Flock (The Ravenhood Duet #1)(26)

He shakes his head. “Today is about you.”

“Trust me. It would be for me. It’s okay to be selfish,” I reply breathlessly.

He stops the hand I reach for him with and kisses the back of it.

“Sean, I’m not innocent.”

He threads our fingers. “No, but you’re more. A lot more.”

“You truly mean that? Considering what you confessed earlier?”

“You took that the wrong way.”

“Meaning what?”

He peers down at me, cupping my cheek with a warm hand, sliding his thumb along my mouth. “Meaning with you, right now, I’m feeling a little selfish.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a very bad thing.”

“How so?”

He drops his head on my stomach and groans.

My heart blossoms when he lifts his head to peer up at me, and we exchange a look, the rawness in his eyes lets me know I’ve made as much of an impression on him as he has me. In exchange for his silent confession, I give him an ounce of my trust. No more words necessary.

It’s on the return hike back to his car, where he takes great care to lift me into his hold, stopping me here and there for a kiss, lulling me with deep strokes of his tongue that I know I could fall for Alfred Sean Roberts. And today, a small part of me does.





Sean: Thinking of you.



What are you thinking?



Sean: All kinds of thoughts.



Care to get specific?



Sean: You’re beautiful and completely unaware of just how much. And you taste so fucking good.



What are you doing to me?



Sean: Not nearly enough. Come to the garage.



I’ll be there in an hour.



It’s been days since the waterfall and he’s barely touched me intimately since. He’s wrapped up in me constantly when we’re around the guys but leaves me every night with a chaste kiss, his mixed signals driving me up the wall. It’s as if he’s waiting for…something I can’t put my finger on. But instead of complaining about it, I’ve played along because, honestly, I’m enjoying the ache and anticipation. I’ve never been much of a fast girl, but my attraction to him makes my inhibitions hard to hold. The boys of my past have nothing on this man. Nothing. And these days, when I look at my reflection, I see the noticeable afterglow of the weeks spent draped in his attention. It’s a high I’d almost forgotten about, a high that’s more addictive to me than any drug could ever be. My heart has some scar tissue, but it beats steady, constantly letting me know that playing his game leaves it vulnerable, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the warning. For now, I’m playing blissfully ignorant, all too ready for another hit.

“Can you put the phone down while we dine?”

I tense in my seat, feeling Roman’s stare and shove my phone into my pocket before lifting my fork.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“You are clearly distracted this evening.”

Because I’d much rather be in the now with Sean. I don’t know why Roman insists we dine together. Conversation is forced, our shared meals unbearably uncomfortable, at least for me. It’s hard to gauge what makes Roman uneasy because the man is impenetrable stone. He’s always annoyed, but that seems to be his only discernable emotion—if he’s even capable of emotion. The longer I’m in his house, the more like a stranger he feels to me.

“What were your parents like?”

I’ve never asked about them before. Not even when I was younger. Even when I had my youth to fall back on for false bravery, I knew better than to ask. They were both deceased, that’s the extent of what both Mom and I know.

Roman draws a perfect bite of pasta onto his fork. “What specifically do you want to know?”

“Were they as outgoing as you?”

His jaw clenches and I congratulate myself but steady my features.

“They were socialites, and my father kept regular attendance at the golf course.”

“How did they die?”

“They drank.”

“Poison? They go out in a Shakespearean way?”

“You find death amusing?”

“No, Sir.” I find this conversation amusing.

“They died not far apart. Three years. They had me when they were in their forties.”

“You got a jump on them in that sense, huh?”

My mother was twenty when she had me, and Roman was older by twelve years. He’d dipped into the honeypot.

“I never planned for children.”

I give him jazz hands. “Surprise. It’s a girl.”

Not even a twitch of a smile.

“Tough room,” I sip my water. “Sorry about the diapers, couldn’t be helped.” I’m positive the man never changed one of my diapers. Not one.

“Cecelia, do you plan on behaving this way all night?”

“One can only hope.” That you don’t destroy my soul with your death glare.

“So, no parents, no girlfriends. Do you have a friend to hang out with?”

“I have associates. Plenty of them.”

“So, what does Roman do to let his hair down?”