Page 71 of A Taste of Vanilla

“Don’t judge what’s up here,” I feel the need to say.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were silently assessing.”

He shrugs. “It may need a little work.”

“It has character.”

“There’s a tiny bit of liability here.”

“So does dating.”

“I thought we weren’t dating.”

I go quiet. “We’re not,” I say.

The apartment gets smaller, and all I want to know is how his hands feel under my cardigan. What his mouth feels like pressedagainst my inner thigh. What it would take for him to stop sounding so calm.

His eyes sharpen.

I toe off one boot, and when I go for the other, my balance wobbles. Before I can catch myself, Roman’s hand closes around my elbow.

It’s warm and steady.

I look down at his fingers against my cardigan, and he immediately lets go. “Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be.”

His jaw tightens, and I decide then that my cause of death will be his restraint.

I used to think restraint meant coldness. Grant was restrained. Polished and controlled in public. He knew what to say, when to smile, and how to make every unpleasant thing sound manageable.

But Grant’s restraint was image. Roman’s restraint feels different. Like he’s holding himself back because he knows exactly what he could do if he doesn’t.

Because he cares whether I can breathe beneath it.

I step closer, and his body stills. I can see his pulse at the side of his throat, and it makes me smile. He’s not unaffected, then.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask.

His eyes move over my face. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

My breath catches. I swallow. “Kiss me,” I say softly.

And he does.

He crosses the last inch between us, one hand sliding to the side of my neck while the other finds my waist, and he kisses me like he’s been patient for exactly as long as he can stand. It’s neither sweet nor polite.

The shock of it runs right through me.

His mouth is firm and hot, and he kisses me like he’s certain. Hekisses with the same control he brought into the room with him, except now I can feel the edge of what’s under it. His fingers move across my waist, not rough enough to hurt, but sure enough to hold.

Sure enough to remind me that he is big, and that I am choosing him.