party to show up for what was becoming a weekly ritual.

  A server approached the table with a bounce in her step and a gleeful smile. “Good evening, ladies,” she said. “Are you still waiting for your party, or would you like to order now?”

  Eden and Jasmine glanced at each
other, then to Phoebe who hadn’t paid the server much attention.

  “I think we’re still waiting, but you can bring water with lemon for our party of ten please,” Jasmine spoke up.

  “You can also bring a few appetizers while we wait.” Eden looked at her sisters. “Do you guys want the mozzarella sticks or…?”

  Eden and Jasmine glanced back at Phoebe who was still tuned out of their conversation with her sight cast toward the doorway.

  “We’ll just take the mozzarella sticks for now,” Jasmine chimed.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I pry, but are you three the Rose triplets?” the server asked.

  “Yes,” Eden answered quickly. No matter where the girls went, they couldn’t hide from the series of questions that were fired off whenever someone noticed they were Roses. Usually, the girls didn’t mind, but some days like this one, they just wanted to be left in peace.

  “Oh my goodness. You guys are so much more beautiful in person!” the waitress squealed.

  Jasmine turned her nose up. “That sounded like a backhanded compliment, and I’m not feeling it.”

  Eden cut her eyes at Jasmine. “Don’t start.”

  “You know I keep it real with everybody,” Jasmine retorted. She turned her attention back to the waitress. “Are you trying to say we’re not beautiful on TV or the newspapers or wherever it is you saw us?”

  “Oh boy,” Eden said. She glanced to Phoebe for help but only received a faraway look from her.

  “Oh, not at all!” the waitress said, embarrassed. “What I meant was, you know how pictures are. Sometimes they don’t catch you in the right light. Or you could be in the middle of a laugh, and they catch the wrong angle.”

  “So, you’re saying we’re not cute when we laugh?” Jasmine continued.

  “No!” the waitress fumbled. “Sometimes when I laugh, I snort, and it can be rather spooky if someone caught a picture while that was happening.” The now nervous server laughed and snorted simultaneously to prove a point, but Jasmine didn’t let up.