‘My phone’s still inside.’
Roman’s lips quirked into a deeply disturbing smile. Disturbing not because of the smile itself, but the way it made my knees weaken.
You’re not supposed to get the hots for him, Maggie. He’s just a pawn.
‘Here,’ Roman says, pulling his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and handing it over.
I cradle the cellphone like it’s a ticking time bomb. What secrets did it hold beyond what I already had access to? What I’d give for an hour to indulge in its depths. Knowledge is power, and I’ll need every bit of power I can get my grubby paws on to blackmail all six foot odd of him to bend to my will.
Your will to climb him like a tree.
No. Notthat. To have him behave like a perfect gentleman while under duress.
‘Sorry,’ he says, taking the phone back and flicking through it. ‘Here’s the number you need.’
As he places the phone back into my hand, his skingrazes mine, the singular touch zapping any sense from my brain. My breath catches as I meet his gaze, lost in a fantasy of him grabbing me by the neck and kissing me with all the intensity I’d seen him kiss others with. A moment of sheer stupid, senselesswant.
It’s just your hormones, I tell myself. You’re probably ovulating, your body falling back to baser urges at the sight of a muscly, sweat-slicked man. This hypocritical bag of man meat isn’t what you want.
Clearing my throat, I call the building manager. After two minutes of grumbling, he agrees to come out on his way home from the pub.
I hand back Roman’s phone and take a seat on the lower step of the upward staircase, settling in to wait.
‘Do you want to come in to wait?’ Roman asks.
‘No, it’s okay. You’ve been helpful already.’ I don’t need him to be kind to me. It’ll only make it harder to do what I need to.
‘Nonsense. Come on. No point sitting out in the cold.’ Roman reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet.
My cheeks flush thoroughly as I follow him into his apartment, wrapping my thick coat around me as I perch on the edge of a sofa cushion. Being surrounded by his pristine bachelor pad had been bad enough when I sneaked in, but in front of him, my square peg status stands out.
The women who usually frequent his home are polished and put together, and here I am like a little slobdirtying up the place. All messy hair and baggy old clothes.
Roman’s eyes linger on me too long, and I shift uncomfortably beneath his stare. Is he worried I’ll leave a mark on his immaculate sofa or something?
‘I’m just going to jump in the shower, the remote’s there if you want to watch something while you wait for keys.’
Within minutes, I sit absolutely not watching the rerun on the TV while listening to the patter of the shower from the other room. How am I supposed to focus on anything while Roman is naked, only one door away from me? The very idea has me as flustered as a chicken in a fox’s den.
Would the water make little rivers down the abs I’d so often seen on his socials? God, I’d drink from them if I could.
Dammit.
Dammit.
Dammit.
He’s an asshole. A hypocrite spouting stupid shit online while dipping his dick into women left, right and centre.
You’re being blinded by his outer goods, ignoring the inner twat that he is. You’re better than that.
When he walks out wrapped in a towel, those abs and pecs eradicating any sense, a dusting of water droplets coating the expanse of his tanned skin, I’m a goner.
Dear heavens above. What I’d give for thirty minutesof time on that ride. I’d have to gag his lying mouth, but it would be worth it.
Flicking my eyes to the TV, I try very hard not to stare as he goes to the kitchen and grabs two bottles of water, passing one to me.
The thanks I try to mumble comes out as gibberish. My inner monologue tuts at my reaction to him. A disgrace.
