Page 43 of The Temptation
I start unloading the contents one by one, lowering them carefully onto the countertop below, when two hands suddenly clamp around my hips and lift me off the chair without warning.
A startled squeak escapes me as my feet hit the floor, and before I can react, I’m spun around to face whoever’s behind me.
I tilt my head back, eyes narrowing at Romeo.
His mouth is moving fast, his expression sharp, but I can’t hear a word over Sabrina Carpenter belting “Please, please, please” into my ears.
If I had to guess, though, it definitely looked something like,“What the fuck…?”
I pull one of the buds from my ear, scrunching my face. “What?”
“I asked you what the fuck are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” I deadpan, motioning to the counters now cluttered with cups, dishes, and bowls.
“You could’ve fallen off that chair and hurt yourself,” he growls. “If you needed something from up there, you should’ve asked me.”
I rear back a little, caught off guard. He’s been actingweird all day. Overprotective and … nice, like he suddenly cares.
Neither of us said a word after we dropped his mother off last night. When we got back here, I tried to speak to him, but he just held up a hand, mumbled, “Don’t,” before storming down the hallway and slamming his bedroom door behind him.
At first, I assumed he was mad about the argument I had with his mum, but this morning, when we were eating breakfast, he kept looking at me strangely and smiling a lot.
I’d take one of his smiles over a glower any day, but it was unsettling and a total shift from the way he’s been acting around me lately.
“I’m rearranging the cupboards,” I say, voice flat. “I’ve already done my bedroom. I was going to do yours, but …”
“Stay out of my room, Lucia.”
“I know, I know,” I say, gazing down at my feet. I’m banished from his stupid room. “Hence why I’m doing the kitchen,” I mumble.
His forefinger and thumb reach out to grasp my chin, dragging my face back to his. I see his expression has now softened as he gazes down at me, and again, something about his demeanour feels off.
Don’t get me wrong, I like it when he’s nice to me, but I don’t understand this sudden shift.
“What’s with the cleaning bug?” he asks as his thumb skims lightly over my skin.
That movement is so intimate, it has goose bumps pebbling down my arms. I’m not used to receiving affection from him, but I crave it more than I care to admit.
“I’m bored.”
“Why are you bored, baby?”
Baby.
That deep baritone voice of his, when he calls mebabyorbabe, has liquid heat pooling in my core. It’s effortlessly seductive and dangerously alluring.
“Because there’s nothing to do around here.”
“What about your books?”
“I’ve read them so many times they’ve become predictable. I need new material. That thrill of the unknown is gone. It’s no fun knowing what’s coming next. And the only book I brought with me, that I never got to finish, now has a hole blown straight through the centre.” I narrow my eyes accusingly as I voice the last part.
He exhales sharply as he releases his hold on my chin, and I immediately feel the loss of his touch.
“Why don’t you watch a movie?”
“There’s onlymerda(Shit) on free-to-air television.”
