Taming Tess, page 16
That had been the plan. A night of great sex and the itch would be gone. What a fool she'd been. Now, what did she do?
The first thing she was going to do was get the hell out of the bedroom. She slipped into The Bargain Mart robe and fled down the steps.
The scene that greeted her was little better than what she ran from. The meal they'd left forgotten when passion had taken over covered the kitchen table like a battlefield post-battle.
She sat at the near end of the table, her legs gathered up against her chest and her feet propped against the edge of the cold, vinyl seat. The question, was she the victor or the conquered?
Tess groaned and thumped her brow against her knees. Why did loving Roman so threaten her?
She peered over her shoulder at the open door of Roman's bedroom, the corner of his bed visible, his marriage bed. Roman wanted a wife to keep his house and mother his children. She wasn't that woman ... at least not the part about keeping his house. That was the problem. That's what made loving Roman a threat to her. She couldn't be what he needed without losing who she was, could she?
Behind her, a stair step squeaked. Roman had his hands on her shoulders before she could answer her own question.
"Whatcha doing down here alone?” His voice buzzed against the back of her ear, warm and comforting in its vibration.
"Thinking."
He squatted beside the chair, his arms around it and her, and he kissed her bare thigh. “About what?"
She stroked his head. “I was thinking, what are we going to do now?"
He rose, braced one hand on the back of her chair and the other to the edge of the table, leaned close, and brushed his lips across hers. “How's that for starters?"
A kinder, gentler Roman was not what she needed when she was trying to figure out if there was a way for them to both get what they wanted. What she needed was Roman snapping and snarling at her.
No. His sparring with her had acted more as foreplay than anything else. Six weeks plus of foreplay. No wonder their fiasco of a dinner had ended in the best sex of her life.
She groaned and pressed her face against her knees.
"Tess? What's the problem?"
She rolled her head back and forth. “Having sex was supposed to have ended the frustration.” Not make me want more.
"It did a pretty good job for me. I'm not nearly as wired as I was before.” He kissed her kneecap and, when she glanced up, the tip of her nose. “Didn't it work for you?"
"We're too different,” she offered.
"We're supposed to be different,” he murmured against her throat. “That's what enables a man's body and a woman's body to fit together."
"We want different things,” she argued, trying to push him away.
"Just tell me what you want,” he murmured, slipping a hand between her legs. “I'll be happy to try again."
"It wasn't a good idea last Friday night, and it still isn't a good idea now."
A maddening grin stretched across his face. “You're the one who charged into my shower telling me it was the only thing we could do."
"I was wrong. There. Just the thing you've been waiting weeks to hear from me. I was wrong."
He laughed, a deep heady, nerve-provoking laugh. “What's the matter, Princess? You afraid I can't be spontaneous enough for you?"
"This isn't about the sex."
He stroked the narrow swath of silk panty covering the space between her legs, and her insides turned liquid. She wanted to enjoy more of what they had shared through the night. But there were issues to settle.
"Roman..."
He stopped her with a kiss.
"We need to talk,” she murmured against his lips.
"Shh,” buzzed his command against her lips.
"But..."
He pulled her to her feet—pulled her against his hard, naked body and backed her into the table. The chilly Formica made her jump against him. His resulting moan reverberated clear down her throat to the center of her being. Roman St. John was every bit as intoxicating as she'd feared he would be.
And she was drunk with him. Drunk with the feel of his hard angles and lines pressed the length of her body. Drunk with his soul-devouring kiss.
Drunk with her need for him.
He leaned into her, pressing her back against the edge of the table, one hand imprinting her spine with its heat while the other ... She heard forks and knives clatter to the floor followed by the sharp crack of a plate striking linoleum and an ominous splat that could only be the spaghetti.
He picked her up by the waist and deposited her onto the table, whispering against the corner of her mouth, “How's that for spontaneous?"
Staid Roman was changing ... for her ... when she wasn't even sure yet if she could change for him.
"I think you were spontaneous enough after your shower,” she panted against his cheek, clinging on to her sanity even though it was fast slipping away beneath the sweep of his thumbs across her abdomen.
"I've just begun to show you how spontaneous I can be,” he murmured, his thumbs now stroking the insides of her thighs.
"Roman, wait,” she breathed even as her legs spread to accommodate him.
He stood between her thighs and smiled at her. “Did I start on the wrong end?"
"No,” she exhaled before catching herself. “I mean..."
"Or maybe you'd have preferred I start with those hungry-for-attention nipples?” He palmed her through the sateen fabric of the robe, making her ache all over again.
"I thought you found my breasts lacking,” she countered in an attempt to cool his ardor ... and hers. Anything to get him to stop so she could think things through.
"I never called your breasts lacking.” He nudged aside a lapel and fit his lips around one straining peak, his breath hot against her cool skin.
She gasped, “When I told you I did your laundry, you asked if I wanted a medal or a chest to pin it on."
He chuckled against her nipple and nipped her playfully before raising his face to hers. “That was a foolish thing for me to say."
She was only vaguely aware of his hand at her waist loosening the tie that held the front of her robe together. The cool, predawn air shivered across her bared skin, while his palm cupped her breast in a fiery caress.
He gazed down at her through eyes dark with passion. “The truth is, Princess, you're a perfect fit."
He pressed her down on the table, his mouth replacing his hand on her breast, her stomach ... between her legs. She should fight him off. But his artful tongue wreaked havoc with her resistance. Besides, it wasn't the sex that was the problem.
The problem was ... The problem was...
Oh hell, who could think about problems when a delicious heat was rippling across her abdomen?
Warning tapped against her skull. But who could listen to silly noises in her head when an artful lover played a rhapsody between her thighs?
But the warning was persistent. It scratched at her ears almost as though it came from outside her. She rubbed the noise away from her ears.
Nearing the moment of no return, she heard the whimper. Faint but plaintive enough to reach beyond her body and touch her soul.
Tess levered herself onto her elbows, canted her head toward the door, and listened. There it was again, scratching.
She grabbed Roman by the hair and hauled his head up.
"What?” he gasped.
"There's something at the door."
"Not into exhibitionism?” he teased, wagging his eyebrows at her.
She pushed him back, sat up, and demanded, “Listen."
"Probably just a branch,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat.
"At the door on the porch?” she insisted, swatting him away and scrambling off the table as she shrugged into her robe.
"Tess, wait,” he called after her. “It might be a skunk."
Too late. She already had the door open.
Chapter Eleven
"It's a dog,” she said, dropping to her knees beside the German shepherd belly down on Roman's front porch. “And he's hurt."
Roman peeked over Tess’ shoulder.
"Call the animal ER,” she commanded, hovering over the animal.
Roman took a step toward the wall phone.
"And turn on the porch light."
Somewhat stiffly, Roman turned, flicked on the light, and glanced again over Tess’ shoulder. Her hands stroked the big shepherd, his sides puffing in and out with shallow breaths.
No, not stroked, examined. The woman he'd called a pampered Princess knelt bare-kneed on his damp porch, probing for injuries on an animal big enough to eat her face off. He opened his mouth to warn her, but the dog seemed to submit to her gentle hands and soft, soothing tone. His baby brother had that kind of knack with animals. His mother had it with children. His sister had it with both. He'd never considered Tess would have an ounce of empathy for either.
Though there had been that time a couple kids came to The Castle selling candy bars for a school project. Each member of the crew and he had bought a bar from each kid. Tess had bought five ... from each kid. Ten candy bars at a buck a pop.
He'd have bet she'd have chased them off with her broom ... or invited them inside and popped them into the oven Hansel and Gretel style, not sent them skipping with empty candy boxes and stuffed money pouches. And she'd smiled after them, amused by their excitement.
"Dog emergency room,” Tess prompted over her shoulder.
Roman jerked into motion but, some of his blood having finally located his brain, he stopped halfway to the phone. “We don't have an animal emergency room."
Tess raised her head and peered blankly in at him, demanding, “What do you people do if you have an animal emergency after hours?"
"Call the after-hours number for the Veterinary Clinic,” he muttered stupidly, heading to the phone.
Since when had he stopped being the levelheaded one? Roman wondered as he stepped over the carnage of pasta on his kitchen floor. Since when had anyone had to order him around in an emergency? he quizzed himself as he looked up the after-hours number for the animal clinic. He'd always been the decisive one, he reasoned as he dialed the number. The calm and collected big brother. The family patriarch-in-training as his sister had often teasingly called him. Yet, Tess had been as take charge and as levelheaded as he'd ever been in the middle of an emergency.
The veterinarian's sleep thickened voice answered on the third ring. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Pine Ridge Animal Clinic. Dr. DeBaker had already arrived and had the clinic door unlocked and the lights on. He met Roman at the passenger side door of the truck as Roman opened it.
"He reacts when I touch his hip,” Tess said from the floor where she'd crouched the entire trip so the dog could have the seat ... Tess whom he'd have bet his last dollar would have been the last person to scuff up her knees over a stray dog.
The two men carried the dog into the clinic on the makeshift litter Roman had ripped from a piece of plywood, as Tess explained how they'd found the dog on “our porch."
Our porch. They were in the middle of an emergency and he was noticing things like Tess calling his porch ours. Noticing it and liking it.
"We think he was hit by a car,” Tess elaborated as the vet palpated the dog's abdomen.
"There were skid marks at the end of the driveway,” Roman added.
She swiped a tear from her eye. “How could anyone hit this beautiful animal then just drive away?"
A man had to love a woman who wept for an animal.
Love? Did he love Tess Abbot?
The dog whimpered. Tess stroked his head, her tone immediately turning soothing. Why hadn't he seen this mothering side of Tess before?
* * * *
The vet ordered them out of the exam room while he took X-rays. Tess used the time to call the phone number she'd gotten off the dog's tags and found a concerned owner who'd been searching most of the night for her dog.
"The owner's on her way,” Tess informed Roman when she hung up the phone in the vet's reception area.
"You're really good in an emergency,” he said.
"I told you I could take care of myself."
"This is more than taking care of yourself."
Was he going to call what she did mothering? Her nerves were too frazzled and her mind too uncertain yet to deal with that issue.
"It was pretty brave of you to take on an injured dog."
Brave was a better topic to deal with ... even if she was so not brave she couldn't confess her love. She hugged her arms across her stomach.
"You look cold,” he said, draping his jacket over her shoulders. He stood there a moment, the lapels of the jacket caught in his fingers, looking at her.
Silently, she begged him not to push for more. Not now. Not at this moment. If he pushed now, she'd crumble. She'd collapse into his arms and vow to make herself into everything he wanted. And later, when she was thinking clearly again, she would resent him for that decision. She was a woman who had no intention of putting her brain in neutral for any man. Not even a man who was a thorough lover and compassionate human being.
The vet motioned them back into the exam room where he had the X-ray already lit up on the viewer. The dog's leg was broken, but not badly. The dog would be fine. But would she?
Roman looped an arm around her shoulder, pulled her tight against his side, and smiled down at her. “You done good, Princess. I'm going to have to reward you, aren't I?"
A frisson of heat zipped through her. She knew exactly what kind of reward he had in mind ... just the kind she craved now that she'd sampled the man. Damn, but she wanted him.
Then why not have him? Making love to the most glorious man on earth didn't make her dependent on him. Not in the least.
Nor was she fool enough to deny herself happiness just to prove her father wrong.
* * * *
Roman whistled a happy tune as he trotted up the front steps of The Castle. He'd just picked up a new box of protection from the drug store and he intended to spend his lunch hour breaking the seal on at least one package. If they went through the second box as fast as they had the first, he'd have to buy these things by the caseload.
Grinning too widely to whistle, he climbed the stairs to the second-floor master bedroom where he found Tess bent over a packing carton, her delectable backside waving in the air. He managed enough self-control to give a low whistle of appreciation that brought her upright and facing him.
Soot smudged her brow and dotted her chin. She'd be horrified if she could see herself. He thought she looked adorable.
"Haven't you taken enough time off work this week already?” she teased.
"Even the boss gets a lunch hour,” he replied, leaning into the doorframe, thoroughly enjoying the view.
She raised her eyebrows at him. “And you came here thinking I'd feed you?"
He produced an exaggerated mock shiver. “Not unless Mrs. Antonetti has sent over something."
She snatched a pillow off the bed and flung it at him. He boxed it aside with one hand and held up the package of condoms in the other. “I brought an appetizer."
Smiling devilishly, she strode up to him, caught him by the belt buckle, and drew him toward the bed. “How much time do you have?"
"I'm the boss. I have as much time as I need."
"The boss should set a good example,” she returned, deftly unbuckling his belt.
He caught her up in his arms and kissed her hard. They were like teenagers, tearing at each other's clothes, not bothering to remove anything more than was necessary to allow them access to the most intimate parts of each other's bodies. When he reached up to remove his hard hat, she murmured against his ear, “Leave it on."
They started on the bed amidst the piles of bedding meant for the cleaners but soon found themselves dumped on the floor between the bed and the wall, tangled in a quilt and each other's limbs.
They laughed and teased each other to delicious heights, Roman with his pants snagged around his ankles and the yellow hard hat askew atop his head. Tess beneath him with her soot-smudged face and—
A throaty cough cut through the room. Roman rose onto his knees and peered across the mound on the bed to find a barrel-chested man in a hard hat all but filling the bedroom doorway. Every protective nerve in his body went on alert, and he demanded, “Who the hell are you?"
"I'm the Fire Marshal,” the big man returned. “Who the hell are you?"
* * * *
Roman's confrontational sneer crumpled, replaced with an expression of abject wretchedness. He looked every bit the hormone-charged teenager caught in the back seat of a car with his pants down. Tess’ laughter started in her diaphragm, jerky spasms butting her body against Roman's.
He hissed for her to be silent and introduced himself to the Fire Marshal ... without standing or emerging from behind the bed, of course. “Roman St. John. I'm the contractor."
She couldn't see the man who'd interrupted them, but his voice boomed through the room. “I'll be on the third floor checking out the fire area.” Then, in a less brusque tone the Fire Marshal added, “Good to see you're using protection."
Roman blanched, and the Fire Marshal added a droll, “I'm referring to the hard hat."
Laughter burst from Tess. Roman stuffed the edge of the quilt in her face ... which only provoked her to higher levels of mirth.
When the Fire Marshal was out of sight, Roman lifted the quilt from Tess’ face and glowered at her. “I was trying to protect your reputation."
She rolled beneath him, her body racked with a new wave of laughter. “My reputation?"
His glower twisted into a scowl. “Yes. Your reputation. Your virtue."
"Virtue?” She snorted. “I think my virtue was compromised a long time ago.” If he'd had his belt in its proper place, she'd have grabbed him by that. She grabbed the next most prominent thing sticking out.
Roman buckled over her, croaking out, “You've got a Fire Marshal in your attic."
She nibbled at his lips, murmuring, “But a contractor in my bedroom is worth ten Fire Marshals in the attic."
"He could come back,” Roman managed between kisses.
