Chapter 17
brIELLE
“So, this is the pool nobody uses. And over there is where I sit by myself in the summer because Roman’s allergic to the sun.”
“Wait, actually?” I ask, following her waving hand as she finishes the tour of Roman’s house.
Evie shakes her head as a laugh trickles out of her. “No. Not really. He’s just a homebody when he’s not at work. A hermit, if you will. Especially in the off-season.”
“I could tell that much. He seemed a bit out of his comfort zone at the concert.”
“That’s the least surprising thing I’ve heard in years.”
She moves closer to the edge of the pool and points her bare toes before dipping them in. I don’t follow suit, lingering behind her instead. The sun has started to set, painting the sky in pinks and oranges that bounce off the still water.
It’s not warm enough for her to be barefoot and wearing only the romper I made, but when I asked her to try it on earlier, she didn’t hesitate. In a blink, she’d yanked it from my hands and stepped into her bathroom to change. And when she came out?
It was like I’d made it specifically for her.
While I can still tell where I need to improve the design, it drapes her body perfectly. There’s no cling to her soft belly or tightness around her backside. The sleeves don’t pinch or rise with movement. It’s flattering in the way it falls over her curves without hiding them.
“How long have you been designing clothes?” she asks, turning at the waist.
“I started when I was fourteen, so give or take about eleven years.”
Her deep blue eyes widen a bit. “No wonder you’re so good.”
“I’ve had a shit ton of practice. I’ve pricked my fingers more times than I can count and even broke my mom’s old sewing machine,” I say, smiling to myself before letting it fade.
“She used to make a lot of my clothes growing up because they didn’t have a lot of options for an overweight ten-year-old. ”
There’s a beat of silence before she says, “Not much has changed from then.”
“Nope.”
Evie pulls her toes from the water and moves toward me, chewing the inside of her cheek. I look past her at the tall fence bordering the backyard and, for the millionth time in my life, fight off the memories from my childhood that I wish I could forget.
The schoolyard bullying and comments from extended family all focused around my weight when there was nothing I wanted more than to look like them.
And even now, no matter how hard I work to keep the weight off after years of battling it, I’ll never forget the jeering laughs or insults chucked at me from kids who never struggled in the same ways I did.
Wes and I grew up in the same house, raised by the same parents, but lived two very different lives.
He was the active one. The child whose baseball team came as a priority over anything else.
The same team that had us travelling every weekend and coming home late on school nights.
It was easy for our parents to hand me a burger from a drive-thru after I’d snacked on chips and peanuts all day at the field, whereas my brother had the metabolism of a professional athlete already and could pound back double that without ever seeing the consequences.
I don’t blame my parents for it, though.
They were doing the best they could, and I was so young I didn’t understand the mess my habits had created until years later.
Evie’s hand touches my arm, and I sniff, blinking away the chance of a rogue tear escaping. She doesn’t say anything about it, and I have no words ready to thank her with.
“For the record, I’ve never worn a romper that actually fits me this well before. I’m not nervous I’ll flash anyone my ass cheeks or spend the entire day picking out a wedgie. I don’t know how you got it to be my size, but I’m taking it as a sign that I was meant to be the model for it.”
“That’s what I’m thinking, too. It looks beautiful on you.”
The sound of a door gliding behind us has me spinning around so fast my hair flies into my eyes. I hastily push it out of the way and swallow when I see Roman standing outside in a pair of dark jeans and a green polo, staring at the two of us with a look that I can’t decipher.
There’s a deep look of exhaustion that can’t be hidden, though. Not when it’s in not only the blue bags beneath his eyes, but the slump of his shoulders and overgrown stubble on his jaw.
“Brielle is right,” he says, his voice rough, like it’s been unused for a while.
Evie does a dramatic twirl beside me, showing off the flowy fabric. “She made it herself. Can you believe that?”
“I can.”
Shivers work down my spine. It’s subtle, but his approval fuels that stubborn, lingering flame inside of me.
“How was your flight?” she asks, giving my back a soft nudge forward, closer to the house.
“Long.”
Her eye roll is obvious in her reply. “I see you’re in a chatting mood.”
“I’m just tired, Evie,” he states while scratching at his unshaven jaw. His eyes flick to me, still carefully devoid of emotion. “And I didn’t know there would be company waiting for me.”
“Surprise,” I sing, winking.
“Technically, she’s not your company. She’s mine. But since you’re so interested, you can join us for a movie. Right, Elle? I promise he won’t be too much of a grump once we get some food in his stomach.”
Movie? Since when?
My momentary confusion is quickly washed away by butterfly-inducing excitement. I shrug as loosely as I can.
He sees right through it. His probing gaze doesn’t waver. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Oh, you won’t be. You should go change while I order food. What’s everyone in the mood for?” Evie rambles on, pushing me further across the patio. “I’m thinking sushi, if nobody has anything better they’d like?”
“Sushi’s good,” I say.
Roman grunts his agreement.
“Sweet. You two can choose the movie while I order, then.”
By the time she’s reaching around her uncle to tug the door open, my toes are touching his. He’s so tense that the air between us might as well have solidified. I stand frozen and hold his stare, not wanting to be the one to back down first.
Even after spending hours on a plane, he smells so fucking good.
Like a clean man who takes pride in himself.
I can’t help but inhale the scent of his cologne and push further forward, just enough that our middles brush.
Evie’s too close for us to be acting so bold, but I’m not thinking properly.
After a week of not seeing him, I’m helpless to the ruthless pull between us.
It’s in complete control of me, and from the fast rise of his wide chest, he’s suffering the same way.
Evie pushes past him when she enters the house and jostles his body just enough that he rocks forward into me.
His hand snaps out and wraps around my waist to stabilize himself, but all it does is draw me into his body.
Hard, thick muscles are crushed against my chest as I lower my eyes and reach for his arm, digging my nails into his bicep.
The bunching of them beneath my touch and the solid body pressed along mine draws a small, almost silent moan from my chest. Heat blasts from beneath Roman’s shirt and wraps me in an enticing embrace. I swallow and drop my forehead against his pec, taking another deep breath.
A borderline painful sense of need bursts in my core. I stare down at the black leather belt around his waist and then past it to the thick bulge pressing behind the zipper of his jeans. My mouth dries out as I leak into my panties.
His fingers twitch against my waist before tightening. I don’t look up to see if Evie’s lingering, noticing everything. Even just the thought of losing this moment is enough to have panic taking the reins. I reach to my side and cover his hand with mine, anchoring it in place.
“Let me hear that noise again, Brielle,” he says tightly, a rough exhale following the rough demand.
I throb between my legs, so wet already.
There’s heat everywhere. On my skin, beneath it, buried deep inside my body.
My thin cardigan sticks to my arms, and the high waist of my jeans clings to me in the worst way.
I’m boiling from the inside out, and the only thing that makes it bearable is feeling him touch me.
I turn my head against his chest and stare past his arm into the open doorway, not seeing Evie.
I bring Roman’s thick, heavy hand to my front, keeping it hidden between our bodies. The muscles in the back of it flex as he spreads his fingers, covering so much of my stomach. I close my eyes and keep my head turned. Guiding his hand up beneath the hem of my cropped top, I shiver, panting.
“Make me,” I whimper, finally tipping my head back.
The sight of his eyes feasting on me, so dark and hungry, does me in. There’s no stopping the needy sound that escapes me.
His hand moves on its own now. He clamps his teeth together and shoves it up and over my bra, covering my breast in one move. His grasp is possessive. Angry. Desperate.
I can hardly keep my eyes open as the pleasure races through me, making my knees rattle. There’s something here. Fuck, I knew there was. This entire time, I felt it. All he had to do was accept it—
“Fuck,” he curses, his palm searing into my breast.
His tongue swipes across his bottom lip before he rips his hand off me and uses it to guide me backward a few steps, forcing my hands to fall.
I blink, my weight settling back onto my own feet instead of against him.
Frustration encourages me to push forward and reach for him, taking his hand again.
“Who are you trying to punish here?” I snap, pulling his hand up to my throat and digging his first two fingers into the skin beneath my jaw where I know my pulse is racing. “Your heartbeat feels the same. I know it does.”
He rolls his jaw and glares down at me with the same anger I feel. “Evie could have seen that, Brielle. Enough. Just . . . enough.”
“She’s twenty-one. You’re being purposefully obtuse if you think she’s not doing the same shit as us when you’re not around.”
“Go inside, Brielle.”
“Or what, Roman? You’re going to punish me? Because this right here is punishment enough.”
His eyes flash, and my stomach jumps with anticipation. “You’re trying to provoke me, but it’s not going to work.”
“It already is.”
He pushes into my space, bringing his mouth to the tip of my ear, grazing it with his teeth. I relax my hold on his fingers and drag my nails over the veins in the back of his hand as he holds it against my throat, keeping it in place.
“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing here, sweetheart. This isn’t a game, and the sooner you stop treating this like one you’re set on winning, the easier it will be for you.”
“If you’re afraid to lose, just say that. I’ll still give you a runner-up prize.”
His teeth close around the sensitive tip of my ear and dig in just enough to yank a gasp from my lungs. I wish I could see his eyes and taste his next words on my lips.
“Keep pushing,” he starts, his voice too soft for the way his grip is tightening just enough to remind me it’s his hand on my throat, “and I won’t be the one who loses.”
His words have only just slipped into my consciousness before he’s releasing me and slipping inside. I watch him go, unable to get myself to chase after him.
Not when I can still feel his hand on my throat.
And sure as hell not when I’m too tempted to beg him to come back and squeeze tighter.