Page 36 of Sinful Sharing

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse, but as he pulls into a parking space before the grocery store, I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s not quite a smile, but it makes me wonder how long before he surrenders to his attraction to me.

21

Jude

The power had gone out almost an hour ago.

A high-pitched sound fills the air as wind rattles the windows. The only source of light comes from the fireplace. Shadows dance across the walls, shrinking and stretching with every crackle of burning wood. It’s cozy. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so content.

Taylor and I had claimed the space closest to the hearth, sprawled on a pile of blankets with a bottle of RumChata between us. Roman sits in his usual chair a short distance away. I can feel his eyes on us, but he hasn’t said a word the entire time.

A part of me wishes I could read his mind.

Taking another sip, I glance toward him. His broad shoulders seem rigid under that dark blue sweater. He’s been even more wound up since the day before—since I saw his interaction with Taylor through the kitchen window.

Hypocrite.

It pissed me off. Not his attraction to Taylor, or even Taylor’s obvious interest in him. I would still pay to watch them have sex. It’s how he looked right in my face and lied to me, how he tried to convince me I’d seen nothing.

Now, all I feel for him is pity.

“Sure you don’t want any?” I ask, raising the bottle at him.

His jaw tightens. “No.”

Taylor snorts beside me. “That’s his answer to everything.”

Roman shoots him a glare. Taylor grins at him. I lean back on one elbow, studying them, remembering what I saw through the window. The tension between them was as obvious as it is now.

And it’s turning me on.

I glance back at Roman. The firelight catches the hard planes of his face, throwing half of it into shadow. He looks like a man fighting a battle no one else can see. If only he knew how amazing it would feel to surrender.

“It’s freezing in here,” I point out to him.

He relaxes in his seat, tapping his fingers on the arms. “The fire is enough.”

“Bullshit.”

“Let me rephrase that. It is enough for me.”

“Or maybe you’re a glutton for punishment,” I reply.

Taylor laughs into his drink. For a second, the ghost of a smile tugs on Roman’s lips.

Just a second.

Then it disappears.

I raise the bottle again. “One drink.”

“No.”

“You’re impossible.”

Roman’s eyes meet mine. “Or maybe I just know my limits.”

His look lingers, long enough for heat to curl low in my stomach. Long enough for me to decide he’s not only talking about the alcohol. It feels as if someone sucked the air out of the room. He thinks I have no self-control, that I need help. I don’t. All I need is pure, raw pleasure.