"Sure."
"I didn't really hound you for a real answer when I first hired you, but why exactly do you work for me? It's plain as day that you're completely overqualified for the position. You should be running a tech department for an established company. Not working for a web start-up like mine."
He takes a long sip of his water as if he's contemplating exactly whether or not tell me the truth or a lie. At least that's how I'm interpreting his facial expressions.
"The truth?"
"Absolutely," I reply.
"As you know, my last job was in New York, but what you don't know is that I left kind of a mess behind. I had a thing with my boss Erin, and it ended badly." He grins sheepishly. "She basically blackballed me afterwards. At least at the companies that she'd knew I'd try to interview with. Management is pretty much out of the question for me right now."
It's not funny, but I can't help but laugh a little to myself about the thought of Blake ruining a job because of an affair. I definitely didn't peg him as the type to be having a lurid affair at work. My first and second impression of him was that he's a free spirit, with little time for serious relationships, but that shows how much I know. We all can make fools of ourselves when it comes to love.
"Did you cheat on her or something?" I ask.
"No, that's not my style. In the end we were just too different. I know they say that opposites attract, but ultimately I don't think opposites can sustain a long-term relationship. Too many compromises."
"So she's a real bitch, huh?"
"Definitely." He cracks a wide smile. "Problem is I think I still love her."
I take another swig of water after that comment. Poor guy.
"That's unfortunate," I say.
"Eh, I'll probably always love her. I just don't like her very much. So anyway, I couldn't find work without a decent referral from her, and my ego refused to allow me to wait tables, so I broke my lease in New York and came home to mom and dad instead. None of us were happy that I was back in the house. I wasn't regimented enough for them, and they were driving me nuts with their expectations. So we cut a deal.
"They will support my moving out by paying half of my rent for a while, and everything else is on me. Luckily I have a bit of savings, so I found a decent apartment here in the city through a friend. My folks pay half of the rent, and now you're helping me pay the other half, boss lady."
His gray eyes dance a bit when he calls me boss lady, and even though I know he's not trying to be, there's something about his playful personality that gives off major flirty vibes.
Between his natural charm and the fact that Roman already feels some kind of way about the guy after meeting him only one time, I make the decision that I need to keep the two of them as far away from each other as possible. Blake is great, but I already know that Roman won't like him no matter what I say. And frankly I don't want anything to ruin this new alliance that Blake and I have formed. I could learn so much from him, and he's got great ideas for School Bucks. There's no way I'm messing that up.
"So how do you like working for a start up like me?"
"I like that my work really matters, and that the company is doing more for people than just making a profit. Plus it doesn't hurt that that the person in charge is easy on the eyes." He smiles.
Very flirty.
"Is that what you said to Erin?" I ask in jest.
"Probably." His grin grows even wider. "My mouth gets me in trouble a lot of the time."
Yeah ... it would probably be best if Roman and Blake stayed very far apart from each other.
12
Elizabeth
Since I haven't called or sent a text to Roman about my arrival time, I figure it's fine for Blake and I to share a cab ride from the train station. He only lives about ten minutes from me. Plus, I'm probably overthinking this. He works for me. This is business, not pleasure. So we arrange for the cab to drop me off first and then continue on to his house.
I try to pay the driver the fare for both of us, but Blake adamantly refuses. So I pay the driver my half, and then wave good-bye as they pull away. I've concluded, based on our time together on the train that my coder is a really good guy, and that old boss of his is probably an idiot for letting him go. I wonder when I can arrange for him to accidentally meet Tiny. They'd make a cute couple.
I drop my bags at the front door, as I angrily begin searching the bottom of my purse for my house keys. So frustrating. I meant to switch handbags before I left for my trip to Penn-Washington, but I kept forgetting to do it. I can never find my keys in this one. The base of this black leather bag is too wide and deep.
Finally I feel the cool metal ring of my keychain, and a wave of relief floods me. The fact that this little thing irritated me tells me that I'm way more on edge than I thought. I'm happy to be back home, but my body is practically thrumming in anticipation of seeing Roman. So as soon as I walk through the threshold, I'm going to put my things down, quickly water my three sort-of-dead plants, freshen up a little (mouthwash and a little spritz of body spray), and then run by The Lotus to see if he's there. The club tends to be where he spends the majority of his time when he isn't handling something for Mendez. He doesn't like to stay holed up in his apartment by himself.
Speaking of Mendez, sometimes I think that he's just an overpaid major league pitcher who wants Roman around as some sort of glorified security guard. The big saving his ass from major league baseball job Roman did for Mendez has been completed. The baseball commissioner isn't going after him for illegal steroid use anymore. Now baseball has moved on to some other totally guilty player. So it really makes no sense why Roman has to spend so much time with the guy other than to justify the amount of money Mendez pays him. That and the fact that Roman seems to be bored out of his mind.
Before I can get my key inside the door, I suddenly feel something large and furry with strong, hot breath nudging the backs of my knees forward, almost making them buckle. I'd know that rough play anywhere, and that means his even rougher master can't be very far behind.
Butterflies fill my belly.
And my skin grows warm.
I turn my head and immediately lock eyes with Roman who is leaning against the passenger side of his Range Rover directly in front of me. I guess I was so preoccupied with finding my keys, that I didn't notice that he pulled up in a totally illegal parking spot; there's a fire hydrant there right in front of my house.
My heart races.
He looks better than I remember if that's even possible.
He's wearing my favorite dark jeans, a black leather jacket, a thermal underneath that, and hard bottomed boots. Everything about him looks worn, hard, and weathered. And after being home for two weeks and only seeing guys I grew up with, with soft bodies and bloodshot eyes; it's like a true reward to lay eyes on a real man who doesn't depend on his parents to take care of him, who is as hard as a rock, and who looks at me like I'm the hottest woman breathing on the planet.
Well normally he does.
Right now he's looking at me more like a dead man walking.
Even wearing his leather coat, I can still see the outline of his thick, roped arms that are crossed tightly in front of him in defiance. His scarred face shows little emotion, and his bottomless black pupils are battling back and forth between my eyes and my body. He's pissed, and knowing him it could be about a myriad of things, but my educated guess is that right now it's because I didn't tell him I was back in town.
All right, so this is not exactly how I thought our reunion was going to go down but, whatever. Here we are. And I honestly don't care how it goes down. I'm just so frackin' happy to see his mean butt.
"Masterson." I smile and nod my head hello in an effort to diffuse the tension.
His lips twitch.
He's happy to see me too, but he's really trying to be a hard ass. So I drop my bag and my keys and run towards him. Jumping high and wrapping my legs around his waist. I start peppering the sides of his face
with kisses.
"I missed you." I practically squeal. Totally happy to see him, while also hoping that my over the top greeting will thaw his icy greeting.
He grabs me immediately by my hips and butt to hold me up, but he still doesn't say a word, as he moves us both forward towards the door. Still holding me, he silently bends down into a squat, picks up my keys and opens the door.
Damn, he's strong.
Once we're inside, he sets me down carefully on the large table I have near the door and orders me with a raw voice "not to fucking move." Just those four words alone are enough to make my insides clench in anticipation.
I watch as he pulls my handbag and carry on inside the apartment and slings them forcefully across the floor after shutting the door. Even Mr. Tibbs flinches in surprise for a moment, but then moves leisurely and silently to his favorite corner of my living room and lies down. Dogs aren't dumb. He can feel the tension rolling off of Roman too, and he's trying to stay out of the line of fire.
"Masterson–" I try to say sexily.
He moves swiftly back to me, wraps his entire palm around my throat, cradling it as his thumb starts stroking my bottom lip. It's a dominant, but very controlled move. Almost as if he's trying to stop himself from doing what he really wants to do. I take a quick inhalation of breath.
"Don't say another fucking word," he commands.
I clamp my mouth shut.
He lets my throat go and casually begins to take off his jacket. His favorite one. A worn but very expensive, black leather, motorcycle-styled jacket with silver hardware. Then he carefully hangs it up on one of the silver coat hooks I recently had him install by the door. All his movements seem very slow and deliberate.
Making my angst swell.
Underneath the jacket, he's wearing his gun holster, which is somewhat unusual for this time of day. If he carries, it's usually at night when all the crazies are out. Especially for the club.
He pulls a gun that I've never seen before out of the holster, puts on the safety, unloads the clip, and takes a bullet out of the chamber. He places all the various parts down very carefully and methodically next to me on the table. I want to ask him if it's new, but I'm not a complete idiot. This isn't the time or place to talk about new purchases. This is a time to be quiet. I think he's trying to calm down.
I can't keep my eyes off of the way his shoulders, his arms and the muscles in his back ripple, as he takes off the holster and lays it across the back of the sofa. Next he lifts up his left pant leg and pulls a small hunting knife out of his left boot and places that on the table as well.
The clank of the knife landing on the table and Roman's continued silence is making me somewhat anxious, yet I'm also sopping wet between my legs. Probably because now my eyes have locked in on the very large bulge in his jeans, angrily trying push it's way through the zipper.
I'm not sure that it's in my best interest to start making inquiries, but I can't help myself. I want to know what in the ham sandwich is up with him. Is he trying to seduce me or scare me? Frighten me or fuck me?
"What is going–"
"Didn't I say not to talk?" he asks with a frosty edge to his voice.
"I know what you said but–"
"You never listen," he says roughly as he stares at me intensely, licking the corner of his mouth.
The tension is so thick between us that I can hear every random noise inside of my house. The kitchen faucet has a slow drip, which I've been meaning to get fixed. The heat just kicked on as I hear it roar to life through the vents. Mr. Tibbs just scratched his chin with his foot, thumping the floor in the process. Hell, I don't know what he's talking about. I think my hearing is just fine. I've got frackin' bionic ears. I can hear every damn thing.
"It's been fifteen days since I've been inside of you, Elizabeth, so I'm going to make this brief. Your mother is sick and needs you. I get it. You trying to make a work retreat out of it, I sort of get, but I don't like it. That's not what you were there for."
"Roman–"
"You not following a simple request to text me what time you were bringing your little ass home, I don't get. And you and that sneaky ass motherfucker sharing train rides and cab rides home together like you just got back from dinner and a show. That shit isn't going to happen again. That's non-negotiable."
Just how long has he been here?
"I think–"
"I think if I started sharing rides home with the girls from the club, you'd have a big problem with it, and you fucking should. Plenty of them have been and probably will always jump at the chance to get their lips wrapped around my dick. I'm a paycheck to them already, but they think I'm an even bigger one if they start sucking me and fucking me. And they're right. I would be."
My mouth hangs open in shock, but then I close it. The image of what he's just said is enough to make me ill. I've never given much thought to it, because I totally trust him, but I don't think I'd survive it if Roman ever cheated on me with some skank.
But almost as soon as he finishes saying his last word "be," he forcefully spreads my legs apart and pulls me forward along the table, until we're flush against each other. I can feel his rigid length between my legs, and part of me wishes that he would just get inside of me, but I know it's not going to be that easy.
Nothing with Roman ever is.
13
Elizabeth
On top of the fact that I didn't tell Roman when I was coming home like he requested, now that I think about it, I was probably smiling from ear to ear inside the cab with Blake when I got out.
Laughing even.
Blake says a lot of funny things, and Roman probably saw all of that. I can only imagine the thoughts running through his head right now. I'm sure it looked a lot worse than it was. Especially because we had just been arguing about him a few days ago. Which I need to constantly remind myself is no fault of my own. Blake works for me. He's harmless. His only crime is probably that he looks too good.
"Can I speak now?" I ask carefully but with a smile.
"I don't think I want to hear shit from that mouth of yours except you screaming my fucking name for the next three days."
"Three days? That's wishful thinking," I jest.
Another lip twitch.
"You want to test me on that? I will literally tie your ass to my bed for three days, and I assure you that you will make plenty of those loud and hard screams you make when you're coming for me. You know the ones." He smirks cockily.
"Why can't we get through fifteen days apart without your attitude? You can't seriously be jealous. What's going to happen when I have to travel without you again?"
"You won't be traveling with him, so it'll be fine."
"And what if I had to? It's possible you know. Investors want to meet the brains behind the technology."
"You're the brain."
"You know what I mean."
"You sound way too dependent on that prick."
"I'm just being smart. He needs a job right now, and I need him."
"You only need me."
"You know what I mean."
"I want you to fire that asshole tonight."
"Absolutely not."
"Then you must want me to kick his ass, because those are your two choices."
"Absolutely not," I say while I begin rubbing his head with the palms of my hands. He begins moving his head underneath my hands like a cat. Rubbing his ears between my fingers. Low growls emanating from the base of his throat. I sigh to myself in relief. He isn't even really that mad about Blake. He just missed me. We're fine.
"Roman."
"What, Elizabeth?"
"Surprise!" I say cheekily.
"Surprise, huh?"
"I didn't tell you when I was coming, because I wanted to surprise you. Now you've ruined it with your bad behavior."
"I ruined it?"
"Yes, you ruined it."
"Let me fix it then. Arms up."
I raise my arms high, so that Roman can p
ull my top over my head. I'm wearing a black lace, demi cup bra. It was a gift from him, and it's one of his favorites. I would have worn the matching panties, but my leggings looked better without them. No panty lines. So, I'm commando.
He pulls the cups of my bra down, and he bends his head down to latch his lips onto one of my nipples. I quickly gasp when he does this, and mew even more as his thumb gently glides back and forth across the other. Making both of them firm as pebbles.
As his pull on my breasts becomes stronger, my breathing becomes more labored, and I start to squirm. I want him badly. For some reason my body is even more responsive than usual to his manipulation of my breasts; and now the crotch of my leggings are flooded with desire.
Maybe I should have worn panties.
As if he can read my mind, he takes one of his hands and uses it to slide three of his magical fingers inside the front of my pants. He immediately stops for a moment when he notices how drenched I am. He does this all the time, as if he's discovered something new. As if he's actually surprised or amazed by it. Like it doesn't happen every single time I'm with him.
"You're sopping wet," he says in a voice thick with need and wonder. "And you don't have on any fucking panties."
Oh yeah. He might be surprised by that. I rarely go commando.
"You were in the car with that prick with no panties on," he growls.
"I missed you," I whisper back. "I knew panties would just get in the way when I saw you today."
"Shit," he exhales.
He plunges his tongue inside of my mouth at the same exact time that he plunges two of his fingers inside of me, and I almost scream loud enough to wake the dead. I can't even believe my own reaction. I guess two weeks was a really long time to go without sex, now that I'm used to getting some on a regular basis. To my delight, he continues to work his fingers inside of me for a few moments before giving me a Masterson-styled interrogation.
"Didn't I tell you to text me the time of the train?"
Masterson In Love Page 10
