‘Why are you really here?’
‘In T and T, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think I told you.’
Samantha swung her legs. She knew how this was going to go. He was going to dance around her questions. In the end, he’d give her just enough to pacify her. She did not want to do this dance. Screw it. Let’s get back to having fun. She wasn’t going to interrogate him. Not tonight, anyway.
She slipped off the counter and went to him. She took the bottle out of his hands and took a swig. The beer felt cool going down her throat. Roman stood with his back to the refrigerator door, arms folded, eyes bright. It was time to get this night back on track. ‘What else do you have in that refrigerator?’
His expression softened with relief. ‘Let’s see.’
There was a container of chicken empanadas, leftovers from Candy’s Shop. ‘Are you hungry now?’ he asked. ‘Or do you want to work up an appetite?’
She smirked and reached for the container.
They ate it cold and washed it down with beer. ‘So good,’ she murmured, her mouth full.
Roman had finished his empanada in just two bites. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and looked at her as if he were still hungry. He was leaning against the closed refrigerator door again. It was as if time had looped back to when they’d first arrived, before she’d pestered him with questions, giving them a chance to start again. She took a step toward him and rested her palms on the cool surface of the refrigerator, trapping him in place.
His eyes glimmered with amusement, but also pure, unadulterated desire. ‘You make a move like that, you better be ready to back it up.’
‘I’m ready.’ She moved to kiss him.
Roman moved fast to regain the upper hand. He cupped her chin and brought his mouth to hers. Her lips parted, welcoming the hard kiss. She lost herself in the thrill, allowed her hunger for him to consume her. He broke the kiss far too soon, leaving her gasping. Before she knew what was going on, he lifted her back onto the counter. Dizzy, she threaded her arms around his neck to hold steady. He pushed away the straps of her halter top and swept his lips down her throat, along her collar bone. Her breath came out sharp as he traced a trail with the tip of his nose down between her breasts, then up again to that spot at the base of her neck. He knew how to make her tremble.
‘It wasn’t just fun,’ he said. ‘You had the best of me.’
These gentle words, spoken in a rough baritone, ravaged her. He’d pinpointed the fear that she’d been too much of a coward to admit. It wasn’t that she wanted this ‘experience’ to matter or their ‘time together’ to count for something, she wanted him to demonstrate in word or deed that she mattered to him. Once she boarded her plane, Sunday at two, it was over. He may not see her ever again. She wanted him to remember her for more than just a good time because she was never, ever going to forget him.
Tonight she would show him.
Samantha slipped the sparkly halter top over her head and tossed it over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of that wicked, dirty grin before he knocked a stack of pots and pans off the counter in his rush to get to her. Samantha gasped. Roman dismissed it. ‘Never mind that. I don’t cook.’
She wrapped her legs around him. He gripped her and lifted her off the counter. Together they stumbled backwards, crashing into the refrigerator and it rocked on impact. Roman lost patience and raised her by the hips back onto the countertop. ‘Sorry. I can’t be bothered right now.’
‘It’s OK,’ she assured him. It was more than OK. She watched him peel off her jeans, excitement pulsing through her. She reached for his belt buckle when a bolt of common sense struck. ‘It’s not OK! The condoms are in the bedroom.’
Roman swore, swept her up again, and hauled her into the bedroom.
Later, when they lay wrapped up in each other, their damp skin touching, it occurred to her that she’d been going about it the wrong way. When she asked about his past, he clammed up. His answers were short and deliberately vague, leaving her craving more. It drove her a little crazy. But most people hated talking about their past. In the end, what did it matter? The past was irrelevant. She was a carpe diem type of girl herself. What mattered was the future, the one he was striving toward. What was in his heart? What did he dream about at night?
She twisted around to face him and smoothed his brows with her fingertips. ‘What do you dream about?’ she asked, her voice raspy and low.
He rested a hand on the curve of her hip. ‘Besides you?’
A smile parted her lips. Such a flirt. ‘Yes, besides me. What are your dreams for the future?’
That lazy hand slid down the length of her thigh. ‘Samantha,’ he whispered. ‘I only dream of you.’
She squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t the answer she was seeking, but it was the one she wanted.