It takes me a moment to realise it’s not me she’s grinning at. Turning, I spot Roman in one of the three aisles, perusing the ready meals.
Oh god.
I do not need him to see me in my bobbly old sweatpants.
Grabbing the milk to my chest, I dodge him, turning away as he heads up the aisle toward the counter.
From the glimpse of him, he, of course, looks ready to walk a bloody sportswear catwalk. The tight vest clings to his muscles, and a light layer of sweat still clings to his tan skin. Paired with shorts and trainers, I assume he’s on his way back from the gym. God, I look like a red-faced, puffing, wild-haired loser on the rare occasion I work out, yet he saunters around like a bloody Greek god.
It’s just rude to be that hot.
I make it to the door without being spotted, glancing through the window to see the shopkeeper flirting hard with Roman at the counter.
You don’t stand a chance, I think to myself.
Not because I’ve claimed him or anything, but because he doesn’t sleep with people who know who he is. Something I think women see as a challenge. They want to be the one so desired that they break his supposed celibacy. The one so irresistible that her magical pussy can tame the beast.
Little do they know, they could probably shag him if only they pretended not to know him.
Taking the stairs at speed, I make it to my doorwithout him behind me. Switching the milk carton to my other hand, I reach into the pocket for my keys.
My empty pocket.
I check the other pocket… nothing.
A clear image of the keys thrown onto the slim hall table flashes into my head.
No.
Oh shit, no.
I recheck my pockets, hoping that the universe somehow arranges for the keys to teleport into them.
Footsteps come from the stairwell.
Fucking hell. I push down the handle, hoping that the latch is magically stuck open. But of course, it’s not.
Then, for a double whammy of idiocy, I realise I also didn’t pick up my phone.
I groan, closing my eyes and gripping the door handle as if staying very still will stop Roman spotting me.
With each footstep growing louder, embarrassment heats my cheeks an extra degree.
Could I dash to the top floor and hide out until he gets into his apartment?
Turning to make a break for the stairs, I stand face to face with my future kidnappee.
‘You okay?’ Roman asks, one dark brow lifting in an arch.
‘Um, yeah,’ I answer, caught between fleeing and hoping the ground might stretch out its mouth and swallow me down.
I press myself back against the wall, giving him awide berth to pass me, but he stands at the last step, leaning against the wall in that casually sexy way that sets my pulse hammering.
‘Are you locked out?’
‘No. Well, yes. Kind of.’ I stammer, caught beneath his intimidating gaze. It’s one thing to hide in his closet, and another entirely to be inflicted with his full attention.
‘Have you called the building manager? He’s got extra keys and can usually get here within the hour.’
