“I didn’t eat after the game.” A shrug, his broad shoulders flexing with the movement, and I fight the urge to trace every contour of his body with my gaze. He should look ridiculous in my swim top. But he doesn’t. It’s unnerving.
I still haven’t decided if he’s the enemy or not. He runs hot one minute. Cold the next. I can’t get a solid read on him.
“I’m makingalbóndigas.”
My heart seizes in my chest and memories of my mom and me cooking at the stove wash over me. “Yo…you are?” I turn to hide the sudden tears pricking the corners of my eyes, barely catching his nod.
Thankfully, he doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. He peels the onion and with quick efficiency, dices it into small neat squares. “Here.” He hands me a second cutting board and a sharp knife. “Dice these.” Then he hands me the celery, potatoes, and carrots.
I take them and do as instructed, ignoring the sudden emotion clogging my throat. “You know albóndigas take at least two hours to make, right?” And even then the flavors aren’t completely melded. My mom would make the soup and let it simmer on low on our stove for several hours, making sure everything married nicely together. There’s no way the soup will be done in time to eat tonight.
He nods. “I know. I’m cheating.”
I look up from my task and spot him pointing to an Instant Pot, of all things, on the back counter. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“My mother would be mortified.”
He gives me a devilish smile. “Mine, too. And my grandmother would probably disown me, so this is top secret. No sharing trade secrets, vanilla.” He winks. “I don’t want burgers or hot dogs. I want real food. Food I’d eat at home.” Another shrug. “This will cut back on time. Once we get everything in there, we’ll have fresh soup that tastes like it’s been cooking all day within fifteen minutes.”
I smile to myself. “You’re not what I expected you to be.”
He eyes me up and down and I almost miss the hunger in his eyes before it disappears. “Neither are you.”
TWELVE
Roman
She’s smiling. A real smile, not one of the forced, fake ones she gives everyone else at school. This one is genuine, and I don’t miss the glimmer of tears in her eyes before she banishes them away. The girl has demons. Hell, hers might even be worse than mine.
I’ve got an overbearing pops whose expectations I never seem to measure up to. She’s got a dead mom and a cheating ex. What other damage is she hiding behind that smile?
Maybe that’s what draws me to her. I want to hurt her. Bite her delectable lips until they bleed. Caress her body until it bruises. I’m not a gentle lover. I kiss hard and fuck even harder. But I also want to protect her. Something in me wants to hold her. Mark her as mine and shield her from the world even as I strip her bare of all her protections and expose her to me and me alone.
The anticipation of having her builds inside me.
I never should have brought her here.
I put everything in the pot and set the time on the pressure cooker before making quick work of cleaning up the mess we made getting everything together.
“I’ll wash that,” Allie says, taking the cutting board from my hands as she moves to the sink. She then puts it back in the drawer I’d pulled it out of earlier. With her back to me, I step into her space and place my hands low on her hips. I dip my head down, drawing in her woodsy vanilla scent as my nose drags along her neck.
She sucks in a breath but doesn’t move. I draw her back until our bodies are flush with one another before trailing my lips down the column of her neck. She tilts her head to the side, granting me better access and fuck, her skin is so smooth. I nip and bite at the tender flesh. She hisses from the sting of pain but doesn’t pull away, surprising me, so I do it again. This time biting hard enough to leave a small bruise behind. I chase away the sting with a kiss and suck on her sensitive skin ensuring that she’ll carry my mark after the weekend is over.
One of my hands slides over her hip to trail up her stomach until I’m cupping one of her breasts.
“Roman…?” Her voice is quiet, hesitant.
There’s a question there but I can’t answer her. I don’t have the words for it, because I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, and I sure as hell am not going to admit that.
She cranes her neck to look at me and I see the same want and need inside of me reflected in her gaze. I’ve never cared what a girl is thinking about or what she might be feeling, but with Allie, I can’t help myself from wanting to figure her out. Does she miss her old school? Her old life? What is she planning to do once she graduates?
She’s become my obsession and even as I tell myself she’s nothing, no one, I dip my head down and capture her lips with mine, desperate to taste her. She gasps and I take full advantage, sweeping my tongue inside her mouth and drinking down her soft moans.
My other hand moves up to cup the back of her neck, angling her head more so I can deepen the kiss while I squeeze her breast, and fuck, does she have nice ones. Full and round. Just enough to fill my hand. I grip the plump flesh, satisfaction flaring within me when she arches her back, pushing her breast further into my grasp before twisting in my arms.
She’s so responsive. So fucking hot. Her arms come up to wrap around my neck. Her breasts press against my chest and I’m two seconds away from stripping her out of her clothes and fucking her right here on the kitchen counter when voices outside grow nearer.
She tears her mouth from mine. “Roman.” Her breathing is heavy. Her chest heaves up and down and I realize mine is, too. I want this girl, and I have no fucking idea why. I steel myself and mask the need to sink myself inside her, fitting a bored expression on my face as our eyes connect.
