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Mila
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Ugh," I groan, reaching toward the bedside table and my phone. My head throbs, and my mouth is completely dry. My stomach roils as I strain to silence the sound coming from my cell way too fucking loudly. My hand lands on the phone, and I pull it toward me, cracking my eyes open to look at the time. It's after ten in the morning.
Why is it still dark?
I frown, moving my gaze around the room. I'm definitely still in the guestroom at the condo. The teakwood dresser stands against the far wall, and my stuff is scattered all over the place. But the blinds are all shut tight, blocking out the sunlight that usually floods the room in the mornings. I've been here for almost a week, and I've never closed them. I love the feeling of the sun on my face when I wake up.
"What the hell?" I mumble, trying to remember anything.
Brief flashes trickle through the haze in my mind. I remember waiting for Roman to come home. I remember drinking wine. I grimace when my stomach roils again. Okay, I remember drinking a lot of wine.
I want you to fuck me, Roman.
"Oh my God," I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed. I told him I want to spend the next two weeks with him. He didn't say no, but he didn't say yes either. He kissed me. No. That's not quite right. I asked him to kiss me, after practically throwing myself at him.
He tasted like mint. His lips were hard against mine and then soft, back and forth, until I thought I was going to combust right there. He kissed me like he meant it. Like he wanted to eat me alive.
And then he pulled away and…
And what?
The last thing I remember is listening to the steady thrum of his heart beneath my ear.
He must have carried me to bed.
I lift the covers to find that my shorts are gone. I'm in a t-shirt and my panties. My cheeks burn in mortification at the thought of him having to undress and pour me into bed.
I'm never drinking again.
Taking a deep breath, I look back at my phone to see that I've missed two calls: one from Tahani and another from a number I don't recognize. Whoever it was didn't leave a voicemail, and neither did Tahani.
I groan and drop the phone onto the comforter, staring up at the ceiling. No part of me wants to get out of the bed and face Roman. I'm mortified that I got so drunk he had to take care of me. I never drink that much. I don't regret what I said to him, though. I meant every word…I just intended to be more or less sober when I said them.
He probably thinks I'm insane.
"Suck it up," I mutter to myself after wallowing in self-pity for a brief moment. I toss the covers back and sit up. My head spins and pounds before the pain fades into a dull throb. It's not great, but it's tolerable. Using the bedside table, I pull myself to my feet, praying I don't throw up all over the place.
When I'm sure my stomach isn't going to rebel, I stumble to the bathroom. My heart flutters when I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mass of wild tangles and looks awful. My skin is flushed, and there's a crease on my left cheek from the pillow. My eyes are dark underneath like I didn't get enough sleep. I look like shit, but that's not what pulls me up short. My lips do. They're puffy and swollen. I run my fingers over them, remembering the way Roman's mouth felt against mine.
I've never been kissed like that before. He made me feel like he couldn't get enough of my mouth. Damien never made me feel that way. Not once. Kissing him never set me ablaze, either. But I went up like a freaking forest fire in Roman's arms.
Forcing the memory of that kiss from my mind, I grab the Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet, shake three out into my hand, and then swallow them down with a glass of water. Once that's done, I turn on the massive all-glass shower to heat up the water, brush my teeth, and take care of business. Stripping down, I drop my shirt and panties into the laundry basket and then step into the shower.
I let the hot water beat down on me for a long time, letting it ease away the worst of my hangover. When I feel more or less human again, I quickly wash up and get out. As much as I'd like to avoid Roman, I know I can't. I owe him an apology for throwing myself at him like I did and for forcing him to take care of me. And then…and then I don't know what happens.
By the time I convince myself to go downstairs to face him, it's almost noon, and my hangover is pretty much gone. I find him standing in the kitchen, staring out at the beach.
My steps slow and then halt when I see him. He's shirtless with bare feet, nothing but a pair of gray sweats on his body. They sit so low on his hips; my gaze is drawn to the little dips in his back, right above his ass. And that ass…good grief. He's got a great ass.
His body is honestly breathtaking. So is the art littering his skin. A massive eagle is etched into his upper back, its wings spread wide across his shoulder blades. Every time he breathes, it looks as if the eagle moves its massive wings, soaring across his back. Damn near every inch of him is covered in ink just as breathtaking as the eagle. His body is hard everywhere, like he really was sculpted from rock. He looks like a powerful, fierce warrior.
I shiver at the memory of having all that power, all that man, wrapped around me.
"Hey." I blush when he turns around and catches me staring at him.
His eyes rake across me, his expression indecipherable. I want to shift under the intensity of his gaze. It's like he's stripping me down to skin and bone.
