Wild Love by Elsie Silver
- Alisha Eadle
- 3 hours ago
- 17 min read
Wild Love
by Elsie Silver
Published by Bloom Books
Book 1 in the Rose Hill Series
She's been driving him wild for years.
The good kind of wild. The bad kind of wild.
But mostly, the kind of wild that comes with wanting your best friend's little sister and knowing you can't have her.
Forbes may have labeled Ford Grant the World's Hottest Billionaire, but all he cares about is escaping the press and opening a recording studio in gorgeous small town Rose Hill. Something that comes to a screeching halt when he ends up face-to-face with a young girl who claims he's her biological father. Now, he spends his days balancing business with parenting a sullen twelve-year-old, all while trying desperately to keep his hands the hell off his best friend's sister, Rosie Belmont.
After living in the city, Rosie came blasting back into town like a storm. Beautiful, messy, and chaotic. And one wide-eyed, desperate plea for a job is all it takes for Ford to hire her. He vows to keep her at arm's length. Tries to stick to scowls and grumpy one-liners. But with her, verbal sparring is a type of foreplay―friction that soon turns to blistering heat.
Ford knows damn well he shouldn't cross this line. But shouldn't and can't are two very different things.
And the only thing he truly can't do is resist her.
Genre
Triggers
Workplace sexual harassment, child who has lost her father to cancer and her mother has severe depression
I didn't plan this. In fact, I'm INSANELY behind on posting reviews.
It's just a happy coincidence that Wild Card, the final book in the series, releases today.
But let's rewind a bit, and hear me out while I tell you my thoughts on Wild Love.
I loved it.
I'm a HUGE sucker for a brother's best friend romance. The forbidden nature of it just draws me in like nothing else. The tension between these two, while fighting their feelings for one another is delicious to read.
The fact that they grew up together adds a level of history to them that just adds so many layers to their relationship.
While the feelings are there, Elsie injects a lot of humor between them as well. The banter between them is so much fun to read. Add in Cora's sarcastic quips, and it's a recipe for hilarious moments throughout this book.
Speaking of Cora, I loved the addition of her, and the unique circumstances that bring her into Ford's life. I don't usually love the addition to children to a romance, but Cora was the perfect addition to the story. She is like Ford's little mini-me, but she also has no problem calling him out on his shit either, which is all kinds of fun.
Especially when Rosie piles on.
My husband is the only male in a house with four women.
It's pretty much how it is in our house too.
Poor guy, haha.
While I loved the romance, and definitely the sex, I also loved the personal journeys their character went through. Rosie being wrongfully fired from her corporate job because she went to HR about her boss is sadly not an unusual problem for women. Her arc throughout the book not only had her finding success elsewhere, and being happy there, but she learned her self-worth throughout the process.
I love when women, even fictional ones, learn their worth and demand the respect they are owed.
Ford stepping into a parental role he never imagined being in was so much fun to read. While not always graceful, I loved that despite the fact that he was the sperm donor, in her time of need, Ford stepped up, and continued to do when Cora's mom got better.
Wild Love was everything I love in a romance. It had emotional moments, and funny banter. Tension that made you ache, and sex that made you mentally squeal and kick your feet. If you haven't given the Rose Hill series a try yet, do it! You won't regret it! And as of today ... the series is finished. :)
West: “Look at you now—”
My pointer finger aims straight at him.
Ford: “Don’t even say it.”
As he speaks, his hands make sweeping, dramatic movements through the air.
West: “World’s Hottest Billionaire.”
Ford: “I hate you.”
West: “Nah. You love me. I’m the sunshine to your grumpy.”
My brows pinch together.
Ford: “What?”
West: “It’s a thing in romance books—”
Cora: “My name is Cora Holland. Your name is Ford Grant Junior, and you’re my biological dad.”
West: “Oof, leave the junior off,”
West murmurs from behind me.
West: “He hates that.”
I don’t spare my friend a glance. Instead, I stare down at the snarky little kid spouting total bullshit right to my face. She’s got a lot of nerve. I’ll give her that.
Ford: “That’s impossible. I never fucked Morticia Addams.”
Her head tilts and her eyes roll again. She barely reacts.
Cora: “Really original, nepo baby. Never heard that joke before.”
She rifles through her backpack. Black, of course. With a flourish, she pulls out a sheet of paper emblazoned with a logo I recognize. The company I submitted DNA to so I could complete a family tree as a gift for my mom.
Cora: “What about a paper Dixie cup? A petri dish? A sterile tube? You fuck any of those for a few bucks at any point in your life?”
I feel every drop of blood sink down to my feet as my stomach turns and my head spins. Because yes, in fact, I did.
Ford: “I just… I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time processing this. I didn’t expect, well, you.”
Her chipped, black-polished nails trace the scribble-covered rubber toe of her shoes.
Cora: “You donated sperm. What did you expect?”
Ford: “To walk out of that building with a much needed one hundred dollars in my pocket.”
All it took was one look—one heartbeat—and I was eighteen all over again.
Rosie: “Hey.”
Rosie tips her chin at Cora.
Rosie: “I’m Rosie. West’s sister.”
Cora: “Hey.”
Cora mimics the motion.
Cora: “I’m Cora, Ford’s daughter.”
I wince. Not because I hate the sound of it. We just haven’t talked about… I don’t know. Titles? Rosie reels backward as she takes that in, then she turns her baby blues on me and not-so-subtly whispers,
Rosie: “Wow. Congratulations on finally losing your virginity.”
All I can do is stare at her. We really are right back to where we were as teenagers in a matter of minutes. As in, she’s still funny and beautiful and completely off-limits, and I still feel transported back to the dumbstruck boy who is awkward as hell around her. It’s only a matter of time before I say something mean to keep her at arm’s length. And she’ll retaliate by saying she hates me before coming back with something equally snarky. That’s our customary vicious circle.
Cora: “Oh, well, he was a sperm donor to my parents,”
Cora spouts matter-of-factly.
Cora: “So, for all I know, he could definitely still be a virgin. Your whisper wasn’t very quiet, you know.”
Rosie: “I won’t bite, Junior. That’s too far to share chips. Or am I supposed to throw them at you? Because I’m not opposed to that plan. Open wide and I’ll pretend I’m aiming for your mouth.”
He looks at her like she terrifies him. And she looks at him with stars in her eyes. But they’re both too alike to say a single word to each other. It’s adorable.
Ford: “Do you have the stuff to make s’mores?”
Rosie: “Dude. Have you seen the bunkhouse? I have a hot plate, a toaster oven, and a kettle in the corner. I’m living on the wrong brand of sour cream and onion chips because the grocery store here doesn’t stock Old Dutch.”
Ford: “Okay, never mind—”
Rosie: “Of course I have the ingredients for s’mores.”
Ford: “You’re a hot mess, Rosalie.”
Rosie: “All I heard was that you think I’m hot.”
I say nothing to that. There’s no safe answer. Especially not when my neck gets all red at the mere mention.
Ford: “Can I swing by and grab the ingredients?”
Rosie: “No.”
Ford: “No?”
Rosie: “Why would I share them with you? You’re a bajillionaire.”
Ford: “That’s not an actual term.”
Rosie: “I know, but it has a more satisfying and ridiculous ring to it.”
Rosie: “Are you single?”
The second the words leave my lips, I hate myself for saying them. They’re enough to make him draw away ever so slightly. I hear the bristling of his stubble against his palm as he scrubs a hand over his mouth.
Ford: “Yes. Are you?”
I keep my eyes low; my breathing feels labored. Like it’s hard work to keep from collapsing under the weight of his stare.
Rosie: “I don’t know.”
And it’s true. I’ve spent so long being a people pleaser— avoiding making any waves—that I’m terrified of disappointing the people I care about. But I know I’m done. I’ve finally come to terms with it. But telling Ford before I tell Ryan would be shitty. Where Ford and my personal life are concerned, vague is better. Safer.
He stands, calmly unfurling his powerful body, before stepping right in front of me and bending down to my level. His lips are a breath away, his eyes so deep and searching I can’t hold his gaze. Slowly, his hand comes up to grip my ponytail—just like he did the other night. But tonight, with one slow tug, he guides my head back so I’m forced to look at him.
Ford: “Next time you ask me that, make sure you are.”
Good morning, Mr. Grant,
I’m creating a budget for the renovation. How much do you have slated? Please advise.
All my best, Rosalie Belmont
Business Manager at Rose Hill Records ...
Hi, Rosalie,
Whatever it takes.
Ford Grant
CEO and Producer at Rose Hill Records
...
Mr. Grant,
I need numbers if I’m going to make you a budget. And you need to add a closing greeting to your email signature. Otherwise, people will know you’re a total dick.
All my best,
Rosalie Belmont
Business Manager to His Royal Dickness at Rose Hill Records
...
Hi, Rosalie,
I don’t especially care if random people think I’m a dick. Numbers are attached here.
Have a happy day!
His Royal Dickness
CEO and Producer at Rose Hill Records
Good afternoon, Dark Lord,
Attached is a spreadsheet with my anticipated budget for the office and recording studio renovation. One tab is budgeted, the next is projected. I will work with the contractor and subcontractors to complete the latter. Please advise on the feasibility and feel free to point out any issues you might find since I know how much you love to create problems where none exist.
All my best,
Rosalie Belmont
Business Manager at Death Eater Records
P.S. I’m hungry and leaving for lunch. You have a free hour to harvest souls or whatever while I’m away.
She’s up and walking out the door when I fire off:
Rosalie,
Thank you for this. Lucky for you, I can multitask eating souls for lunch at my desk while I work.
Have a happy day!
Tom Riddle
CEO and Producer at Rose Hill Records
I know she has her email hooked up to her phone, so I’m not surprised when I hear her laugh from outside the door. Then she shouts,
Rosie: “It’s really the have a happy day that gets me.”
Rosie: “I’m sure he’s not ignoring you. Just—well, no, I’m here because he hired me.”
Her lips press together, and I rake a hand through my hair. My dad means well, but he’s fucking bossy sometimes, and we’ve butted heads many times.
Rosie: “I hear what you’re saying, Senior. But Ford’s a big boy now, even though he sometimes acts like a little one, and if he requires your input, I’m sure he’ll ask. He’s a smart, responsible man, so we gotta trust him to make wise decisions. He’s not actually dumb, even though he’s pretty, ya know?”
Because Rosie might think she knows what our secret is, but mine is that I loved sitting on that dock with her even back then.
Rosie: “I’m a mess. My life is a mess. I got fired. I’ve spent two years of my life with a perfectly decent man, and I don’t know how to tell him I’m not in love with him anymore. I’m living in my brother’s shitty bunkhouse and cooking on a hot plate. I eat chips every day. I’m swimming in a sea of student debt. I feel guilty all the time, for abandoning my life, for running away, for failing. And I’m so tired, Ford. I’m so fucking tired.”
His stubble prickles at my scalp as he presses a kiss to my hair and nuzzles his cheek on the top of my head.
Ford: “Just rest for a minute then, Rosie. I got you.”
Ford: “I donated sperm when I was nineteen.”
Mom: “You always have been charitable under that crabby exterior.”
Ford: “Mom.”
Mom: “I’m sorry. No one prepared me for this conversation. And that’s really saying something considering the things I hear on a daily basis. Care to elaborate on why you were donating sperm? Based on the number of times I found you doing your own laundry with a bright red face, I assumed you were mostly making your donations at home.”
Ford: “Fuck my life.”
I scrub a hand over my face, wishing the floorboards would give out and drop me down into a dark hole.
Ford: “Oh my god,”
Ford practically wheezes before running his hands through his hair.
Ford: “How did I end up with you all? You’re like a fire-breathing dragon. Willa is a rabid dog, and Cora is no better.”
I smirk and cross my arms before giving a casual shrug.
Rosie: “Seems like you’ve got a type.”
Ford: “I’ll take the bill,”
I say politely to the server as we blast past her computer station.
Server: “Be back in a moment.”
Rosie: “He won’t be back,”
Rosie mutters as she storms out the door.
Rosie: “I will leave his dead body in the parking lot and you can frisk him for cash.”
Ford: “Charming,”
I murmur back to her.
Rosie: “World’s Deadest Billionaire will be the new magazine headline. The cover will be a picture of your face, and I’ll be personally invited to complete the design by drawing devil horns and scribbling out your eyes.”
Ford: “Shame that I’ll be dead. I might actually be interested in reading that article.”
Rosie: "Ford, that was too fucking far. He’s already had a rough day. That was mean. A dick-measuring contest is unnecessary.”
Ford: “I genuinely don’t give a fuck about his day. My dick is definitely bigger. And I’m not concerned with my likability. I don’t care about him. But I do care about you.”
That takes her aback, but only for a moment. One swift blink and she’s right back at it.
Rosie: “Ford, you are going to walk in there, and you are going to apologize.”
I cross my arms defiantly, leaning back against the siding in a way that appears a hell of a lot more unaffected than I feel.
Ford: “Have fun scribbling my eyes out because over my dead fucking body will I apologize to him.”
Mr. Ford Grant Jr.,
I’m so glad you enjoy my art. I call this piece “My Boss is a ,” ink on paper, by Rosalie Belmont. Each droplet of the added jizz stream represents the lies that he tells himself.
Yours truly,
Rosalie Belmont
Dick Manager
Rosie: “I couldn’t agree more. Getting laid would really take the edge off for him,”
she replies to my mother.
Fucking kill me now.
I scrub at my hair, messing up any semblance of style it may have had when I arrived. Rosie’s brows pop up.
Rosie: “So, when you orgasm, it releases endorphins? And those make you feel happy? Well, dang, Gemma. I’m no doctor, but I’m definitely going to prescribe him an orgasm. Buy him a magazine and send him to the back or something, ya know?”
I run my finger over my throat in a clear threat while I stare back at Rosie. It just makes her smile harder.
Cora: “I miss my dad every day,”
she whispers against my shoulder.
Cora: “But I’m so glad I have you now.”
Ford: “Are you still in pain?”
I watched her walk around the office gingerly all day yesterday, and today I’m done with it.
Rosie: “Why? Are you going to give me another orgasm to help?”
Ford: “If you ask really nicely.”
Rosie: “Ford.”
Her eyes are serious as she searches my face.
Rosie: “She might need a little privacy in the coming days, and you’re going to need to respect that. But I need to get into your house and grab her some fresh clothes. If you can’t figure out what’s going on based on all that information, then you are dumber than Scotty looks.”
Oh god. I felt unequipped this morning, but now?
Rosie: “Figure it out yet? Ya girls are all synced up. So be cool, Dad.”
I bristle to cover my shock.
Ford: “I am cool.”
Rosie: “Listen to me. Your taste in music is mediocre and your fashion sense is mountain-man-but-make-it-expensive. Your bank account is so full that you don’t even know what to do with it.”
Ford: “Great, thank you,”
he says dryly.
Rosie: “A lot of the time, your vocabulary consists of grunts and bitchy, one-word answers.”
Ford: “You should see how big my dick is, though.”
Ford: “Stop playing that game with me. We’re not kids anymore.”
Rosie: “What game?”
Ford: “The one where we pretend to hate each other.”
She tips her chin up defiantly.
Rosie: “You do hate me. That’s our safe place. You have to hate me. It’s easier that way.”
I shake my head, molars grinding.
Ford: “I definitely don’t hate you, Rosie. Not even close. But I can fuck you like I do if that’s what you need.”
I flip her around roughly and step in close behind her as I bend her body at the hips. Her hands slap loudly in the quiet office as her palms hit the flat surface of my desk.
Ford: “Stay like that, Rosie. Claws where I can see them.”
Rosie: “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trap you with a baby, so I should also tell you I have an IUD.”
Her brow wrinkles.
Rosie: “Probably should have told you that before too.”
I stare back at her.
Ford: “I wouldn’t feel trapped with you.”
Dad: “Son, the fuck you doing?”
My dad says it with a deep chuckle, head pivoting to take it all in. I shoot him a temperamental glare because I’m having a hard time believing that the last thirty minutes actually happened. But not Rosie. Rosie pats my dad on the shoulder and renders a light laugh.
Rosie: “You showed up on the heels of a temper tantrum.”
Oh, I’m going to kill her.
My dad’s brows furrow, and Rosie pins me with a wink.
Rosie: “You know how billionaires are. Something doesn’t go their way, and suddenly they’re pitching a fit. Stomping around. Breaking shit.”
My dad laughs at that, hugging Rosie to his side.
Dad: “You’re a firecracker, Rosalie. I’ve missed ya.”
But it’s my mom who’s staring at me with that knowing smirk on her face and a slightly arched brow. Because my mom knows I’ll stew and pout and snipe when I’m pissed off, but not break shit. That’s a Willa move.
Mom: “How fortunate that Rosie knows how to handle Ford’s newfound temper.”
My dad is still chuckling good-naturedly when he steps forward to wrap me in a hug. And as I look over his shoulder at Rosie, my mom bumps the little vixen’s shoulder with her own and quietly says,
Mom: “Peeing afterward helps prevent infection.”
And now I smile, because Rosie, who thought the tantrum joke was real fucking funny, is now staring at me. Red as a beet.
I rake a hand through my hair.
Ford: “And just… be cool. Okay?”
Dad: “Aye, aye, Captain!”
My dad salutes me and I go back to glaring at him.
Dad: “Any further directives?”
Cora: “You still know how to play that?”
I cover my mouth with my fist to keep from laughing. He scoffs at her question.
Dad: “Of course. But do you?”
Her eyes go comically wide as she shakes her head. I close the door and walk into the open living space to stand near my dad.
Dad: “Thought it might be fun to show you. Taught Willa myself too.”
Cora: “You’re going to let me play your guitar?”
He shrugs.
Dad: “I mean, yeah. Why not?”
Cora: “I just… that feels like it belongs in a museum or something.”
I lean close, give him a nudge with my elbow and stage whisper,
Ford: “She means because you’re old.”
Cora: “No,”
Cora says almost breathlessly.
Cora: “I mean because that guitar is iconic.”
Dad turns an obnoxiously pleased smirk in my direction.
Dad: “Ah, Cora. You and I are going to get along famously. I bet even my World’s Best Grandpa T-shirt won’t lose me cool points.”
Rosie: “Ah!”
I jump when I see my roommate, the little brown mouse, scurry across the floor and run under my bed.
Rosie: “Seriously, dude,”
I grumble, tugging on jeans and a sweater, feeling like I need to get out and walk, or be around other humans, or something—pace a circle or some shit.
Rosie: “You don’t need to run out and startle me like that. Just be cool. Strut out like you own the place. I’m too soft to evict you anyway. I’ll just make sure my brother doesn’t find out about you.”
Ford: “Are you ignoring me, Rosalie?”
Rosie: “Yes.”
Ford: “Why?”
Rosie: “Because I like fighting with you.”
His head quirks in an almost feline way. A shiver races down my spine. It reminds me of the look he gave me earlier, right before he flipped me over and fucked me on his desk, just like I wanted him to.
Ford: “Do we fight, or do we flirt?”
I wink at him, my head still tilted back.
Rosie: “With us, I think they’re the same thing.”
Ford: “Rosie. I said be quiet. And stop being polite. I told you to sit on my face.”
Ford: “So, speaking of the apocalypse…”
I peek at him from the corner of my eye. He’s watching me, but I keep my gaze plastered forward on the lanes, trying to act casual. I take a deep gulp of my cloudy IPA before spitting it out.
Ford: “I’m in love with your sister.”
West doesn’t move, but I see him nodding, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. The silence between us stretches out. One beat. Two. The loud thump of balls hitting the lanes and the crashing sound of pins falling a few seconds later tell me West has been staring at me for far too long. My stomach sinks, and my cheeks heat. I finally turn my head, and I can’t quite read his expression. It’s hard to say with West. I’ve seen him smile and crack a joke before driving his fist into someone’s face.
Ford: “Listen—”
He cuts me off, and I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it definitely wasn’t,
West: “Yeah, I know. I’ve met you before.”
I rear back as my brows knit together.
Ford: “What?”
West: “Like I just said, you’re a huge dork. And Rosie is an oblivious hurricane. You might be the only two people in the world who didn’t already know this.”
West: If I could build you a boyfriend like a Build-A-Bear, he would come out as Ford Grant.
That was it. The only thing he said. I wrote back,
Rosie: Weird, but thanks.
Rosie: “All right, what’s this fundraiser for again?”
Ford: “You’re the one who fielded the invite.”
Rosie: “I know, but I was just looking for reasons to harass you via email. You’re lucky I didn’t forward you the one from People magazine asking for a rundown of your dating history for an article they were going to do.”
He huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
Ford: “What did you tell them?”
Rosie: “That you were a virgin and a hermit and in an exclusive relationship with your yacht. They asked why you’re never seen in public with women, and I was like… have you tried taking a boat that big out on the town? Just plain cumbersome.”
Now I get a glare.
Ford: “If you barf on that dress, you’ll damage it. Hold yourself together.”
Rosie: “Ford, this dress is worth as much as I make in a month.”
His brows scrunch together.
Ford: “Is it?”
Rosie: “Yes.”
Ford: “That’s appalling,”
he says as he stands.
Ford: “Remind me to give you a raise when we get back home.”
Ford: “You are worth every fucking penny!”
he shouts, arms flung wide.
Ford: “I’m careful with my money. I’m downright philanthropic. But this? This isn’t a game. I’m in love with you. This is pocket change compared to what I’d be happy to spend on you. There is no price too high to watch this asshole pay for every moment of misery and self-doubt he caused you.”
With two long strides, he’s standing in front of me, body vibrating with rage. His hands land on either side of my neck, forcing me to look at him as his thumbs trace reverently over my jaw. His eyes glow with intensity as mine fill with tears.
Ford: “Hear this, Rosie. You are worth every penny. Every fortune. Every investment. Every risk. You are priceless to me.”
Ford: “If you learn anything tonight, it should be that I get off on playing with my food before I finish it,”
he whispers against my ear.
West: “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”
I bark out a laugh.
Ford: “You’re an idiot.”
West punches my shoulder playfully and then hisses between his teeth.
West: “No, you are. I was married once, remember? Ask me why it didn’t work.”
Ford: “Why didn’t it work?”
West: “Because neither of us especially wanted to be on the same team.”
