Chapter 9
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 soggy way.
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 got locked 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.
Fuck.
He absolutely can’t eat two. I couldn’t put one cookie in the bag, it would look weird, but I didn’t anticipate him wanting more than one immediately. Not with abs like a fucking washboard. People like that don’t eat more than one cookie at a time.
Right?
‘No!’ I say, the panic audible.
Roman’s brows knit as he lowers the cookie back into the bag. ‘What?’
‘It’s just…’ I start, taking a step toward him and crossing the threshold into his apartment, and he takes a step back, confusion narrowing his eyes. His step falters, his shoulder bumping against the wall. ‘You can only eat one.’
‘Why?’ He asks, looking from the bag of cookies to my face.
‘I don’t want you to overdose.’ Another step closer brings a further stumble back from him. The brown bag drops from his fingers to the floor, and he looks at his hand, trying to figure out what’s going on.
‘On what? Chocolate chips?’
‘No.’ I close his door behind me, leaning back against it and watching as the sedatives get to work. ‘On the sedatives I put in them.’
‘What?’ His voice thickens as he stares at me. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Unfortunately not.’
In a flash, he flies toward me, his hand on my throat as he pins me back against the wall. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
My throat bobs against his fingers, fear making me doubt myself. Had I used enough? His grip tightens, and I quake beneath him.
‘Talk, Maggie.’ His words slur as he speaks. I hope the sedatives kick in fully before he chokes the life out of me, or has the sense to call the authorities.
‘Can’t,’ I mutter, my voice restricted by his hold on my throat. His eyes search mine, caution in every golden fleck. Despite my precarious situation, I can’t help but blush at his closeness. The way he overpowers me and pins me to the wall with one hand.
I’m a sucker for it.
For him.
And he’s going to hate me.
Loosening his grip slightly, he lets me breathe enough to talk.
‘I’m sorry, it’s just I have my dad’s wedding, and if I go home alone, he’s going to make me marry Eddie.
I can’t marry Eddie because he’s my creepy, weirdo ex who likes killing people far too much, which sounds crazy, I know, but my family aren’t like a normal family…
’ I witter on in a deluge of panicked chat, my words tumbling over one another as Roman’s eyes glaze.
From boredom or the sedatives, I couldn’t tell.
‘You drugged me to take me to a wedding?’ His breath is hot against my cheek, and I nod. ‘Why not just ask me like a regular fucking person?’
‘You wouldn’t have said yes.’
He doesn’t even argue that he would have. I try not to let the sting affect me.
Roman’s body sags forward against me, pinning me beneath it, his hand sliding down from my neck to my chest. Not in any sexy way. More in a couldn’t-control-his-muscles way.
Still, the hot neighbour was practically cupping my tit. What’s a girl to do but feel a little bit flustered?
‘Might…have…’ The words sound distant, strained, like it’s taking all of his focus to haul them up to his lips.
With a thump, he slides to his knees before keeling over. I manage to catch him just before he bashes his pretty face on the floor. Lowering him down, I roll him onto his back and kneel beside him, brushing dark hair from his eyes.
‘I really am sorry about this,’ I say, reaching out to press two fingers to the pulse point in his neck.
Steady. Good. His eyes flick to mine, the sedatives leaving him awake but paralysed.
Safer for him. More awkward for me. ‘If I’d had any other choice, I would have taken it.
Now, you lie here and chill a bit while I go pack your bag.
I’ve already sorted you out a tuxedo for the big day, but you’ll need some clothes and toiletries for the rest of the week. ’
Roman’s eye gives the slightest twitch.
‘I know. A week’s holiday used up for a bloody wedding.
It’s ridiculous, right? But it’s not your usual ceremony and dinner affair at a local hotel…
It’s society. There are days of cocktails and games and dreary fucking conversations.
And I need you to act like you don’t hate me. Like we are a couple.’
Another twitch.
‘Yes. Well. I’ll fill you in on the drive. It’s eleven hours, and that’s without any stops. Plenty of time to explain.’
Standing, I brush my hands over my thighs and look down at Roman, who lies there immobile. His seething rage is written on his face, even though he’s unable to move. ‘You just chill out, and I’ll be back in a few.