by Aly Martinez
He lifted a pair of chopsticks in the air and asked, “Did you get extra wasabi?”
I swiftly stepped between the two of them, fearing a brawl in the middle of my kitchen. That brawl being a verbal one but no less messy.
“Okay, okay. Let’s chill out.”
“Where’s the lighter fluid?” Kristen questioned, glowering at her brother as he shoved a piece of sashimi in his mouth, completely unaffected.
A laugh sprang from my throat, causing all eyes to swing my way.
“I’m sorry,” I told Kristen. “It’s just…” I miss this. I continued to laugh and waved the rest of my statement off.
I glanced back at Roman and found him leaning against the counter, his weight resting on his hip, his legs crossed at the ankle, a smile showing on his chewing mouth.
Gorgeous.
And comfortable.
And so fucking right.
Oh God.
I kept laughing because it felt amazing for the first time in as long as I could remember.
Do not get used to this.
“Wine?” I asked through a giggle just as another knock came.
Kristen was immediately off and stomping to the door.
I started to go after her, fearing a brawl of a different nature, when Roman caught my bicep.
“Don’t,” he ordered, sliding an arm around my waist.
Chills swirled down my spine as he bent to whisper in my ear.
“Just because I’m not firing Seth doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole. He deserves whatever fury she’s about to rain down upon him.” His lips swept my neck, and regardless of what my mind was screaming, my body shifted into his side and my hand moved to the firm ridges of his stomach.
It was as though the connection completed a full circuit, because the hairs on the back of my neck prickled and a heat only Roman Leblanc could give me pooled between my legs.
One simple touch and I was ready.
I’d always been that way with him though.
After we ate our “beef” gyros, we strolled to my apartment, talking, laughing, and making out in every alley we stumbled across. By the time we’d gotten to my door, his hand was down the front of my shirt and I was exploring the hard planes of his chest.
My neighbors, should they have been up at three a.m., were going to get a show. But I couldn’t have cared less. Roman had that way about him. He made me forget the world around me. He was enough. And, together, we were everything. I knew that even though I’d only had him in my life for one day.
I’d laughed at his proposal. But maybe I was the crazy one for not saying yes immediately. It was wrong though; people didn’t get engaged on their first date.
If only I could explain why I so badly wanted to say yes.
“Roman,” I breathed, swinging my door open as he swept my panties to the side, one finger sliding inside me.
“Fuck. Me,” he murmured before laving his tongue up my neck. His mouth trailed kisses up to my ear as his husky voice rumbled. “So fucking ready for me.”
I was.
So fucking ready for all of him.
“Roman,” I moaned, tipping my head to the side to allow him better access.
His finger hooked inside me, sending a rush of ecstasy through me.
“More,” I pleaded, my head falling back as I struggled to stay on my feet.
His strong arm looped around my hips, keeping me upright. He removed his fingers and lifted me off my feet so I dangled inches off the ground as he sidestepped us into my apartment.
“Get the door, baby,” he ordered.
Baby.
I’d have done anything he wanted if it was proceeded with the smooth sound of baby falling from his lips.
With a kick, I slammed the door shut.
Suddenly, we were alone, and as his mouth sealed over mine, our tongues gloriously gliding together, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to open it again.
His frenzied hands gentled long enough to lower me to the floor. My couch was mere feet away, but we hadn’t had the time nor the desire to make it that far.
His hard body covered mine, his hips falling between my open legs.
Then my shirt was off in a matter of seconds, and my skirt quickly followed.
“Fuck, Lis,” he grunted, sliding down my body. His finger curled in the top of my bra, tugging it down before taking my nipple between his lips. His warm tongue swirled and his teeth nipped, shooting sparks that rivaled any orgasm I’d ever had straight to my clit.
“Roman,” I moaned, arching my back and pressing more of my breast into his mouth.
He growled, the vibrations coaxing me closer to the edge. His hair was too short to thread my fingers through, so I palmed the back of his head, holding him as though he were attempting to get away. He absolutely wasn’t.
I lifted my hips when I felt the tips of his fingers start their descent down my stomach.
Our groans harmonized as he dipped his fingers between my legs and pressed in just enough to taunt me.
“Please,” I begged.
His head popped up to catch my gaze. “Given any more thought to that proposal?” he asked with a smirk that was all Roman Leblanc.
And, therefore, I didn’t just see it—I felt it. Deep inside, where no other man had ever been.
“This is crazy,” I told him, spreading my legs wide.
“I know,” he whispered, holding my gaze as he slid two fingers inside me.
I writhed, driving myself down, unable to get close enough.
I needed more. Not the kind of more his body could offer.
I wanted the kind of more that spoke to my soul that only Roman had to offer.
His hand worked me, pumping in and out, taking me closer and closer to the edge.
“Roman, I—”
“Shh… It’s okay, baby. Offer’s on the table. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here. All you have to do is say yes.” He dropped his thumb to my clit and skillfully circled.
As an orgasm so strong that I feared I’d never be able to recover tore through me, I realized I was absolutely ready for anything and everything as long as it was with him.
“Mmm,” Roman purred into the top of my hair, snapping me out of my thoughts. I was plastered against his side, my hand fisting the front of his shirt, my cheeks heated, and my legs nearly shaking. Cupping my chin, he tipped my head back so he could meet my gaze. “What are you thinking about, babe?”
Nope. No way was I answering that question.
Luckily, I didn’t have to because, just as Kristen pulled open the door, ready to give Seth the tongue-lashing of his life, the air went static.
“Oh shit,” Kristen mumbled, glancing back at me, her eyes wide with apology.
His gaze found mine over the top of Kristen’s head. It dropped to my hand on Roman’s stomach as he said, “Liz?”
“Jon. Hey!” she said in surprise, immediately evacuating her position at my side and hurrying toward the door. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
The man’s eyes focused on me as he absently answered, “You didn’t show up at the Victorian. Been calling for the last hour. I got worried.”
I trailed after her, doing my best not to show the rage boiling in my veins or the sour churning in my gut.
For the love of all that’s holy, don’t let this be her boyfriend.
She stepped in front of Kristen, forcing her to move from the doorway. “Shit. I’m sorry. Today’s been crazy.”
Jon’s gaze flashed to mine as he shifted awkwardly in the doorway. “I can see.”
It hadn’t exactly been said in an asshole tone, but that was up for interpretation. However, just the fact that he was standing in Elisabeth’s doorway had my interpretation skewed—and not in his favor.
Shoving my hand over her shoulder to offer a shake, I smiled something that I hoped read: Hi, how ya doing? Meanwhile, my eyes read: If you’ve ever touched her, that shit is officially over. But it was my mouth that said, “I don’t believe we’ve
met. I’m Roman Leblanc, Elisabeth’s husband.”
Her body went solid before she corrected, “Ex! Ex-husband.”
I shrugged and kept my eyes on Jon as I stated, “That’s debatable.”
“It’s not debatable!” she yelled over her shoulder at me. Then she looked back at the asshole and said, “He’s my ex-husband.”
“We’re still figuring that part out,” I amended.
Jon’s eyes bounced between us as he silently took us in. By the frustration and disappointment coloring his face, he was coming to the correct conclusion.
Or at least correct as far as I was concerned.
Elisabeth was on a slightly different page.
“We’re not figuring anything out!” she exclaimed, shoving my unshaken hand back over her shoulder. “Come on, Jon. Let’s talk on the porch.”
I should have let her go. I had no reason to be jealous. The connection Elisabeth and I shared was undeniable, no matter how much she tried to pretend she hated me. Hell, she had reason to hate me, but she’d spent the day in my arms, reminding me that I’d been living half of a life for the last two years. And, moments before this guy had arrived, her face had been red, her hand had been clutching my shirt, and a soft moan had escaped her throat. There was no fucking way I was losing that.
She might have been confused about who she belonged to.
But Jon would not walk out of that house without being fully informed.
Stepping in front of her, I slid a hand up her neck and into her hair, gently fisting until it forced her head back. Her breath caught as I leaned into her face, and I took great pleasure in the goose bumps that pebbled her smooth skin.
Brushing my nose with hers, I whispered, “Hurry up, baby. Sushi’s waiting.”
She stared, her lips parting as I licked my own. She was in my trance. I recognized it because I’d been lost in hers for nearly a decade.
Ever so slightly, she tipped her chin up, offering me the lips I was starved for. I could have taken her right there in front of Kristen, Jon, and the entire fucking city of Atlanta and she would have come willingly.
“Always so fucking ready for me,” I murmured.
I wanted to kiss her—and never stop.
Unless it was to move my mouth between her legs.
At the thought, a low sound rumbled in my throat, and she suddenly came alert.
She blinked once, twice, and then I lost her.
Her hand went to my shoulder, shoving roughly as she seethed, “Let me go.”
Tightening my fist in her hair, I whispered, “Never,” before releasing her. Smiling at the man fuming in the doorway, I called out, “Nice to meet you, Jon,” as I casually turned and walked back to the kitchen.
When I heard the front door slam behind me, my shoulders fell and I closed my eyes. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I propped myself up on a white-knuckled fist on the island.
“Wow,” Kristen breathed behind me. “That was…”
Fuck. Time to be bitched at.
I lifted a hand to silence her. “I don’t want to hear it. I need a fucking drink, not a lecture.”
Her open hand landed hard on my shoulder, and my eyes popped open.
“Holy shit! That was incredible.” She laughed.
A shy smile tipped one side of my lips. I asked nervously, “Yeah? You think?”
“Roman! She hated you yesterday, and I swear to God she just came from that whole hand-in-the-hair bit.” She wrapped both hands in the front of my shirt and shook me. “Oh my God! You’re gonna get Elisabeth back!”
I barked a laugh of relief. “I’m sure as hell gonna try,” I told her.
She squealed, jumping into my arms like we were kids again.
Movement outside the front window caught my attention. Elisabeth’s feet swayed back and forth in the porch swing, Jon’s right beside her, which reminded me that we had a long way to go before we could celebrate anything.
“Okay, stop.” I used her shoulders to shift her off me. “I need you to fill me in on everything about his guy so I know what I’m up against.”
“Who? Jon?”
“No, the other man sitting on a swing I hung in a house that I bought and doing it all while sitting next to my wife.”
She attempted a glare, but her smile was too wide to give it any heat.
She headed toward the fridge and pulled two beers out, passing me one before starting. “Okay, so Jon…”
Two beers later, I was sitting on the corner of the island when Elisabeth came back inside carrying a plastic bag filled with to-go boxes.
She lifted them in the air, saying, “I decided to save Seth from certain death.”
“That son of a bitch,” Kristen cursed.
I chuckled, tipping the beer to my lips and hopping down to meet her.
She passed the bags off to me, but her eyes never met mine as she headed straight for the glass of wine I had waiting for her on the counter.
“Soooo, how’s Jon?” Kristen asked.
“He’s good,” she replied between gulps of her Chardonnay, not looking at either of us.
“Everything okay?” Kristen pushed.
“Yep,” Elisabeth answered curtly, going to work on removing the boxes from the bags I’d set on the counter. She robotically opened each before closing it and sliding it down the counter to make room for the next. Once they were all laid out, she opened the cabinet above her and retrieved two plates.
Two.
Not three.
Two.
I felt Kristen’s gaze cut to me, but I was studiously watching Elisabeth’s back as she removed gyros from their boxes and delicately placed them on the blue, floral plates we’d received as a wedding gift. After she got every fry in place, she set one beside Kristen and the other beside me. Then she finally lifted her gaze.
I flinched when I got a look at the pain etched into her face. It was a look I knew well—defeat.
Shit. Maybe Kristen was wrong and this Jon guy actually means something to Elisabeth.
“Lissy,” I breathed, reaching out to her.
She took a step away and aimed her eyes at the floor. “Y’all go ahead and eat. Just let yourself out whenever you’re done. I’m gonna call it a night.”
“Elisabeth,” Kristen called, but she only lifted a hand in a wave and rushed from the room.
I moved to follow her but stopped at the foot of the stairs as she disappeared up to the top.
“What the hell was that?” Kristen asked after we’d both heard the bedroom door quietly close.
I raked a hand through the top of my hair. “No clue. You’re sure about this Jon guy?”
“Positive. No way that’s about him.” Kristen appeared at my side, offering one of the plates of food my way. “Here. Go after her. I’ll let the dog in and lock up.”
I nodded, but my feet remained stuck. That expression on Elisabeth’s face had been like a knife from the past, gutting me all over again. She had worn that look of heartbreaking despondency every time I’d seen her after Tripp died. Back then, I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought that, if I could give her another baby, maybe, just maybe, I could make it all go away and bring the vibrant woman who’d stolen my heart back.
I physically couldn’t do it. Fertility just wasn’t on my side.
And it killed me that I wasn’t financially able to do it either. I was a soldier who had gotten out of the military with hopes and dreams of starting my own consulting firm. But hopes and dreams wouldn’t give us a baby. For that, I needed cold, hard cash.
So I went to work. All day. All night. Busting my ass so I could offer her the world.
Only, in the process, I lost it all.
And, in my stupidity, she lost it all, too.
Money fixed exactly zero of my problems. I could buy anything I wanted.
Except her.
Never her.
“Roman,” Kristen hissed, taking my hand and wrapping it around the edge of the plate. “Go!”
I c
losed my eyes, sucked in a breath, and did what I should have done years earlier.
I walked up the stairs to save my wife—and our family.
Only I didn’t make it far.
A man greeted me at the top of the stairway.
“Fuck!” I yelled, my hands immediately going up in defense, french fries flying everywhere. I caught the plate at the last second as my eyes adjusted and I recognized the man.
Me.
“Fucking shit!” I shouted, taking in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that covered the entirety of the wall, including the one beside it that ran parallel to the two bedroom doors on one side of the landing.
It had most definitely not been there when I’d moved out, and frankly, it was scary as hell.
The door cracked, and Elisabeth’s head poked out.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her cheeks still damp from crying.
I ignored her question and pointed to the mirror with the plate. “What the fucking hell is that?”
Her head twisted to the side, her lip curling with attitude as she answered, “A mirror.”
“Okay, but why?”
She swung the door open and propped a shoulder on the jamb. “Well, originally, it was an effort to make this tiny hallway feel bigger. But it didn’t exactly go as planned. Now, I just feel like I live in a fun house. I’ve been…”
I believe there were more words spoken after that, but the blood drained from my head in a rush down south.
She’d changed clothes. Elisabeth’s sleep attire was much like her fancy daily wear. No frumpy old sweats for her. She slept in short, silky dresses, nightgowns, nighties. Whatever they were called, I loved them for a myriad of reasons. Including the way they showed her legs off and the ridiculously easy access they offered in the middle of the night. But, upon seeing her now, I remembered my favorite reason of all: They left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Everything, from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her hips, was outlined in spectacular fashion.
My eyes dropped to her nipples, which were peaking behind the fabric, and just as quickly, her arms came up to cross over them.
“Anyway,” she said, “did you need something?”
Yes. You. Naked and calling my name. “You need to eat.”