by Cassie Leigh
She slid to the right and was almost out of his grasp, when Chad reached out and snatched her wrist. “I can’t do this here. This is my parents’ house. Did you know that last night?”
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
She wanted to slap that grin off his face. She might still if he didn’t let go of her. “It wasn’t really a pleasant surprise.”
“Don’t be like that. I thought you like it a little dirty, princess.” He pulled her against him, his breath hot on her neck as he ground his erection into her hip.
“I’m not playing with you.” She jerked her wrist free and rushed from the room.
Gigi made it back downstairs without his answering footfalls chasing behind her. Thank fuck for small miracles. He was at least keeping up appearances, even if it was only because he worked for her father. She would take that reason if it helped her cause.
She stumbled into the dining room and leaned heavily on the chair. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I think whatever I had for lunch is making me sick. I’m going to have to go.”
“Sit down.” Her father’s voice was sharp and commanding, his face pinched in frustration. “You were fine when you got here. I will not have you embarrassing me in front of my company. You will sit and make it through this dinner.”
“John, let her go. She’s a grown woman. You can’t order her like a child.” Her mother laid a restraining hand on his forearm. “Besides wouldn’t it be worse for her to be sick at the table? She looks awfully pale.”
Gigi gripped the back of the chair and concentrated on looking pathetic; hating that at twenty-five she still needed his permission. The longer she stood there, the sooner Chad would be joining them. Was her father’s consent more important than being stuck fending off Chad’s inappropriate advances? Easy answer—she’d rather face her father’s ire.
“Please give Chad my apologies.”
John’s face burned red. She turned her back on him. As she rushed down the hall, she scooped her bag off the closet hook and was out the front door before her father could regain enough control to launch a tirade that she’d certainly receive later on.
There were bigger things to worry about. Just how committed to this was Chad? It was a damn good thing they’d been at his place and not hers last night. A shudder ran down her spine as she settled into her Fiat. Thanks to this debacle, that would be added to her rules—no one comes to her place until properly vetted.
CHAPTER 4
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“STOP WATCHING THE DAMN DOOR and start watching the fight.” Declan waved toward the flat screen, his amused tone grating Roman’s already frayed nerves.
They came to the Red Barron to watch one of Roman’s regular clients, Ion Constantin, cage fight in the big leagues of MMA. Ion had brought in plenty of referrals from the gym after Roman finished his sleeve and they genuinely liked the kid. They’d been watching him kick ass in the local circuit for the last year. Now that Ion was getting his shot in the big time, they wouldn’t miss the chance to see him tear up his opponent. Roman would just have to stop eyeing the door long enough to see it.
“I’ll bet you anything that chick ain’t coming back. A girl like that thinks she’s too good to work at a tattoo shop.” Declan traced the edge of his glass with his ring finger, the good humor gone and a dark look in his eyes.
There was a story behind that statement. Roman only knew a small piece. Declan had been carrying a torch for Roman’s stepsister since they were just a couple of kids at the skate park. At one point Roman caught them kissing in the backyard, but she’d gone off to college and started dating yuppies who wore ties and Rolexes. Nothing but high class for Ann and heartbreak for Declan—not that the moody ass would admit it.
Roman leaned forward, slapping his hand on the table hard enough to slosh the beer in their tallboys. “I’ll take that bet.”
Declan hadn’t seen the way Gigi lit up when they rounded the wall into the gallery space. Excitement burned in her eyes at what the gallery could be. Even though she’d left this bar with a guy that was more Ann’s speed, if Roman had to guess, the douchebag wasn’t the kind of guy that set Gigi on fire. He wasn’t so sure she was the picture of innocent sophistication she was presenting. If she walked through that door, he planned to strip her bare and find out just what kind of girl she really hid under that veneer.
“Oh no—if she comes in here and takes the job you are staying away from this one. I know that look in your eyes. Have you forgotten about Jessica already?”
“Gigi is not Jessica.”
“How do you know? You only just met this girl.”
“This girl already has class. Jessica was just looking for a sugar daddy.” Roman relaxed in his chair, propping his boots up in the empty chair in front of him.
Declan pointed at Roman with one eyebrow raised. “That’s not what you thought before she fucked around with Lou.” Declan shook his head like he was clearing cobwebs. “Shit man, I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”
Lou owned the shop he and Declan worked at before they went into business for themselves. Jessica had done piercings and operated the front desk. He should probably thank Jessica for sucking off their boss. Roman might have waited to leave the shop and would have missed his chance at the great spot in NewBo if he hadn’t forgotten the engagement ring he’d planned to give her that night. He walked in on Lou standing in his office, ass hanging out and Jessica on her knees in front of him.
“Fuck them—and fuck you too. You taking the bet or not?”
“Why not—drinks are on the loser.” Declan shrugged. “If she comes, you’re gonna need to get shitfaced when she breaks your heart and then drinks will be on you. I’ll win either way.”
Turned out they didn’t have to wait long. Gigi came in like a pink storm cloud. The spark in her green eyes, crackled with the lightning of her mood. She wove through the sparse Friday evening crowd and he swore he could hear the echo of thunder in her wake. He wasn’t sure if he should be thanking whoever pissed her off so that he could witness her like this, or run for shelter. He’d take his chances on Gigi.
“When can I start?” She flung the question at him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, causing his muscles to bulge. He leaned back in the chair so that the front two legs left the floor as he marveled at her. “Tomorrow too soon for you? We open at eleven.”
“I’ll be there.” Gigi gave him a curt nod before turning on her heel and marching to the bar.
Roman watched with fascination as she stood at the bar, drumming her fingers while she waited. When she had the barkeep’s attention, she muttered her order. He placed a shot glass on the counter in front of her and filled the glass with pink tequila. She slid a bill across the counter, picked up the glass, tossed it back, and then slammed it back down.
Something got under her skin. That was for damn sure. Roman gave Declan a sidelong glance as the bartender refilled Gigi’s glass. Declan raised one eyebrow in question and nodded his head towards where she stood. Yeah, he wanted to know too.
The crack of the chair legs as Roman brought them down and stood got lost in the chatter of the bar. By the time he reached her, she’d slammed the second shot.
“Slow down there. You’re gonna make yourself sick chugging your girly tequila like that.” He closed his hand over her shot glass. “Something bothering you?”
Gigi took a deep breath, her back ramrod straight and her arms rigid at her sides with her phone gripped tight. “I needed to wash a bad taste out of my mouth.”
His eyebrows shot up. He didn’t know what to expect but that hadn’t been it. “I promise you, working at the shop won’t be that bad.”
“I didn’t mean that.” Gigi bit her bottom lip as if forcing back a smile. She turned towards Roman, giving him an appraising look like he was a side of beef. Her voice was flat. “Tequila isn’t really helping. It’s too bad you’d get me into trouble.”
He slid the glass away from her. Yeah, he was
cutting her off. “I don’t think you should drive. Can I give you a lift home?”
She waved him off, but whatever storm had been in her eyes had clearly blown through. Now her expression appeared vacant as her gaze meandered around the bar, looking everywhere but at him. Then her phone pinged and her shoulders came up rigid once more. She glanced down, and like that, the storm returned.
“I’ll be fine. I live within walking distance actually.” Her stiff posture and clipped tone screamed that she was anything but fine.
Whoever was on that phone had to be driving her mood. “Let me walk you then.”
Gigi opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by her phone pinging. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped it. He’d put money down that if she hadn’t been standing in front of him, her phone would have been flying across the bar—her agitation was that apparent.
“Sure. I’m going to hell anyway.”
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The text messages started ten minutes after she left her parents’ house. She had been five blocks from the bar when the first ping taunted her. She wanted to know what trick Chad played to get that past her father. John Duval did not allow phones at the dinner table and these messages were not PG-13. The last message had her accepting Roman’s offer to walk her home.
DICK PIC: Take your panties off princess. Meet me at Red Barron.
That was immediately followed by a second text from Chad that made her want another shot and the nearest escape route.
I want you bare under that skirt when I get there.
That had to be the shortest dinner her parents had ever put on, unless Chad begged off for an emergency and the emergency was her. Just the thought sent a chill down her spine that had Roman giving her a funny look.
She needed to leave this bar now.
Roman leaned across the counter and waved at the bartender. “Close my tab for the night.”
After another minute, the barkeep was handing him back his card. Roman pushed through the crowd, opening her a path to follow. The regulars had been sparse when she first arrived but now with the hour growing late, things were starting to pick up. Maybe it had been longer than she thought. Whatever—the shots weren’t affecting her that much and she knew her limit. She hadn’t reached it with fruit-flavored tequila.
“So, do you own anything other than white t-shirts and jeans?” Gigi asked as Roman led her towards the door.
His hand grazed the small of her back. God, she felt that to her toes.
“Do you own something other than pink? Even the tequila you were drinking was pink.”
That dragged an involuntary peal of laughter from her. She glared up at his golden eyes and the easy smile that made her want to pet his scruffy five o’clock shadow. God, what would that feel like against her skin?
He reached around her to open the door allowing the cool evening breeze to hit her. She almost groaned when she caught the scent of his cologne. It smelled earthy and yet fresh, like clean cotton but richer—spicier if that was such a thing. Whatever it was, she wanted to grab hold of his shirt and just smell him. Would his skin be salty or sweet? She was dying to taste him. Her senses ran in overdrive for this man.
“Which way?” His voice pulled her out of her smutty thoughts.
She pointed left towards C Street. What had they been talking about before she’d been sucked into her sensory daydream? Oh, those yummy shots she’d been slamming.
“Don’t knock it,” Gigi said at last, trying to sound normal. “Tequila Rose tastes like a strawberry crème saver and goes down smooth.” Just like I do. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she was keeping them to herself. Ann would be proud.
“Are you one of those girls that only drinks the cutesy fruit drinks? Not that there’s anything wrong with it…” She bristled at the laughter in his tone.
Grabbing his hand, she crossed the street, and then turned at the corner and crossed again, cutting into a small parking lot.
“This is me,” she said gesturing at the building they approached.
Her two-story building reminded her of an Americanized version of a European villa, complete with fake balconies across the second floor windows and stucco exterior. The first floor contained storefronts and off to the side a green arched door served as the tenant entrance.
“Those cutesy ones are sneaky.” Gigi leaned against the doorframe and looked up into his eyes. “The sugar hides the hardness beneath until it’s too late and you’re already drunk.”
Roman braced one hand over Gigi’s head and leaned in towards her, his voice an intimate whisper. “Does that describe you too? Are you sweet to hide the hardness under the surface?”
His lips were so close. She licked hers and his eyes seemed to focus on her small movement. How was she supposed to not kiss him? That hooded look and his scent made him a magnetic force drawing out that needy part of her. He wasn’t her boss yet. Would one kiss be so damning? It wouldn’t qualify for the book she’d promised Ann to keep him out of. But then, she rarely stopped with just a kiss.
His golden eyes were searching, asking for permission. A fucking gentleman. Somehow, that made him sexier.
“Taste me and find out.”
His eyes widened with her whispered dare. For a second she thought he would back off. Her need flared brighter with that banked amber fire in his eyes.
Roman leaned in, his lips brushing hers, testing. His eyes never left hers. It amped her need up another notch. That teasing touch made her throb. That he watched it all added to the lure. She liked to lead but this slow seduction had her enthralled and her panties ruined.
“Goodnight, Gigi.” The whisper was a purr against her lips.
She blinked in surprise. That was it? The hottest moment she’d felt in months and he just stopped? The confusion must have shown on her face because he smiled. Not a cocky grin, but a promise. Oh shit—what did that mean? He pushed off the doorframe and stepped back. Tomorrow he would be against the rules. She wanted him now.
“Roman—wait.” She reached out, laying her hand against his chest.
His heart raced beneath her hand making her breath catch. He felt it too.
“You’re right, sweet hits you harder than you expect.” His smile was soft but he turned away, calling back over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”
Gigi covered her lips with her fingertips as if she could hold in that moment. This was too good for the book. He’d be in a book all his own if he kept this up.
A horn honked and she jumped, the intrusion breaking the spell that Roman’s lips had started. She opened the door and scurried inside, rushing up the stairs. Dick Pic was still out there looking for her. He might even have seen her.
She could never be with a man like Chad—now categorized as a onetime mistake. What about a man like Roman? Could she have him for more than her usual no-strings arrangement? Maybe she should thank Ann for that promise after all. Kissing Roman Bishop would be playing with fire. A bigger part of her than she liked wanted to burn that particular candle all night.
CHAPTER 5
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GIGI FLICKED ON THE CLOSET light, casting a dull glow on her wardrobe and across her bare toes. Flipping through the hangers full of her everyday costumes, she dismissed her burgundy sweater and an emerald patterned blazer along with an assortment of understated button downs. None of them reflected her. They were the skin for the image she cultivated, a façade crafted to protect her privacy as much as her heart. Today called for a piece of the truth. Wholesome office professional with her bright but tasteful colors would stand out in all the wrong ways in this new setting. Her new employer had an edge and a challenge for her image.
She pulled out a formfitting magenta t-shirt dress from the back, tossing it on the bed with a couple other options. She could wear a color other than pink, but where would the fun be in that? Now that Roman pointed it out, she couldn’t help the urge to meet his expectation. She certainly owned enough variations
of the color to keep the silly game going for a while. If she couldn’t have him, she’d settle for subtle flirtation until she lost interest. Please let that be sooner rather than later.
The garments had landed in a heap on her unmade bed. Arms crossed over her breasts, Gigi glowered down at her picks, considering them against the muted backdrop of her gray blanket and dusty mauve duvet. Sweet and unsullied struck her as the wrong message to be sending if she wanted to fit in or do any kind of flirting with Roman. That immediately ruled out the lacy blush dress. Also, the button down with white and pink polka dots came across scandalous with the amount of cleavage she would need to hide. That left the first dress she’d pulled.
She snatched the garment off the bed and held it across her body, petting the soft material as she turned to the narrow mirror beside the bathroom door. “Is this pink enough for you, Roman?” Her voice sounded hollow against the barren walls. “At least I’ll be comfortable.”
This dress stood in the reserves of her me time, when there’d be no one to judge. Casual and bright but nice enough for a mall run or the store. This past spring, with a pair of sunglasses and strappy sandals, she’d worn it to the Czech Museum. She’d felt perfectly safe to do so. No one she knew would have been interested in the art exhibit.
Gigi slipped the garment on, smoothing the bunched fabric down over her hips, and then turned in the mirror to assess the results. There was nothing risqué about the dress. It covered her arms to her elbows and her legs to her knees. It was just bright and comfortable—the only flirty thing about it was the way the soft t-shirt material clung to her curves. It reminded her of her younger self, in high school where despite her father’s disapproval she’d been free to be as bright and trendy as she pleased. With her denim moto jacket, this struck the balance of casual and professional she needed. High-heeled ankle boots and a leather cuff bracelet gave the ensemble the edge she’d been looking for.
The magenta and denim in her clothing made her stand out in the washed out grays, muted mauves, and blush pinks of her bedroom. She imagined the normal vibrant colors had been frosted and the cheer frozen from it. Unlike the rest of her apartment, it remained bare and she spent as little time in it as possible. Even the furniture choices were straight contemporary lines. The only pieces of art she’d hung over her bed to try to reclaim the space matched the drab palate. In the end, she gave up on this room.
