Roman's Having Sex Again

by Nikki Ashton

‘Are you going on-site?’ I asked, eyeing him over the rim of my mug. ‘Even though it’s a Sunday?’

  ‘Yep, unfortunately. I’m going to check on the re-plastering at the warehouse.’ He didn’t turn to look at me, but dropped his checked pyjama bottoms and gave me a great view of his rock-hard bum before strolling into the en suite and turning on the shower.

  While Roman was in there, I heard a knock at the door.

  ‘Roman, someone is knocking at the door!’ I yelled.

  The shower was still running, so he evidently couldn’t hear me. The knock came again, but much louder and more insistent this time. I quickly got out of bed, found my jeans and T-shirt from the night before, pulled them on quickly and ran downstairs. I just hoped that, whoever it was, wasn’t drawn to the fact that I had no bra on. My boobs weren’t too big, but they definitely needed some support; plus, it might be May, but the mornings could still be a little nippy.

  As I reached for the door handle, the knock resounded again. I flung open the front door to come face-to-face with Brendan Marks, one of our site managers.

  ‘Brendan,’ I gasped, the realisation hitting me that Roman and I could no longer keep our relationship quiet.

  ‘Summer.’ A smile twitched at Brendan’s lips as he scratched the back of his head. ‘Surprised to see you here.’

  ‘Erm, yeah.’ What else could I say? It’s not what you think’? I was standing in Roman’s hallway with bed hair and no bra on. It was exactly what he would be thinking.

  ‘So what brings you here?’ I asked. ‘You taking Roman on-site or something?’

  Brendan’s face changed and the smile dropped into a thin line.

  ‘No, I need to speak to him about the French job.’

  ‘Come in, he’s in the shower.’ I stood aside and ushered Brendan inside. ‘I’m not sure how long he’ll be, sorry.’

  Brendan looked towards the stairs and nodded. I turned and saw Roman descending them. He was dressed, but barefoot, and his hair was still damp—sheesh, he looked good.

  ‘Brendan, what’s up?’ he asked in a low voice, looking from Brendan to me.

  ‘I’ve found out who got the France job. Thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked, glancing up at Roman.

  Brendan hesitated.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve guessed—Summer and I are together,’ Roman said as he reached the bottom stair. ‘So, go on.’

  Brendan cleared his throat.

  ‘Jack Abbott.’

  I gasped.

  ‘Is that so?’ Roman ground out through a tight jaw.

  Brendan went within five minutes of giving Roman the news, and, within thirty seconds of that, Roman was stalking into the kitchen.

  As he slammed and banged mugs around, I watched him from the doorway—guilt and shame stopping me from going to him. I had been the one to tell Jack Abbott about Alan Cromwell.

  I couldn’t stand it.

  ‘Roman,’ I said, moving up behind him. ‘I think we need to talk.’

  He spun around to face me, and I knew that my deep red complexion had given me away.

  ‘What did you do, Summer?’ he asked, his tone quiet and controlled.

  ‘I swear to you, I didn’t do it on purpose, or to cause trouble. He was in the pub, and I told him we were going to France and he asked me who the job was for and I said a local man, and he asked for his name …’ I babbled, my eyes wide and pleading with him to believe that I meant no harm.

  ‘And you told him it was Alan Cromwell?’ he asked.

  I nodded and chewed on my bottom lip.

  ‘And that’s it?’

  I nodded again, anticipating a temper blowout.

  Roman let out a long breath, and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Summer,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Anyone could have found out. Like I’ve said, the building trade is a small world. And,’ he sighed, ‘if I’ve pegged Alan Cromwell right, I’m sure he’d have been bragging around town about buying the property and what he was going to do with it.’

  ‘You’re not mad with me, then?’

  I took a tentative step forward, to be snagged at the waist by Roman, and pulled against him.

  ‘No, I’m not mad, but I wish you’d told me he knew.’

  ‘I just didn’t think it mattered.’

  I snaked my arms around his neck, and reached up to drop an apologetic kiss at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘When did you say you told him? In the club that night I saw you?’

  I shook my head. ‘He was in the pub a few days before we went to France. I was having a little moan.’ I winced, remembering that all my ire had been directed at Roman.

  ‘I can imagine,’ he replied, with a cocked brow. ‘Did he say anything else, ask you anything else? Because I need to know if I have to tie down any of our other jobs?’

  He tilted his head looking at me expectantly. I held my breath for a few seconds, wondering whether to tell him what Jack had said. Telling him could cause a whole lot of trouble, but not telling him was wrong if we were to move forward with our relationship.

  ‘Promise me you won’t storm out of here and go and kick his door down.’ I framed his face with my hands, forcing him to look me in the eye. ‘Roman?’

  ‘It depends,’ he growled. ‘Did he fucking touch you, or make you feel uncomfortable?’

  ‘God no,’ I said on a long breath. ‘But he did say you might.’

  ‘What the fuck!’

  I told Roman everything that Jack had accused him of, and I thought that he was going to punch the wall. He paced up and down the kitchen, cursing and calling Jack Abbott some words that I’d never heard before: in fact, I’m pretty sure he’d invented them himself.

  Finally, he stopped in front of me, his hands tugging anxiously against the back of his neck.

  ‘You know I’d never do that, don’t you?’

  ‘God yes,’ I cried, ‘I admit he had me worried, and when Alan Cromwell tried to come on to me, I did wonder. But you came back and saved me.’

  Relief spread over Roman’s face, and his shoulders sagged.

  ‘I swear to you, Summer, Jack Abbott’s a lying bastard. I’ve never done any such thing, and there is no fucking gossip that says I did. He made the whole thing up.’

  I nodded. ‘I know that, I do.’

  Roman shook his head.

  ‘What about the night at the club? Did he say or ask anything then, because it can’t be just luck that he managed to get it in under my quote?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, he just spent all night talking about his exploits as a builder. We didn’t discuss you at all, even after you took me into the office.’

  Roman nodded and watched me carefully. I couldn’t blame him: he was probably checking that I wasn’t showing any signs of lying.

  ‘There is something else,’ I said quietly, deciding to lay everything out there.

  Roman dropped his hands to his side and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Summer!’ he groaned.

  ‘I know, but this isn’t about Jack, and it’s good, I promise.’

  ‘I rang Holly to ask for a favour,’ I said, looking down at the floor.

  ‘What sort of favour?’

  I peeked up to see Roman was now holding onto the sink, and looking through the window. His stance had relaxed slightly, but there was still tension in his shoulders and neck.

  ‘I asked her to talk to Liam and Mark about starting the hotel refurb early.’

  He slowly turned to face me. His brow was furrowed, creating two deep lines on his forehead.

  ‘You asked her what?’

  I repeated what I’d said.

  ‘And she said?’

  ‘She said, she’d have had you start yesterday, if it’d been up to her, but she needed to ask them. Mark is also the Finance Director, so he’ll have the final say, but she said Liam would be okay with it.’

  ‘Really, she’s that confident,’ Roman
retorted with a fair hint of sarcasm. ‘If he isn’t ready, or doesn’t have the money she can’t force him.’

  ‘Actually, she said it would be a definite “yes” from Liam.’ I started to giggle. ‘You see, she’s got this thing that she does that he likes.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Roman groaned and rubbed a hand across his face, before letting out a laugh. ‘You fucking women, and your damn magic pussies.’

  I burst out laughing, slapping a hand over my mouth. Roman’s body visibly relaxed, and the anger that had been suffocating him had thankfully dissipated. As he moved towards me, I watched him intently, trying to gauge his mood. I knew he disliked Jack Abbott, but Alan Cromwell giving his job to Abbott had made Roman off-the-charts enraged. Plus, me calling Holly may have made him a tiny bit angrier.

  Roman pulled out the bar stool next to me and flopped down onto it.

  ‘I’m sorry for getting angry, you know it wasn’t directed at you, right?’

  ‘I know,’ I answered honestly. ‘I totally understand your reaction. Jack Abbott is a double-crossing snake in the grass.’

  He let out a little snort of laughter, and his lips twisted into a half-smile.

  ‘What’s so funny!’

  ‘Sorry, but it’s just when you said “double-crossing snake in the grass”, it made me laugh. It’s so old fashioned. Now if you’d called him “a fucking dick-nut”, I’d have understood.’

  I could see that he was trying desperately not to laugh as he bit down on his bottom lip.

  ‘Stop laughing at me,’ I protested.

  ‘I’m not, honestly.’

  He so was, because as he pulled me against his chest, I could feel it shaking with laughter.

  ‘So what now?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know, I need to think about it,’ Roman answered with a shrug, wrapping his arms around me, and linking his fingers at the small of my back.

  ‘I have no fucking clue how I’m going to be able to carry on the business if that shopping centre isn’t started in the next few weeks,’ he said quietly. ‘And when it does kick off, we’re going to have to work some damn long hours to ensure the shops get finished on time. If they’re not—and I doubt they will be—Arc Trading could enforce some pretty hefty delayed completion penalties on us.’

  ‘I know, I typed up the contract, don’t forget. And that’s why I thought that if you could get a couple of weeks work on the hotel in the meantime, it would take the financial pressure off.’ I gave his shoulder a squeeze, wanting him to know I really was on his side.

  ‘Let’s hope Holly works her magic then,’ he said, lifting his head and grinning at me. ‘And you’re right; the money from the hotel will help.’

  Roman gave me a small smile and then sighed. ‘I just wish you’d told me what your plan was.’

  ‘Why, so you could have told me I couldn’t do it?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘because I should have made the call myself. I don’t want everyone thinking it’s my PA girlfriend that’s got the balls in this relationship.’

  For some reason, Roman calling me his girlfriend felt amazing, and I knew that I was blushing.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  Roman’s hand curled around my neck and he kissed me gently.

  ‘You were right to ask,’ he whispered. ‘Just next time, tell me what your plan is.’

  ‘Okay, I will Mr. Hepburn,’ I said, giving him a salute.

  ‘Thanks for calling her, though, I really do appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re right, I should have told you, or, at least, asked.’

  Roman shook his head. ‘No, you took the initiative. It was only my own stupid pride stopping me from making the same damn call, so thank you.’

  He pulled me closer to him and kissed me. Then, holding me tight, he rested his forehead against my shoulder.

  ‘I just wish I knew how Abbott managed to undercut us so much,’ he said. ‘He had to know our price.’

  ‘Hey,’ I said holding my hands up in mock surrender. ‘It wasn’t me.’

  Roman laughed and leaned up to kiss me again.

  ‘I know, gorgeous, I know.’

  After the Jack Abbott bombshell on Sunday morning, I left Roman’s house and didn’t see him for the rest of the day. We spoke on the phone very late on Sunday evening, but his mood had declined. In fact, he was possibly even angrier than he had been when he first heard about Jack.

  The re-plastering of the warehouse conversion hadn’t gone well—the quality was slightly improved, but not to Roman’s standards. Nige, the site manager, got the full force of Roman’s temper for hiring the guy, and then the plasterer himself got an earful and a demonstration on how to plaster from—of all people—Pete, Roman’s dad. Apparently, Pete was an extremely skilled plasterer before he retired, and had worked alongside his son when Roman first started in the building trade.

  Roman told me on the phone that he should have asked his dad to do the re-plastering in the first place, but hadn’t wanted to bother him. In fact, he hadn’t actually asked his dad at all. Seemingly, Twinkle had called Roman to find out if he wanted to go around for Sunday lunch, and when Roman had politely declined because he was working, Twinkle had taken it upon herself to turn up at the construction site with Pete and mounds of food for her boy and the lads on the job. It was then that Pete had seen the ‘dog-shite plastering’ and taken over, working with Roman all day, up until almost ten o’clock that night.

  It had been three days since I’d seen him, with Roman being on-site all day and until late into the evening. We’d spoken on the phone every night, and on two occasions even had phone sex, which was the sexiest thing I’d ever done.

  The session of phone sex that had me coming the hardest had been the night before, so I was hoping that Roman would be in a good mood when he came into the office, but I was totally wrong.

  ‘I will fucking kill that bastard.’

  I winced as Roman slammed the office door, and stood in front of my desk, his fingers grabbing furiously at his hair.

  ‘What now?’ I asked, scared to hear his answer.

  Roman let out a strangulated growl.

  ‘Fucking Jack Abbott has subbed half the gang from The Palisades’ site for the Alan Cromwell job.’

  He turned and kicked the wastepaper basket across the room, sending pieces of paper and pencil shavings flying. My throat constricted and my heart rate sped up to warp factor as something occurred to me. This was a major setback, because if, by some stroke of luck, we were given the green light to start back on The Palisades, say, tomorrow, there wouldn’t be any damn men to do it. Subbing the men was paying them to work for Abbott instead, and it was cheap shot.

  ‘Can he do that?’ I asked with a shaky voice.

  Roman swivelled around to face me and his eyes softened.

  ‘It appears that bastard can do what he likes.’

  ‘The little shit,’ I gasped.

  ‘Yep,’ Roman replied. ‘And “little shit” is the nicest thing that I’d call him.’

  ‘Seriously, there’s nothing that you can do?’

  Roman shook his head. ‘No, nothing. They’re not cards-in with me, and anyway, who can blame them?’

  ‘I can,’ I protested. ‘They should have more loyalty.’

  ‘Why? They’re not getting full wages while the site is down; I was only paying them a retainer.’

  ‘Exactly, you were paying them a retainer and have been for weeks.’

  ‘And this morning I received a cheque from Mr. Abbott amounting to the retainer for the ten men he’s damn well poached from me. Fucking self-serving, smarmy, condescending bastard! No one damn well does that; I wouldn’t, and he’s only doing it to prove that he can. Little snide fucker!’

  Roman stamped his booted foot and looked around the room—probably for something else to kick. When he couldn’t see anything, he swiped the stapler from my desk and threw it at the wall. As staples and pieces of black plastic followed the earlier trajectory of
the paper and pencil shavings, Roman thrust his hands to his hips and lowered his head. I knew he was still battling the rage inside him.

  ‘Roman,’ I said, taking a hesitant step towards him. ‘You need to sit down and consider your options. Maybe call Gareth in to go through the accounts and the budgets.’

  Roman exhaled and then looked up at me.

  ‘I know, I’ve already asked him to come in after lunch. In the meantime, I’m going to make a few calls.’

  ‘Okay,’ I replied, as he turned towards his office. ‘Are you calling from your mobile, or do want me to put anyone through?’

  He hesitated and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Erm, yeah. Get me the planning office first; I’ll see if they can give me any news about the nest.’

  As Roman closed his office door, I picked up the phone and dialled the number for the planning office, hoping that, at last, they would have some good news.

  An hour later Roman appeared, and while his eyes were still hard and steely, his posture was more relaxed, and I hoped he had something positive to tell me.

  ‘Well?’ I asked expectantly.

  He shrugged and his mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Nothing encouraging to tell you, but the ornithologists are arriving on Friday.’

  ‘Friday! What the hell is taking them so long?’ Now I felt like kicking or throwing something.

  ‘Some rare species of parrot somewhere in Asia apparently,’ Roman replied with a short laugh.

  ‘There must be other bird lovers who can help?’ I protested.

  ‘Possibly, but this group have done a study of Marsh Harriers, so they are specialists.’

  His stance—shoulders drooped, hands hanging loosely at his sides— and his quiet tone were that of a man defeated. An image of the Roman in the boxing photographs I had found in the bottom of his wardrobe flashed into my mind. The man in front of me looked as far removed from that confident man as I did from Miss Universe.

  ‘Let’s hope that by Friday evening we have news that means work can restart,’ I said rubbing my hand gently up and down his arm.

  ‘Yeah, let’s hope so.’

  My instinct was to put my arms around his waist and hug him, but we were in the office and anyone could walk in, so I kept to rubbing his arm. I made the right decision, because within seconds Gareth, our accountant, walked in.