Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
MAGGIE
Despite the lady pummelling my cellulite with her thumbs, I cannot relax even an ounce. I’m stuck at the local spa, while Roman is at my Dad’s without me.
Is he okay? Will he take the opportunity to flee? Will Eddie seek revenge?
I left the keys. Roman has the chance to go. No one knows not to let him leave, despite what I told him when we arrived.
And who could blame him?
By the time we finally get back, stinking to high heavens of herby oils, my stomach is knotted tighter than a knot on a balloon. With my nerves, I’m just about as full of air too.
Please still be here.
Please don’t be dead.
Priscilla directs us toward the parlour, and much to my relief, Roman is there, looking cool as a bloody cucumber.
Sprawled in one of the armchairs like he belongs there, cards fanned lazily in one hand and a whisky in the other.
My dad sits opposite him, looking like he’s had a lovely morning. Cheeks pinker than I’ve seen them.
Suspiciously so.
Is it because Priscilla hasn’t been home to slip him some ‘supplements’?
‘You’re here.’
Roman looks up and swallows. His eyes dragging over me with little thought for the people who surround us. I flush at the evident hunger in his gaze.
I’m wearing Eliza’s sweater dress, at least two sizes too small for me and clinging everywhere.
It hits mid-thigh, despite my shorter height, with the way I fill out the material.
My legs are bare, other than my Docs. It wasn’t a planned outfit, I’d dropped my clothes into a suspiciously coloured puddle in the changing room and had to borrow something to get home in.
Heat pools low in my stomach as he practically eye-humps me without shame.
‘Where else would I be?’
‘We’ve had a cracking morning. He’s useless at golf, but the boy can drink, I’ll give him that.’ Dad lifts his glass, sloshing a little over the side.
Roman lifts his glass. ‘I have my uses.’
Eliza nudges me. ‘So I saw.’
‘Shush.’ I elbow her back to shut her up.
My eyes flick back to Dad’s whisky.
‘Dad,’ I walk over and perch on the edge of his seat. ‘Have you been feeling okay lately? You look a little different at the moment.’
He frowns. ‘Different how?’
‘It’s just that you’ve been a bit pale and you’ve slowed down a bit since I last saw you.’ I dropped my voice low. ‘Especially since Priscilla moved in full-time.’
‘Are you worried she’s keeping me up at night?’ he says with a drunken wink as Eliza and Priscilla exit the room.
‘No, but I’m worried she’s not got your best interests at heart. She’s always hovering around.’
‘That’s because she cares about me, munchkin,’ he says warmly. ‘It’s nice, Maggie. You should try letting someone look after you sometimes.’
My mouth opens.
Then Priscilla walks back in, and I stand with a sigh.
Dad beams and pulls Priscilla straight onto his knee, arm snug around her waist. Her laughter makes me want to kick her right in her perfectly tanned shins.
I can’t do this.
The cold air outside makes me wince as I leave before I level my future step-mum with a boot up her impressively pert rear.
Roman catches up with me.
I spin on him, words pouring out in a torrent. ‘He won’t listen to me. He thinks the sun shines out of her backside, and it makes me want to scream.’
Roman grabs my hand and turns me to face him, swaying ever so slightly after his morning of drinking with my father.
‘Maggie. Look at me.’
I do. Reluctantly.
‘It’ll be fine, but right now you need to vent before you implode.’ Roman’s stare melts my insides, and I hope he’s going to suggest some more orgasms.
‘And how do you suggest I do that? I can’t exactly grind against you in the grounds.’
His mouth twitches. ‘I was thinking something a little more destructive.’
‘If you don’t know by now, that’s not my vibe.’
‘I don’t want you to kill anyone. Trust me.’
He pulls me toward one of the older sheds at the east end of the main lawn and shoulders the door until it groans open.
He roots around for a few minutes before emerging covered in dusty cobwebs and brandishing a cricket bat.
I’m pretty sure it’s a cricket bat, not that I’d know the sport if it hit me on the arse.
Eyeing Roman gripping the bat, I feel like that might be a perfectly interesting diversion…
Alas, no. He passes the bat to me and finds a blanket and rope.
Damn, maybe we’re getting kinky after all.
My mind wanders into the gutter until Roman leads me toward the woods. Bending, he gathers up some rocks and stacks them on the blanket.
‘I’m pretty sure the B in BDSM doesn’t stand for boulder.’
Roman chokes on a laugh. ‘I’m surprised you know that acronym at all.’
‘I’m a surprising kind of woman.’
‘I’ll say.’ Roman gathers the blanket’s corners and knots the rope around them to create a little sack of stones.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘It’s not exactly a pinata,’ he says, slinging the rope over a branch while I ogle his thick forearms, ‘but close enough.’
I stare at it. ‘You want me to hit a sack of rocks?’
‘I can draw Eddie’s face on it?’
I laugh. ‘I don’t want to stare at his mug any more than I need to.’
I weigh the bat in my palm. This is absurd.
‘C’mon then, Princess, show me what you’ve got.’
Swinging, I glance at the not-pinata with a pathetic swat.
‘Harder,’ Roman urges. ‘C’mon. Give it some welly.’
I swing again. And again. Each strike loosens a bundle of stress until I’m really going for it, breath coming in hot puffs, followed by some very unladylike cursing.
‘Eddie’s an absolute bellend!’
‘Priscilla is a murderous bitch!’
‘I. Fucking. Hate. It. Here!’
‘Why am I always the odd one out when I live in a house of actual murderers? As if I’m the bloody black sheep.’
The blanket finally gives as my arms start to ache, stones flying like very hard confetti.
My chest heaves as I brush a sweaty curl from my forehead.
‘Any better?’
Roman is staring at me like I’ve just kicked over his motorbike.
‘Fuck,’ he breathes at last. ‘You look incredibly sexy when you’re angry.’
‘And like a troll the rest of the time?’
He steps close enough that it forces me to back up against the tree, rough bark grazing my back. The way he looks at me makes me turn into a puddle of jelly. All melted and wobbly.
‘Not even remotely troll-like,’ he says softly. ‘Maybe the hair.’
I jab him in the stomach, and he grins before stretching an arm above me, caging me in between him and the trunk. The tree trunk. Not the one in his pants. Glancing down, I double-check. No trousers-tent as of yet.
Shame.
Then he kisses me in a collision of unrestrained pleasure.
My breath catches in my throat. He tastes like whisky. I want to climb him when he lets out a slutty little moan. The world tilts as he runs a hand down to the nape of my neck, deepening the kiss. All air leaves my lungs as I melt against his chest.
It’s hot and messy and exactly what I need.
The bark presses through the fabric of my dress while his tongue has me vibrating beneath his touch.
He’s all thick, hard muscle and heat, and I can’t help but thank whatever god or goddess decided to let me borrow him for a week.
I may have taken him, but there has to be some kind of divine intervention to have him willingly kissing me like the answer to all his prays lays at the back of my throat.
My legs wrap around his waist, craving more of that incredible friction he grinds into me oh so well. His hands slide to my backside, holding me up while pinning my thighs wide.
My brain is gone. I’m reduced to a single-cell organism with only one thought. Fuck me already.
‘Are you just doing this to stay alive?’ I whisper when he thrusts against my panties, hating that the thought still lingers. I breathe the words into his mouth as he plants another kiss on me.
He speaks through heady kisses. ‘That was the plan, at first. But I can’t stay away from you. I watch you sleep, and instead of trying to run, I look for a way to be closer to you.’
The way he arches his hips makes me whimper.
‘You’re like a parasite,’ he says quietly, which has me frowning. ‘In a good way. It’s like you’ve burrowed inside me and carved out a weird little space that’s only ever going to be full with you in it.’
His thumb brushes my jaw again, feather-light this time, like he’s memorising the shape of me. My chest tightens, and when he kisses me again, it’s slower and deeper, like he’s trying to say more, or maybe avoid saying what we both know to be true.
This is temporary.
A discreet cough makes me freeze, skirt halfway up my arse, and my legs akimbo around Roman’s waist.
We freeze.
‘Miss Eliza sent me down to ensure you’re ready for dinner,’ a staff member says politely, eyes everywhere but on us.
‘Shit,’ I croak. ‘Yes. Sorry.’
The staff member retreats as Roman places me on the floor, but not before spying the wet patch I’ve left on his trousers.
Roman catches my hand before I can flee.
‘I’m sure they’ve seen worse,’ he assures me.
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it. But not usually with me.’
‘For the next few days, while we’re here,’ he says, squeezing my fingers, ‘it’s us versus everyone else.’
‘Our odds are horrendous.’ I say, pulling my dress down.
‘I’ve always liked an underdog.’
Woof woof.