Page 11 of The London Chance

He barked a laugh that turned into an ear-to-ear grin so wide it lit his eyes and released his hold on his carefully guarded façade.Boom. I had my first true glimpse of the man behind the mask andwow…Roman was magnificent. I could visualize this man joking about his superior knowledge of ’90s trivia one minute and conquering boardrooms with razor-sharp instincts the next.

That was the Roman Crawford I wanted to know.

And so did my cock.

Not gonna happen. I wiggled in my seat to clandestinely adjust myself when he handed over a clean knife. “Help yourself.”

I narrowed my gaze. “What’s wrong with your silverware?”

“Nothing. Just one of those pesky remnants from my divorce. My ex-wife chose the silverware, and it had to be the most expensive…because of course it did,” he huffed, dropping the knife on the table with athud. “Most of the time, I don’t think twice about the irony of inheriting items I didn’t want in the first place. It’s just a knife and that’s just a spoon, and though I wouldn’t have chosen those particular pieces, I still need silverware. Not a big deal. But every once in a while, it pisses me off. Evidently, not enough to do something about it. Want more coffee?”

Roman was across the room before I could respond. I stared at him, admiring the way his faded jeans hugged his fine ass while I processed his bombshell. And when he returned to the table to refill my mug, I zeroed in on his crotch…as one does. Christ, I was jealous of that denim, molded loving to his big, thick cock.

Okay, hang on. I didn’t know if he had a big dick or not. I just sort of assumed he did. Everything else about him was large, so it only made sense. I’d also assumed I’d be personally acquainted with his penis at some point during this trip. Since that wasn’t likely to happen, I figured I’d better get my ogling in while I had a chance.

I thanked him, blinking when he raised his brow. I smiled innocently, then narrowed my eyes, remembering I had a bone to pick with him.

“Ex-wife? You never said you were divorced, and you definitely didn’t say anything about being married to a woman.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It never came up.”

“It should have! You didn’t have to lead with it, but you could have sneaked it in and filed it under ‘Things You Might Want to Know About Me.’ Now I feel like an even bigger schmuck, if that’s remotely possible,” I grumbled, tearing a slice of bacon into bits.

“That’s ridiculous. My failed marriage has nothing to do with you.”

“No, but not knowing it was part of your history—and one you’re still grappling with, if you’re grumpy over a fucking spoon—just goes to show that I really didn’t know you at all.” I shot to my feet with my hands in the air.

And…immediately sank into my seat when my sensitive stomach and head lurched in protest.

Roman frowned. “Did you take ibuprofen? I left the bottle for you on the counter upstairs.”

“No, I didn’t see it, and it doesn’t matter. I’m having a moment.” I clutched my temples and closed my eyes briefly.

“What kind of moment?”

“The kind where I realize this was never going to work. God, I am such an idiot.”

He drew in a deep breath, then pushed his chair away from the table and squeezed my shoulder. A click and rattle of a pill bottle later, he returned, setting two tablets in front of me.

“Take this,” he said in a low commanding tone. “And drink the water. You need it more than the coffee.”

“You’re not my dad,” I huffed, glaring like a kid who’d been told he couldn’t leave the table until he’d finished his dinner.

Roman laughed. “And yet…you called me daddy last night.”

Oh.

Wow.

I promptly choked on one of those pesky pills. It wasn’t pretty. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I gasped for air. Roman slid a water bottle toward me and patted my back. When I finally managed to swallow and catch my breath, I buried my face in my hands and groaned aloud.

“Oh. My. God. I will never, ever drink tequila again. Please scrub last night from your memory. I wasn’t in my right mind, and I’m not that guy.”

“Relax. We’ve been over that part. I told you…I like that guy.” He tousled my hair playfully.

I batted his hand away with a sigh. “I didn’t want you to like drunk me.Ugh. I know it was a mutual fail, but it’s a bummer ’cause there’s a part of me, that in spite of acknowledging things are different in real life and long distance would be an issue, hoped we’d at least end up—”

My jaw snapped shut.Whoa,what’s wrong with me?