Page 183 of Dance of Defiance

“Roman…”

He sighs, putting down the bottle he’s just pulled from a shelf. “Okay. I was going to make up some excuse about why I have it?—”

“By ‘it’ you mean literally every Billy Joel record, including live albums and European imports. On vinyl. Here.”

He glares at me. I grin back. Then his brows raise as he runs his gaze over me.

“You…wanna put on some pants?”

I glance down at my dick.

“Not particularly. Why, do you mind?” I wink at him, loving the way his face turns red.

“Not in the least,” he says, his voice dropping as his gaze lingers on my cock.

“Good.” I grab the base of my junk and wave it at him, making him crack up. “Because I’m not. Also, this doesn’t get you out of the Billy Joel question.”

“What thefuckis wrong with Billy Joel?” he mutters.

“Nothing! But I said it, and you got all immediately defensive!” I laugh.

He sighs and pours a glass of whatever’s in the bottle. “Fine. Most people I’ve had over…” He shrugs. “Just don’t get Billy Joel.”

“And bymost people,” I mutter. “You mean girls that you’ve brought over to fuck in a vain attempt at?—”

“Okay, okay, we get it,” he groans. “And Billy Joel is not aguything.”

When I eye him, waiting for more, he finally caves.

“My mom loved Billy Joel.”

I nod, giving him a warm smile. Evie’s told me about their mom passing away when Evelina was just five. Which means…

“I was twelve when she died,” he says quietly, like he's reading my mind.

He inhales and exhales slowly, takes a sip from his glass, and walks over to where I’m standing by the records. He’s not wearing much more than me, just boxers. But somehow it makes him look…classy. And it makes me feel like a weirdo savage to have my dick out.

“I’m gonna go put on some pants,” I grunt.

“Don’t.”

I grin as my gaze drifts back to him. “Oh?”

He blushes, shrugging. “I mean… You don’t have to.”

“No no, that’s a whole other vibe than the franticdon’tof a second ago.” I grin when he blushes deeper, and step closer. “Why don’t you want me to put on pants, Roman?”

He smirks. “Because.”

“Because…e?”

“Because you have a pretty cock.”

I snort a laugh, throwing my head back and cackling.

“Pretty?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, sighing. “Handsome. Sexy.”