Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

Roman

“ Y ou’re quiet tonight,” Julian says to me while we relax on Ma’s couch after dinner.

I scratch the side of my head uncomfortably. “It’s been a day.”

“The renovations starting to take a toll?” he asks as he takes a sip of his Chianti.

If only that was it. I can handle work stress. There’s always an answer, always some kind of solution that is there if you work hard enough to find it.

“Nah. It’s going great. We had the final designs for our New York hotel presented today. It’s going to be amazing.”

“What’s got you so down and out?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing really. Just one of those days. I’m probably just tired.”

He raises an eyebrow at me like he isn’t buying it, but I look away and pretend not to notice.

What am I supposed to say? I can barely admit to myself that I’m all fucked up over my buddy’s younger sister.

I’ve never been this messed up over a chick before, and it’s starting to piss me off.

“I should probably take off,” I continue as I stand up. “Probably best to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

Instead of sticking around to hear him call me on my bullshit, I walk into the kitchen and give Ma a kiss on the cheek.

“I think I’m gonna head out early tonight. I’m tired.”

She looks at me suspiciously, then takes my cheeks into her hands. “Are you sick? Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

“Ma”—I pull away— “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“You work too hard, Roman.”

That may be true, but it’s all I know. I learned it from my father.

My eyes make their way to all the containers of food on Ma’s counter, and I remember my conversation with Eva last week.

“Any chance I can take some leftovers home with me?” I ask casually.

It’s not exactly something I ask often. Ma’s weekly meals are my cheat days, but I generally try to keep a low-carb, high-protein diet throughout the rest of the week, unless I’m particularly feeling tempted.

“Of course you can.” Ma grabs a small container to put some of the braciole in the dish, likely knowing if I do take home leftovers, I ask for the protein.

I eye all the spaghetti carbonara, knowing full well that is what Eva would want. “How about some of the carbonara?”

“Is this for you?” she asks as she grabs another container.

“No, this is for Eva, Walker’s sister,” I answer, thinking honesty might get me out of here faster. “She lives in my building, and I promised her I’d bring her some leftovers. She’s a big foodie.”

The twinkle in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. I swear I see her planning a wedding already, but I’m not going to take the bait. I just watch as Ma grabs a massive container and excitedly loads it with all of her cooking.

Instead of telling her Eva is just one little person, I let her stuff it to the brim with food.

On the way back to my place, I start to think about Eva and our meeting today. I had talked myself into keeping my distance from her after our interaction at the club, but things changed when I noticed the way Drew was looking at her.

I’ve known Drew for a long time. He’s a great guy, and women fawn over him. If he wants Eva, there’s no reason he wouldn’t have a shot with her.

That pissed me off.

I could barely focus for the rest of the day as I kept picturing Drew and Eva together.

Now, I find myself standing in front of her door, waiting for her to answer, as I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to keep my physical distance.

The door swings open, and the answer should be clear when my body instantly tightens and heats up when I see her.

Instead, I lift the bag of food and ignore every warning sign my gut is trying to tell me.

If we power past the awkwardness of taking things too far at the club, maybe we can get back on track.

Her eyebrows rise as she stares at the bag. “What’s in there?”

“I come with your requested leftovers.”

“No way. I didn’t think you would actually listen,” she says as she holds the door open for me to come in.

I walk straight into her kitchen and place the bag on the countertop, then begin to pull out the food. “When are you going to learn that if you ask for something, I’m going to give it to you?”

She should know by now that I’m a weak motherfucker when it comes to her.

She stands next to me, too close, and leans over the food. “What did you bring?”

“Where are your plates?”

She points to the cupboard behind me. I grab a plate, and when I turn around, she’s pouring two glasses of wine. She slides a glass toward me.

“Thank you.” I gather a little from each container, then put the plate in the microwave.

I lean against the counter as I wait for the food to warm up and take a sip of my wine.

I notice for the first time what she’s wearing, and my dick instantly gets hard.

She’s in black silk shorts and a matching tank top.

No bra underneath, which is evident by her hard nipples that I can see the outline of through the thin fabric.

She must notice where my attention has landed.

“I’m sorry,” she says, partly embarrassed. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You’re fine,” I say gruffly as I try to regain control of myself. “I’m the one who showed up unannounced.”

“I’m glad you came. I tried to be healthy today and had a salad for dinner. I’m starved.”

I smile as the microwave beeps. “Well, let’s rectify that.”

The plate is hot to the touch as I place it in front of her. She grabs a fork and knife, then cuts a piece of braciole and places it into her mouth, and I realize I’m jealous of a piece of meat.

The moment the first bite hits her tongue, her eyes flutter shut. A satisfied moan escapes her lips.

“Oh my God!” she gasps as she covers her mouth. “This is amazing!”

She reaches for another piece and continues to make noises while chewing, completely oblivious to the effect her sounds are having on me. I lean forward on the counter and white-knuckle the edges. She is pure torture. Torture I couldn’t tear myself away from if I tried.

“Seriously, Roman,” she declares as she swirls some pasta around her fork, “I’d give up my life savings to eat like this every night.”

That makes me chuckle. “Careful. If I tell Ma, it’ll go to her head.”

“It should. She deserves to fill her head with all kinds of compliments and praise. Anyone who can cook like this should have a big head.”

“Trust me, she’ll use it against you when she can.”

She smiles up at me with a big drop of sauce at the corner of her mouth. I duck my face, hoping she doesn’t see the amusement written all over it. She’s so fucking adorable.

When I look back at her, she still has no idea it’s there. Without thinking, I lift my hand and drag my thumb across her bottom lip over to the corner.

“You’ve got …” I start as I pull my thumb away, then lick the sauce off my thumb.

She freezes, her eyes locking with mine. Her lips part slightly. Neither of us moves as the tension in the air thickens. I swallow hard, unable to focus on anything but wishing I could put my lips where my thumb was.

“Sauce,” I finish.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. I’d bet anything, if I looked a couple of inches south, I’d see her nipples looking harder than before.

She looks away quickly, then continues to eat the food on her plate. “Thank you for bringing this over. You made my night.”

She takes another big bite of pasta. “Drew sent over a bunch of orders to get started with the lobby, and I approved them today. We should be set to begin construction in the next week.”

She looks up at me thoughtfully. “How are you feeling about all of it?”

My shoulders rise stiffly as I take a deep breath. “I’m excited. Maybe a little bit nervous.”

I don’t admit my feelings often to people, but I find it so easy to talk to her. I just know that she won’t judge me.

Her head cocks to the side. “Why are you nervous?”

I shrug, slightly embarrassed. “I’m putting a lot of money into this, counting on it bringing back our clients that we’ve lost. My dad has already shared his disapproval on the renovation.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m under a microscope, with him watching and critiquing my every move, waiting for me to mess up. ”

“Anything worth doing will scare you first,” she says.

“That’s true,” I reply.

With the way she’s looking at me, it’s like her words are more personal—perhaps on the edge of something that neither of us has named yet.

“Well,”—she places her fork down on her empty plate— “I’m stuffed. Thanks for bringing the food over.”

“You’re welcome.” I smile down at her. “Warning: now that Ma knows you wanted her food, she’ll be sending more every week.”

“You told her about me?” she asks, sounding surprised.

“I don’t usually take tons of leftovers with me. She knew something was up. Plus, we’re friends, right? No reason not to tell her the truth.”

“Right.” She nods her head as her cheeks turn a bit pink. “Of course.”

I glance down at my watch, knowing it’s already late enough to go home and go to bed. But instead of saying good night, I find myself looking for reasons to keep the conversation going.

“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I was just going to put on a movie.”

“Anything specific?”

“You trying to decide whether it’s worth it or not to do another movie night with me?”

I smile. “Is that an invitation?”

“Come on.” She laughs as she places her plate in the sink. “Make yourself useful and grab that bottle of wine.”

Relief floods my body as I realize we may be able to get back on track with our friendship. I obey her order and follow her to the couch with the bottle of wine in hand.

We each take a seat at the end of her long couch.

She leans against the side, knees bent, feet angled toward the middle of the couch.

A new drama has released this week that she clicks on without asking if I want to watch it.

The movie is not something I would choose to watch on my own, but I find that I enjoy anything when I’m in the company of Eva.

I refill our glasses and place the bottle on the coffee table, then lean back and get comfortable.

The movie gets started, and just like usual, my attention bounces between the screen and the woman sitting beside me. When I look out of the corner of my eye, I see her smiling at something happening on the screen.

She is always so open, wearing her emotions on her sleeve. It’s an endearing quality; one I used to think was a sign of weakness. Now, I think it might be the opposite.

I turn back to the screen just as the couple in the movie starts to kiss passionately while stripping each other’s clothing off before falling to the bed.

My dick twitches while my brain starts picturing me and Eva doing the same. Within seconds, the actress on the screen is screaming and panting her pleasure.

Eva releases a snort. “Wow. That might be the worst fake orgasm I’ve ever heard.”

“You think you could do better?” I ask curiously as I look from Eva back to the screen.

She points aggressively. “There is just no way that’s how any woman experiences sex. Like instant pleasure that requires her to scream like a maniac. Come on.”

“Yeah? Are you faking orgasms often?” I arch an eyebrow curiously.

“Only every time I’ve had sex with a man.”

I nearly choke on my wine as several emotions flow through me, one after the other. “What … do …” I stop to try to figure out what to say. “You’re joking.”

She shrugs, then looks down at her hands, which are fidgeting in her lap. “Nope. Not once. Never had an orgasm with a guy. Not even close.”

I pull down a pant leg and adjust myself in my seat, trying to create more room in my pants for my throbbing cock. Several beats of silence hang between us as I work my jaw.

“You’re serious?” I finally ask.

I lift my head and can’t help but drag my eyes up and down her body. She’s clearly far more innocent than I anticipated. I would break her. But, fuck, the things that I want to do to her.

I could never release the fullest extent of my desires, knowing what I know now, but I could make her feel things she’d never felt before.

“You think I’d admit that if I wasn’t?”

I look at her, longer this time, trying to make sense of what she is telling me. The mood has shifted from casual to heavy—electric.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you? Wondering if you could do better.”

“I’m not.”

She’s chewing on her bottom lip as she watches me closely, like she’s nervous about my response.

I sense that she isn’t normally this forthcoming with her thoughts. It makes me want to do the same.

She smiles playfully. “Liar.”

I exhale sharply, running a hand down my face as I try to scrub the dirty thoughts from my brain.

“Come on. I saw that look. You’re dying to prove something.”

“Yeah … well, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my best friend’s little sister. And you work for me. Those are two massive reasons why I shouldn’t even be sitting here, thinking about how?—”

“How what?” She leans in slightly.

I stare at her lips—plump and the perfect shade of pink—then stand abruptly. “I gotta go.”

I grab my keys from her kitchen counter and walk to the door. I pause for a moment, then turn around to glance at her one last time. Her eyes reflect heat and curiosity.

“Good night,” I say, then open the door and walk out before I do something stupid.

Instead of riding the elevator up one floor, I sprint up the stairs. There’s far too much energy coursing through my body. Once I’m back in my penthouse, I toss my keys onto the counter and begin to pace back and forth.

I almost kissed her. This is not good.