Chapter 21 Lola
Chapter Twenty-One
Lola
You having a good time, Firebird?
The best time.
Don’t you want to be dancing?
I like it here, with you. It’s like we’re on the edge of the world.
Careful. You might fall off.
If I did, you’d catch me.
- Conversation between Lola, age 18 and Roman, age 25, at Lola’s birthday party
I’m tired, dusty and I want to curse the world for being height-est. Maybe this is my karma for all the stupid things I did as a kid. Hell, I probably deserve much worse.
The idea was to cover the whole wall with the T-shirts I’ve collected from around the world. The ones at waist height were easy enough but I started to get into trouble after the second row up.
Now, I’m balancing on the top of a paint can, on top of a ladder, trying to flatten out the T-shirt against the wall before I staple it, when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” I call out around the ruler in my mouth.
The door opens just as I go up onto tiptoes to press down on the stapler.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I jump at Roman’s voice, spinning around to find him scowling up at me. And in my continued efforts to live out a rom-com, I have less than a second to take in his beautiful, furious face before I lose balance.
I grab onto one of the T-shirts, but it tears off the wall under my weight. The paint tin crashes against the floor, the lid popping and left over blue paint splattering across the dust sheet, in a pretty fine impression of what’s about to happen to me.
Except then Roman’s there and my stomach hits his arm with an oomph. The air vanishes from my lungs. I choke, trying to steady myself as his forearm crushes the space under my ribcage. Fuck, so much for the bridal style catch you see in the movies.
I blink, slowly finding my breath as Roman’s large, muscled body surrounds me.
His heavy breaths flutter against my hair and I sink into his hold. Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.
Just as I’m starting to enjoy it, Roman lets out a soft curse and turns me around, backing me up against the wall. His hands flex around my waist.
For a moment, we both just stare at each other. My heart picks up and I don’t know whether it’s because I just almost died or because I’ve not used to being this close to Roman.
His hands tremble as he holds me. Warm, apple-cider breath flutters over my face. I open my mouth to thank him, but he beats me to it.
“I am going to strangle you,” he hisses, looking down from where he towers over me.
I smile despite myself. “Seriously, Rome? You’ve got to think your murder plans through better. You could have just let me fall and then you’d be scot-free. Nada. Sure, you might need therapy for witnessing a traumatic death by ladder. The sound of my neck snapping might wake you up at night but—”
My little diatribe is cut off when Roman places his hands either side of my head and leans in closer. “So not the time for jokes, Firebird.”
He runs his gaze over me, checking for injuries.
I scrunch my toes on the dust sheet and draw my bottom lip between my teeth. I’m only in a little vest top and a pair of short shorts. The T-shirts I’ve already managed to attach to the wall are soft against my shoulders as I squirm under his inspection.
Roman’s still cataloguing every inch of my body, his gaze alone sparking tingles all over my skin.
“You know,” I say, “it would be easier to check for bruises if you took my clothes off.” I’m not being serious, but Roman’s eyes snap to mine, the black of his pupils drowning out the blue.
“What did I just say about making jokes?” His hands drop to my waist again and he pins my hips to the wall.
Strands of electricity zip from his fingertips to my core and I have to fight to stay still as I force a shrug.
“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m funny. Maybe I should scrap the whole coffee shop thing and start touring.
” Based on how things have been going since Henry had to pull out that might honestly be a better option.
“I could do slapstick. Make falling from ladders and being caught by broody ranchers part of my act.”
Roman’s hands squeeze my hips. “The only person catching you is me.” His gaze narrows. “Besides, I know you, Lola, and you joke and brush things off when you’re stressed, so stop it and tell me what’s wrong.”
I stare at him for a moment, somehow both loving and hating the way he sees right through me, then I focus in on the rolled-up sleeve of his checked shirt.
Today’s one is a rusty red and I can’t see a checked shirt now without thinking of Roman.
“I’m too short,” I whisper. When he doesn’t say anything, I peek up to see Roman arch a brow, his lips pressed together to stop from smiling.
I shove my hands against his solid chest. “It’s not funny.
I can’t reach to put the T-shirts on the wall and the stupid too short ladder’s not helping.
Henry’s baby is in the NICU and needs an operation on her tiny little heart, so I don’t have a contractor.
The deep fat fryers arrived this morning but the counter they’re supposed to go on hasn’t even been built yet.
The coffee shop is due to open in two weeks and I can’t even concentrate because all I can think about is how fucking turned on I’ve been ever since you kissed me! ”
My chest heaves with the effort of my rant. Then the fire of a hundred volcanos bursts across my cheeks as my brain catches up with the words that just left my mouth.
Roman stares down at me, dragon breathing through his nose.
One look at his gorgeous, scowling face is all it takes for me to wish I could grab my words and shove them back in my stupid mouth.
He said he wanted this when we kissed in the orchard, but I should have known it was just the heat of the moment.
I should have expected it, and yet it still hurts like a bitch when he tears himself away, leaving blue boot prints from the paint over the dust sheets as he runs a hand through his chocolate hair.
Tears threaten, stinging my eyes. I sink against the wall, not sure I can stand without him holding me up.
When he looks back at me, ink pools in his eyes and the muscle in his jaw ticks. “You called Jarred.” His tone is accusing, jealous, and the tiniest spark of hope flickers in my chest.
“Because I knew if I called you, I’d end up saying something mortifying.” Like oh, I don’t know, how I’ve been as horny as the fricking devil since he touched me. “Thank god I was wrong,” I deadpan.
Roman doesn’t laugh, he just tilts his head to the side. “You really want to do this? You and me?”
“Yes.” I don’t need to think about it. I’ve wanted Roman even before I knew what wanting someone meant.
“I’m serious, Lola.”
“So am I.”
We get locked in each other’s stare again. The whole dark and broody thing he’s got going on has me squeezing my thighs together and Roman’s nostrils flare.
“Take off your clothes.”
I jolt and straighten up. “Um, you know I was joking about the whole checking for injuries thing, right? I’m fine.”
“Lola.” He crosses his arms over his chest and waits till my eyes find his. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”
The dominance lacing his voice has my heart racing and my hands fluttering to the bottom of my vest. I hesitate though, my fingers playing with the hem as my eyes dart to the front of the shop. The windows are still covered up with brown paper but the door is unlocked. “Here?” I ask.
Roman smirks. “Scared?”
“No.” Yes. But also incredibly turned on. I shift on my feet as my panties dampen.
“Come now, Firebird, where’s the wild child who jumps off cliffs for the thrill of it?”
I tilt up my chin. Roman calling me a wild child doesn’t carry the same scorn as when others do it, but I still reject the label. “Haven’t you heard? I’m all grown up now.”
Roman’s gaze tracks lower. “Oh, trust me, I know.” His hands fall to his side. “You have five seconds to do as you’re told, or I’ll come over there and do it for you.”
My core clenches at his threat and I dart my tongue out over my bottom lip. Images of Roman yanking down my shorts, his strong fingers ripping my panties off flurry through my mind. I don’t entirely hate the idea of him doing just that.
Roman cocks his head, his eyes lighting in realization as he lets out a low chuckle.
“Oh, you are such a fucking brat.” He doesn’t give me the full five seconds before he’s crossing the room and tugging my shorts down.
The jean material is rough against my thighs and goosebumps scatter over my skin.
I grip onto Roman’s shoulders, my stomach clenching as his hands slip under my vest and tease it up my body.
“Arms up, Firebird.”
I do as he says, lifting my arms above my head. He pulls the vest up higher but before the material clears my hands he gives it a sharp twist, pinning my wrists together.
I gasp.
Roman’s other hand spins me at my hips to face the ladder and with a speed that has my panties dripping he bends me over and hooks the trailing fabric of my vest around one of the rungs.
I’m in nothing but my bra and panties. Roman’s standing fully dressed beside me and for some reason that is really fucking hot. Need unfurls in my core, but I force myself to stay still because I’m not fully convinced this isn’t all in my imagination.
Except I know this is real because I’ve dreamt of Roman touching me for years and even my dirtiest fantasies pale in comparison to the pure, devastating pleasure that waterfalls over me when Roman trails his knuckles down my back.
“You look good like this,” he murmurs. “All bent over and ready for me.”
Jesus.
His fingers flick the hook of my strapless bra and the black lace drops to the floor beneath me.
“Roman,” I moan.
He kneels down beside me and tugs on my ponytail till I’m looking at him. “You good, Firebird?”
I nod, tingles running down my spine from his grip on my hair. “So fucking good.”
Roman closes the distance, capturing my lips with his. He tastes of apples and smoked wood and his kiss smolders inside of me.