Chapter 1 #4
“Your belongings have been collected and moved to my suite on the top floor..”
“That’s-,” I stammer. “Why would you do that?”
He grins. “Because you are my guest. You and your former Fiancé were booked through Sunday, and I’m not the kind of man who would toss a woman out into the street to fend for herself.
Mr. Giordano is another matter. Stay, enjoy the remainder of the weekend, and I will personally see to it you are delivered home Sunday evening. ”
“And if I want to leave now?”
“Then we can make those arrangements for you, but it’s late. You should at least stay for the night.”
“That’s rather presumptuous.”
He shifts closer. “I prefer to think of it as optimistic.”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I announce.
“Now who is being presumptuous?”
“I believe your intentions were made crystal clear when you raised the stakes.”
His smile dims. “Perhaps you are right; that was a bit forward of me.”
“Forward?” I ask. “It was brutish and vulgar.” His jaw ticks, but I’m not done. “I am no man’s possession. It’s barbaric to think you can just win my body or my time with a hand of cards.”
He steps forward, backing me up against the door. His eyes are hard and determined as he cages me in. “I can show you barbaric if that’s what you want but be absolutely sure what you are asking for.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I sneer into his face.
He lifts his hand, his fingers brushing gently over my cheek to my lips. His eyes fall to my mouth, like he wants to kiss me, and a very small, very loud part of me wants him to, but I’m not about to let some strange man think he can just take whatever he wants.
“If you value your fingers Mr. Roman,” I whisper, “I suggest you remove them.”
His eyes meet mine for a brief moment, then he laughs, an honest to goodness laugh and steps back. I exhale long and loud, fixing him with a hard glare.
With the small amount of space, he’s given me, I stand up straight and move away from the door. He paces the short length of his desk, back and forth, probably contemplating his next move. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. Shall we start over?”
I inhale, watching him closely. While he seems sincere, I know guys like him.
I grew up with men who could talk anyone into anything and bragged about that ability like it was a superpower.
Men who garner fear along with respect. From what little I know about James Roman; he is no different.
So, I agree to start over with trepidation.
“Please have a seat. There are some things we should discuss.”
I cross my arms and remain standing. “You can’t possibly hold me responsible for Mickey’s debt.”
“He owes me a great deal of money.”
“Then you will have to take that up with him.”
“I will,” he says his voice stern and unapologetic. He leans back against his desk and folds his arms across his muscular chest. “Believe me, I will settle the score, but for now I’d like to discuss,” his eyes rake over my body, “you.”
I bristle. “Mr. Roman, I sincerely apologize for the trouble Mickey has caused but it’s late, and I’ve found myself stranded in the middle of the desert.”
His lips curl in amusement. “A penthouse suite in a luxury resort is hardly what I call stranded.”
“I’m not staying here.”
“Why not?” he demands. “You have luxury accommodations and an entire staff at your disposal.”
“And I’d be beholden to you.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Not at all. All I want is to ensure your comfort and safety.”
“Do you consider yourself a gentleman, Mr. Roman?”
He raises an eyebrow and studies me closely. “I assure you, my intentions are entirely honorable.”
“Honorable? You booted my fiancé and dragged me in here. The conditions of this situation we have found ourselves in are miles away from honorable.”
“Ex,” he corrects again.
“Seriously?” This night has been one absurd twist after another, culminating in this infuriating man keeping me locked in the penthouse as some kind of pet. “Why do you insist on making that distinction?”
He closes the distance between us, stopping mere inches from my face. “Because he never deserved you,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “So, I should exchange one gilded cage for another?”
“I don’t believe there is a cage, gilded or otherwise, that could hold you, Miss Castellano.”
He raises his hand, delicately tracing my hairline with the tip of his finger.
When our eyes meet, what I see stuns me.
He’s looking at me with this heady mix of awe and admiration.
Not to toot my own horn, but I’m no stranger to the attention from members of the opposite sex.
I’ve been jeered at, cat-called, and party to hungry looks full of lust many times before, but there is something different about the way this man watches me.
The lust and longing are present but there is something much more intense behind his eyes.
A yearning completely focused on me and me alone. Not the package, but the person.
“It’s late, perhaps we could continue our conversation in the morning.”
I shake my head to clear the fog in my brain. “I have no intention of staying in your suite tonight or any other night. I’ll find somewhere to stay and head home in the morning.”
He growls low and deep, shifting his weight as he dismisses my plan. “The suite is yours for the night or however long you would like it. Take it, and in the morning, if you still want to go, I will make arrangements to get you home.”
“And let me guess, you will be there to personally ensure my safety?” I challenge.
“No, Beautiful.” He grins, tipping his head toward the velvet couch against the wall. “I’ll be here.”
Stunned, I jerk back, unsure if I heard him right. “Here?”
He nods. “As I said, I want is to ensure your safety and comfort.”
The sincerity in his words surprises me, and despite my better judgement I find myself nodding my agreement.
The mountainous man, who had finally been introduced to me as Lawrence escorts me to the elevator. He holds the door, ushering me inside, then stands with his massive shoulders blocking the exit and any hope of me escaping.
He presses the button for the top floor and stands with his hands clasped in front of him eyes on the gold mirrored doors.
Slowly, the elevator begins to rise along with the lump forming in my throat.
“So, this is your job,” I quip. He doesn’t answer, but I charge on ahead. “Playing jailor for his women.”
“I’m Mr. Roman’s personal security,” he replies in a calm, absent tone.
“Then why are you here and not guarding his person?”
He rolls his shoulders but remains quiet.
“Does he do this sort of thing a lot?”
“If you mean, is he generous and accommodating? Then yes.”
My lips quirk up, fighting back a grin. So, The Mountain has a sense of humor. “I’d hardly call what he’s done generous and accommodating.”
The elevator dings announcing our arrival and the doors slide open. Lawrence steps to the side, holding them open for me to exit. “You’re right,” he says. “Giving up his personal suite to a woman in need, completely selfish.”
I pause in the hall and turn to look at my escort with a wry smile. “Very good, Lawrence. I wasn’t aware you spoke sarcasm.”
“I’m conversational at best.” He shrugs and leads me toward a set of honey-colored double doors to my right. He fishes a key from his pocket and opens the door, then steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. “Ladies first.”
I mock gasp and place my hand demurely on my chest. “Oh my, what a gentleman.”
He grins as I pass by, entering the palatal suite.
My heels clack on the white marble floor, but it’s the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows that catches my attention first. Below me is a vast sea of neon, illuminating the inky blackness of the desert beyond, like a carnival erected in the middle of nowhere.
“Nice, huh?” my jailor quips.
I shrug unable to hide my smile at the forty-foot neon cowboy above the Pioneer Club. “It’ll do.”
“Hmm,” he mutters, turning on his heel and heads for the door.
The moment he is gone, I kick off my shoes and commence with the snooping part of the evening. This is Roman’s penthouse after all, and I need leverage. I start with the wet bar, opening every cabinet and drawer, finding nothing except for some chilled vodka which I help myself to.
Drink in hand, I move on to the desk in the living room.
Nothing but some hotel stationery and post cards with trite sayings like Wish you were here.
The bedroom is next and other than a Gideon Bible there isn’t much there either.
Come to think of it there isn’t much of anything at all.
This room is void of any personal items. Not a photograph, or wayward sock, nothing.
Not one single thing in the room tells me anything I don’t already know about James Roman.
It isn’t until I open the mirrored closet door that I hit pay dirt.
Suits. Beautifully cut bespoke suits in a multitude of colors are carefully hung in the cedar lined cabinet.
I run my fingers over the sleeves of silk and wool.
The scent of cedar mixed with his cologne permeates the air as I move on to the drawers.
Row after row of silk ties and cufflinks, the man is a peacock.
Next are the pajamas, starched, pressed, and wrapped in tissue. I roll my eyes and scoff.
“Find anything interesting?”
I gasp and whirl around, catching my finger in the drawer as I slam it shut. “Goddammit!”
The bastard chuckles. He actually chuckles, the heartless fuck.
I shoot him the glare to end all glares.
Frankly, I’m surprised I don’t leave scorch marks on his pretty gold carpet.
Still, he looks amused, pushing off the wall, sauntering over with that sexy swagger, but I don’t budge.
Not one single inch. No way am I backing down from this guy. I don’t care how good looking he is.