Chapter 18 #2
He rolls his eyes. “I have other important tasks here demanding my attention.”
I jerk back, my stomach and pussy fluttering at his insinuation. What the hell does that mean? My throat is suddenly as dry as a desert. I swallow thickly as Marcus gives me a sympathetic expression.
“Appears you’ll have to kick my ass at poker after I get back, Mrs. Montgomery.”
Dammit. Rome’s won this one, getting Marcus to call me by my married name.
I give Marcus a closed-mouth smile, as though my heart isn’t rattling inside its cage at the sound of another person using it.
Marcus nods before heading toward the front door to slip into his suit jacket.
“I’ll text you the details and let her know you’re on the way,” Rome announces.
“Yes, sir.”
“Drive carefully,” Rome responds to Marcus, but his eyes dart to me when he adds, “Please.”
I chuckle and shake my head, heat blooming in my cheeks.
Once the front door closes, and Marcus is gone, Rome is standing from his chair.
“Let’s go, Lark.”
“Go where?” I scowl.
We’re no longer speaking in only one-word responses, and every time Rome opens his mouth and his voice smooths over me, deep and silky like velvet, my resistance loosens. I’m already bending to his will. God, I’m pathetic.
I stand from my place on the floor, and Rome stalks closer until he’s standing only inches away, his body heat radiating off him.
“Get changed. We’re going out.”
“Out?” I plant my hands on my hips. “What makes you think I don’t have other plans?”
He snorts. “Plans, huh?”
“Yes.” I cross my arms beneath my chest. “I have a job, remember?”
“Okay.” He runs his hand over his chiseled jaw. “So, you have a client meeting scheduled?”
“No, not today.”
“Design proposals to draw up?”
“No.”
“One of your charity fundraisers to plan?”
I clench my jaw. “No.”
“Perfect.” He claps his hands together. I jump at the sound, wishing the clap was against my skin.
He grins wickedly. “Get changed into more comfortable clothes.”
“I’m not sure I want to go anywhere with you.”
His grin fades as he inhales a deep breath. “We’re going to practice.”
“Practice what ,exactly?”
He pauses before winking. My legs are shaking with need. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rome wink. It’s unsettling, the way his mood is constantly shifting. One minute, I think he can’t stand me. The next, he’s winking at me.
It’s strange, even for Rome Montgomery.
“You’ll see,” he replies.
I don’t move. It’s impossible to be in Rome’s presence alone. With Marcus here, it’s easier. He acts as a buffer. But now he’s gone, and it’s just the two of us.
Bad things happen when Rome and I are alone together.
I stare at my husband, wondering what to do. The ghost of his touch still lingers on my skin. My nipples peak under my pajama shirt. My thighs clench, remembering what it felt like to have Rome’s facial hair grating against them as my orgasm ripped through me—an orgasm caused by his sharp tongue.
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs,” Rome taunts, tearing me from my thoughts.
“Lay a finger on me, and you won’t be able to jerk off for a whole month.”
“Bold threat, Lark.” He smirks, chuckling under his breath. “Prove it to me outside.”
His dare has my body bursting into flames.
He leaves the living room, telling me to meet him out back, and I head upstairs to change into something more comfortable—another legging set I bought when I went to one of Selene’s cycling classes. I thought she was insane with yoga, but cycling is another level of psychotic.
Unlike the last legging set I destroyed on the bridge, this one consists of a tank top and a pair of shorts.
Marcus returned to the cabin with a loaded SUV, packed from front to back with suitcases full of my clothes and toiletries.
Honestly, it felt like he’d brought half my apartment back with him.
My clothing options are practically endless now, but I consider the occasion.
I squeeze into the tight spandex, gather my hair into a ponytail, slip an elastic band over my hair, and double check the bandages on my leg. Three Band-Aids cover what’s left of the deepest cuts. They’re healing nicely. Thankfully.
I slip into my sneakers and meet Rome out on the back deck.
“Ready?” he asks while walking down the stairs into the expansive yard.
Before he takes the last step, he grabs the gun holster draped over the railing.
Two pistols with silencers attached are tucked into the side pockets, and he slips his arms into it, adjusting the straps, until they’re snuggly pressed against his ribcage.
“I thought we were working on self-defense.” I eye him skeptically, following him farther into the yard.
“We are. Guns are part of self-defense.”
My jaw drops. “You want me to use a gun?”
He stops, turns, and closes the space between us, his eyes lighting with fire. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to use one.”
I swallow around the thick lump in my throat, stunned by his sudden closeness. My eyes drop to his mouth. “Of course not.”
Shortly after we were married, Rome taught me how to use a gun in this very spot.
He insisted I should know how to use one if I were to become a Montgomery.
I didn’t have the courage to tell him then that I’d gone twice with father during my freshman year of high school.
I might not have needed to use one as often as a Montgomery, but I was a Capuleti.
Capuletis were always taught to protect themselves, especially from the Montgomerys.
Satisfied with my answer, Rome continues onward, and I follow behind him along the trail through the woods, remembering the path to the makeshift shooting range Rome set up ten years ago.
The air is sticky, with evidence still lingering from the rainstorms that have dogged us the past three days.
The earth is soft, and the dirt path leading through the woods has turned to thick mud.
My feet squish and sink with every step, and I know my shoes are already ruined before I’m even halfway through my journey.
I pick a piece of bark from one of the trees and tear it apart, thinking about Rome’s sudden shift in mood. We’re talking. Not exactly friendly but we’re talking. I call that progress.
It’s incredible how his change in mood has shifted since Marcus left to meet with the detective.
Which brings me to…
“So, what have you found out about the person, or persons, after us? What does it have to do with the detective who investigated your mother’s murder?”
I watch Rome make his way through the woods. He holds onto one of the trees as he passes it, stepping over a thick root sticking out of the dirt path. His taut muscles strain against the sleeves of his T-shirt. I stare at him longer than I probably should, but I can’t help it.
Rome has always been dark and mysterious.
Gorgeous. The hatred I held for him until that day we met in the library blinded me to it.
Standing there, holding our copy of Romeo and Juliet, I finally saw him in a different light, with a jaw that could cut glass, intense eyes that literally ripped the earth from under my feet, and a touch that had my body combusting into flames.
He made me feel that way then with just one look, and as much as I hate to admit, he still manages to make me feel the same way now.
It’s been incredible noticing the differences in Rome over these ten years.
My attraction to him is undeniable, no matter how much I hate him for the pain he’s put me through.
He still hasn’t answered my question when we finally reach the clearing.
On the far side of the opening, there’s a large tree trunk that’s fallen.
On top sit smaller chunks of wood, set several feet apart.
Each piece of wood is marked with a black ‘X’.
Bullet holes litter the chunks of wood—evidence of past shots. I wonder how many are from me.
Rome pulls one of the pistols from the holster, checks to make sure it’s loaded, then turns it over in his hand and cocks it.
“You haven’t answered my question,” I point out while staring at the pieces of wood in the distance.
“I’ll answer questions when you show me how well you remember to shoot.”
I roll my eyes on a groan.
He hands me the pistol and stands back, crossing his arms over his hardened chest. The tattoos inked across his skin stretch with his muscles.
I blink and inhale a deep breath, shaking out the tension from my neck and shoulders.
Focus, Jules. Focus.
Turning to face the targets, I shake the thoughts that have been haunting me since this morning.
I can’t look at Rome without wanting more.
How the hell am I going to survive the rest of my time here?
It’s only been eleven days, and I cracked on day one.
It’s been a week and a half since, but it was easy to not give in when we were giving one another the cold shoulder.
Now we’ve gone back to being cordial. At this point, I know it’s only a matter of time.
Before getting into position, I eye the middle target. “I’m surprised you haven’t upgraded your shooting range to something a little fancier. You have plenty of money to do so.”
I shake my head, the end of my ponytail dancing across my shoulders. Planting my feet shoulder width apart, I grip the handle of Rome’s pistol and straighten my arms in front of me.
“I never come out here,” Rome confesses quietly. “Would hardly be worth my time and effort.”
“Huh.” I nod and look over my right shoulder at him.
“Shoot,” Rome orders, tipping his head toward the targets. “Stop getting distracted.”
“I’m not.” I sigh, following his direction.
A scoff crawls up his throat, low and quiet, but I ignore him.