Read Online Hothouse Flower by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie - Free Book Online Page A

like when
I do right by all people, but it’s just hard when my mom stands at one end and
my sisters, Ryke , Connor and Lo stand at the other.
    They outnumber her, but my mom raised me. Isn’t that a trump
card?
    He watches me eat, making sure that I’m not fibbing. “This
cereal sucks,” I tell him on the tenth bite.
    “It’s healthy, but if you want chocolate, there’s ice cream
in the freezer.”
    I practically moan. “Don’t tempt me.”
    He almost smiles. “After Fashion Week, you promise you’ll
talk to her?”
    I nod. “Yeah, yeah.”
    “Don’t yeah me twice,” he retorts.
    “Why, because it’s redundant?”
    He leans close, his arms on either side of the counter, on
either side of me. “Because it sounds
fake, sweetheart.”
    “So if I moan twice—”
    He covers my mouth with his large hand, enveloping my cheeks
and jaw. “Don’t go there, not tonight.”
    I do ride that line a little too much. We tempt and tease
each other with knowledge that nothing more can happen. It’s our dynamic.
    I finish off most of the cereal, leaving the soggy clumps of
granola floating in the milk. “I’m sorry about the garage. I pushed you too
far.” I set down the bowl and hop off the counter. He’s right there, not moving
from this spot. His hands still on the counter.
    I’m closer to him than before.
    “No you didn’t,” he says. “If I fucking wanted to be with
you like that, I would have by now. You’ve been eighteen for six months.”
    This shouldn’t hurt, but his words knot my stomach, the
granola rising to my throat. I swallow it back down. I think wanting is a little different than
doing. I thought he wanted to like me, but he knew he couldn’t. But that’s not
right. He’s never really expressed any attraction towards me. We flirt
sometimes, but he’s never gotten hard or aroused by me.
    At least not that I’ve seen.
    I want to test it.
    I shouldn’t, but I’m curious. I don’t know how else to see
if he shares the same attraction. He doesn’t show it in his eyes the way I do.
    He’s close enough that all I have to do is wrap my arms
around his chest for a hug. He’s my wolf, and I seriously wonder if he’ll bite
me today. I don’t think twice. I hug him, and his body goes rigid. I look up,
neither of us retracting.
    “Daisy…”
    My long legs touch his strong ones. My hip bones press into
his pelvis, a little shorter than him since he’s six-three to my five-eleven. I
become keenly aware of his flexed muscles and dark eyes that set on me. It’s an
R-rated hug, if there can be one. And yet, he’s not hard. He’s just tense, like
he’s waiting for me to draw away.
    Instead of hugging me back, he sets a single hand on my
head, hesitating.
    I sigh. Well that test was inconclusive. “Thanks,” I say.
That single word relaxes his muscles. “I’m glad we can be non-fucking friends.”
It’s better than nothing.
    His dark eyes dance over my features. He stays quiet for a
long time, both of us unmoving from this position. It’s dangerous to be like
this after the garage incident, but I think we’re equally attracted to that
danger.
    His thumb grazes my cheek. “You look fucking exhausted.”
    “I napped.”
    “You don’t fucking nap,” he says.
    “I shut my eyes this afternoon. What do you call that?”
    “Shutting your fucking eyes,” he deadpans.
    A smile breaks through my face. I laugh, and then I lean
forward and rest my cheek against his chest. I close my eyes, and his body
stiffens again. He’s warm. I listen to the faint sound of his heart for a
second, and I swear it speeds. But maybe that’s just mean hoping that I have some sort of effect on Ryke Meadows.
    “What are you doing?” he asks roughly. His hands return to
my head, making me realize that I’m smaller than him. It’s hard finding guys
taller than me, which is why I’ve gravitated towards models in the past.
    “Sleeping,” I say with a smile.
    “When did I become your fucking pillow?” he