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“Hmph.” I let it go and continue working. I wonder how far she’ll press this. I imagine her fingers dance over the tabletop as she speaks playfully, adjusting her silverware like she did before.
“Funny, ‘cause I hear I’ve been missing out on the best turkey avocado sandwich this side of the Rocky mountains.” Her voice does that damn thing to me I hate and love. I feel a twitch of arousal, making me want to curse her.
“Well, we’re out of avocado.” Shrugging, I make her work for it. I feel a hard thump on my back and hear something fall to the floor and roll under my feet. It’s a fucking avocado. The brat actually threw one at me. “Damn Maddie.” I pick it up and toss it into the air, catching it. I hold it tightly because part of me would like to grab something or someone else just as tight, but I don’t.
&nb
sp; “She told me you’d say that, so I brought my own.” Abby’s voice cracks slightly. I turn around and get a good look at the woman who’s tormented me these past few weeks. She looks thinner and paler, as if she spent a month out of the sun, not just a few days. Her hair falls in loose curls around her face and her clear blue eyes don’t shine with the brightness of our first meetings. I can see she’s sad. The pang in my chest hates she’s sad, and I hope her past is less of an issue now.
“I’m still mad at you,” I inform her. Walking closer to me, she grabs my table rag from my hand, throwing it on the table behind me. She takes the avocado from the other, placing it much more gently down—as if throwing it hadn’t bruised the tender flesh like she did the inside of my heart, but I won’t admit to that.
“I still kinda hate men right now, so I don’t think we have much to worry about.” She smiles shyly and, damn, it if isn’t cute.
“That’s kind of a pity.” I rebuke her, but she’s not her usual mouthy self and I’m curious.
Shaking her head, she takes another step and I back up one. “I mean, we barely know anything about each other.” She reaches out, her small hand as if to let her fingertips graze my chest.
I take her hand and gently remove her fingers. They’re too close to my heart and the crazy shit she does to me emotionally. “We’re not compatible at all,” I maintain, shaking my head.
“Nope. Not one bit.” Abby bites her bottom lip and takes a step closer to me.
“I mean, look at what happened before. Totally wrong to even consider it.” I take a step back and my brat follows me in our dangerous dance. She leans up on her tiptoes and plants a chaste kiss on my cheek. Those fingers dance over my heart, and through my shirt a heat builds from her simple touch.
“You could say thank you, you know.” Brat is using my words against me, and slowly my armor cracks, deep fractures let her slip inside to take root. Argh!
“For what, your obnoxious attitude?” I make the countermove, recalling how much she disliked me on sight that day on the beach.
“I’m really, really sorry about that day.” Abby scores a checkmate. I can’t take it any longer, so I take a step forward and she takes a step backward. The dynamics flip and I walk her back up to the wall against painted gray clapboard in the shade of the building. “Counsel would like to approach the bench, please.” As she whispers her request, our eyes meet and flicker between lips and eyes.
I cup her cheek in my palm and breathe her in, speaking slowly so she hears me. “I’d like to put you over my bench and spank you.” I watch her eyes go owlish and pink flushes her face. I think it’s funny how I’ve missed the scent of vanilla and oranges so quickly. “Lucky for you, I accept apologies in the form of kisses.” I give her a second to back out before I put my lips over hers, gently at first. It’s a tentative kiss, learning the feel of each other’s lips, slipping over soft, plump skin, regaining the trust. Stepping between her legs, I lift her against the wall as her hands claw up my shoulders. I take advantage of the position to grind myself against her. I’m sure it’s torture for both of us—it damn well better be, because I want her badly and the idea of her laying over my lap for a spanking makes my dick pulse in anticipation.
“Roman,” she moans, and I slip my tongue between her lips and into the sweetness of her mouth. We stroke softly back and forth, sliding tongues and sucking. “Roman.” My name is muffled on her lips because I’m filling her mouth with my tongue again and again with hungry building strokes. She pulls my hair to get my attention, and I can’t help but wonder what this woman wants from me.
“Just shut up, Abigail,” I murmur playfully and continue kissing her, except I feel her body go rigid in my arms as she pulls back. Lovely. God only knows what transgression she’s recalling this time because she looks like she want to hit me and she’s shaking her head no and pushes back, fire in her eyes. Again. What the ever loving fuck have I done wrong now?
ABIGAIL
“What did you just say to me?” High-pitched, the words are forced. I’m more upset with myself than him for even thinking this could be anything worth involving myself in after Lucas stomped all over any dreams I might have had. Love wasn’t a factor, because I know now what we had wasn’t love—just Lucas using me and me maybe using him.
“I said shut up. You’re utterly infuriating, and I’d much prefer your mouth on other things.” Smiling, he tries to regain the space I’ve put between us. Getting closer to me, his voice drops, making me feel that shivery feeling between my legs, which zings right up my abdomen pleasantly. If he hadn’t used that triggering phrase, I might have been okay, but now the doubts keep rushing forward.
“Well, you can go f-fuck yourself then.” Wobbling, I stumble over my words. I lack the ability to make them sound cold and harsh when he’s looking at me with his eyes hooded and piercing, so I try pushing out of his grasp.
“Whoa, Hollywood, take it easy there. I’m not trying to be disrespectful.” Roman holds up his hands defensively and now I’m making it worse. We’ve just spent the last week apart and here I’m pulling out the PMS migraine card because he doesn’t realize I hate being told to ‘shut up.’
“I know. I just, God… Roman, is this even a good idea?” Pleadingly, I want to push him away and hug him at the same time. I’m upset again and he looks surprised but doesn’t push me. I see the slight dilation in his pupils in the sunlight and the snarky smile edges his full lips. My mouth goes dry just thinking about how full and soft they are for a man. I swallow slowly, trying to wet my throat and clear my head.
“See, now why did you have to take it there, counselor? All I meant was I wanted to be pulling your tongue in my mouth and tasting that bitter fruit you must have been sucking on before I met you.” He takes another step toward me, which forces me to back up against the building in this tango we keep doing. He touches my bare arms, lightly brushing down the sides of my body before coming up to the shell of my ear easily and tracing it down my cheek and to my collarbone.
“Arrrgh,” I grumble in frustration from the joy of feelings vibrating through my body.
“Exactly. I don’t get our attraction either.” Roman grabs me and hauls me up against the café slash dock house, effectively shutting down my rational thoughts. He was right to tell me to shut up; my mouth and brain need to stop connecting so much sometimes and just go with the feelings. His hand cradles my head gently as he pushes the rest of my body against the clapboard building a second delightful time. Grinding his hips into mine feels more arousing than the plush bed of eight hundred count satin sheets that await me back home in California, unbearably alone.
“Why do you p-push me so hard?” Breathlessly, I know he captivates me unlike any other guy I’ve met.
“Because I love breaking you out of your spoiled little shell. Once you figure out who you are, and I don’t mean the straight-laced little lawyer back home, then life won’t be this boring set of rules everyone has established for you, sweetheart. Life is full of change, fire and ice just waiting to interact with each other.”
“That sounds messy.”
