Chapter 1 #5
When he reaches me, he takes my injured hand in his and dips his head to press a gentle kiss to my injured finger.
Look, it’s hot in the desert. The kind of hot that will melt your ice cream cone before you can eat it, and that was me: melting like an ice cream cone in one-hundred-degree weather the second he takes my hand. It’s official. I am divorcing my hormones. Clearly, they cannot be trusted.
His eyes meet mine and he asks, “So, find the good stuff yet?”
I stare slack jawed at this…this…this jerk! All it takes to set me right back on track is for him to open that sinful mouth. I should smack that smug smirk right off that pretty face of his.
My eyes drop to his lips and I’m suddenly very aware of just how close we are. I step away and his smile widens.
“What are you doing here?” I choke out.
“I live here,” he answers.
“Not tonight you don’t. We had a deal.”
He chuckles again, it’s a low rumbly sound deep in his chest. “I fully intend to keep my promise. I came to collect my things.” He gestures toward the pajama drawer.
I deflate; the fight leaving my body on an exhale.
“May I?” he asks.
“Be my guest,” I snark and head for the door, but he catches my hand in his.
I turn, glaring daggers at the offending hand.
Slowly, I raise my eyes to his and there is that goddamn melty feeling again.
I really need to get it under control. Rule number one: I am not allowed to be attracted to the man who attempted to win my affections in a poker game, but I can admit it is a struggle.
“You can be as snide and cold as you like. Make me suffer, make me beg if you want to.” He steps into me, raising his other hand to my cheek, his thumb tracing the bottom of my chin.
“But you should know that nothing you can say or do will stop me from doing everything in my power to make you mine.”
I blink, trying to break out of the voodoo hex he just put on my nether regions. “Just how often does that line work, Mr. Roman?”
“Don’t know, I’ve never said it before.” He drops his hand, and I shiver as he pulls away.
“Somehow, I sincerely doubt that to be true, but nevertheless it won’t work with me.
Not tonight, tomorrow, or any day that ends in Y.
” I smooth the front of my dress, just now realizing I’m standing in my stocking feet.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “Please collect what you need and leave.”
“What if all I need is you?” he asks.
“Then you will leave empty-handed and sleep in your suit.”
That earns me a laugh, which of course is just musical. The way his deep baritone vibrates through me in the most sinfully delicious way.
He needs to go. If for no other reason than so I can pet my kitty, imagining him ravishing me like Lady Chatterley’s lover.
He continues chuckling as he grabs a set of pajamas and a shaving kit. He smiles on the way to the door, still giggling like an idiot. In fact, I hear the damn fool all the way down the hall, until the door closes behind him.
Glancing around, everything is still clean and pristine. Not a thing out of place and I start to wonder if maybe I imagined it, but then my finger begins to throb.
I wake up to the sun glittering off the Vegas strip.
I yawn and stretch, then I climb out of bed to take in the view.
After my little encounter with Roman, I took care of some personal business that left me mildly sated and sent me off into dreamland and the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years.
Talk about getting up on the right side of the bed.
I feel almost giddy, floating around the room, the desert sun warming my face.
The doorbell interrupts my bliss. I reach for my robe beside the bed and tug it on as I make my way through to the living room.
The bell chimes again. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I grumble, ascending the stairs to the foyer.
A quick look in the peephole has me squeaking and pressing my back to the door.
Suddenly there’s a knock. “Miss Castellano?” I can almost feel the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through the door. Last night’s business seems to have come roaring back to life. I clench my thighs together, pondering an alternative exit when he says, “I can hear you behind the door.”
Groaning, I huff, turning the knob to let him in on my way to the living room. He moves tentatively, peaking around the door as he slides inside. In the foyer, he looms larger, in his dark gray suit and silver shirt. The vest is a particularly nice touch.
He smiles, watching me gawk at him with my chin practically touching the marble. “Good morning,” he says.
I blink, snapping my mouth closed so hard I nearly crack a tooth. “Right. Yes. Good morning to you.”
“I trust you slept well.”
“I did thank you,” I say, growing increasingly suspicious of his attempt at polite chatter.
He moves to the window, tucking his hands in his pockets, which of course pulls his slacks tighter around his backside. Cheeky devil. No. Nope, fantasy is one thing, but this is real life, and I am going home. I don’t care what tricks Casanova thinks he has up his sleeve. I’m not falling for it.
“Seems we have a nice day ahead of us,” he blathers.
“Cut the shit,” I blurt. “Just say what you came here to say and let’s be done with it. I have a plane to catch.”
He smirks and trails his eyes over every inch of my face.
Panic hits me in the chest. “We had a deal. I stay one night then you send me home.”
He steps down into the sunken living room, sauntering in my direction and reaching into his jacket. “I’m a man of my word,” he says. “Got your ticket right here.” He pulls out a white sleeve with the ticket to my freedom tucked inside.
I reach for it, but he tugs it just out of reach.
I try again, and again and again, foiled every time by this infuriating man.
He raises the ticket high above his head, and I jump for it and miss, landing face first in the center of his chest. He chuckles and slides his other hand around my waist, holding me tight against him.
“I’ll give this to you, but it will cost you.”
I roll my eyes and shove at his chest. “What do you want in exchange? My Chanel bag?”
He shook his head. “One kiss?”
“What?” I gasp.
“A kiss.”
I open my mouth, but no sound or words can permeate the tornado of emotions ripping through me.
He lowers the ticket between us, tapping it on my bottom lip. “Just one.”
Tingles race through my body, making my muscles twitch with nervous excitement. The smirk on his face says he knows the effect he has on me, but I’m not one to back down from a challenge.
“One kiss and I go home,” I ask, just to clarify the terms.
“One kiss, then you decide if you want to go home. It’s your choice.”
I frown and he pulls me in tighter. Close enough to feel the anticipation of that kiss tenting his pants.
“I’m going home,” I declare.
“Not if I can help it,” he growls, reaching for me, the ticket forgotten.
He lifts my chin and slides his fingers into my hair, his thumb playing with my bottom lip again. It’s that same move he pulled the night before. The one that has me melting into his touch.
My knees go weak as he breathes me in deep, exhaling in a growl that should be classified as a narcotic.
The moment our lips touch, it’s not feral like I expect, but tender, worshiping.
He sips at my lips like a fine wine, savoring each flavor and note.
I can’t help but respond kissing him back slowly, exploring, no longer in control of my body.
My brain screams at me to pull away. To smack him, to kick him in the balls and run like hell, but my body isn’t listening.
I part my lips, and he hauls me closer, thrusting his tongue inside in strong powerful strokes.
We claw at each other, each of us fighting for control, and losing track of all rules of decency and common sense in the process He slides s hand beneath my silk pajama top.
The heat of his skin is an inferno blazing its way up the center of my back.
His fingers dance up my spine, and when he discovers I’m not wearing anything beneath the silky top, he groans against my lips.
When he starts to pull away, I tug him back, gripping the lapels of his suit.
He chuckles but relents, kissing me long and slow and deep.
My body is engulfed in flames. I remember nothing, I know nothing, but the feel of his lips against mine.
The way he holds me like I’m not only precious, but precious to him.
This is the kiss to end all kisses. This is last first kiss material.
But let’s be realistic, with that face and alarmingly disarming charm, I’m sure he’s had plenty of practice and you know what they say: practice makes perfect.
Still, it’s not going to stop me from indulging in the stolen moment.
I pull away, puzzled. Like I’ve had some sort of out-of-body experience mixed with a temporary bout of insanity. Clearly the desert sun has fried any self-preservation instincts I may have had.
We take a moment, neither speaking, just breathing each other in. He’s the one to finally break the silence “So, brunch?”
My face tenses. “Did you just say brunch?”
He turns heading toward the wet bar. “I assumed you’d be hungry.”
“You should have assumed I’d be packing.”
He pours himself a cup of coffee from the carafe room service brought up earlier. “No need. You’re not going anywhere.”
“The hell I’m not.”
His smile falters for half a second before that sexy smarmy smirk of his snaps back in place. He sets down his cup and slowly closes the distance between us. I don’t move half standing my ground, half curious to see what he’ll do.
He frames my face in those big masculine hands and presses a tender kiss on my forehead. Then he tilts my chin until our eyes meet. “Stay with me,” he whispers.
“For how long?” I ask, surprised I would even consider this asinine request.