CHAPTER 10

GIGI STARED AT THE GLASS of water and two aspirin waiting for her on the nightstand. A vague memory of strong hands and a deep voice coaxing her to drink a similar glass of water teased at the hazy edges of last night. She sat up gingerly and reached for the glass in hopes of rinsing the cottony nastiness from her mouth. This could have been so much worse. In fact, it should have been. She didn’t even remember how she’d gotten home last night.

She shuffled to the bathroom to refill the glass. More water—that’s what she needed if she wanted to keep dodging this hangover. She jammed a toothbrush in her nasty mouth, and then she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Holy hot mess. She still had on last night’s dress and her mascara had run, leaving her eyes a smeared black smudge, like some kind of drunken bandit. Bonnie without her Clyde came to mind, considering the wannabe flapper dress. Her hair had turned into a tangled and wild mess. It would not have surprised her to find a fucking squirrel hidden in there.

Roman must be so disappointed in her right now—oh God—Roman. That’s how she’d gotten home. What had she been thinking getting drunk like that? Instead of drowning herself in a pity party for one, she could have been having hot sex with the first man to tempt her into more than a casual fling. Whatever was happening between them was not going to be over after one night and for the first time, the idea appealed to her.

That also messed with her head.

Now she had to worry if he still wanted her AND face the wrath of Ann— because there was no way Ann didn’t know after the possessive way Roman was touching Gigi when Ann found them at the party. She might even have to go back to hunting for a job on Monday. With the way she’d acted, Gigi wasn’t ruling it out.

Disgusted with herself, she scrubbed the offending makeup off her face, replaced it with the weekend minimum of fresh foundation and lip-gloss, and then took care of the usual morning necessities. She padded back out into the bedroom ready to shed the dress for something more comfortable for her pity party. She made it as far as the dresser when the heavenly smell of bacon assaulted her senses.

She scrunched up her nose in confusion. “What is that?” Her stomach rumbled, impatient for the savory aroma wafting in from her kitchen.

Abandoning her quest for yoga pants, she poked her head out of the bedroom door. The stack of French toast cooling on her kitchen island caught her eye first and then Roman, half-naked flipping bacon in the skillet. Holy shit. Talk about taking your life into your own hands—grease burn anyone? Her gaze moved over the hard planes of his body, catching on the way his jeans hung low on his hips, giving her just a hint of the fine ass it contained.

Splatter bacon splatter. She totally planned to kiss any resulting burns to make them better. In fact, she should prove just how medicinal her tongue action could be. Or not. He was probably pissed about her behavior last night.

“Good morning.” God, she hated that her voice betrayed her as shy and fucking meek. That wasn’t her. Confident and brazen—that’s how her voice should have come out. Instead the fear of losing him undermined her hard-won confidence.

Roman spun around and revealed the ridiculous frilly apron he’d dug out of her drawer to protect his skin. She was both disappointed and turned on. Pink floral and aqua polka dots never looked so sexy. He hadn’t bothered to tie the back or she might have noticed it. Now she was going to get all hot and bothered every time she unearthed it to bake. There were worse problems to have.

He snaked one arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body for a gentle kiss. “How’s your head this morning, beautiful?”

Such a simple loving action. No judgement, no harsh words. He made her breakfast and asked how she felt. Fuck—she had to choke back tears.

“I’m fine.” Her voice shook as she said it.

He looked at her with a slight frown. “Are you sure about that? Did you take the pills I set out for you?” She nodded weakly, and he continued. “Good. Grab a cup of coffee and have a seat while I make you a plate. How do you like your bacon?”

“Extra crispy,” she mumbled.

Roman chuckled. “Good, because that’s how I made it.”

She had to be caught in a dream or some kind of altered reality brought on by that fairy drink he’d given her last night. Still, she wasn’t about to argue. When she finished fixing her coffee, a plate sat waiting for her.

Stewing over her expectations and this new reality with Roman, Gigi poked at the scrambled eggs, pushing them around the plate. “I can’t believe you did all this. I thought for sure you’d be gone this morning or at least angry at me.”

Roman leaned back against the counter. He’d lost the apron and stood feet crossed at the ankle, nibbling like a mouse on a strip of bacon. “I see two problems with what you just said.” He held up his fingers counting them off. “One, what kind of a man would I be if I didn’t take care of my hungover girlfriend properly? For the record that does include aspirin and bacon.”

“Don’t forget French toast,” Gigi mumbled as she swiped her finger through an errant drip of syrup.

“With a girlfriend named Gigi, it seemed like the natural choice.”

Her hand stilled, hovering over her plate. “I’m your girlfriend?” Her heart fluttered wildly as she whispered the question. He said it twice. The first time she just thought he slipped. The second time seemed more deliberate.

He raised an eyebrow and ignored her question. “Two, why the fuck would I be mad at you?” He came around the edge of the counter, dropping the bacon on her plate as he turned the stool she perched on to face him; their noses almost touched. “Sometimes life leaves you no option but to numb the pain. If I had been paying attention, I could have done that for you without the alcohol. You went for the next best substitute. Although next time I suggest you use me instead.”

His fingers curled around her wrist, as he drew her fingers up to his mouth. One at a time, he took each slender digit into his mouth, sucking the sugary liquid off as his eyes locked with hers. It was the single sexiest thing anyone had ever done to her that didn’t involve actual sex. Damn.

Gigi wanted to pay attention to those words. She should be asking what he knew about why she’d been drinking. She just couldn’t think past the building pressure between her thighs.

Roman leaned forward so that his lips grazed her ear. “We could talk about this or I could show you just how distracting I can be.”

He took her earlobe between his teeth, teasing it with a gentle suck that stole an involuntary groan from her lips that sounded suspiciously like “please”. Her skin burned wherever he touched her, aching to have him brand her body with his heat.

“And you’re definitely my girlfriend.” His voice was a low growl, staking his claim in a visceral way that should have bothered her.

Had Roman been any other man it would have sent her running. With him she wanted to be claimed and that too should have worried her—but god help her she wanted it. She wanted him to take her right here, bent over this counter. His lips teasing her neck had her panting for it.

She needed to get her head back in this game and remember herself. She needed control.

Yes, she started last night planning to have him, but her plans had been shattered. Last night had been her choice. This morning, this was something she hadn’t planned, even if she was still wearing the pink lace set she’d purchased just for him. So much of their time together had been unplanned as she succumbed to the irresistible need that she felt her body caving to now. Maybe if she took over—took the lead away from him—she could have her man and enjoy it too.

Bracing her hand against his chest, Gigi gave a gentle push and broke the trail of kisses Roman had continued to use like a weapon against her restraint. She slid from the stool and he looked down at her, eyes cloudy with lust and confusion.

Gigi hooked her finger in the belt loop of his jeans. Using her hold like a leash, she pulled him towards her room. “Bedroom,” she whispered, tempering that single word into a seductive promise.

As the back of his knees hit her raised mattress, Roman stewed over the change in Gigi that had swept over her during their breakfast conversation. She’d come out of this room looking wary of him and a little bit sad. Now, she’d turned back into the self-assured seductress that seemed more like a defensive front, rather than the real woman beneath. That changeable nature made him question whether he should be standing in her bedroom at all. At the same time, it was those very glimpses—brief as they were—that told him she would be worth it. That she was nothing like Jessica.

Those green eyes, they were his guiding light. Leading him past the façade she wanted others to see. For the public, she projected a sweet-tempered professional. In private, she allowed a select few to see her as a sexpot. Both those masks were a part of her, along with countless others he’d likely encounter along the way. Occasionally with him, she’d let them all slip away. In the kitchen, she’d been real. She’d been exposed. Undone by him simply calling her his girlfriend. He was falling for that woman.

Gigi gave him a small push that sent him crashing backwards into the mess of her unmade bed—the bed he’d tucked her into in the dark hours of the morning to sleep off her pain. The flick of his button popping open and the rasp of his zipper filled the silence. He reached down to still her hand. “Stop, beautiful.” His voice was horse with his strained control.

She looked up at him through her thick lashes, her green eyes filled with that vulnerability—his weakness—as she knelt on the floor in front of him. “Please, Roman. You’ve taken such good care of me. Why don’t you want me to take care of you?”

What was it that held him back? Because she was right. Since they’d started this dance that first night in his shop, he hadn’t allowed her to return any of the pleasure he’d given her. He’d held that piece of himself back while trying desperately to chip away the layers of her resistance—digging for the woman underneath. Now here they were, in her bedroom about to make love, and he was still limiting her access to him.

Roman released her hands, moving them to cup her face and caress the rising heat in her flushed cheeks with his callused thumbs. He had to pull the trigger—trust her or walk away.