Divided (Unguarded #2) - Ivy Stone Page 0,76

holding clink on the floor as I drop them. I pick them up and set them out on the coffee table beside the takeout containers of Thai food. My hands rest on my hips and I smile. My tummy flutters instead of churning for once and the reprieve is welcoming, I just hope it lasts through dinner. I admire my effort with the candles lit on the table and around the gorgeous room of the Soho loft. The place still exudes Lindsey with shabby chic decor and beautiful furnishings I’d never buy for myself. If it weren’t owned by my sister, I’d never be able to afford it. I still can’t. But Lindsey offered to help me out and this was her way of doing that. Giving me her beautiful home and also, offering me an entry-level position at Jenkins & Davenport, her and Oliver’s multi-million dollar publishing company. At twenty-nine, the woman does well for herself. Whatever she and Olly did for Giuseppe, it paid their ways through college to get the degrees they needed to build an empire to be proud of. And had I have not been sick for the past few weeks I would have already started the job. Now it’s on hold until after the baby is born.

I clap my hands together with excitement over the candles, the wine glasses full of water and the dinner that smells half enticing, half nauseating thanks to an unborn baby who seems to hate all food. It’s funny how a simple dinner is small but sending me into spasms of excitement because it means so much. I want to surprise Roamyn when he gets here after work because last night he didn’t get to come back. He rang and told me it would be too late when he got home and he didn’t want to wake me because he doesn’t have a key, so he’d just head back to his place and see me today. Our night might only be takeout at home, but it’ll be our first real date.

I pull on the door handle. “Hey,” I greet Roamyn with a bright smile who’s on the other side, tie loose around his neck, top button undone, shirt folded up his forearms and eyes—tired. Very tried.

My enthusiasm falters.

“What’s wrong? You wanna come in?” I point behind me, and for a man lost in his own head a minute ago he manages a loving smile. My body quivers.

“Hey, babe. Nothing’s wrong. Just work shit.” His hand grasps my waist as his mouth descends on my forehead. It’s sweet and soft. The opposite to Roamyn. He heads inside. I frown and pull the door closed. Not the greatest start to our first official date.

I push the fork through my food while Roamyn smashes through his like it’s his last meal. It shouldn’t surprise me. The guy’s built like the Hulk. He must eat—a lot.

I clear my throat. “So work sucked. You wanna talk about it?”

Roam puts his fork down and comes around to me. Silent. Muscles tight. Far from the relaxed face, he’s trying to pull off. He outstretches his hand for me.

I peer up at him before taking hold of it. “I take it that’s a no?”

He nods, his flinty eyes blazing over me. Forehead creasing with whatever is going through that beautiful blond head of his. My hormones skyrocket. My core throbs.

“It’s a no.”

I swallow, my mouth dry. Roam pulls me to my feet and spins me around, locking my back to his front. His fingers whisper over my shoulder blade. He twirls my hair back and over the other side. I gasp under his touch. My eyes involuntarily close. He leans in, hot breath on my neck. Lips wet against my ear. Hands pinching into my skin, massaging the tops of my shoulders, traveling up my nape. My nipples pebble, tightening to almost painful. Desire pools in my panties.

“You know what I really want to do, Ali?” His hands glide down, splaying around my belly before slipping lower. They trace the band of my shorts. My pulse quickens.

“What?” I stammer.

He kisses my shoulder. “I want to yank down these shorts.”

He kisses me again. “Bend you over the couch.”

He squeezes my hip. “Feast on your sweet cunt.”

My legs tremble. “And after I get a taste of everything I’ve been missing out on, you’re gonna come all over my cock.”

My mouth falls open. Roam brings both hands up and cups my breasts. Squeezing over the thin fabric of my top.