Roman's Having Sex Again

by Nikki Ashton

  ‘Well, don’t ever come to me if he hurts you or your sister,’ Roman said quietly, moving to the door and holding it open. ‘He’s a bastard, and he doesn’t care who he hurts. Now, if we’ve finished, I have work to do.’

  He waved me out of his office, not allowing me to respond; then as soon as I was through the door, it slammed shut behind me.

  Worry and confusion gnawing at my gut, I made my way back to Pippa. As I approached the table, I could see that she and Jack had their heads together and were laughing. Watching them, after hearing what Roman had said, I found myself looking at Jack through different eyes. His whole demeanour was that of a man confident in himself. He was loud and slick, not a hair in the wrong place, and when I thought about it, we’d talked about him all night. He’d also been quick to pass on gossip about Roman that had been totally unfounded—well, it was unfounded as far as I was concerned. But, being a gossip didn’t mean he would hurt me, or Pippa, for that matter. He wouldn’t have an opportunity, because even before Roman had spoken to me, I’d already decided I wouldn’t be actively seeking Jack out in the future.

  As I continued to watch, Jack nodded down at Pippa’s glass and then went off to the bar. I took the opportunity to go back to my sister.

  ‘Hey, you ready to go yet?’ I asked, knocking back the rest of my drink.

  ‘Now?’ She looked at her watch, and screwed up her nose. ‘There’s only an hour to go, we may as well stay until the end.’

  I knew she wouldn’t budge, and it looked as though Jack was getting more drinks in, so we’d have to finish those first.

  ‘Okay, but it’ll be your fault if we struggle to get a taxi.’

  Pippa grinned at me, knowing that, once again, she’d got her own way.

  ‘Anyway, you sneaky little devil,’ she gasped. ‘You never told me what a little hottie your boss was. No wonder you snogged him. Hey, is that what he wanted you for then?’

  Her eyes shone with excitement as she bounced up and down on her stool.

  ‘Did he feel your tits this time?’

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her stupid antics.

  ‘No, he just wanted to check something about work.’

  ‘Oh really,’ she groaned, disappointed. ‘I was sure you were necking again. I told Jack I was sure.’

  ‘And what did he say?’ I asked, trying to sound disinterested.

  ‘Nothing, he just nodded and said “Oh”. Why do you fancy him too?’ Her eyes were wide as she stared at me aghast.

  ‘God no, not at all,’ I replied a little too vehemently. ‘Why, do you?’

  I’d seen the flirting and the little glint in her eye. Jack was flash and happy to spend his cash on drinks, and while I loved my sister, I knew that she was a little shallow, and so was worried that she’d find Jack Abbott’s money very attractive.

  ‘Maybe,’ she grinned around her drinking straw. ‘Depends how much money he’s got.’

  ‘Pippa, please tell me you’re joking.’

  Pippa shrugged and winked at me before taking another loud slurp of her drink.

  I pushed my empty glass away, hoping I’d be able to do as Roman had asked—well, demanded—and not see Jack again. There was something in Roman’s eyes that told me I should listen to him, but it all depended on my sister.

  When I got to the office on Monday morning, Roman was already there which gave me no time at all to prepare for facing him.

  ‘Morning,’ he mumbled as he spooned coffee into a cup. ‘Want one?’

  I blinked rapidly, ignoring the desire to flee, and nodded. ‘Please.’

  I sat at my desk and turned on my PC, surreptitiously watching from the corner of my eye as Roman waited for the kettle to boil. After a couple of minutes—which felt like hours—he approached my desk and placed the mug of coffee on it.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, looking up at him.

  Roman lifted his chin in acknowledgment and moved away towards his office. I’m not sure what went off in my brain to make me open my mouth, but something did and before I could stop myself the words were out.

  ‘Do we need to talk about Friday night?’ I blurted out.

  Roman turned and stared at me. As he rubbed at his temple with his forefinger, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. We would only end up arguing, and I was being stupid resurrecting our argument. He’d told me his worries, I’d listened, and that should be it. The problem was, my stubbornness about seeing Jack again—when I never had any intention of doing so—had been playing on my mind. I had to poke that bear.

  Roman breathed out a deep sigh of annoyance and moved a couple of steps away from my desk.

  ‘What else is there to say,’ he stated quietly. ‘You either don’t believe me, or you’re going to choose to ignore my warning. Subject closed.’

  ‘I’m not ignoring what you said. I just didn’t like you telling me what to do, but …’ I said lowering my voice, ‘... I do feel I should apologise for being rude to you.’

  Roman tilted his head and gave me a grin.

  ‘Shit, we are definitely making progress here.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I said, trying to hide my smile. ‘Maybe I realised that you were simply trying to be nice.’

  ‘Me, nice?’ Roman asked incredulously. ‘No fucking way, I’d rather eat shit first.’

  We both burst out laughing and thankfully any tension was gone.

  ‘Is it bad what he’s done?’ I asked, sitting back in my chair and taking a sip of my coffee.

  ‘Yeah, it is. And it’s not a one-off incident either. He’s a wanker, Summer, and if I was the last person on earth who could help him out of a dangerous situation, I wouldn’t.’

  I stared at Roman and saw that his eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them.

  ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I know I was a bit heavy-handed about it, but I was shocked to see you with him at the club.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since school, until recently, but he seemed as nice and friendly as he did nine years ago.’

  ‘Yeah well,’ Roman growled, ‘people change. My advice is to keep clear of him.’

  I didn’t know whether to tell Roman what Jack had said about him, but I had a feeling that would cause a whole other load of trouble. There was obviously bad blood between them, so I could bet that what Jack had said about Roman had just been him shit-stirring. Roman had rescued me from Alan Cromwell, he certainly hadn’t encouraged me to do anything that I wasn’t comfortable with.

  ‘Well, I’d better get ready for my meeting,’ Roman announced after a few minutes of us both drinking our coffee in silence.

  ‘Okay,’ I said cheerfully and watched him retreat to his office.

  Finishing my drink, I took the time to contemplate the magnificent specimen that was my boss. He was such a contradiction. Yes, he was handsome and had a great arse, but he was also one of the most surly people that I had ever met, yet could also be quite sweet. Look at the perfume he’d bought for me in France—he’d actually blushed when I thanked him for it. Also, take the situation about Jack. On Friday night he’d pretty much demanded that I never see Jack again; yet today he was much more measured and reasonable. Then other days

  ‘Summer!’ Roman bawled from his office. ‘Damn well get in here now!’

  And so it began again.

  ‘What?’ I asked, and then stopped in my tracks and inhaled sharply.

  Standing in front of me was Roman, with his shirt sopping wet and clinging to his body, giving me a hint of perfectly defined abs. He’d opened the top two or three buttons of his shirt, and the bit of chest that I could see looked like a beautifully-sculpted piece of art: all hard, clean lines that begged you to touch them. So much so that my fingers twitched as I took a step into his office.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I asked like an idiot.

  Roman looked up at me and frowned.

  ‘What the hell do you think has happened?’ he spat back at me, pointing at his chest. �
�I’ve spilled coffee down my damn shirt, and I’ve got a meeting in an hour and it was fucking hot.’

  Roman hissed in a breath as he dabbed ineffectually at his chest with a tiny piece of tissue that looked as though it had been used for rubbing dirt off an urchin’s face.

  ‘Shit.’

  I swallowed and closed my eyes trying to imprint the image in my brain, then realized the man needed help. I pulled a clean tissue from my pocket and started to dab at his shirt, but he hadn’t just spilled the coffee, he’d practically drowned himself in it. It wasn’t long before the tissue was simply a soggy ball. The problem was I couldn’t stop dabbing at him, my fingers itching to spread out over the pecs that were highlighted through the wet cotton.

  ‘Thank Christ, I like a lot of milk in my coffee.’

  I suddenly woke from my dreamlike state. ‘Sorry, I’ll go and get the first aid kit,’ I said turning to leave.

  ‘It’s fine, I’m fine. Just get me something else to clean off with.’

  I ran back to my office to retrieve the packet of wipes that I had in my drawer. Reaching for them, I paused and took a deep breath.

  ‘Do not do, or think, anything stupid, Summer,’ I whispered to myself. ‘He is your boss.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing in there? Hurry up.’

  He is your boss and he is a cantankerous dick.

  ‘Okay,’ I bellowed. ‘I’m coming.’

  I raced back into his office and slapped the packet of wipes against his chest.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘God, be careful. I might have first-degree burns,’ he moaned.

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t think so, seeing as you declined the offer of the first aid kit, and actually told me that it wasn’t that hot.’

  Roman looked down at his chest and started to wipe off more of the coffee residue.

  ‘You’ll have to go to my house and get me a clean shirt,’ he said, his chin practically touching his sternum.

  ‘I will?’ I squawked.

  ‘Yes, you will. I don’t have time to get there and back and get everything ready for my meeting. So you’ll have to go.’

  He threw the handful of wipes that he’d been using to one side, and then reached for the cuff of one of his sleeves. Oh shit, he was going to take it off. Thankfully—because I wasn’t sure I would have been able to control myself—he didn’t. He simply unfastened the cuffs before moving over to his desk.

  ‘Just a second,’ he grunted, leaning over the desk.

  As he did, I thought I was going to die: my heart momentarily stopped before suddenly pumping wildly back to life. His unbelievably amazing arse was in prime place in the shop window. Christ, you could probably crack a nut open on that arse it was so hard.

  ‘Here, take these and go to my house.’

  Roman surprised me by flinging a set of keys at me. I juggled them in the air, finally catching them. In his other hand, he had a T-shirt that looked as though it was covered in paint. I held in a gasp, knowing that he was now going to strip off. In equal measures, I was relieved and disappointed when Roman turned his back to me, pulled off his shirt, and then dragged his T-shirt over his head, before bending down to write something.

  ‘This is the address,’ Roman said, turning and passing me a Post-it note. ‘The alarm code is on there too. And please don’t be long, I can’t meet the client in this bloody thing.’ He ran a hand down the paint-splattered T-shirt and let out a breath.

  I looked at all the papers, charts and blueprints that were spread across his already untidy desk. He was right, he wouldn’t have time.

  ‘You need to go now, Summer.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ I snatched the note from his fingertips and strode from the room to collect my bag.

  ‘My bedroom is top of the stairs, first on the right. All my shirts are hanging in the wardrobe. Bring me a white one.’

  ‘And would there be a “please” with that?’ I asked.

  Roman sighed. ‘Please.’

  ‘Oh, my pleasure,’ I grunted, slamming the office door behind me.

  Once my satnav had got me to Roman’s driveway, I breathed out a huge sigh. I don’t know whether it was one of relief at having found the house, or trepidation at walking into his private space—I decided that it was a mixture of both. I didn’t want to be responsible for him holding a meeting in a dirty T-shirt, but I was a little scared that having an insight into Roman’s life might just increase my crush. Why I thought that, I had no idea. He was evidently sending me loopy.

  I knew that he lived in one of the new developments on the edge of town, but I hadn’t contemplated that it would be quite as big. I looked up at the three-storey, double-fronted house, and, wondering what a single man needed so much space for, I made my way up the drive.

  I pushed the key into the lock, opened the door and stepped into the large, square hallway. As I did, the alarm panel next to the door started to beep rapidly. I pulled the Post-it from my jacket pocket and quickly keyed in the numbers written down, letting my head fall back with relief when the beeping stopped. As I turned towards the stairs, I almost died of shock as a bark rang out.

  ‘Shit,’ I muttered. ‘Where the hell did you come from?’

  In the doorway to what looked like the kitchen, his head poking through a baby-gate, stood the scruffiest little dog I had ever seen. His grey-and-black fur stuck out in all directions; one ear lay flat, while the other was perked up, and, around his neck, was a blue-and-white spotted bandana.

  ‘Hello boy,’ I soothed, holding my hand out to him.

  The dog gave it a little sniff and then proceeded to lick it with his hot, sticky tongue. I sank down onto my haunches and put my other hand over the top of the gate to scratch his head and ears. He whimpered joyously, and one of his back legs started to scratch his hind quarters. The more I scratched, the faster his leg moved, and the more high-pitched his whimper got, making me giggle. Suddenly my mobile beeped in my pocket, so I stopped petting the pooch and reached for it. It was a text from Roman:

  Grumpy: Stop playing with Doolittle and get my shirt!

  With a gasp I quickly looked around for the CCTV that he evidently had set up, but there was nothing. How the hell did he know? Then my mobile beeped again.

  Grumpy: It’s my mum’s dog. I’m looking after him. Everyone loves the little fucker. I’m guessing you do too.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I stood up.

  ‘Sorry, buddy,’ I crooned as I gave Doolittle one last scratch. ‘But I need to go and get Roman’s shirt.’

  At the mention of Roman, the dog started to howl and wag his tail so fast that it was creating a draught.

  ‘Wow, I guess you love Roman,’ I said tentatively, testing to see if it was a coincidence. It wasn’t, because Doolittle went for it again, his tail wagging even faster this time. Once he’d finished, I gave him another quick scratch before I ran up the stairs, suddenly aware that I only had half an hour to get the shirt and get it back to the office.

  As I entered Roman’s bedroom the smell of him hit me with force. It wasn’t overpowering, but his lemon and musky aftershave definitely hung in the air. I breathed in deeply as I looked around the room. It had wooden floors, grey-and-mustard check bedding, dove-grey walls and chunky cherrywood bedroom furniture; it was typically Roman—manly. I was, however, surprised how neat and clean it was when you considered the state of his desk back at the office. The bed was made, and not just with the duvet thrown haphazardly over it: it had been neatly pulled up and the pillows arranged on top—plain ones underneath and check ones on top. Time was pressing on, however, and I didn’t have enough of it to do a critique of Roman’s interior design skills. So I went over to the huge, double wardrobe and flung open the doors. Everything was hanging tidily and each type of clothing had its own section: trousers and jeans hung in one, jackets in another, then shirts, and, finally, shelves from top to bottom for other items, all of
which were carefully folded.

  As I reached for a white shirt, I couldn’t help put press my nose to one of his jackets. Shit, this was getting ridiculous—I was starting to act like a stalker! Luckily for Doolittle, I found him adorable and doubted whether Roman had a pan big enough for him.

  Shaking my head, I pulled the white shirt from its hanger and, in the process, pulled off the one next to it also, seeing it drop down to the bottom of the wardrobe.

  I folded the white shirt neatly and laid it on the bed. Then I went back over to the wardrobe and stooped down to retrieve the shirt on the floor. I couldn’t help but notice the three framed photographs lining the bottom of the wardrobe. I put the other shirt back on its hanger and pulled out the first photograph. It was a picture of a younger Roman wearing boxing gloves and standing in a boxing ring. He looked hot and sweaty and his right arm was draped around the shoulders of another man, who was also hot and sweaty. The other man wasn’t wearing gloves, but his hands were wrapped in the sort of tape or bandage that boxers wore under their gloves. He was as tall as Roman, with short, buzz-cut hair. They were both grinning widely at the camera and looked happy, and I remembered what Dec at the club had said that Saturday night, about Roman still having it—evidently he had been referring to Roman’s boxing skills. Putting the picture back, I slid out the other two in turn. Both were in the boxing ring, but they caught Roman in action: throwing a punch in one, and ducking a punch in the other. I gazed at the pictures, and, as much as I didn’t like the idea of him punching someone for fun, I had to admit he looked phenomenal. I’d only had a hint of his toned body earlier, but in these photographs his muscles were honed to perfection: sharp and defined.

  Careful to put the pictures back exactly how I found them, I sighed heavily. I was right: coming into this house and seeing these pictures had just made me want him even more.

  ‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.’