Page 21

Chapter Twenty

Eva

I stand in front of my fridge in a daze, thinking about this afternoon.

Sex with Roman in a public space was the most dangerous thing I’d ever done. We hadn’t even locked the door. Anybody could have walked in and seen us.

A slight tinge of excitement runs through me at the idea. I don’t know who I am anymore. He’s awoken something inside of me that I feared didn’t exist.

I’ve never felt more like a woman before. Someone who is in tune with her body and its needs.

I know he said he’d call, but he also never said when. I’m trying not to be that girl who waits by her phone, which is why it’s sitting on the couch. It’s my way of protesting my own obsession over each text I receive, wondering if it’s him.

A sudden knock on my door snaps me back to reality. I look through the peephole, and my heart sinks into my stomach. When I open it, I realize I’m not hallucinating.

Roman is standing in front of me with two paper grocery bags in his arms.

“Roman,” I declare in shock. “What are you doing here?”

A hesitant smile touches his face. “I was at the grocery store and figured instead of cooking for myself, I’d come over here and cook for both of us.”

“Billionaires go to the grocery store?” I ask stupidly.

He chuckles. “I suppose it depends on the billionaire. I’m happy to report this one still likes to do his own shopping. I don’t trust anyone else to pick out my food. Maybe it’s the Italian in me.”

I let him inside. He places the bags on my kitchen island and begins to unpack them. I see pasta, cheese, lemons, greens, and so much more being placed down.

Then, from the bottom of the bag, he pulls out a single white rose.

“This is for you,” he says softly, appearing slightly unsure of himself.

It’s sweet and completely unexpected from the man I was with this afternoon, who fucked me on a desk until I squirted all over him.

The same one who couldn’t promise me anything but secretive sex, unless I misunderstood.

I reach for the flower slowly. “Wow. Thank you. That’s really sweet.”

“It’s not cheesy, is it?” he asks, confirming my suspicions that he is in uncharted territory.

I bite my lip to contain the smile that wants to spread wide across my face. My cheeks feel warm. “It’s beautiful. I don’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

With the rose in my hand, I grab a small crystal glass and fill it with water then place the flower in it.

“What are we eating?” I ask curiously.

“I’m going to make us a lemon garlic pasta with some freshly grated pecorino cheese.”

Okay, this man just got even hotter. I watch his biceps flex under his gray button-down as he moves items around the counter.

“Okay, Miss Harlow”—he rubs his hands together— “are you ready for me to rock your world?”

I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and nod my head anxiously, suddenly confused as to whether we’re talking about food or sex.

He laughs to himself, like he knows what I’m thinking.

“Can I help with anything?” I offer, thinking it might help keep my mind off what is currently taking place in my kitchen.

“I’ve got it covered. You just sit your cute little butt over here and keep me company.”

He hits the counter with his hand.

The man is a myriad of adjectives. He can be serious and grumpy one hour, then flip and become a goofy, fun, lighthearted man.

I think I know which one is the real him. The other is the persona he puts on for the world to protect himself.

I follow his orders and push myself up onto the counter.

He chops some greens and peels the garlic, and I watch in fascination. His sleeves are now rolled up, and his expensive watch is on display.

He begins to open cabinets repeatedly to find what he needs. Amusement must be written all over my face. Once he gets a pot of water boiling, he comes over and places his hands on the counter, caging me in.

“Is there something you have to say?” he asks with a flirty undertone.

I playfully shrug my shoulders. “There are many things I could say.”

“Well, go on. Don’t hold back.”

“Well, for one, you’re a confusing man. Are you suddenly accepting the fact that you can’t stay away from me?”

His eyes hold mine. My heart beats erratically, even though I’m trying to give off a woman who’s confident in her words.

“I’m waving the white flag.” He smirks, then places the chopped garlic in a skillet with some olive oil.

“Wise choice. It was getting pretty embarrassing for you.”

He rolls his eyes. “What’s the other thing that’s got you looking at me like that?”

I go for honesty. “You look really hot, cooking right now.”

His eyes widen. “Is that so?”

He moves slowly from the stove back to me, caging me in again. He leans forward, his scent overpowering the aromas coming from his cooking. I love the way he smells.

“Yes,” I whisper as his lips brush mine.

“I’m a pretty good multitasker.”

He doesn’t give me much of a chance to ask what he means by that before leaning in and licking the outline of my lips with his tongue. “Lean back. I’ll show you what I mean.”

While I place my hands behind me and rest my weight on them, he walks over to the skillet and stirs the garlic, then grabs the lemons he cut and squeezes the juice in.

He walks back over to stand in front of me.

His hands find the buttons of my jeans that I changed into after work and unbuttons them.

He pulls them off, along with my panties, then places one of my feet up on the counter, like he did on the table in his foyer.

He runs a finger up and down my pussy softly, barely touching me, but causing a wave of pleasure.

“You think you can get me off and not burn dinner? I doubt it.”

He shakes his head at me. “Have faith, Eva.”

Without turning around, he takes two steps back to the skillet and stirs. When he comes back, he leans forward and slowly licks from my ass to my clit.

I gasp at the jolt of shock, though the thrill is far from unwelcome. “Every inch of you tastes delicious.”

He pushes two fingers in me and begins to flick his tongue quickly over my clit. My hand instantly grips his hair, which makes him groan. It’s like he likes the pain.

My head falls back, and my eyes close as I bask in his attention. I’m inching closer and closer to exploding when I feel the abrupt loss of him.

He throws the pasta in the pot and closes it. I watch him as my chest moves rapidly, my body hot and desperate.

“Look at you, open and waiting for me,” his deep voice nearly growls. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

His words are intense, but don’t feel like a lie. How could it be true?

If this ends, I don’t know how I’ll ever recover. Could there ever be another man who makes me feel this way?

Then he’s back on me. He grips my thighs as he locks me down and dives back in with reckless hunger, tongue flicking fast, filthy, precise. I don’t stand a chance—my body arches, a scream tearing from my throat as I start to feel myself break.

“That’s it,” he growls against me, tongue circling my clit with ruthless rhythm.

I try to squirm. He growls again and holds me in place, relentless until I come so hard that I see stars.

He stands with a quiet, dangerous confidence that makes my breath catch, then turns his back to me and gets back to cooking. He uses tongs to pull the pasta out of the boiling water and adds it to the skillet, mixing it around in the juices.

Okay, he wins this one. He’s a great multitasker. Dammit.

He picks up my panties and jeans. “Here. Hop off the counter.”

When I do, he’s down on his knees, slowly helping me into my panties first, then my jeans. He stands up and focuses on zipping and buttoning them, kisses my forehead, then grabs two plates out of my cabinet.

“I’m just going to cut up some of this bread. Why don’t you open that bottle of wine and pour us some?” he asks over his shoulder.

Once all is said and done, we are sitting at my table with an incredible plate of pasta, fancy wine, bread, and oil with herbs to dunk in—all prepped while he got me off.

He is trying so hard not to smirk as he grabs his glass of wine and takes a sip.

“You’re really impressed with yourself right now. Aren’t you?”

He chuckles. “You know, you have these ideas in your mind, but I could have easily burned something or overcooked the pasta.”

I smile and shake my head. “At least you’re honest about it. Your ego might not be as inflated as I thought.”

“There’s still time for me? I’m not completely broken?” he jokes—though I wonder if he’s kidding.

There’s something in his eyes that seems almost pleading, begging me to tell him he can be the man he wants to be.

I grab a fork and swirl the pasta around it, then take a bite. I’m amazed at how delicious it is. “Wow!” I say while I still work to chew the rest of my food. “This is surprisingly incredible.”

“You doubted it would be?”

“I mean, you used so few ingredients. I didn’t think it’d be bad. I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“Sometimes, it’s not the amount of ingredients, but the quality of the few that you use that takes a dish from average to outstanding.”

“I feel like there’s some subliminal message in that.”

“Probably. I tend to say a lot of profound things,” he jokes with a wink at me.

My laughter bubbles out like champagne.

After we finish dinner, we take our remaining wine to the couch. He wraps me in his arms in what now feels oddly like a safe haven. I rest my head on his chest.

“Thank you for dinner. Seriously. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Silence fills the air as I think about how different this feels. There seems to be a calmness in him. I know he said he is done fighting, but this isn’t just about not fighting our sexual chemistry. He didn’t need to cook me dinner.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, my voice low and careful.

“I figured you’d say something like that soon. Go for it. Ask away.”

“Why are you acting so casual about this all of a sudden?”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Each second he doesn’t answer makes my heart beat quicker. I realize that confronting him with this can backfire and send him second-guessing again, but I have to know.

“I’m tired of making up excuses to see you at the hotel or dragging you into my office for no real reason. I just want to be able to show up at your door because I miss you.”

If I wasn’t falling in love with this man before, that about solidified it.