We laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, neither of us speaking. Exactly what were you supposed to say when you’ve just had the most mind-blowing sex of your life with the one person you should not be screwing? Especially when it involved spanking and biting and a lot of things you’d only read about in Cosmo?

Thank you?

That hardly seemed appropriate, but it was certainly the most fitting thing to say.

Roman tucked an arm under me. “So about that…”

His words trailed off, waiting for me to respond, but I was as rattled as he was. Not only was he technically a professor, but I was technically on the rebound.

“I don’t normally do that,” I said, but it came out in a muddled rush. My mouth was working faster than my brain. “I mean, sleep with professors or people I’m not dating or let professors or people I’m not dating bite me and spank me—and oh my god, I’m going to shut up now.”

He popped up, resting his head on his hand and raised an eyebrow before he started to laugh. “Do you think I sleep with former students?”

“You better not,” I said, adding a smack to his shoulder to make me sound less jealous.

“I never have.” His voice was low and husky, and I pressed closer to him, already wanting more. “I’ve never looked at a student like that. But you—you would come to class and you always had something to say. You weren’t just skating by, trying to get an easy comm requirement out of the way. And there I was, seeing a beautiful woman three times a week—a woman who was everything I’d ever wanted— and knowing that I couldn’t even ask her out. But you got under my skin, Jessica Stone.”

And into his pants. What was I thinking? My options were pretty limited. Could we just put this behind us and pretend it never happened? What if I didn’t want to do that? Because I’d wanted Markson since the first time I’d seen him. Now that I could have him, would a week really be enough? “This really isn’t like me,” I repeated. “I never”—

“Stop,” he said. “I don’t go for one night stands. I know you aren’t the type, which is one of the reasons that I couldn’t stop myself when you kissed me.”

“What if I kissed you now?” I asked, biting my lip. Apparently I wasn’t going with the put-this-behind-us route. Nope, I definitely wanted to head down the do-it-again path.

“If we’re going another round, I’m going to have to eat something first and possibly stretch.” Roman brushed his lips over mine and vaulted out of bed. I couldn’t help but watch his tight, perfect ass as he bent to pick up his pants. He didn’t look like he needed to stretch to me.

“Don’t,” I said as he began to pull them on.

“I’m not sure Cassie wants to see me in my birthday suit.”

He was selling himself short. All women the world over wanted to see him naked.

His mouth quirked up into a crooked grin, and I felt the familiar tick of my clit. I was ready to go again and it took all my willpower to clamp my thighs shut and let him walk out of the room.

Tumbling out of bed, I discovered my legs had turned to jelly—all wobbly and shaking and glorious. I fished through the clothes Cassie had given me until I found a long tank top that mostly covered my ass and headed out to find him rummaging in the fridge.

“This is a really nice place,” Roman said as I came into view. The fridge light framed his muscular silhouette, accenting the hard, but graceful curves of his abs and biceps. “You don’t have much food though.”

He was right. We’d picked up a dozen or so bottles of wine and one good bottle of tequila when we were out and nothing else.

“Cassie says we’re on the liquid break-up diet. This place is courtesy of Cassie’s ex-boyfriend,” I admitted. I lounged back against the counter, unable to close the gap between Roman and I.

Roman swung the fridge door shut and turned to me, hooking an arm around my waist and drawing me to him. “Her ex seems….charitable.”

“We’ll see if that’s true when he gets the bill.”

“It sounds like there’s a story there,” he said.

I tried to focus on our conversation, but with him this close I was having a hard time concentrating. “There is.”

“Will Cassie be okay if you leave her?” he asked me.

“Probably. I think she's suffering more from a broken heart than alcohol.” But even as I said it, I remembered I needed to check on her.

“Sounds like she's trying to drink it off,” he said.

“Yeah. He royally fucked up.” Guilt started to filter through my post-orgasmic haze. Poor Cassie was in the next room, trying to heal her wounded heart and I was nailing Roman. In the last five years I’d had one bad break-up. It was years ago, but even thinking about it turned my stomach over. I wasn’t going to be winning any friend of the year awards.

Roman’s head tilted and he regarded me in a thoughtful way. “I’m starving. Your best friend is drunk. I have no choice but to go out and procure food.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve totally got this,” I said quickly, embarrassed that he felt the need to take care of me. I could see where he’d gotten the idea that I needed help. So far I’d been robbed at the airport and been blackmailed into paying off a street vendor. I really could take care of myself and Cassie. I just hadn’t had the chance to yet.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile dancing in his eyes. “I know you’re a strong, independent woman. Which is why I’m offering to go to the market and get right back to being barefoot in the kitchen.”

“Where you belong?” My lips twitched at the idea of Roman cooking for me.

“Mi bella—” Roman leaned forward and trailed a finger along my jaw—“I cook better than I screw.”

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

“Y-y-yeah,” I stammered. “Groceries would be great.”

A smug grin took up residence on Roman’s face as he pulled his shirt on and buttoned it. It was like the exact opposite of Christmas morning, as if he was rewrapping my presents and taking them away, and it left me feeling flustered and anxious and disappointed. But after he slipped on his sandals he caught my hand and drew me to him. Roman pressed his lips to mine, lingering long enough that my mouth parted in welcome to him. His tongue flicked across the bow of my upper lip, but then he pulled back, leaving me breathless.

“Una semana,” he whispered before he disappeared out the patio door.

I didn’t need a translation. It wasn’t simply a reminder though, it was a promise. A promise that we didn’t have to rush. That we didn’t have to hold back. That there was more to come. At least, for one week.