"So I'm sorry about last night," I say, holding his gaze,
refusing to fidget under the weight of it. My hand trembles, so I quickly set
my coffee cup on the counter and cross my arms. "I never drink that much.
I, um, I'm sorry I passed out and you had to take care of me."
He frowns at me, something shifting through his gaze so quickly, I can't
make it out. He looks…I'm not sure. Like I've thrown him off-balance again,
like he suddenly isn't sure what to expect from me. That little flash of
uncertainty gives me the courage I need to finish what I have to say.
"I should probably also apologize for going into your room
yesterday. It wasn't fair of me to invade your privacy like that. You had your
door closed for a reason, and I should have respected that."
He stares at me, but doesn't say anything. He does that a lot, just
watches me. Ever since I first met him, he's watched me like he can't look
away. He looks at me like he knows me inside and out, and still hasn't decided
what to do about me. It's unnerving and hot at the same damn time, and I have
no clue what it means.
"You said you should apologize," he finally says.
"Hmm?"
"You said you should apologize." He tips his coffee cup up to
his lips and takes a sip, watching me over the rim. Those blue eyes rove across
my face, not missing anything. "You didn't say you are sorry."
"Oh." I wander toward the fridge, grimacing when my foot
throbs.
"Is your foot still bothering you?"
"It's okay," I say, giving him a partial truth. It's not too
bad, but it honestly feels worse this morning than it did yesterday. I think it
may be getting infected. That's probably my fault for walking around barefoot
all the time, but I like the feel of the floor beneath my feet. I love buying
shoes, but I'm not big on actually wearing them.
I squeak when I'm suddenly lifted off my feet. My hands go to Roman's
shoulders, clutching as he swings me up into his arms like I don't weigh
anything. He doesn't seem to notice my weight at all, actually. It's honestly
kind of hot. Damien was tall and lanky and he never picked me up. I'm only a
size thirteen, but I always felt a little out of place next to him. Or maybe he
made me feel out of place beside him. I'm not sure, but Roman doesn't make me
feel that way.
He turns and plops me down on the island. The marble is cold beneath me,
my thin shorts not offering much protection. The chill fades quickly when he
runs his hand down my bare leg, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. A
different kind of shiver rolls through me, and then he's propping my foot up to
examine it, a furrow between his brows. I fight the urge to reach out and
smooth that little wrinkle with my fingers.
"You need to keep this bandaged. It's infected." His fingertip
runs across my instep and then he turns away.
He's back in seconds, the first aid kit in his hands. He pops it open and
rummages through, setting aside various items before he finds what he's after.
I open my mouth to tell him that I'm fine, but he glares at me before I can
form the first syllable, so I shut up and sit patiently.
He cleans the cut with gentle hands, swabs ointment onto it, and then
wraps a bandage around my foot.
"Thanks," I whisper when he's finished.
I expect him to let me go, but he doesn't. He looks up at me, his big
hand still wrapped around my ankle. He's so close I can see little flecks of
gold in his eyes, smell the coffee and minty toothpaste on his breath. I
swallow hard at the heat in his gaze.
"You said you should apologize," he repeats his earlier comment
now that he's done doctoring me up. "Are you sorry?"
"No," I whisper, unable to lie to him. Maybe I should be sorry
for invading his privacy or throwing myself at him, but honestly, I think I'd
do the same thing all over again. I want him, and I know he wants me too. Taking big risks and putting myself out there
has never really been my thing, but I want to take one this time.
He slides his hand up my calf.
"Are you sorry?" I ask, my gaze locked on the play of emotions
across his face. They swirl through his eyes so quickly I'm not sure where his
head is at…what he's thinking…what he wants.
"No." His hand lands against my inner thigh, making me jump.
"Easy, baby," he murmurs, placing himself between my spread legs.
"You apologized yesterday," I remind him, trying to ignore the
way my stomach flips at the word baby.
I love it when he calls me that.
"I lied." His mouth lands against my ear, his breath hot and
heavy. "I'm not sorry for a fucking thing, Mila." His teeth clamp
down around my earlobe. The sting sends a bolt straight to my clit. "You
offered me two weeks," he says against my skin. "Did you mean
it?"
"Y-yes."
He nips at my earlobe again like he's rewarding me for answering him. His
hands skim across my thighs and then around to my hips. He grips me hard,
holding me in place.
"I hope you're ready for me, sweetheart," he whispers.
"It's too late to back out now."
