Page 29 of Sundowners
Roman reached up and grazed my jaw with his thumbs, his dark brown eyes searching mine. His black hair fell in his eyes and his jaw twitched, hollowing out his cheeks and presenting me with a visual cue to his thoughts.
He wanted this too.
But I wanted him to want itandtake it, and damn if that didn’t make me a master manipulator.
“No. I think you’re a man who often gets in his own way when it comes to what he wants. A man who worries about everyone else.” I nipped at his bottom lip. “Get out of your head, Roman. Take what you want.”
His eyes darted around, as if he was concerned about an audience, and when they refocused on me, I felt a surge of his lust as it made up his mind for him.
He came at me with no pretenses of a sweet brush of the lips. His kiss was like a push to the chest. A challenge. And then another. And then he held my head in his hand and dove tongue-first at me, a moan coming from his chest, the sound equivalent to a warning that said, “This dam of self-control is about to burst.”
As he leaned into me more, I grabbed his hips, bracing for impact.
Yes, Roman. Give me more.
He dropped his hands to my shoulders and continued to assault me with his tongue, and I wanted it all. His anger, his confusion, his desire. He’d been holding a lot of frustration in, and though I didn’t know everything he’d been through, I had an inkling of the source of his feelings.
Roman San Angelo had suffered a loss, and then returned home to experience abandonment. I’d heard enough of his conversations to know that it hadn’t been his choice to have Frances moved to Puesta Del Sol, and that he held resentment against his uncle and an auntie, who I’d yet to meet since she came in during the day.
“Goddamn you for tasting so good,” he said against my lips.
“Mmm, I could say the same for you.”
He pulled back but only enough to take a few breaths. “I’m not usually a big kisser, but you make me want to start the subscription, sign up for the lessons, and fuck, buy the set of steak knives.”
“I do come with a guarantee,” I teased. “I can make you forget your own name.” I licked at his lips once, twice, enough to let him know I wasn’t done playing with him. “But I also promised you a proper date. So what do you say we quit giving those guys a show and get on with it?”
I hadn’t been able to move, I was so enthralled with Roman, but I’d noticed that we’d attracted the attention of some displaced gentlemen who had a tent complex on one side of the library that provided them shelter. And right on cue, two of them began making kissing noises at us and whistling. I laughed, but Roman stiffened.
“It’s all right,” I said, smoothing his hair back. “I’d be whistling too if I saw two hot guys making out in my living room.” I hooked arms with him. “Come on. I believe you planned to try to destroy me at mini golf?”
That got a laugh out of him. We descended the stairs, and I found I enjoyed walking and talking with him nearly as much as kissing him. Nearly.
“So did you find what you needed today for your research? I’d love to hear more about your project.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” Roman said with a humorless laugh. “There’s a reason I’m single.”
“Now Ireallywant to know.”
Roman exhaled and looked at where our arms were connected. “I’m researching a religious organization with ties to Spain, South Africa, Monaco, and here. All wealthy parishioners, some very influential members. It’s very much like a Scientology vibe, but instead of celebrities, they’ve got ties to biotech and venture capital.”
“How does a psychology research fellow get involved with religious organizations?”
“You looked me up, huh?”
“I was curious.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “The connection is that my dissertation is on cults and criminal behavior.”
Something shifted in me at his words and their implication. He was treading into waters that could have benefits…or that could cause real problems for me. “Interesting. You’ll have to tell me more after I win.”
We’d made it to the arcade at the opposite end of the Santa Cruz Boardwalk from the rides.
“I love how you think you have a chance,” Roman said, holding the door open for me. “You know I grew up here, right? And you did not.”
“How do you know that?” I asked him.
“Your accent. You slip into it sometimes. And you’re, like, a little too wholesome to be from Santa Cruz.”
