Page 85 of The Roommate Subtext

Blake nodded, a devilish glint coming into his eyes, a look she’d never seen before. “I’m very good at making you stay put.”

Maggie gasped, her fingers reflexively tightening around his while he chuckled. “I can’t believe you said that!” Her face burned, and she swallowed. “What happens now?”

“I know what I’d like to happen.” Blake traced one finger over her wrist, and a shiver raced across her skin. “We’ll have filet.”

Maggie licked her lips. “Yeah? And then what?”

Blake watched her tongue, eyes dark, then met her gaze again and with a mischievous smile.

“Then we’ll see.”

Blake could not look away from Maggie throughout dinner. She was radiant. They hadn’t figured everything out, and he wasn’t sure if Chauvel would show up back in their lives again, but he knew the most important thing: Maggie wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with her. They didn’t need anything else.

With possibilities looming in front of them, he kept looking at her hands, her lips, the curve of her neck, imagining nibbling his way down that sensitive skin. He’d slept with her only two days ago, but back then, he was only Blake, and she was only Maggie. But now she was also Rose, and he was also the Pimpernel, and he wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone before.

Dinner stretched on through the evening. She got two check-in calls, one from Cora and one from Phoebe, and she confirmed with each that no, she was not being murdered. They talked through their meal and dessert: about important things, like Giselda’s email, and anonymity, and which of their friends could know the truth. They also talked about trivial matters, jokes, their opinions on shared desserts, the mundane and beautiful moments that together could comprise a relationship. The longer he talked with her, the longer he watched her play with the tablecloth and the napkins and shift her gaze away from him, smiling all the while, the more he knew that they were going to have a lot of fun together.

“Maggie.”

Blake had never used that tone of voice with her before: clear, confident, commanding. His Dom voice. Immediately, her back straightened, awareness sparking in her widening eyes.

He couldn’t wait to see how far that went.

Blake took Maggie’s hand across the table, ran his thumb across her knuckles, watched the color rise in her cheeks. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He’d never paid a check that fast in his life. The blur of credit cards, signatures, her red, red lips; all of it blended to get them out the door and into the cold night air. He dragged her with him out onto the sidewalk, laughing, breath puffing in front of them. Then she turned and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. “Listen,” she said, opening her mouth like she was going to follow it up with something else. But she looked into his eyes, and rather than say anything else, she leaned across the space between them and kissed him.

Blake lost his balance, back hitting the brick wall beside the restaurant, mind going blank. Impossibly warm, impossibly soft, impossibly sweet, everything impossible. Before he knew it, his hands were in her hair, holding her still, and he was the one leading the kiss. Her mouth opened beneath his and she sagged against him, yielding, a soft moan slipping out. He wanted to hear all the noises she had been hiding. “Maggie,” he whispered against her lips, stealing another kiss, then another, getting drunk on her sweetness.

“Get a room!” somebody hollered from the street, and he let their lips part. She blinked at him and gave him a lazy smile.

“We should get a room,” she agreed. “Or maybe a whole condo.”

“I have to keep my hands to myself the entire way back?” Now that they’d started, he didn’t want to stop.

“It’s good for you.” She winked, stepping back and taking his hands in hers. “Gives you a chance to really think about this.”

“I’ve had a lot of chances.” He pulled her back against him for one more kiss, and she smiled against his mouth. “Let’s go.”

TWENTY

Maggie had her own chance to reconsider on the T ride back, but she didn’t do any actual reconsidering at all. Instead, she remained focused on the warmth of Blake’s hand in hers, the soft touch of his fingertips on her skin, the way her lips tingled from his kiss. Her brain was still flipping back and forth between Blake her roommate and the mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, trying to reconcile the two disparate identities into one man.

The condo felt the same, yet different when they stepped inside. Blake closed the door firmly behind them, the slide of the deadbolt loud in the quiet. She’d left a light on, as she always did, the soft glow illuminating the space and all its shadows, and her anticipation ratcheted up another notch. It wasn’t quite anxiety, but her heart raced and her breath wouldn’t settle, thoughts tumbling over each other. If this didn’t work, how was she supposed to live with him? What if it all fell apart?

When she turned to face him, Blake was closer than she’d expected. Had his eyes always been this dark?

“Are we being ridiculous?” Maggie’s voice came out too loud in the quiet room.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “Do you mean about something in particular?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know—” she began, and her voice broke, so she breathed out and started again. “I know we’ve got chemistry.”

“We did Saturday night.” She could see the hunger in his eyes.

“But—but Rose, and the Pimpernel.” She swallowed. She wasn’t sure she could put it into words. “I don’t know if I’m that person, in real life. I don’t know if that—I mean, what if it’s just on the phone?”

Impossibly quick, Blake’s hand came up and slid into her hair, closing into a fist that sent sharp needles of pleasure-pain through her body. Her words and breath vanished in a single squeak. Oh, fuck. Her mind went fuzzy, all thoughts fading into a vague notion of yes, this, and she moaned, fingernails biting into her palms.