When the alarm goes off the next morning, I throw off the covers and get dressed.
The aroma of coffee hits me full force as I leave my bedroom. I head to the kitchen, stumbling to a halt when I find Roman sitting at the table with a steaming cup in his hands.
I thought for sure he’d make himself scarce and avoid me like the plague after my brazen behavior last night.
My cheeks heat as snippets flash through my mind. I’m still not sorry for pushing his buttons.
His reaction had been worth it.
I take a fortifying breath to steady my nerves and smile at him. “Morning.”
He continues to stare at his mug, grunting something unintelligible that could either be “good morning” or “fuck you.” Apparently, Roman Santori isn’t a morning person.
Shrugging off his surliness, I grab a mug from the top shelf in the cupboard and pour myself a cup. I add a small scoop of sugar along with a dash of cream, then take my first sip.
It scalds as it slides down my throat.
Which is precisely the way I prefer it.
I toast a slice of wheat bread, slather it with butter, and slip into the seat across from Roman.
He warily watches me over the rim of his mug, angling his body toward the door. He looks ready to bolt at any second.
I smile, pleased with myself for shaking him to the core with my impromptu striptease. Part of me hopes he’s afraid that I’ll tear my clothes off right now.
His glare intensifies, as does the suspicion filling his eyes.
I’m tempted to tell him what I find so amusing, but I doubt he’d find it as humorous.
I should be embarrassed about what I did last night. I’ve never done anything like that in my life. I’ve never wanted to. But then again, there’s never been a man I wanted as much as I want this particular one.
What surprised me most was the way Roman ran from my bedroom like his damn ass was on fire. Almost like he was frightened of me.
That ridiculous thought makes me want to laugh hysterically.
Roman Santori scared of me.
Yeah, right.
“What’s so damn funny?” he grumbles, eyeing me cautiously.
I do my best to contain my mirth. “Nothing.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses his normally impassive features. “Seems like something.”
“Nope, nothing at all.” Nothing I’m going to share with him, anyway.
Grunting again, he continues drinking his coffee. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”
As I open my mouth to speak again, I realize that he’s engaging me in conversation. Well, this is certainly a first.
Marveling at the flip in our usual dynamic, I say nonchalantly, “All things considered, I slept pretty well last night.” I fell asleep right away and didn’t wake until the alarm clock went off.
Since there were no further incidents like he assumed, I expect him to say the same. After a few beats of silence, I ask, “You didn’t?”
His eyes narrow. “No. I slept like shit.”
“Oh?” Again, I’m surprised by the strange give-and-take of our conversation. “How come?”
Still glaring, he bites out, “Just did.”
“Hmmm. That’s weird. I’ve always thought the bed in the guest room was comfortable. You don’t find it so?”
“The bed is fine.”
“Good. It has to be better than catching a few hours here and there in your car.”
Sounding downright ornery, he mumbles, “Maybe I should consider doing that from now on.”
I shrug as if I don’t care either way. I’ll never admit it, but I sleep better knowing he’s down the hall. The nightmares have stopped, and that has everything to do with Roman staying in the house with me. Rising from the table with my plate and mug in hand, I set them both in the sink and turn to face him. “Suit yourself.”
As our gazes lock across the tiny kitchen, a spark of desire zips down my spine. Simply being in the same room with Roman sends need hurtling to the surface.
Breaking eye contact, his eyes fall to my breasts. The frown lines bracketing his mouth deepen. “Is that what you’re wearing to work?”
I glance down at my cream-colored blouse, black pencil skirt, and heels. Teachers are allowed to dress casually in khakis and polos, but counselors and administrators are expected to wear business attire. My work wardrobe is filled with skirts, sweaters, blouses, and wool pants.
“Yes.” I frown back at him. “Why? What’s wrong with my outfit?”
I’ve worn this ensemble a dozen times throughout the year. No one has ever commented that it’s inappropriate. While we’re encouraged to dress professionally, I make a concerted effort to appear approachable to the students. Wearing a suit to school doesn’t necessarily convey that message.
His expression darkens, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a bit revealing?”
My mouth falls open.
Revealing?
This?
With more scrutiny, I glance down at myself. “What are you talking about? I’m not showing any cleavage.” I’ve caught several teenage boys staring when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. Unfortunately for them, I have excellent peripheral vision. “And my skirt hits mid-calf.” Irritated that Roman’s making me second-guess my fashion choices, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to elaborate.
He waves a hand at the general vicinity of my chest. “Your top is a bit snug. I’m just saying you might want to change.”
I gasp.
How dare he!
My blouse is not snug! It’s formfitting. I have large breasts, and I look heavier than I am if I wear loose shirts.
Gritting my teeth, I stomp over to the refrigerator and grab my lunch from inside. “Go to hell.”
The table has once again been turned.
Not bothering to say goodbye, I leave Roman sitting alone in the kitchen. I snatch up my briefcase and purse in the entryway and grab my keys from the ceramic bowl near the front door, catching a glimpse of myself in the beveled mirror hanging above the credenza. Stepping in front of it, I examine my reflection with a critical eye, giving extra scrutiny to my breasts.
I have no idea what Roman is talking about.
The blouse is neither snug nor revealing.
He woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and is taking his bad mood out on me. I’m not sure if his attitude stems from the possible break-in that woke him in the middle of the night or…
Me dropping my robe in front of him.
Why would that bother him? It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before. We spent the entire night together in bed doing unmentionable things.
I shake my head at the questions chasing each other around my brain.
Why do I care if Roman’s upset?
Why am I dwelling on it?
Why am I dwelling on him?
Like everything else involving Roman Santori, I have no answers. He’s an enigma I’ll never understand. I shouldn’t waste any more time trying. And I shouldn’t let him get under my skin like an annoying rash.
I shoulder my bags and slam through the front door to head to my car.
Roman comes through the door and locks it behind him as I crank the engine. He looks at me while heading to his sedan.
Because I’m still irked by his comments, I flip him the bird.
Instead of his face turning thunderous, the edges of his lips tip up as he chuckles.
His reaction makes me angrier. Throwing the car into reverse, I peel out of the driveway. I don’t have to look in the rearview mirror to know that Roman is a car length behind me. I feel his presence.
Neither of us wants this connection, but it still hums between us, more powerful than ever.