Too late now.
I swallow hard, forcing my racing heart to slow as I turn around with what I hope is a pleasant, natural smile. Then he appears in the doorway and my carefully rehearsed greeting dies in my throat.
Oh.
The light from the chandelier hits his hair at just the right angle, making the red appear richer, deeper, more vibrant than I’ve ever seen it.And it’s down.He’s removed the hair tie, leaving it flowing freely down to his neck and shoulders in soft waves that look almost liquid. My fingers literally itch with the urge to touch it, muscle memory conjuring the sensation of those silky strands between my fingers from days ago.
He does a visible double-take when he sees me, auburn brows shooting up. “Katina?”
Hearing that variation of my name in that deep rumble of his sends heat pooling in my belly, my core clenching with need I have absolutely no business feeling right now. I swallow again, praying nothing I’m feeling shows on my face as I gesture awkwardly towards the stove behind me.
“I hope you’re hungry. I made dinner.”
Roan frowns as his gaze travels from me to the pots on the stove and back again. “You made dinner,” he repeats like he might have misheard.
I nod slowly, trying to project confidence I don’t feel. “It’s nothing special. Just mac and cheese. I hope you like it.”
“Why?”
“Why do I hope you like it?” I deliberately misunderstand his question, shrugging as I tear my gaze away from those too-intense green eyes to a safer point on his shoulders where the tips of his curls graze his collar. “Because I spent the last two hours making it.”
“No. Why did you make dinner for me?”
“Because–because…” My hands flutter uselessly as my carefully practiced lines evaporate from my brain. Why am I so nervous? “I didn’t make it for you, per say.Ineed to eat. And I thought it would be rude to cook in your kitchen without making enough for you.”
Weak. That was so weak.
He just stands there, studying my face. And the longer he watches me, the more nervous I become, my heart pounding impossibly faster until my chest heaves with the effort of breathing normally.
“You can leave if you don’t want it,” I finally snap, breaking the suffocating silence. “I’ll eat mine and take the rest to the main house and?—”
“It’s fine.” He cuts me off. “Give me a minute.”
He turns and disappears into the hallway before I can respond, his footsteps fading up the stairs.
What just happened?
The second he’s out of sight, I sag weakly against the counter, my limbs suddenly watery and unreliable.
Fuck. I forgot about my own reactions to him. About the way my body responds without my permission. Did I just sabotage myself with this dinner? Is it too late to back out?
No. There’s no going back now. I need to pull myself together.
You’re a professional. Act like it.
Roan is gone for exactly fifteen minutes—I know because I count every single second, alternating between second-guessing every decision that led to this moment and considering whether I can claim sudden illness and flee to my room.
Then he walks back into the kitchen and every coherent thought evaporates.
He’s showered—the damp tips of his hair give that away immediately—and he’s changed into a casual shirt and black sweatpants that have my eyes going exactly where they have no business going.
But his penis is right there in my face.
My belly clenches violently as I remember how he felt pressed against me, how hard and insistent and so very close to?—
I spin around so fast I almost knock over the pot of mac and cheese.
Get. It. Together.Goddammit.
