Page 29 of Lord of Pain
"All right," he says, "marzipan candy and paperwork will be all stacked up and ready to go within the hour." I hear him shut the door of my office and his tone shifts. "Be honest with me. Are you in danger?"
"It's worse than we thought," I say. I have to be as honest as I can be with him. Larry always knows when I'm lying. "Going into hiding like this feels like overkill, but it's Rose and Iris, you know?"
"I get it," he says, his tone warming up again. "Look, in the end, these are just pampered little country club fucks, and no matter what Jackie boy is up to, it's not like they cankidnapyou or anything." He laughs heartily, the sound dying off as he realizes I'm not joining in. "Oh, holy shit." he says, voice hushed. "You know they always say it's the white-collar criminals that are the real monsters. At least those organized crime guys are honest about what they're doing, huh?"
I want to say that the Bratva assassin I hired swooped in and saved us when Jack's murder went wrong. That he'd opened his home to us, enduring the efforts of my sisters to seduce hisguards. Instead, I say, "Cheer me up before we hang up. What does your shirt say today?"
"It's a picture of a rooster and it's saying 'F-caw-f'."
"What?"
He makes a noise like a rooster. "F-caw-f!"
I burst into laughter, repeating it back, "F-caw-f, Larry honey!"
With another rude rooster noise, he disconnects the call.
***
It's close to midnight when Roman returns home.
I look up from my makeshift office in his library and jump half a foot when I see him leaning against the doorway, arms folded, watching me. He's rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, brazenly displayed his arm porn again, damn him. As he shifts, I watch the scales of that dragon tattoo on his forearm move and glitter in the light.
"How many tattoos do you have?"
His brow elegantly arches. "Well, hello to you too."
"I'm sorry" I sigh. "I've been working on this grant proposal for seven hours and I'm questioning all my life choices that have led me to this moment. Apparently, I have lost my social skills in the process."
"No problem," he chuckles, walking over to me. He's wearing dark jeans, tight against his muscled thighs and it's pouring gasoline over my ovaries, which have been deep in hibernation, and lighting them on fire. They are reminding me it's been months, okay, years… (Okay, let's not count back that far shall we?) Since I've had sex and this man is the living embodiment of sin.
"Are you almost done for the night?" he asks, bracing one hand on the back of my chair and one on the desk. I can feel the heat off his body, his 5 o'clock shadow in fine detail and the firm curve of his jaw.
I've gotta go and get on the treadmill and work off some of this sexual tension before I go up in flames.
"Oh, there's another three or four hours at least," I say.
"That's it. Get your ass up." His large hand reaches down, taking mine.
"Wait, no!" I protest as he hauls me across the room. "This proposal is due in two days!"
"You finished maybe half your sentences in there before zoning out and staring at me," he says heartlessly.
I'm so grateful he thinks it's exhaustion and not my treacherous ovaries demanding an introduction to his dick.
"You'll eat first."
"How do you know I didn't eat?" I counter, enjoying the feeling of his warm hand pulling me into the kitchen.
"When I checked in on the girls - who have decorated my theatre room with popcorn by the way - they said they hadn't seen you leave the library for hours. They're currently picking up popcorn kernels and wiping the chocolate stains off the leather recliners."
"I'm sorry. I usually keep them busy in the summer working at the shelter. They're really good with the kids," I say proudly.
He's pulling one of his chef's neatly labeled trays out of the fridge. "Have you had much Russian food?"
Propping my elbows on the counter and my chin on my hands, I watch him, put it in to heat. "No, other than a classmate of mineat Columbia who used to makeblinisfor us when he was in a good mood…" My words die off as I watch Roman destroy any control I have left.
He's reaching up to a higher shelf for a plate, and the long line of his body is beautiful. His powerful chest and shoulders, that narrow waist that a model would murder for. My gaze drops enough to see the shape of his perfect ass before I hastily look away. I definitely need some time on the treadmill.
