She snorted. “No way.”
“Excuse me?”
“They were being sarcastic when they named you that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not a tyrant.”
My brows shot up. I could tell by her tone that our conversation was about to turn interesting.
Interesting and a touch volatile.
“I’m not?”
“No. They call you that because you’re bossy, but even your bossiness is half-assed. You can’t be a tyrant because you don’t take anything or anyone seriously. You know what you really are?”
“Do tell.
“You’re a coward.”
I felt my smile freeze on my face. Leave it to Ro to surprise me with a gut punch like that. “How so?” There was a bite to the question.
“You talk a lot of shit, that’s a fact. But that’s all it is. Talk.” And with that, she left, the little termagant.
She was half my size soaking wet, but she’d just wiped the floor with my ego.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ANOTHER SIGNIFICANT PROBLEM arose when I found her tiny body curled up on the couch one lazy Sunday afternoon, sleeping like a baby kitten.
It did something to me, to see her like that. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but it was dangerous.
It made me feel wild and alive, like even I couldn’t predict what I’d do next.
It was delightful and a bit terrifying.
She’d asserted that her day off would be on Sunday, and so it was. It drove me a little crazy as she proceeded to leave the house for hours for church and ‘family time,’ and laze around the house. On top of that she completely ignored all of my orders and pleas throughout her declared day of rest.
And now here she was, sprawled out on the sofa in my rec room, a dog eared Alasdair Masters paperback flung above her head.
I got a kick out of that. I’d be sure to tell him his latest release was putting people to sleep, but even that thought wasn’t enough to distract me from Ro’s luscious little body writhing around restlessly in sleep like it was looking for something.
Namely, to ride my cock.
I’d caught sight of her earlier heading to church. She’d been wearing one of her church lady floral atrocities and that had been just fine. Now was another matter. She’d changed into her Sunday lazies sometime after she’d come home, and it was just too goddamn much for me. My mind had burned a lot of calories feverishly trying to imagine what was under all of her horrendous polyester, so when I got my first real confirmation that I might be right it was all I could do not to come in my pants.
Her outfit wasn’t meant to be sexy. Just the opposite. It was an ugly, oversized gray T-shirt, but it was riding up high enough to show her flat little tummy. Her belly button was an innie. I knew it!
On her bottom half all she was wearing were some men’s boxer shorts. Two thoughts assailed me at once. 1. Where the fuck had she gotten those boxers? Were they from some ex-boyfriend? And 2. Why did she hide those legs? They were gorgeous, shapely but trim and topped by a perfectly plump little ass.
Damnit. I just knew it. I could have some real fun taking that hot little body for a ride on my dick.
I bet she’d fuck with a purpose, getting off like it was on the day’s agenda.
Her feet were bare. They were so tiny, which made sense, because she was tiny.
What didn’t make sense was how much those little bitty feet turned me on.
Even her face resting in sleep was another, softer, sexier version of her. Goddammit, but she was prettier than I’d let myself see before.
She also looked painfully young. She was such a force of nature it was easy to forget she was still in her early twenties.
I didn’t like them that young. Under twenty-five and they weren’t quite all the way cooked, usually.
I was well into my thirties, and she was just too fucking young.
My dick emphatically didn’t care about that.
She shifted, turning and hiking a leg up, revealing more smooth skin with each movement.
It was too fucking much. I cleared my throat.
She rolled onto her back, blinking up at me.
“Morning, lazy buns,” I told her. My voice came out all funny. Throaty and soft with a thread of something worrisome.
She blinked some more. “Morning?” she yawned.
I smiled down into her confused face. “It’s four in the afternoon. You’re taking your lazy Sunday to a whole new level.” I sat on the coffee table in front of her. My knees were almost brushing her bare legs.
She shrugged, unconcerned, sitting up slow as you please, smoothing her T-shirt down to cover skin as she went. Was she not wearing a bra? Jesus Christ. “Are you wearing a bra?” I asked. Damn lack of a filter again.
Her face screwed up into a cute little glare. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I am.”
I studied her some more. “Not your usual kind. Whatever you’re wearing has little to no support.”
She glared harder, grabbing her glasses off the coffee table and perching them onto her face. “For your information, it’s a bralette, and no, it’s not supportive, but it’s comfortable. Now can we stop talking about my underwear?”
I nodded at her legs. “Where’d you get those boxer shorts? An ex-boyfriend or something?”
She looked caught off guard. It was a talent of mine. “Noooo,” she said slowly. “I bought them. They’re comfortable to sleep in.”
“You bought men’s underwear to sleep in?”
“Like I said, they’re comfortable.”
“Well, if you ever need to borrow any of my underwear, let me know. It’ll save you the trouble of shopping in the men’s underwear section.”
She was blushing. It didn’t take much. Yummy.
“So this is what you’re doing with your whole day?” I asked her, trying to sound judgmental. “Reading?”
She looked intrigued. “Don’t you write books? I’d think you of all people would understand the appeal.”
“Point taken. I just don’t catch many people reading around this place. There’s so much else to do on the property.”
“Maybe try dating a girl that knows how to read.”
My brows rose. “Is that an offer?”
“Not remotely. But anyway, I’ve done more than read today. I went to church and got some work finished too. Some illustrations.”
“Can I see them?” I asked. She hadn’t shown me any of her work yet.
“Do you really want to?” She peered at me.
“I want to see absolutely everything you have to show,” I said instantly, raising my brows suggestively.
She took it how I meant it. She rolled her eyes. “God, you’re such a sex pervert!”
“Isn’t that redundant? Did you really need to put the word sex before pervert?” I grinned at her. God, she was adorable.
“No. You can pervert anything.”
“Hell yeah, I can. Show me those pictures.”
“They’re in my room.”
I stood up, waving toward her wing of the house. “Lead on.”
I followed close behind her as she walked. A little too close. Had her hair always been that shiny? I leaned forward slightly and sniffed. Dammit, it did smell like something tropical, like my fantasies were coming to life. Coconut mixed with passionfruit was suddenly my favorite smell.