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“Um, can I get up?” Wincing in pain, I hope we can forget this whole thing happened.
“Just a second.”
“Uh, right now would be good, Roman.” He continues to hold me a minute longer. “Roman?” I’m not sure this man wants to let me go at all.
“I need just one more minute.” When he’s done, he gives me one last tender squeeze. Yeah, and my bladder needs to chill out. I swear he sniffs my hair, which is weird—but a good weird I’m not accustomed to. I have to remind myself I don’t like him right now, despite how nice and interesting last night was and how much we forgot which side of the fence we should be standing on. For the last few weeks, he was on my shit list, barely edging out Lucas. “There, I can let you go now.” I hate how my heart just melted a fraction more toward this man I hardly know—except for verbally sparring with him. Somehow, I think being in a courtroom would be safer than this right now. Hello, courtroom sheriff, please remove the subject…
“What was that about?” I gingerly make my way to a standing position, pushing my bed-crazy hair away from my face and trying to ignore my bladder, which would prefer I start dancing my way into the bathroom, like yesterday.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d get the chance to hold you so peacefully again. We’re kind of combustible, you know.”
I laugh with Roman as he chuckles, and he’s right; we’re polar opposites, even if he’s starting to grow on a little like mold might and not yet as a hot sexy frenemies… I must not be fully awake if I haven’t said anything acerbic toward him yet—either that or my screaming bladder has shut off the bitch in me this morning.
“Well, I suppose we could come to a truce of some sort. Just this once, you know.” I brush my tangled hair back again, and Roman kneels on the bed. True to his word, I notice we’re both still dressed from last night. Yeah, I really need to put the bitch away.
“I’d like that, Abigail Holliday. And as a show of good faith on my part, how about I give you an official tour of Gold Beach?”
Tentatively, I shake the hand he holds out to me nodding in agreement. I expect him to pull me across the bed as a joke, but he doesn’t, and the feel of his hand clutching mine…holy shit, there are no words for the flooding of heat that ravages my body. I know I’m awkwardly staring at him, because a smile edges the corners of his face and I pull my hand back, instantly missing the warmth of his touch.
Roman looks mussed, exactly how I imagined he might after a night of sleeping comfortably—though I hate to admit I even let my brain wander there. His hair is kind of all over the place and his T-shirt looks like it’s painted on over his body. He looks nothing like Lucas, who sees a trainer named Raquel three days a week to ‘maintain’ himself. She orders him to eat weird food and drink these godawful probiotic drinks. Cue my upset stomach all over again.
Roman looks like he’s worked hard to get his body, and I’m taken aback by how much I’d kind of like to peel his shirt off, letting my eyes drop from his penetrating gaze.
“Great. I’ll grab breakfast while you shower, and then I’ll show you the good stuff you’ve been missing around town.”
“But I’ve been here three weeks—what did I miss?” I’m confused, but Roman just smiles big and stands up, towering over me. My stomach does a happy roll, but not before I dance from foot to foot, really needing to pee and hating that my bladder is fucking this up right now.
“It was a gross misuse of vacation time, punishable by having lunch with me. Lucky for you, I’m around to rectify that misdemeanor.” It’s as if all the weeks of discord have dissolved into nothing. Roman pulls me in for another incredible surprise hug, which squishes my bladder. Squeaking in protest, he pushes me toward the bathroom. “Go shower, stinky princess, you’re doing some kind of pee-pee dance. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” I stand there stupidly because I can’t believe this guy said ‘pee-pee dance’ with a straight face.
“Uh-huh.” Is my only response before he turns me around in the direction of the bathroom, his fingers gripping my hips, burning against my skin and waking up feelings foreign to me. Gently, he swats my ass. Stunned, I touched my butt, rubbing the sting away. Did he just…? My mind is a hot mess of emotions, because, yes, he did.
“Come on, don’t dally. We’ve got a big day ahead of us!” I look over my shoulder, my mouth puckered like a big fish, watching Roman switch the coffee pot on before leaving the cottage. He’s jogging down the sandy path when I realize he’s forgotten his shoes, but he’s already out of earshot distance, sand kicking up from his pounding footsteps.
“I’m totally not stinky, am I?” Whispering to no one, I give myself a sniff under my arms, self-conscious. Shaking off Roman’s comment and not wanting to seem pampered and prissy, I hurry through my shower. Washing my long hair, the suds and bar filth slip through the strands under the hot water. Toweling off as quickly as possible, I throw on a simple white lace tank top and rolled up jean capris with flip-flops.
I ignore checking my phone; being in LA made me so dependent on that immediate connection, and for once, I don’t want to be bothered. I wanted freedom, so I best start behaving like it. I’m not planning to check in with my dad and sister for a few days—they are still royally pissed at me—and I figure anything else can just wait.
As I’m looking in the mirror to apply some lip gloss and minimal mascara, I see my earrings. I don’t want any reminders of back home today, so I slip out the small diamonds and grab a pair of gold hoops my mother gave to me on my twelfth birthday. I fix the hem of my shirt and adjust the shoulder of my tank that’s slipped off slightly, showing my nude-colored bra, as I hear knocking on the cottage door.
“Coming!” I shout, pulling the door open. Roman is there, also freshly showered—wet hair and clean clothes. He smells like the ocean breeze and a heady male scent. My body traitorously reacts right away. Nipples tighten against my cotton bra and I pray I’m wearing one with enough padding you can’t see the evidence of my desire under the gauzy fabric of my lace tank top.
“Best greeting I ever had.” A smiling and cheery Roman walks through the door, his arms carrying a large bag of sweet-smelling pastries—carbs I wouldn’t have normally eaten, but can’t say no to now that they’ve entered my vicinity. Hello, weakness my old friend!
“Oh, my god, are those real frosted doughnuts?” I squeal in absolute delight, grabbing the bag from him and ripping it open, stuffing my face with a doughnut and licking my fingers shamelessly. When I turn back around, Roman is smirking, so I boldly take extra-long licking two fingers separately, mumbling how much I love them. “Mmm, these are so good.”
His eyes widen and I know we’re playing a dangerous game. My mother used to say the boys who picked on you usually liked you best. Well, we downright hated each other at first sight. The air zings, ready to combust.
“I see what tames the beast. Looks like my work here is done.” Before I can lick the rest of the creamy frosting off my thumb, Roman is already grabbing my hand, shoving the digit in his mouth—his hot, wet, man mouth with tongue stroking the length of my poor captured thumb. The pull of his mouth makes me squeeze the muscles between my barely standing legs. It’s a dangerous flirtation. My brain is imagining all kinds of things Roman could do with his tongue, and I’m torn, both glad and remorseful that LA is far behind me right now.
ROMAN
This girl definitely enjoys torture of the slow and deliberately pre-meditated kind. I suggest a day of fun activities to show her around Gold Beach so we can better get to know each other. I’m greedy with her time because I want to figure out why she stirs things up for me deep as an ocean anchor. The confusion of it all makes me want to pull it to the surface and fling it acros
s the wet sand. Something about Abby shifts my usually even keeled self I can’t explain.
I watch her grab the baked goods I got from Bonnie’s shop. Well, correction, that I swiped from Maddie’s kitchen because the drive into town and back would have been too long. Technically, those treats were for the B&B guests, and I figure, since Abby is a guest, I’m justified in a little thievery. Call it room service, if you will, because I wasn’t about to walk up to the house with Abby and have Maddie give me pointed looks. Hence, the reason why I slipped in and out quiet as a church mouse as she bustled around the kitchen cooking for guests staying at the house.
I watch her eat the doughnut with childlike glee, but it’s when she licks the frosting from her fingers that I get all caveman and want to drag her across the cottage to the still messy bed in the other room. It’s fascinating to see her enjoy something with such gluttony, licking her small fingers and closing her eyes partly while moaning in satisfaction. Her tongue slowly slides the creamy vanilla frosting up her finger. I want to be the one satisfying her, not some calorie-laden treat.
