‘Dirtier,’ he murmured, his eyes fluttering once more.
‘I can’t.’ If my cheeks redden any more, I fear they’ll set his place alight.
‘Later?’
His word dies on his lips as he slips back into unconsciousness. I’m left both embarrassed and somewhat turned on by the revelation he’d listened to me, and hadn’t been utterly repulsed by it.
I press my hand to those delicious abs for one more moment, revelling in their glory.
‘Only one week to go,’ I say, watching his breathing even out as he slips to the dreamworld. ‘Let’s hope you can act as well for me as you do for your insipid fans, Roman.’
NINE
MAGGIE
Slamming the trunk down,I stow away my suitcase, still mildly damp with sweat from humphing it downstairs. A light rain adds to my sticky state, and I let out a groan.
Why did it have to be raining? D-day has arrived, and instead of it going smoothly, everything is going wrong. Bill guilted me into staying late at work to finish up a few jobs before taking my holiday, and being the absolute loser I am, I couldn’t say no. Running to the bus, I tripped over my own feet and scraped both knees, struggling to swallow down my tears as an older man fussed over me. And now the rain is making everything that bit more irritating, not something that in itself is a big deal, but with the accumulation of annoyances, I’m left steaming like a kettle.
I close the doors to the rear entrance of the apartment stairwell, muttering to myself the entire soggyway. I intended to breeze up to Roman’s door in a cloud of sweet perfume and all smiles, but I found myself at his door, gripping the paper bag of cookies I’d baked with my hair a frizzing mess, and my temper less than jovial.
To be fair, I’m not sure anyone has ever described me as jovial, even on my better days.
Taking a slow breath, I knock, my stomach about falling out of my arse at the realisation I’m actually going through with my cockamamie plan. I should stow away under my duvet and ignore the phone until the wedding is done and dusted.
As if my father would let that happen. He’ll have my sister and brother down here dragging my sorry ass to Scotland before I can properly begin to feel sorry for myself.
No. I have to go through with it. Use Roman to buy myself time to… well… I’ll figure that bit out later.
The door opens, and Roman meets me with an annoyingly charming smile. The sort of smile that makes babies gurgle and grannies melt and women turn into raving bloody maniacs, like me.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’ Roman asks, his eyes dropping to take in my somewhat dishevelled appearance. ‘All okay?’
Thrusting out the brown bag of cookies, I try to act like a regular human instead of the chaos goblin I’ve become lately. ‘I made these for you.’
‘Oh, uh, thanks. What for?’
‘As a thank you for looking out for me when I gotlocked out.’ My mind races. I can watch him from my apartment and hope that he eats one, but there’s no guarantee he will. Really, I need to get him to eat one now.
‘Ah, cheers. You didn’t have to, I was just being neighbourly. You’d do the same for me, I’m sure.’ Roman ran a hand through his dark hair, his bicep flexing in a despicably distracting way.
‘Will you try one? I think I did better than the last batch.’ Dear lord, I sound desperate.
‘I’m just heading out to the gym…’ Roman must take my expression as sadness, his eyes softening with a pity that makes me bristle. I don’t want him to pity me.
Nah, you want him to slam you against the wall and ride you until you squeal.
I cough to cover the way that intrusive little thought makes me choke.
‘What’s one cookie? The sugar will give me a boost anyway.’ Opening the crumpled bag, he pulls out one of the fat, brown cookies, filled to the gunnels with chocolate chips. And sedatives, naturally.
That’s it, eat up, Roman. The sooner we get on the road, the sooner I can’t chicken out of this wild notion.
His straight, white teeth sink into the golden cookie, melty chocolate staining his lower lip. My thigh clenches return as I watch him lick the chocolate off with a dart of his tongue. The tongue I definitely shouldn’t be concentrating on.
Sweet heavens, he eats the cookie in four bites and smiles.
‘Damn, you’re getting better at making those. They are still warm and everything.’ Roman fishes another cookie out of the bag, and panic rises in my chest.
