Roman-2(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(102)

I’d also told the poor man that I want a big picture of a seahorse hanging over the stairs and baby pink chairs in the hall. It’s all here, everything, down to the ugly ass white and purple checked rug beneath the table.

It’s hideous, really hideous; something that only my girlish imagination would have conjured and I love it so much I actually have to bite my lips to stop a laughing cry.

“Christ, we told you it looked horrid. Don’t pay any mind to this shit hun, we’ll have it out soon. Apparently this one.” He snarls, twitching a thumb at his brother. “Can’t decorate to save his bloody life.”





Chapter Seventeen




We all laughed at that but deep down inside I feel unsure, like I’m walking on shaky ground as the three ‘lads’ show me around and give me the grand tour.

Devon follows behind, hands in his pockets and stares at me the entire time, his eyes a hot brand he doesn’t bother to hide. When we get upstairs and Davy points me in one direction while they hop back downstairs to check on dinner I know that something is off.

But who cares?

Seriously, I love this place. It’s a hodgepodge of colours and styles, sort of like the sets of Nanny McPhee. Everywhere I walk, everywhere I look is something different.

I explore to my heart’s content, giggling when I get to a room that’s decorated in lilac and white striped wall paper, honey coloured hardwood floors and robin’s egg blue accessories. Every thing’s bright and out of tune and just-

“This is the master bed and bath.”

I turn quickly and gape when Devon saunters into the room and stops about three feet away, his expression inscrutable as he looks between me and the wonderful disaster that is the colour scheme.

“Nice.”

It’s all I can say when he prowls by me and flicks at the bedspread, his grey eyes peeking lazily at me through his lashes.

“Haven’t slept in here as yet.”

This is so awkward, so, so awkward as he keeps his eyes on mine and runs a hand over the mattress, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes and releases his lip with a pop, his eyes telling me everything he isn’t saying.

My nipples bead and poke at the soft cotton of my shirt and my breaths come in shallow pants when he drags a finger over the fabric and closes his eyes, groaning long and low.

“I thought of nothing but getting you naked and sliding you between these sheets. Do you remember that morning imp? You woke me with your mouth on mine and your hand squeezing my dick.”

Yes, yes I do. I remember waking to the sensation of his skin stuck to mine where we were joined, chest to hip, his sweat blending with mine. I remember the smell of sex and the even better smell of his skin where my nose borrowed into his neck.

I’d woken sore and sated and so curious I’d been unable to stop my hands from roaming his body in my quest to learn the feel of him. He’d slept as I ran my fingers from the nubs of his flat nipples, down over his hard abdomen to that place I’d felt deep inside me the night before.

I’ve read books and Googled a lot of things but nothing could have prepared me for the sight and feel of his erection were it lay hard and imposing, the crown just kissing his navel.

I’d been curious and terrified as I ran gentle fingers over the smooth skin, my touch light as I explored him from base to tip and back again, enthralled by the heat and satiny texture.

My innocence, or maybe just plain ignorance hadn’t registered that my explorations had become somewhat more than innocent curiosity till I’d found my mouth on his and become aware of my hand-

“Stop.” I say quietly, taking deep breaths to still my racing heart and breath. “I-I’m not here for you.”

A lie but something I have to say to restore my equilibrium.

Devon is an effortless flirt, something I have only now come to realize, months after doing one of the stupidest things ever. I fell for his innocent kindness which I now recognize as having been his spider drawing my fly into his web.

There had never been an option for me, not once that whole week when he’d changed his tune and drawn me in. I hadn’t stood a chance against his methods and had foolishly believed that our night together was my choice, an illusion he’d given me to make him feel better about taking without giving, while I felt powerful in my own sexuality.

And here he is, doing it again, luring me in with his heated eyes and hot words.

“Imp.”

“No. I know what you want and while I swore I would hear you out that doesn’t mean I have to let you use your, your methods on me. I don’t want to marry you and spend the rest of my life as the consolation prize. I’m worth more than that. So you can choose. We can be friends and maybe we can come to an agreement about living arrangements or I can leave and we’ll agree about visitation later.” I say clearly, stepping back from his advance.