I spent the day finding things to do in order to keep my mind off…well, my life.
I returned phone calls from clients who had zero intention of actually buying a house. Replied to emails from other clients who were concerned about why their overpriced, smelly house had been on the market for over twenty-four hours. And then I had lunch with Jon where I had the unfortunate task of informing him that Roman was back in my life. At least temporarily.
He smiled. Lied and said he was happy for me. I felt like a total heel. After a quick hug in front of a sandwich shop, I watched a good friend walk away for what I hoped wouldn’t be the last time.
Roman was in a mood when he got home. Unfortunately, so was I, considering my house was not his home and he had used a key, which I had not given him, to get in the front door. He’d at least had the good manners to toss it in the key basket when he’d slammed the door behind himself. I made a mental note to remove it from his key ring before kicking him out.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped, rising off the couch as he marched to the back door to let a tap-dancing Loretta outside.
It should be said that she was not the best guard dog.
“Change of plans. I’ll have Seth deliver dinner again. Figure out what you want. I need a shower,” he said before heading to the stairs.
“Um, maybe we should try that again? What are you doing here?” I asked his back while following him up.
“Anything but Chinese and I’ll be cool.”
“Roman,” I called. I was hot on his heels as he walked past my bedroom door and yanked the door to the hall closet open.
“Actually, I could do a good burger.”
“Roman!” I finally yelled when it was clear he had no intentions of answering my question.
He lifted his gaze to mine and said, “What?”
“What?” I repeated, dumbfounded.
“Yeah. What, Lis? You got something to say? Let’s hear it, because right now, I need a shower, a beer, and, if it’s good with you, a fucking burger.”
Roman was officially off his rocker, so I gave it to him gently. Which meant I only used minimal sarcasm when I gave it to him.
“Okay. Well, then you better hurry home and get on that.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.” He bent down to the bottom of the closet and retrieved a gym bag that was busting at the seams.
He’s leaving. Praise the Lord!
He squeezed my hip as he walked past me…
Directly.
Into.
My.
Room.
“What are you doing?” I asked a little louder than I had planned, but it was still below a shriek, so I chalked it up as a huge demonstration of self-restraint.
He tossed the bag into the corner by the bed, and it slid across the hardwood until coming to rest against the wall. “Jesus Christ, Lis. We just discussed this.”
“No. What we discussed was you going home to your house, taking a shower, drinking a beer, and ordering a burger. I’m not sure why I’d have to agree to said burger seeing as how I won’t be eating dinner with you. But, if you need that approval, you got it!”
His eyes narrowed and the muscles in his sexy, sexy jaw began to tick as he ground out, “I know you heard me say I was checking back in last night.”
I threw my arms out to my sides. “Still not a hotel!”
He sucked in a hard breath, his chest expanding, and just like his jaw, it was sexy squared. “I had a shit day, Lis,” he warned, scrubbing a hand over his smooth chin. “I’m not coming home to more shit. So check your attitude before I check it for you.”
My mouth fell open as I gasped. “You did not just threaten me.”
“For fuck’s sake,” was all he said before he was on the move.
And, as it seemed he only had one speed when he was pissed, he did it fast.
One of his hands went to my ass, the other into the back of my hair, and he had me pinned against the wall beside the door before I could even protest.
My body heated from head to toe as his fingers in my hair curled into a fist like he had done so many other times over the last twenty-four hours.
It was clear I needed to either shave my head or find a way to amputate his arms, because the sparks that fired off inside me had become progressively more intense each time. I feared I’d spontaneously combust if there was a next time.
“Roman,” I breathed, though I should have been fighting against him.
Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.