Him and I

by Melody Eve

  “Oh, hang on, let me get your phone number. I’ll need a way to contact you when we get there,” Leeza says grabbing her phone off the kitchen counter. We exchange phone numbers, hugs, kisses, and goodbyes before heading back outside to the car.

  When we are buckled in, I turn and look at Roman as he’s putting the car in reverse. “Are you still claiming that you didn’t bring me here to meet your family?”

  “No.”

  “That’s it? Just no?”

  “What would you like me to say?”

  “I don’t know. You were adamant that it wasn’t a trick to get me involved with your family. I expected more of an argument.”

  “You agreed to more than a week. That was my end goal. Meeting my mom and Leeza was a bonus, not to mention that you got them to come home in five minutes when I’ve been asking them to come for a year.”

  “Your end goal?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was all that back there?”

  “My proclamation of love in front of my family?”

  There’s that damn word again. Love. How can you love someone you’ve only known for almost two weeks?

  “Roman, you can’t love me.”

  “I can’t? Who are you to determine my feelings or emotions?”

  “You can’t love someone you hardly know.”

  “I can, and I do. What do you think I need to know about you to make my love legitimate? Your favorite color? Red. Your favorite soup? Chicken noodle with the thick noodles. Your favorite drink? Mai Tai. Your preferred soap? Anything lilac scented. Is it one of those or something more intimate like your favorite place to be kissed? Is that it? Because it’s between your legs, Aria. You can’t get enough of it. Tell me what justifies love? What makes it real or fake or short-lived or forever? I love you, right or wrong, too soon or not, it’s how I feel. I realize you’ve just left a long relationship that was supposed to last a lifetime, and you’re skittish about trying again but let me assure you that I will not ever do what he did to you. I won’t hurt you, I’d rather die than see you in pain.”

  My head feels like a hornet’s nest full of activity, aimless thoughts buzzing all over the place. How does he know all of those things about me? Have I ever mentioned my favorite soup or that I love all things red? And love? My God, we only decided to date last night. We can’t be in love yet… can we?

  Is it possible? Is love at first sight or insta-love real? It happens all the time in books, and I scoff at it. A man sees a beautiful woman across the room and knows right away she’s the one for him. It’s too easy, silly even. You have no idea who that person really is. They could be a psychopath or a thief or just a horrible person with no morals. You can’t possibly love what you don’t know.

  “You can’t love me, not yet.”

  “I know you. And I disagree. A mother loves her unborn child, and she doesn’t know her child yet. People fall in love with puppies with one glance. Love is different for everyone.”

  “That’s different. A mother’s love is a physical connection and puppies are… well, they’re just adorable and irresistible. That’s not necessarily love.”

  “Would you like me not to love you?” he asks turning a corner a little harder than necessary in his irritation.

  “No, I mean, I don’t know. This is all so confusing.” I prop my elbow on the edge of the car window and cover my face with my hand. “Who leaves their cheating fiancé at the altar, goes on their honeymoon, and falls in love with the first man she sees?”

  “I don’t know, you?” he says his voice laced with hope.” He pulls into a boutique parking lot and cuts the engine. I close my eyes, my head still in my hand and feel him begging me to answer with his stare.

  I think I might love him too. No, that’s not accurate. I do believe I love him but admitting to it feels wrong because my mind says I shouldn’t love him. The timing is horrible.

  He unbuckles his seat belt and reaches over to unlatch mine. When I’m free, he pulls me into his lap. It’s almost noon, and we are in a very public lot with pedestrians walking up and down both sides of the lot that faces the streets. I have no idea what he has planned. We are already attracting stray glances and curious stares.

  “Roman, people are looking.”

  “When are you going to stop worrying about what other people, perfect strangers, think of you? You won’t kiss me in a public parking lot because you’re afraid of what? That they will judge you, judge us? For what? Wanting to show affection? Fuck them, then. You can’t stand the thought that when we go home, people will think I am a rebound boyfriend. Who cares what anyone else feels or believes? We are the ones living this relationship, not them, not those staring eyes, not those judgmental attitudes from those who are probably going home to a loveless, empty house alone. You and me… us… we can be in love if you’d stop thinking so much. Let me love you, let me care for you, let me in, Aria. Just let me into your heart.”

  I feel myself melt against him, into him, melding together like molten lava blending with cool rock until they are one sizzling new surface. I do love him, more than I can bear. Call it what you want, insta-love, love at first sight, crazy love, it’s just him and I. Wrong or right, incorrect grammar and all, we belong together.

  Our lips touch in a tentative kiss, him unsure of my reaction to what he has just said, me experiencing the shock of my realization. It doesn’t take long before my body says the things I can’t seem to express with words. My fingers crawl through his hair, my heart pounds against his chest. He pulls away breathless and panting against my cheek. “I knew it, you love me, say it, Aria, say you love me.”

  “I do, I love you. I love your crazy, possessive ways and your stupid, bossy mouth. I love how tender and open you are with me, and you’re right, I do love it when you kiss me between my legs, so much.”

  The smile on his face is worth the discomfort of speaking that truth out loud, and it was extremely uncomfortable. The part of my mind that coaches me, guides me, my conscious, is saying this is wrong, be careful, don’t trust him. I am blatantly ignoring it, and that feels all kinds of wrong, but I do it anyway because for the first time in my life, my heart is louder and more powerful than my mind.

  Chapter 15

  We spent the day exploring the beauty of London. We ate lunch in a sidewalk café and shopped until I never wanted to see another British saleswoman again in my life. Roman should have shopped without me for all the attention I received.

  Not that I’m a person who likes to be the center of attention, quite the opposite, actually. But when a couple walks into a women’s clothing shop to purchase clothes, the focus should be on the woman who will be wearing the clothing, not the sexy beast with the credit card. I’ve never seen such shameless flirting. I was embarrassed for several of the saleswomen.

  It’s 7:00 p.m., and I’m starving. I thought I would have been more affected by jet lag but sleeping on the plane and staying up the rest of the night having sex has put me exactly where I should be on the wake/sleep schedule.

  “Do you want to rest before we eat?”

  “No, all this running around has made me hungry.”

  “Room service or restaurant?”

  I sit on the edge of our tempting bed and consider going back out. “Is it terrible to give up a night on the town in London for room service?”

  “Not at all. We have all week to go out, and it isn’t like this is the last time you’ll see London. You’re supposed to be resting and I’d rather stay in and take advantage of you, anyway.” His lip twitches in a smirk as he sits on a bench opposite me. He points at my foot, and I shoot him a questionable look. “Give me your foot.”

  I lift my tired leg, and he removes my shoe. “You have delicate feet.”

  “I do?” I’d never given my feet a second thought.

  “Mmm hmm.” He taps my other knee, and I switch feet. “I like them,” he kisses the top of my foot, and a tingle runs up my leg to my favorite place to be kissed.
r />   “You aren’t going to feed me, are you?” I ask, weary for food but on fire for him.

  “I will most certainly feed you,” he says as if I’ve offended him. “But first a shower while we wait for our food.”

  “I don’t know if I can stand in the shower for long, I’m beat.”

  “You won’t have to do a thing. Come.” He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom where he makes good on his word and undresses me and lifts me onto a built-in bench in the walk-in shower.

  “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To order dinner,” he says walking out of the room closing the door behind him.

  I sit and think about everything that’s happened since we left Mexico. We are in love, self-proclaimed, honest to God, real, passionate, chemistry-riddled love. How the hell did that happen?

  My head is starting to ache. It hasn’t hurt for a while. Maybe I’ll take a pain pill before we go to bed tonight? Should I still be needing those? I make a mental note to google that question later. I probably overdid it today, but everything is so exciting. I want to see all the places and things I’ve read about in books. I want to take a bus tour, go to the London Eye and Buckingham Palace. I want to see it all. Roman’s comment that this won’t be the last time I’ll be here sits like a warning in my thoughts.

  Don’t be too hopeful, too optimistic. My conscious says don’t count on this working out. Oh God, how I want to let him in, give him everything, all of me, but it’s hard, and I can thank good old David for that.

  I wonder if he’s told everyone that he isn’t the man in the photographs. I’m sure he has. He wouldn’t tolerate being humiliated that way. I also wonder if he told his friends and family that I’m crazy as a cherry-on-top-of-his-innocence story?

  I close my eyes and try to make the thoughts go away. The water is perfect as it pounds away the soreness of all the miles we walked today.

  “Better?” Roman’s voice comes from right next to me. I must have dozed off because I jump. “And you said you weren’t tired.” He hands me a glass of wine.

  “I’m sorry, I guess I am. What’s this? You do remember what happened the last time I drank wine in the shower, don’t you?”

  “You were already intoxicated before you showered, and this time, you’re supervised, and it’s not the entire bottle.” He tips his chin down and raises his eyebrows. If he weren’t gloriously naked, I’d feel like my father was speaking to me.

  I scoot over, and he sits next to me turning to place his back against the wall placing me between his legs with my back to his front. “Cheers to our extended vacation.”

  “Honeymoon you mean,” I say dryly.

  “Your faux honeymoon ended the minute you met me. Our honeymoon will be a trip around the world. I’ll show you everything you’ve ever dreamed of seeing.”

  “You’re putting the cart before the horse there, aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t get where I am today by not believing I can have what I want. I imagine us together forever when I look at you. If I keep seeing it that way, it will happen. If I gave up that first day on the yacht, where would we be now? You would be arriving home to a dark and lonely apartment in Chicago with puffy eyes and a sad, broken heart. I would be locked away in my office at the bank shuffling papers and burying myself in my work like I’ve been doing for years.”

  He’s right, he is exactly right. I’ve read books on visualizing your own destiny, and the authors believe in it wholeheartedly. “That’s how you have become successful?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. Tell me something you want in life, and I’ll help you make it come true.”

  The first thing that pops into my head is ruining David and Lynn’s lives. I can’t want that, though. As shitty as they were to me, hating isn’t my style. “I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

  He removes my glass of wine from my hand and sets them both on the floor of the shower out of the spray, and he turns me in his arms. “Perfect, close your eyes. Now visualize yourself typing the words ‘The End.’ Can you see it?”

  I nod. “Good, now you’ve published it yourself, and bloggers and readers are going crazy, filling up your email with letters of praise. You have five hundred positive reviews, and publishers are calling begging to publish your next book. Can you imagine it?”

  I can imagine it, but it doesn’t feel as real as visualizing typing ‘The End,’ but I nod. “Now, you’ve been on the charts for a few weeks, and you just hung up the phone after being notified that your book is on The New York Times and USA Today’s bestseller list. A dream come true, isn’t it?”

  “Yes but…”

  “No buts. Dream it, visualize it, make it happen, period. You’ll see.”

  He takes my hand, and we stand together. I’m still a little buzzed from the excitement of becoming a best-selling author one day when he pushes me against the tiles of the shower and hoists me up.

  “I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing shower,” I say with a playful smile.

  “I believe I said you wouldn’t have to do a thing, although I was remiss in informing you that you will be coming, a lot. I apologize for the misrepresentation.”

  I kiss him and bite his bottom lip a little harder than I ever have before. “Apology accepted.”

  His thick cock slides into my ready sex, and he thrusts so hard it sends me sliding up the tiles. I gasp and cry out in pleasure which only spurs him on. His leverage is so perfectly performed that he has complete use of his hands. He roams every inch of my skin, pinching and stroking and penetrating while paying special attention to my nipples, the hollow of my neck, and behind my ears.

  He’s an expert when it comes to my body. He knows precisely how to make me moan and dig my nails into his flesh as well as how to slow things down to a tender, measured pace. How he knows these things is a mystery. Almost two weeks, and he has mastered me when David never came close in six years.

  When he has me in a familiar state of bliss where I wouldn’t know my own name if you asked me, he speeds up the pace unexpectedly. He slides his hands under my ass and tilts my hips, so he is hitting the sweet spot that makes me scream over and over until I do indeed scream over and over.

  Climaxing at Roman’s hands is like all of my favorite holidays, scents, textures, foods, and drinks mixed in one giant Fourth of July explosion. It’s memorable, amazing, and all-encompassing.

  He isn’t far behind me when he roars my name and plasters me to the wall coming with the force of the Greek God, Kratos. I am draped over his body like a limp, wet blanket, spent and sated. If he puts me down, I’m sure I’ll fall.

  His mouth finds mine and kisses me as if we were starting over when I hear a knock at the door. “Dinner is here,” he says still kissing me. “I’m going to carry you to bed, are you ready?”

  He often asks if I’m ready for things. Are you ready for breakfast? Are you ready to go to the next store? Are you ready to be ravished? It’s not as if I could say no. He does as he pleases no matter what, anyway. I decide to try it out.

  “No,” I pant still trying to catch my breath.

  “All right. When you are, let me know. But remember, the food is getting cold, and the bellman won’t wait forever.”

  “I just wanted to see what you said if I wasn’t ready. Take me to bed.”

  “You’re a little bossy this evening, Ms. Savage.”

  “I’m learning from the best,” I say smugly.

  He chuckles and moves away from the wall like coming the way he just did had no effect on his muscles or strength. Why am I a lump of mush, and he’s still Mr. Universe? In the bedroom, he deposits me into the bed and covers me with the sheet and a comforter before kissing me on the head and wrapping a towel around his hips to answer the door.

  I hope whoever is on the other side of that the door isn’t sexually frustrated. Seeing him freshly fucked, nearly naked, and dripping wet might push them over the edge. I know it would me.
>
  A few minutes later, he pushes a cart into the bedroom next to the bed and places a tray on the mattress between us.

  “What’s on the menu tonight?” I ask feeling suddenly giddy after our amazing shower sex. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven when I’m with Roman. He makes ordering in and eating in bed a special occasion.

  “Salmon, asparagus, fresh fruit, croissants, and strawberry shortcake.” He removes the covers from the tray and my mouth falls open.

  “How? How could you know?”

  “That you love strawberry shortcake almost more than sex?”

  “Well, yes.” Actually, before I met Roman, I did love strawberry shortcake more than sex, but the sex I’d had wasn’t that great, so it was easier.

  “I asked your mother.”

  “Is that how you knew all those other things at your mother’s house this morning?”

  “A few, other things I know from being an observant boyfriend and lover.”

  That’s when I know why it’s so different with Roman than it was with David.

  David never cared, he never loved me because he hadn’t learned a single thing about me. He wasn’t invested like Roman is. He didn’t go looking for answers to my mysteries, he simply trudged along day after day waiting for me to turn into something he liked, and when I didn’t, he went looking elsewhere.

  Roman is love and passion and dedication. He is the real deal where David was the generic.

  “I love you,” I say pushing the food aside to lean over and kiss him long and hard. When I end the kiss, he looks at me with concern. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m thrilled to hear you express your love for me, but what was that?”

  “I don’t think I knew what love was before you. The more I am exposed to your love, the more I realize what David and I had was fake.”

  “That fool cheated on you for years. Of course, he was fake.”

  He takes a bite of his salmon as his words hang in the air. Roman couldn’t have known that David had been cheating on me for years unless…

  “What do you mean he cheated on me for years?”