Chapter 30
Thirty
It’s warm in my room. Roman must have the heat turned up to eighty degrees. I slept better than I have in weeks. Like a rock. Like the dead. Like a person just out of surgery and all doped up on anesthetics. Though it’s never been quite this warm in the cabin.
Or this … sturdy.
I stretch my body by centimeters because I’m not quite ready to end the best sleep of my twenty-four years, when a certain manly-shaped blockade jogs my memory …
Roman heard me crying last night.
He climbed onto my bed and wrapped me up in a little blubbering cocoon. He held me tight, and eventually I fell asleep.
And then he went to his own bed … in his own room … Or at least, that’s what I assumed the man would do.
But this obstruction—
My hand stretches in a very calculated, cautious, strategic stretch, and—
Yep. Abs.
Holy hard rock abs.
Abs blessed by Zeus and gifted by Aphrodite.
I freeze my fingers—right at the center of those majestic abs—and lift one eyelid.
Abs.
I snap that one eye closed and tell myself to breathe.
Roman Graves is half-dressed and lying on top of my comforter.
One more strategic baby stretch and—yep, his arms are still cradling me, one beneath and one over top of me.
I peek out one more time to see chest, shoulders, beard, and more abs. I am in a Roman Graves burrito.
Here’s the thing: if I stretch strategically and pucker with a plan, my lips might touch that chest. They’d like to touch that chest. For scientific reasons. Are those pectorals as glorious as they seem? Only lips can tell.
My head reels with things that might be a little crazy.
How can it not? Roman was so kind to me last night.
He was forgiving and apologetic, and in so many ways the Roman I once crushed on.
Now, here I am, face to face with the chest and abs of a soccer god, and it’s conjuring a teeny crush on my husband. An accidental crush.
How am I supposed to have any control in a situation like this? Not to mention, when will I ever get the chance to be this close to Roman’s chest again? Bare. In all its glory.
I don’t have far to go. So, I stretch real cool-like, very calculated and deliberate. I just need six inches. Then I pucker my lips using the tact of every Jedi who fought for the greater good.
I lock my eyes on the prize, still puckered, centimeters from Roman’s chest.
With my head below Roman’s chin and my lips stretched out as far as they will reach, I make one tiny adjustment and then—LANDING. Success! We’ve made it, people! And it’s every bit as glorious as it looks.
I’m not exactly sure where to go from here. My strategic move didn’t have an exit plan. I am plotting when—
Roman’s hand caresses from my shoulder blade to the small of my back. “Morning.”
Does his “morning” question why my lips are currently on his pectoral muscle? Or is that just a regular ol’ morning?
Stealthy and smooth, I lift my mouth, one corner, one lip at a time, until I have removed myself from the man.
Turning my head up to the ceiling, I become a world-class actress as I fake a yawn.
“Good morning, Roman.” I am cool, I am collected, I am innocent.
My lips and I were never near that chest.
Slipping his arm out from beneath me, he sits up—now I’m staring at the man’s back.
Whew. It’s getting warm in here.
“You ready for the day?” he asks.
“Ready?” I say. Roman already has his cell in hand. “What—” I say, stumbling over my words as I attempt to sit myself up. “What are we doing? Please tell me we don’t have another counseling session.”
Roman taps on his cell, then turns his head back to spy me. “I just texted Callum.”
“Callum?” I sit up and throw my bathrobe around my shoulders. I don’t know why—it’s not as if I’m immodest in this tank. Yes, my shoulders are bare, so is Roman’s entire torso.
“Yep. I just sent him my address. So Fran can talk to you about a piece for his mom. I told him he could invite Rosalie too.”
“Um,” I say, spinning in a full circle as I fumble with the tie on my robe. Apparently, the thing only has one end. I throw the single end up and over my shoulder. “Yeah. But I told her no. I’m not a teacher.”
“But last night, you said you were reconsidering. That you needed to get back to work. You could try it out.” He stands, walking around to the foot of the bed.
“Yes, but—”
“But it’s time to move forward. No more standing still,” he says. Then, clearing his throat, he adds, “I mean, if that’s all right with you. You just don’t seem very happy with this pause.”
“I got married,” I say, my tone purposefully snarky. “That feels like moving forward.”
Roman tilts his head, and I am the strongest woman alive—I keep my eyes on his. I don’t even glance at those abs. “True. But I’m talking about the rest of your life. With work. You said so yourself, Stell, pottery makes you happy. Time to start again.”
I swallow. “What if my mother is right? What if I fail? Again.”
“Mrs. E is right about plenty of things. But she isn’t about this.
You’re good. And while the arts is a risky business, you can do this.
You may need something else along with it, but you need to do this.
” He walks forward until he and his bare chest are right in front of me.
Cupping my cheek, he peers down at me. “I promise you that if you’re happy, your parents will be too. ”
I narrow my gaze on him, my hands squeezing at my hips. “And teaching Rosalie’s grandmother is going to solve all my problems?”
Roman shrugs. “It’s a start.” The phone in his hand pings, and he glances down at the screen. “It’s Callum.”
I raise my brows. “And?”
“And Fran and Rosalie will be here in an hour.” He looks me over, and I tighten the robe front with my hands. “You might want to change,” he says, walking over to the bathroom door.
I bark out a laugh. “You might want to actually put some clothes on.” I lean back, snatch a pillow, and toss it at Roman’s head. The man ducks just as the pillow whacks into the closed bathroom door.
“Ninja reflexes,” he says, standing straight once more.
“Ninja?” I stand, slip my robe off my shoulders, and chuck it at Roman’s head too.
He dodges the flying garment easily. “Pro soccer playing ninja skills. You can’t hit me.”
But I’m not so sure. I think I can. I pick up another pillow and Roman hunches, like he’s a pro wrestler ready to take me out. I keep my eyes on his, determined.
I fling my throw pillow like a Frisbee right at Roman’s legs, and he leaps, jumping over the thing. My arms fall to my sides, and I roll my eyes.
“I told you.”
Storming past him, toward the bathroom, I don’t bother looking at him. “I’m showering!” But I snatch up the pillow I just threw, then backstep toward him. Holding it like a samurai sword, I smack him in the back.
“Hey,” he barks, spinning around on me.
“Just testing those ninja skills,” I say.
Roman leans toward me until I’m backed up against the closed door.
Pine, musk, and bare chest fill my senses.
I hold my breath as his cheek skims mine.
The pillow falls from my hand, and my head tilts up to him.
My mind whirls as I stand here, still and frozen.
It’s like a broken record playing the same song: Remember that time you kissed Roman’s chest?
Um, yeah, spinning head, I remember. It was, like, fifteen minutes ago.
He’s so close, and then—click. The door to the bathroom unlatches, and I stumble back, flailing my hands to catch myself. But Roman catches me first, supporting me with one hand around my back.
“You’re down to fifty-three minutes,” he says.
I duck beneath the arm around me and slip through the bathroom door. “I’d better get ready, then.”
Roman smiles and backtracks into my bedroom.
I shut the door and lean against it in the seclusion of the bathroom. And suddenly, things feel a little clearer.
I’m here so that Roman can keep this cabin.
I’m here to keep my parents from worrying over me.
And, I think, just maybe I’m here to bring back the Roman of old.