Cousins: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

Elizabeth

THE MADISON ROOM IN THE Albright Bar & Steakhouse has a very small makeshift dance floor, which is kind of weird, because it's such an upscale place. One would think that they could do better. In fact the dance area looks like it consists of only about fifteen linoleum tiles, definitely not up to the standards of the rest of the restaurant, but it's clear that my family is going to do their damnedest to make it a party. I must admit, I kind of like them for that. Everyone in here is practically rich, but they're still a lot of fun. Not stiff like most of the people I know back home, who are barely making their mortgages but act a hell of a lot snootier.
 

Juliette must have weaved some of her party magic and convinced the restaurant to pipe in one of her special iPod playlists through the room's speaker system. I'm pretty sure it's the same playlist she was exercising to earlier. It's full of old radio hits. Most I recognize thanks to my mom, but a few I don't.

I'm laughing heartily at a thin woman with a silver gray bob and a tasteful blue floral dress on named Aunt Joan who is telling me a funny story about each person that gets up to dance. Aunt Joan must be tipsy, because she is sipping on something called an Old Fashion and telling the same stories twice, but they're funny nonetheless.

Then I feel the prickle again.
 

I rub the back of my neck gently with my fingertips.

It can't be. It can't frackin' be.

"Hello again Duchess."

I raise my head and meet a set of coal black eyes that are pinning me to my seat.
 

"Hi," is all I manage to squeak out.

He continues to stand there, gazing at my mouth, while Aunt Joan looks between the two of us like she's watching a tennis match. Heat is emanating off the back of my neck, and I'm breaking into a slight sweat. You'd have to be an idiot not to notice how he is affecting me, and Aunt Joan seems like she's far from being anyone's idiot.
 

Did he follow me or did he actually come looking for me? I know that I should be frightened by his stalkerish tendencies, but instead I'm gushing wet because of it.

"Let's dance." He says in a thick voice.
 

It's not a question or a request but more like this is what we're going to do now. I can't refuse. My body won't allow it.

"All right."

There's a weird mid-tempo song playing which makes me wonder how we're going to dance with each other. It's not slow enough for a slow dance, and it's not fast enough to dance apart normally. The decision is taken out of my hands when he gently pulls me into his arms and starts to gently rock back and forth to the beat of the song. One of his massive legs slides in between my two quivering ones, and his moves are smooth and strong enough that he rocks my body along with his which only encourages other much more x-rated thoughts to pop into my head. Especially when I feel something rock solid poking me in my abdomen.

"What are you thinking about right this second?" He lowers his head to whisper in my ear.
 

Your intoxicating smell.
 

How hard you are.
 

"Popcorn." I blurt out. Really Elizabeth?
 

"Popcorn?"

"It's my favorite snack." I'm a bumbling embarrassment to every woman on the planet right now.

"You're hungry right now?" He asks incredulously.

I giggle. "A little."

"No one fed you in here?" He chuckles when he asks me that.

"I missed most of dinner when I was having a glass of merlot with a certain stranger earlier."

"Then I owe you dinner." He grins. "When do you want to collect?"

I can't help but blush from his forwardness, especially when he pulls me closer to him. I smell whiskey, chocolate and an additional scent that is completely unique to him. He could bottle that shit up and sell it.
 

Stay focused Elizabeth.

"I don't have dinner with strangers."
 

I say no to dinner, because let's be realistic here. What on earth does he want with me? And what on earth would I do with him? I'm a basket case. A mess.
 

And he's, not.

"You think we're still strangers? Ok, let's fix that problem right now. Tell me five things about yourself." He points his finger at me and orders. "Go."

"Five things? That's not going to really change things."

"It'll change everything." He says resolutely.
 

Everything he says is frackin' sexy.
 

Both of his hands slip lower to the base of my spine. He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans and lets his hands loosely lay on the top of my ass as we continue to rock to the song that's playing.
 

Everything he does is frackin' sexy.

"I love popcorn–" I say breathlessly forgetting that I've already mentioned that.

"I already know that. Five other things." He urges.

I start rattling off stats like a complete moron.
 

"My favorite color is yellow. I love dogs, not cats. I graduated in the top ten percent of my high school class. I'm an only child, and I don't really know anyone here tonight."

"You crashed the party?" He smirks with approval.

"I didn't say that exactly–"

"Where are you from?" He interrupts.

"Uh-uh. I gave you my five things. It's your turn."
 

I'm not sure where that burst of confidence came from, but it's probably the most Bitsy like thing I've said in his presence since we've met. Finally! I was a leader in high school, a force to be reckoned with in college, and now I'm a budding entrepreneur. I'm not some mealy-mouthed virgin who melts at the sight of every badass who crosses my path.

I think I hear him growl in protest at the base of his throat. I'm not so sure that he likes how I threw things back into his court, but I'm not going to budge. I'll just quietly keep dancing with him until he answers me.

"All right. My favorite color is blue. I own an Alaskan Malamute named Mr. Tibbs. I hated high school, and I'm an only child too."

"That's only four." I point out.

He doesn't reply but instead starts to rub a few strands of my curly ponytail between his fingers, and I attempt to hide the smile that's widening across my face against his chest. Ok, maybe I am acting like a mealy-mouthed virgin.
 

"Mr. Tibbs?" I ask to break the trance that his stroking of my hair is placing me in.

"He has crystal blue eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea and he's mean as shit. You'll see when you meet him."

When I meet him? I smile very brightly to myself because I like the words, even though I know he only wants to get in between my legs. He made that quite clear earlier.
 

Our song ends, but another mid-tempo song I've heard on the radio about ten years ago begins.

"Old people and their music," he snickers. "I hate this crap."

"We can sit down if you want," I offer.
 

Maybe he's sick of dancing with me, but he keeps his grip firmly around my center, while we keep rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the song. I'm beginning to really like how I feel inside his embrace. His one leg wedged in between my two. My head tucked underneath his chin. How close I am to all his hard edges.

"I'd really like for us not to be strangers." He says in a gravelly voice that I could very well become addicted to. "Did my five things work?"

"Four things–" I correct him. "And no they didn't work. I've met you twice, you've told me four random things about yourself, but you forgot the most important."

"What's that?"

"Your name. Remember I don't eat with strangers or talk to strangers." I grin.

"Well what will you do with strangers?" He asks with a glint in his hard, obsidian eyes.

"Nothing." I say as if it's the hardest thing I've ever admitted to in my life.

"I'd like to change your mind about that Elizabeth."

"I don't think so." But I want him so badly, that my mouth is practically salivating.

I start to notice several pairs of eyes on us as we dance, but don't think much of it, because the stranger's lips are directly above my ear now causing me to block out any further distractions.

"This stranger is seriously considering bending you over one of these round tables in front of all the rest of these people, and giving you the privilege of calling me whatever name you choose, while I make you come hard with my fingers, then my tongue, then my cock."

What. The. Frack.

I wasn't expecting him to say anything remotely close to that, and so my legs almost buckle from underneath me from the images that he's so eloquently described in fantastically dirty detail. He deserves a slap for that, but before I can pretend that I'm insulted by his overtly sexual comments, we're suddenly interrupted by the hilarious aunt I was chatting with earlier. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or annoyed by her interruption.

"I see you two have already reconnected." She says with a small dubious grin on her face.

"Reconnected?" I ask unclear by what she means.

"Juliette!" She calls across the room. "Come here honey. I believe you have some introductions to make."

The stranger stops dancing and pulls away from me when he sees Juliette approach.
 

I miss the warmth of his body already.

"Oh, I see you're finally here," Juliette says to him. My aunt knows Mr. Badass?

"Hey." He says while giving her a hug and a brief kiss on the side of her face.

"Hi yourself stranger. Did you two actually recognize each other?"

"Why would we?" He asks looking back over at me.

A sick feeling grows in the pit of my belly.

"Oh well, I guess you wouldn't." She chuckles. "You've only seen each other once when you were kids, so let me do the honors. Elizabeth this is Roman Masterson–my stepson. Roman, this is your cousin Elizabeth. My brother Patrick's daughter."
 

I swallow what feels like the largest lump of dry cotton down my throat. I didn't recognize the face, but I definitely remember the name.

"You're Roman!" I didn't mean to say that as loudly as I did, but I'm completely mortified.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment in utter embarrassment at what almost transpired between the two of us. When my eyes rise to meet Roman's, I can't help but wonder what he's thinking right now, but I can't read him. Not until he speaks to me in a tone that makes my hackles rise.

"Nice to see you again little
sunflower
," he says in an almost delighted tone.

And I'm pretty sure that I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Chapter Twelve

Roman

I AM TRYING TO SPEND AS little time at my father's house as humanly possible. This is the second week in a row that I've made sure to stay busy either working, drinking, or fucking random women. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this going, not when I promised Joseph that I'd handle whatever trouble my little cousin was in. Of course I assured him of all of this way before I spotted her in the middle of the Club Lotus dance floor. Completely before I fantasized about claiming all of her orgasms for the next year. Totally before I propositioned her at my father's birthday party. Absolutely before I learned that she is my fucking cousin.
 

I've thought about running by the house a million times. Even though I don't live there anymore, I still have a room there. Juliette insisted on it and didn't care what Joseph had to say about it. And even though we have an office on South Broad, Joseph likes to handle a lot of his business out of their home. He's old school. He likes to fax versus email, the phone over texting, and he absolutely prefers talking in person above all of that. I think it's because he likes to look you in the eyes and see if you're lying or not. So he's always asking me to swing by the house to talk to me about this or pick up that. I should have been by the house a million times by now.
 

 
But I can't do it.

Why? Because when I'm near Elizabeth I have this unexplainable craving to touch her. Now that I've held her in my arms once, I can't help but want to hold her again. Preferably in a horizontal position. It's pretty pathetic how I regress into a horny thirteen-year-old boy when I think about Elizabeth. I haven't seen her since the night of Joseph's party, but my dick has been brick hard fantasizing about her every single fucking day since.
 

Totally wound up last night from all my pent up frustration, I couldn't sleep and found myself thinking about her. Imagining if I stayed over the house and pulled Elizabeth into my old bedroom. I'd sit her on the edge of my bed dressed in only a thong and a pair of heels by my special request. I don't even know if she wears thongs, but hey it's my fantasy. She'd spread her legs on my command, and then I'd get on my knees, slide her thong over slowly and lick her clit expertly and thoroughly until she cried for release.
 

Fuck.

I don't even want to say out loud to myself how fucked up this is, because blood or no blood, Elizabeth is family. She is Juliette's niece, and I respect Juliette. She's been nothing but good to me ever since I was a kid, which means I need to treat her niece like a cousin; not like my next piece of ass.
 

The old man is no fool either. If I keep avoiding the house for too much longer he's going to know something is up. He's paid well to know shit before other people do. To sense shit. If he really starts paying any serious attention to my behavior around Elizabeth or rather my inability to be around Elizabeth, he will immediately see right through me, and he won't like it. The only thing keeping the nosy bastard off my case is the fact that he's preoccupied with the Mendez job. A baseball steroids case. It pays a shit load of money if we can get to any potential witnesses, and pay them to say exactly what we want them to say during his hearing with Major League Baseball. Joseph hasn't asked for my help on it yet, which is fine by me. I've got my hands full with a million other things.