Chapter 14 #2
After a brief hesitation, I slide into the seat across from him, and the intimacy of it nearly steals my breath.
This is too close. Way too close.
I had planned to sit across from him when I was rehearsing this scenario, but I didn’t factor in his magnetic presence or how my attraction to him has somehow tripled after spending days in his space. Or maybe it’s because I can’t stop thinking about that kiss, about the way he tasted, the way he—
“So you do drink alcohol, then.” The question lands between us, that slight brow lift telling me he’s not missing a single detail. “Why did you insist on water when you had dinner with Ate and me?”
Because I needed my wits about me when I was drowning in lies. Now, it’s not so much that I want to drink the beer—I want him to relax enough to drink his without thinking I’m trying to trick him.
I shrug noncommittally, and thankfully, he lets it go.
My eyes stay glued to my plate as I eat, the food tasting like ash while I struggle to ignore the tingling on my skin where his gaze burns me and the relentless pounding in my chest.
“This is really good.” His compliment catches me off guard. “Where did you learn how to cook?”
“I had to learn if I wanted to feed my sister and me—” I bite my tongue viciously as soon as the words escape, but it’s too late. I just handed him information I never intended to share. Idiot.
Roan immediately pounces on the slip. “Sister?”
I press my lips together, giving nothing more away. I’m supposed to be working him, making him relaxed. Why does it feel like the opposite is happening?
“I get it. Sisters can be particularly annoying, but mine isn’t so bad I won’t talk about her. Elira was like a little brother growing up. She was always willing to try whatever crazy thing I wanted, at least once.”
I can hear the smile in his voice and can’t resist glancing up. There it is—the softness I knew had to exist somewhere inside him. I guess it’s reserved for his sister.
“I saw her picture in the gallery,” I say quietly. “She has red hair like you.”
He nods, actually chuckling. “Yeah. It made her think she was invincible. That she could be strong like me. And I tried my best to make her even stronger.”
Elira is strong. She managed to outsmart Emily last year; hot-wired her car to escape. I was shocked to discover the supposedly overprotected Albanian princess had those skills. Now I know it was thanks to the man sitting across from me.
“She sounds like an incredible woman.”
“She is,” he agrees without hesitation, and a twinge of jealousy scrapes through my chest.
What would it be like to have someone’s face go that soft when they talk about me? To smile and say I’m incredible?
What would it be like for it to be Roan?
I shake my head hard and shovel some mac and cheese into my mouth. Stop thinking nonsense.
“Is your sister younger or older?”
I pause mid-chew, weighing the question carefully, then decide answering is harmless enough. “Younger.”
A genuine smile crosses my face as I think about Kayla. I haven’t seen her in years, but Stacey showed me pictures. While I don’t know what her personality is like now, I like to think she grew up better than me. Stronger. Happier.
“Hmm.” Roan picks up his beer, and I watch, mesmerized, as he twists the cap off with one clean flick of his wrist before lifting the bottle straight to his mouth.
My brain short-circuits.
There’s something raw and animal about the way he drinks. The long stretch of his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple with each swallow. The easy, unthinking confidence in the motion that sends a pulse of want through me and scatters my thoughts like leaves in the wind.
Then he lowers the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand—another devastatingly simple gesture that shouldn’t be hot but absolutely is. “What does she look like? Blonde hair like you?”
“No.” The words come easily, slipping past my defenses. “She actually has dark hair, like Mom did. But we both have blue eyes.”
“Your mom is dead?”
My gaze snaps to his, suspicion flaring. “How did you know that?”
“You said your sister has dark hair like your mom did. I’m assuming she’s gone if you’re referring to her in past tense.”
Right. Right. Fuck. I need to get my shit together. This isn’t going as planned at all.
Abort mission. Retreat. Now.
I shoot to my feet. “I’m done eating. Thanks for the meal.” I grab my half-full plate and practically throw it in the sink, already backing out of the kitchen.
“Running away?” His voice is soft, knowing, and it stops me in my tracks.
“No, it’s just really late, and I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.” The excuse sounds weak even to my own ears, but I don’t wait for his response.
I flee.
It isn’t until I’m lying in my bed that I realize I never asked him about his bedroom and study. Never even mentioned it. Which was literally the whole point of the dinner.
“Damn it,” I mutter, then freeze when I hear his footsteps climbing up the stairs.
They stop outside my bedroom, right on schedule. But tonight there’s something different—a light tap, not quite a knock, but intentional.
“Katina.” His voice filters through the door, low and warm. “Thank you for the meal. I enjoyed it.”
Then his footsteps retreat. His bedroom door opens. Closes.
Silence.
I lie there for a long moment, letting my pulse settle before finally dragging myself off the bed. My throat feels tight, so I take a steadying breath, then rummage through the nightstand for my pill.
Across the room, the little desk still holds the half-full bottle of water from last night. I grab it, tip it back, and the pill goes down with a single swallow.
Tomorrow I’ll try again.
Maybe.