"Hey, I'm not the one who brought up poison," he shot back.
"The hell you didn't. That look you gave the salad all but spelled out you thought it toxic."
"I was curious about the croutons."
"You were suspicious of the croutons. And now you're suspicious of the spaghetti. Let me show you how ridiculous you're being." She reached for the bowl.
He grabbed it off the table. "I'll eat it."
"I wouldn't dream of letting you take such a risk," she huffed back at him, standing and gripping the near rim of the bowl with both hands. "Not until I've taste-tested the blasted dish for you."
"I don't need you taste-testing anything for me." He tugged at the bowl. She tugged back. "Dammit woman, I ate your hamburgers without complaint."
"I knew you couldn't stay quiet about them forever," she howled, letting go of the bowl just as he jerked on it.
She'd never dreamed spaghetti could flip out of a bowl that easily, that spectacularly. But there they were, thin strands of pasta dripping with sauce flying through the air and landing in Roman's lap, the very lap she'd earlier fantasized dumping sauce into…and licking it up. How Freudian was this?
Roman, meanwhile, just sat there staring in disbelief at the mess in his lap. Then, with an ominous silence, he scooped up the tangle of noodles and deposited them back in their bowl.
"I'm sorry," she said, biting the insides of her cheeks not to laugh as she rounded the table toward him. "Let me help you clean up."
She began rubbing at his sauce stained lap with her napkin. He caught her by the wrist and stood. His chest rose and fell with each breath and, she swore, his nostrils even flared.
"I'll clean myself up," he said through tight lips, then released her and strode stiffly into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
Tess flinched. That wasn't quite the result she'd been going for. That wasn't even close to what she'd planned. Now what could she do?
In the bathroom, the water in the shower splashed on. The metallic scrape of the curtain hooks along the rod signaled when he'd stepped into the shower. He'd be naked in that shower…now. Wouldn't he be surprised if she walked in on him?
Surprised or aroused?
Or angry.
Only one way to find out.
Tess strode down the hall, opened the bathroom door with purpose, and tore back the shower curtain.
"Look here, Roman. You want it and I want it. We're both frustrated."
He gaped at her, steamy water spattering off the side of his head and sluicing down over his shoulder, his chest, his abdomen, his…
He dropped the washcloth he held between her gaze and his dangling assets. Oh yeah, they both wanted it.
She brought her gaze back up to his face and looked into his astonished eyes. "The only way we are going to end this frustration is to have sex. When you're ready, you know where to find me."
She released the shower curtain and walked out of the bathroom.
The closing door sent a current of cool air through the room, into the shower stall, and over Roman's wet body. It was like a slap to his ego. Or a wake-up call.
She had said they were both frustrated? Hell, Tess Abbot didn't know jack about frustration.
Frustration was looking into a woman's eyes and falling in love only to get your ears pinned back. Frustration was sleeping one flight below a temptress who slept in your t-shirt or less. Frustration was having your dick poised on the brink of hot, wet penetration only to be denied for lack of protection. He'd show her frustration.
He caught up to her half way to the kitchen, grabbed her by the upper arm and swung her against the wall. Before she could protest, he covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her surprised "Oh" and slipping his tongue between her parted teeth. Her body melted against his and her eyes drifted shut.
"Is this what you had in mind," he muttered against her lips, pinning her back against the wall with his wet body.
"It's a start," she purred, her fingers against the nape of his neck like tiny lightning strikes seeking ground on his water-beaded skin.
For a moment, he lost himself to the play of her small, taut tongue across his teeth. He lost himself in the lush curves she arched against his naked body--to the contact of her bare thigh to his naked sex. How easy it would be to strip away her skimpy shorts and whatever silk scrap of panty she wore beneath.
But he had something else in mind for Tess Abbot. He was going to teach her the meaning of frustration.
He clamped his hands over her hips and held her against the wall. He stroked her bare stomach with his thumbs--nudged the cool ring piercing her warm belly button. He stroked the ring again, circling it with one thumb. Circled it again and again. He wanted to know what that ring would feel like against the tip of his tongue--to taste it and find out if it tasted like her.
He wanted to taste her.
A low, warning growl rumbled in his throat. This wasn't supposed to be about pleasure. Not his. Not hers. This was supposed to be about teaching the woman who'd brought him to the boiling point only to deny him what that kind of frustration felt like.
He needed to tease her.
He stroked the bottom tines of her ribs. He stroked higher, beneath the loose lower edge of the crop-top.
She squirmed beneath his touch.
He nudged the undersides of her breasts. Her moan buzzed against his lips, vibrated through his mouth, and reverberated straight into his primal core. He twitched against her thigh, realizing he'd sagged into her.
Not good. Not if he was going to make Tess Abbot suffer as he had.
Not when he needed to tame her.
He pulled back and removed his mouth from hers. He feathered kisses along the line of her jaw and nipped at the curve of her neck. She wriggled within the staying grip of his hands on her waist, straining against his restraint--struggling to lift her body against his.
She was close. Very close. Almost to the point where he'd been when she'd stopped them. But not quite close enough.
He moved one hand from her waist, moved it down her hip, across her thigh, and into the heat between her legs. Her body arched, tearing her mouth from his and pushing her body against his hand. As responsive as she was, he doubted he'd need do little more to bring her over the edge.
But, his intent wasn't to send her into the abyss of sexual release. If it were, he'd want to be with her, skin to skin. He'd want to be gripped by her contractions and drenched by her release.
He'd want to be inside her.
Heavy with his blood and his need, his sex throbbed between his legs.
He wanted to be inside her.
But, to give in to his need and join in her release was to lose.
Yet, to resist, to exact his vengeance by denying her, would be to deny himself. Something else niggled at him from deep in his soul. If he did conquer his own needs and extract his revenge, would he be able to look himself in the mirror tomorrow morning?
Roman went still and Tess met his conflicted gaze. There was a war waging inside him. She saw it in his eyes and in the pucker of his brow. She heard it in his ragged breaths--felt it in the tension of his muscles.
Continue or stop? That's the dilemma his body battled.
Strangely, she understood his conflict…though she suspected he struggled to stop for a different reason than she had the night they'd lain naked on the floor at the foot of her bed. She'd stopped them then because reason had prevailed.
But for Roman, the prevailing emotion warring with his passion was vengeance. She'd recognized it in the way he pinned her to the wall and the way he growled at her.
Anger.
Vengeance.
He wanted to pay her back for frustrating him. He wanted to leave her hungry for him. She almost welcomed his betrayal. It would make him like every other man in her life. It would kill this desire she felt for him.
It would make him…safe.
But the emotion in his eyes changed. The lines pinched around them telegraphed his
decision before his ragged voice even spoke the words. "Do you still have those condoms?"
No. "In the dresser in my room."
He scooped her up in his arms and took the stairs two at a time. The thrill of it tickled Tess' stomach, and raised a trail of gooseflesh up her spine. What was wrong with her? This was what she'd intended to happen when she'd set out to seduce Roman. Wasn’t it?
She buried her face against his shoulder. But, what if she was wrong? What if once would not be enough?
He dropped her beside the bed, spun toward the dresser, and began opening drawers, demanding, "Which one?"
Don't tell him. "Top right."
He faced her, condom box in hand. He was magnificent, standing there before her naked, damp, and fully aroused.
Last chance to stop this train wreck of an affair.
In one fluid movement, she peeled the crop-top off over her head and slid the shorts down her legs. Kicking the shorts aside, she stepped close to him and reached into the condom box.
"Let me help you," she said in a husky voice, so tremulous she almost didn't recognize herself.
His pupils flared, devouring his eyes, turning them a smoky shade of passion.
She tore open the foil wrapper, knelt before Roman, and placed the sheath on the tip of his cock. The condom box crushed in his fist and foil packets spilled out onto the floor.
"I better do that," he said in a tight voice, his fingers replacing hers.
She rose and stroked his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He trembled with restraint. Against his own passion? Or against her?
"Roman," she whispered raggedly, "Are you sure--"
He cut her off with a kiss, a kiss that seemed to meld their lips together and send sparks down her throat, through her stomach, and into her womb. She opened her mouth wider, taking him as deep into her as she could, swallowing every passionate syllable he moaned and answering him with her own.
Beneath her hands, the muscles bunched across his shoulders, rippled down his spine, and contracted in his butt cheeks. His groan echoed through her mouth and into her soul. No one should have this much power over another. Not her over him. Not him over her.
But she loved the abrasive stroke of his broad, callused hands down her back. She loved the possessive wrap of his arms and the promise in his moans. She loved that he shuddered with need at her touch.
She hitched a leg over his hip, opening herself to him, inviting him closer. He caught her by the back of the knee, leaned down and nipped her throat.
She threw her head back and thrust her pelvis forward, begging for more. He bent and drew her nipple into his mouth, his suckling sending darts of pain and pleasure through her. So absorbed was she in his artful handling, she didn't notice him lowering her leg, not until her foot touched the floor.
"Please," she pleaded, trying to raise her foot again only to find he held her planted as firmly on two feet as a woman could be while a man trailed kisses down her stomach.
The tip of his tongue touched the ring in her belly button and a jolt as powerful as a lightning strike shot through her as though searching a route to exit. She knew where she wanted it to exit. She knew which part of Roman needed to connect with her in order for the path to be completed.
She struggled against the broad hands clamped over her hips, holding her in place while a masterful tongue explored the tiny gold ring and the terrain in which it had been planted. She gripped him by the shoulders to steady herself when he trailed feathery kisses across her abdomen and gasped approval when he hooked her leg over his shoulder.
One darting flick of his tongue and she crumpled against him. He lifted her onto the bed and finished the kiss he'd begun. Then he knelt between her legs and thrust himself inside her, at last bringing to ground the lightning bolts of pleasure zigzagging through her body.
#
In the first tentative grays of false dawn, Tess woke in Roman's arms, sated and deliciously sore. Roman had proven to be a thorough lover, not once, not twice, but three times.
The first time had been hot and frenzied. The second, they'd awakened on top of the covers in a tangle of limbs, still hungry for each other. But, playful this time, they'd wound up tumbling to the floor when reaching for the spilled condoms. Taking the dominant position, she'd ministered as thoroughly to him as he had to her the first time.
She purred with satisfaction and snuggled into the cradle of his body. God he felt good pressed against the length of her back. All that hot, hard flesh.
He stirred against her, making her body twitch in the most distracting of places. She wasn't going to let him sleep if he kept moving against her like that.
But four times in one night? What could they possibly do that was more sating than their third love making session, the one that had been tender and sweet? It was more cuddling than fireworks and, in some ways, the most satisfying of all.
…And the most unsettling, now that she thought about it.
One of Roman's calloused hands slid from her hip and splayed across her belly. Possessive? For a woman who'd sworn never again to allow herself to be possessed by any man, she liked far too much the notion of belonging to Roman. She squeezed her eyes shut, finally putting into words what had freaked her out about him the first time she'd looked into his eyes.
Soul mate. That's what she'd seen when she'd opened The Castle door to him the day they first met face to face. And soul mate equaled love. One did not seduce a soul mate and expect to walk away unscathed. She'd known that all along. That's why she'd held him at bay with terse words and petty complaint…until last night. She clearly hadn't thought her choice through as thoroughly as she thought she had.
Roman's breath stirred against her neck. She wasn't going to figure this out as long as she stayed in his arms, relishing his breath on her neck and tingling to his touch.
She eased out from under his arm and out of the bed where they'd made love throughout the night.
Made love. She stifled a groan. Why couldn't it have been just great sex?
That had been the plan. A night of great sex and the itch would be gone. What a fool she'd been.
She slipped into The Bargain Mart robe and fled down the steps.
The scene that greeted her when she turned on the kitchen light was little better than what she ran from. The meal they'd left forgotten when passion had taken over covered the kitchen table like a battlefield post skirmish.
Cinching the robe closed, she went about picking up the mess. Activity always helped her think. But, swiping the spilled spaghetti from tabletop into garbage bag reminded her how shocked Roman looked when the pasta landed in his lap--of how she'd had all she could do to keep from laughing. Not so funny now that she realized sex hadn't been the answer to her itch.
She dumped the wilted salad into the bag and loaded the dishwasher, nagged by the one question that hung over her like Damocles' sword. Could she and Roman keep this conflagration of an attraction confined to the bedroom?
With dampened dishcloth in hand, she turned to the table. Through the open door of Roman's bedroom, the corner of his bed was visible--his marriage bed. Roman St. John wanted a wife to keep his house and to be the mother of his children. She wasn't that woman. That was the problem. She couldn't be what he needed in his life without losing who she was.
A step squeaked behind her. She stilled. Roman reached around her, taking the cloth from her hand and enclosing her in his embrace before she could answer her own question.
"We could have cleaned this up together in the morning," he said.
Together? Could he be that partner oriented? Or was he courting her? In her experience men tended to say even do whatever it took to get a woman to put on his ring. But Roman had proven himself a man of his word.
Tentatively, she laid her head against his shoulder. "What are we going to do now?"
He tossed the rag onto the table, turned her, and brushed his lips across hers. "How's that for starters?"
A kinder, gentler Rom
an was not what she needed when she was trying to figure out if there was a way for them to both get what they wanted. Better for her if Roman was snapping and snarling at her.
No. His sparring with her had acted more like foreplay than anything else. Six weeks plus of foreplay. No wonder their fiasco of a dinner had ended in the best sex of her life.
She groaned and pressed her face into his shoulder.
Roman's arms tightened around her. "Tess? Is there a problem?"
She rolled her head back and forth. "Having sex was supposed to have ended the frustration." Not make me want more.
She could almost hear the smile stretch across his lips. "It did a pretty good job for me. I'm not nearly as wired as I was before. Didn't it work that way for you?"
"We're too different," she said.
"We're supposed to be different," he murmured against her temple. "That's what enables a man's body and a woman's body to fit together."
"We want different things," she argued, trying to extricate herself from his arms.
"Just tell me what you want," he murmured, brushing his lips across her ear. "I'll be happy to try again."
"It wasn't a good idea last Friday night and it still isn't a good idea."
He nipped her earlobe. "You're the one who charged into my shower telling me it was the only thing we could do."
"I was wrong. There. I said it. Just the thing you've been waiting weeks to hear from me. I was wrong."
He laughed a deep heady, nerve-provoking laugh. "Then let me show you all that's right between us, Princess."
He reached under the satin robe.
"This isn't about sex," she protested.
Still, her insides turned liquid in response to his touch. She wanted to enjoy more of what they had shared through the night. But, there were issues to settle.
"Roman--"
He stopped her with a kiss.
"We need to talk," she muttered against his lips.
"Shhh," buzzed his command against her mouth.
"But--"
He pulled her against his hard, naked body and backed her into the table. The chilly Formica made her jump against him. His resulting moan reverberated clear down her throat to the center of her being. Roman St. John was every bit as intoxicating as she'd feared he would be.
Taming Tess (The St. John Sibling Series) Page 15