Chapter Four
Game Plan
Shiloh
“I just wanted to make sure you’re doing all right after last night.” Heather’s chipper voice came through my phone as I used my free hand to empty out a box that held random items like fashion scarves, a fuzzy pair of tights I couldn’t remember buying, and lots of costume jewelry. That box held just about everything I needed fashion accessory-wise, except for one thing.
A pair of gloves.
As weird as it was, I didn’t want Romeo to buy me gloves. I didn’t want him to buy me anything, but gloves… Gloves were protective gear. If Romeo bought me gloves and I accepted them, that meant I was accepting he had a right to protect me, at least in my mind. That was an intimate thing, allowing a man to protect you. I was more than capable of protecting myself. I didn’t want Romeo protecting me, even if it was only from the cold. If he did that, I might start feeling something other than numbness for him, and that was something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
Then again, considering how much I’d been thinking about Romeo the past twelve hours, maybe I wasn’t as numb as I thought.
“I’m okay, Heather, honestly. Just a little sore here and there.” With a gusty sigh I scooped all the oddball accessories back into the box and closed the lid with a snap. “Dubya gave me the day off, so I’m going to make the most of my time by deep-cleaning the kitchen. Do I know how to live, or what?”
“That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” came the immediate reply. “Why don’t you give your stalker a call? I’ll bet he has plenty of ideas on how to keep you entertained.”
Now there was a thought. “Oh, that reminds me. I straight-up asked Romeo if he was stalking me.”
Heather’s gasp was so loud it was almost like she was in the same room with me. “You what?”
“Why is that shocking?”
“Because you don’t ask a stalker if he’s stalking you!”
“Why? Where is that written?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere. I just know you shouldn’t do it.”
“Well, I did, and guess what? The world didn’t end.”
“So… Well, okay then,” Heather said, sounding thoroughly flummoxed. “Tell me everything. What did he have to say for himself?”
“First he laughed at me, and then he called me a piece of work. I don’t know, maybe he read that same unnamed rulebook you did and thought it was cheeky of me to ask such a thing.”
“Nobody likes a smartass, Shiloh. Then what’d he say?”
“He said that he’d been worried about me getting home in that storm, just like you thought. Then he said he wasn’t going to apologize for it and that he was glad he was there to save my butt just when it needed to be saved. Frankly, I’m glad he was there, too. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he hadn’t shown up, because the monster who attacked me was definitely after more than just my wallet. If that had been all he wanted, he wouldn’t have frigging tackled me to the ground.”
“God.” Heather made a noise that made me think she’d just shivered, and I was right there with her. “What kind of crazed animal do you have to be to jump women in the middle of a blizzard?”
“I don’t know, but obviously Chicago has at least one of them.” And since my luck was nothing but bad, that one animal had somehow found me. In a blinding snowstorm. In the middle of the night. With visibility at absolute zero.
Yep.
My luck really was nothing but bad.
“Well,” my friend said after a moment, “that’s all yesterday’s news, so I’m not going to give it another thought. Tell me all about today’s news, because that’s where the juicy stuff is. When are you going to see your stalker again?”
Ugh. “I don’t have any idea if I’ll ever see him again, Heather.”
“Shiloh, sweetheart, that yummy hunk of a man saved your life, then promised in front of witnesses that he was going to buy you a new pair of gloves. That means you’re going to see him at least one more time, and I want to know what your game plan is.”
“Game plan?” Was I supposed to have one of those?
“You have to have a game plan for this sort of thing,” she responded as if reading my mind. “This Romeo dude is into you, hon. Like, extremely into you. And now he’s saved your life and wants to buy you gloves. If I were in your shoes, I’d be in the shower shaving every last inch of my body and making sure I wore my cutest panty and bra set before seeing him again. Preparation is key when it comes to this sort of thing.”
My face grew so hot it was a wonder it didn’t melt my phone. Little did my friend know, I’d already done the shower-and-shave thing. And the lotion thing. And the perfume and full-on date makeup thing. No reason, though. Just because. “My game plan is to order a bunch of gloves for myself online, so Romeo won’t have to bother. I can take care of myself.”
Heather made a sound of frustration. “Girl, of course you can take care of yourself. Every woman is a Wonder Woman, and we can all take care of ourselves. The point is, when a man as sex-on-a-stick yummy as Romeo comes onto the scene making noises about wanting to take care of you, you need to think long and hard about letting him do it. And in exchange, you do everything you can to take care of him and his needs. It’s only fair.”
The flash of lust that crashed through me at the thought of Romeo’s needs took my breath away. Heat bloomed between my legs, a sensation I’d thought was long since dead to me. “Like you said, it’s only gloves. Not an engagement ring.”
“You don’t need to have an engagement ring to get your fun on with your very own Romeo,” Heather said sagely, just as the buzzer from the front door sounded through the apartment. “Omigod, what was that? Was that the door? Is it him? Go look, but don’t hang up, I wanna hear everything.”
“I’m hanging up, Heather, byeeee.” Feeling only a little like a bad friend—because honestly, there had to be boundaries—I hung up, tucked the phone into my back pocket and headed for the front door, but not before giving my appearance a quick once-over in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door. I’d left my curly hair loose, something I wasn’t allowed to do at work, and it hung in spiraling coils past my shoulders. Those shoulders were bare, thanks to the off-the-shoulder clingy sweater the color of emeralds—my all-time favorite color—and painted-on dark skinny jeans paired with over-the-knee boots. Not exactly a stay-at-home, kitchen-cleaning outfit, and suddenly I realized this was a look of a woman who was trying too hard. Frantically I gave a thought to tossing on the raggedy old flannel shirt I slept in during the winter months, but the buzzer sounded again before I could whip off the sweater.
“Oh, well,” I muttered, resigned now to my fate. With my mouth flattening into what felt like the grimmest line ever, I headed out the front door and into the building’s entryway to look out the glass door. Yep. There Romeo stood in a spotlight of radiant sunshine, in all his masculine glory, biker boots laced up over tight-fitting jeans that cupped him in all the right places, with a heavy sheepskin-lined leather bomber jacket and a black plaid scarf around his neck.
How could a man look so damn sexy when he was bundled up with virtually no skin showing? It was one of nature’s mysteries.
Stifling a sigh and reminding myself that even wannabe bikers had to be handled with care, I hustled over to open the glass security door, pasting on a smile that felt as fake as a three-dollar bill. “Hi there. Sorry for the delay in answering the buzzer. This door and its intercom system have been on the fritz since Halloween. We all have to come into the entryway to see who’s wanting to be buzzed in, and then open the outer door ourselves.”
“Yeah?” Letting the glass door close behind him, Romeo stepped into the middle of the entryway, taking in the threadbare carpet that had probably been there since the place had been built in the ‘70s, the wall of mailboxes, and literally nothing else, not even a dusty plastic potted plant or a Welcome mat. “Have you talked to the landlord? Doesn’t sound like it’s up to code.”
“I’m sure it’s not, and we’ve all had a little chat with Mr. Florescu. He’s a great guy, a Korean War vet who still has shrapnel in his back from when he earned his Purple Heart. He’s in his eighties now, deaf as a post, and his hands and back are crippled with arthritis. Winter is the most painful time for him, so he self-medicates with alcohol. We all care about him, so we’re being patient, answering the door ourselves, and waiting for spring. That’s when he promises he’ll get around to fixing it.”
He glanced past my shoulder and gestured toward my apartment door, now standing ajar. “That’s your place?”
“Yep.”
“Just ten steps away from a door that’s not working right.” That seemed to bother him, if his scowl was any indication. “What about getting someone in to fix it? This could be a security problem, and you live right here on the ground floor.”
Damn it, why did he have to keep worrying about my wellbeing? In looks alone he was every woman’s fantasy, but when he poured on the solicitous concern it was all I could do to keep from climbing him like he was my personal jungle gym. “I don’t have the money for that, and neither do my neighbors. But even more than that, no one wants to offend Mr. Florescu. Like I said, he’s a good guy, and I’ve lived here long enough to know he takes tremendous pride in being able to take care of this place and its tenants. Calling in some stranger to do what he sees as his job might be taken as an insult, or even as an unspoken belief that it’s time for him to be put out to pasture.”
“Maybe it is.”
“And maybe we all just take a couple extra steps every time a door buzzer goes off until warmer weather moves in.”
He shook his head. “That makes no fucking sense, Shy.”
Shy. I could get used to that. “Every person needs to feel that they’re useful, Romeo, no matter how old they get.” I shrugged and backed away to my apartment door to open it completely. “Do you want to come in?”
His smile was slow and so full of sin I couldn’t decide if I should freak out or start panting. “Don’t mind if I do. You look amazing, by the way. I like your hair down like that. It’s way longer and curlier than I thought it was.”
“Thanks.” It took all my strength not to put my hand to the crazy mop of curls I optimistically called my hair. “I’m not allowed to wear it down at work, and I hate my curls with a grand passion, but… Thanks.”
“You already said that.”
“So I did.”
“Tell me, Shy,” he murmured as I closed the door behind us. I immediately considered opening it again when all the air evaporated from the room when I turned to find him looking at me like a starving man and I was an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Did you dress up like that for me?”
Yes. “Uh… like this?”
“You knew I was coming over, yeah? I told you I’m getting you some gloves today.”
“Um, about that. I was just on my way out when you buzzed, so… I guess your timing is impeccable. Five more minutes and you would have missed me.”
His expression froze over. “Going out?”
I nodded, torn between relief and frustration that my brain had finally produced a plausible excuse for why I looked the way I did. Not for the world was I ready to admit—to him or myself—that I’d dressed for the possibility of seeing him today.
“So who’s coming to pick you up?” Without warning he crossed the small living room and was suddenly in my space, his face no more than a few inches from mine. “What’s his name?”
“Name?” The sharp questions and sudden invasion of my personal space startled me enough to loosen up the guard I had on my mouth. “What the hell are you talking about? Who says I’m going out with anyone?”
“One, you don’t have your little pickup here, so you’re not driving yourself anywhere. And two, no chick goes to the trouble of turning up the heat like you’ve obviously done if they’re flying solo.”
“Turning up the heat?”
“The way you look, with your bedhead hair and fuck-me-now makeup. Everything about your look says you’re on the prowl, and it sure as hell isn’t for gloves, so answer the question. Who’s coming to pick you up? I won’t be asking a third time.”
My temper sparked. “I don’t care how many times you ask the question, the answer’s going to be the same—no one. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” To my amazement and growing alarm, he grabbed my upper arms with hands that weren’t painful, just hard. Hard in a way that I knew I wouldn’t be free of his grasp until he decided that was what he wanted. “You don’t want to tell me, fine. Not a problem. But you can bet every fucking dime you have that I’m staying right here until whatever swinging dick shows up, so I can educate that sonofabitch in no uncertain terms that you’re my property now and no one else’s.”
My jaw dropped so hard it was a wonder it didn’t hit the floor. “Property? Did you just call me your property?”
The last word ended on an enraged squeak, and that seemed to get through to him. His hold loosened a fraction, as if he suspected he held a tiger by the tail, and he wasn’t far off. “Don’t get pissed,” he warned, but he was about a dozen words past that point. “That term isn’t a bad thing in my world, so don’t get your hackles up, you hear me?”
With a growl I wrenched out of his hold completely, but otherwise stood my ground. “What I hear is a guy who wants to be thrown out on his butt, and I’m just the badass chick to do it.”
“So you can clear me out for the swinging dick coming to pick you up?”
“There is no swinging dick and no one’s coming to pick me up!”
“Then why the hell are you dressed like that?”
“I dressed like this thinking you might show up, all right? I admit it so I hope you’re happy, but now I’ve changed my mind and I want you out of—”
The hot flare of triumph in his eyes was the only warning I got.
He grabbed me again, this time pulling me hard up against him while his mouth slammed down over mine. It was an instant, chaotic assault on all my senses. The hands that pulled me into his embrace moved to roam down my back straight to my butt, where his fingers dug in deep at the undersides of my cheeks. I gasped as he massaged that place no one had ever touched, before he semi-lifted me off the ground to grind me against him with shocking boldness, and suddenly I had no choice but to be aware of his growing erection.
Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out…
I was twenty-two now, an official adult, and this was what adults did when they were attracted to each other. And there was no mistake—I was attracted to Romeo. Every time we were in the same room together, my body ran about ten degrees hotter than normal. I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off him, because he was all I wanted to see. My hands ached to know what he felt like under all those winter layers, while my nerves tingled as if in anticipation for his touch. Logically it made sense that I wanted him to touch me, kiss me. Just like I wanted to do with him.
But then, what came next was what I feared would send me into a PTSD spiral.
The breath backed up in my lungs. For the most part, I”d lived a sheltered life. The one time I’d dared to go out with a boy I didn’t know well had destroyed my family. Destroyed me. I didn”t know what to do with a boy let alone a man, and Romeo was seriously a man. Like, the chest-thumping, over-the-top variety kind of man. I didn’t know what to do with his brutal gropes or searing deep kisses, or even my wet panties that I suddenly couldn’t wait to kick off. This wasn”t me. It was all him.
But…
It kind of felt like me, too.
And all of it felt right.
His wildness was impossible to not respond to. My meager attempt to remain unresponsive lasted maybe half a second before I bounced up on my toes and answered the pressure of his mouth with my own. My hands speared into his hair, and its silken coolness was even better than I had imagined. In that moment, I didn”t care that bad boys were bad for me, or that I had sworn off anything remotely hinting at bikers. Kissing Romeo felt so good, so right, that already my brain was busily sending me the rationale that since Romeo wasn”t an actual patch-wearing biker, he was okay. Safe. I could be with him, date him, maybe even pluck up the courage to take him to my bed.
And wouldn’t you know, my bed was just down the hall.
That thought alone turned the heat up between my legs to the point where I thought my panties might catch fire.
Just like his conquering hands, there was nothing subtle about Romeo”s kisses. My mouth had been open when his lips locked down on me, so without hesitation he invaded my mouth with the demanding thrust of his tongue. In all honesty I’d never been a fan of deep kisses; maybe it was a texture thing, or maybe I”d just been kissing the wrong guys who didn”t know what they were doing.
Romeo definitely knew what he was doing.
He danced his tongue with mine. There was no other way to describe it. Circled and swayed and coaxed me to match him in every way. It was as if he had music inside of him that set the rhythm, and that rhythm was so sensual it was impossible for me to resist. I let myself go with it, dancing my tongue with his, all the while wondering if I”d ever be able to get enough. It had been so long since I”d let myself need a touch, a kiss, a caress. A man. Romeo was everything I”d been missing, and I could have him. Right here, right now.
And this time, allowing myself to trust a man wouldn”t destroy me or my family.
I gasped, an involuntary response to the icy dagger that plunged into my heart. Without thinking, I pushed him away, then immediately regretted it when losing the feel of his hard body against mine was like losing a part of myself.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted before he could say anything or maybe even yell at me. I wouldn’t blame him; after feeling that hard-on he’d been all too happy to share with me, I could only imagine the case of blue balls he had going on. “I’m so sorry, that wasn’t you, that was all me, I’m truly sorry—”
“Breathe, Shy. Just breathe. You’re safe, all right? You’re with me, so that means you’re always going to be safe. You got my word on that.” He reached out a hand, but I half-stepped away, then face-palmed when I realized my stupid body was still freaking out over how much it wanted him. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
“I’m so sorry,” I said again, my hand at my brow as I gave him a cringing look. On the upside, I now knew I could still lust after a man. So, yay for me. But there was no way I could tell him about that wonderful personal progress without lots of uncomfortable explanations to go along with it. Ugh. “Look, um… this isn’t going to work. I want you, more than I’ve wanted anyone in years, or maybe ever. But… I can’t. You deserve better. You deserve better than me. You should go and find someone better than me.” Like someone who wouldn’t freak out over the possibility of having sex.
“I know what I deserve.” His hand dropped and once again those sea-colored eyes narrowed, as if seeing me from several different angles and he was trying to figure out which angle he needed to play. Then a corner of his mouth curled, and suddenly all I could think about was how amazing those lips felt on mine. “I deserve the best, and that’s you.”
“Believe me, I’m not.”
“You’re not exactly a walk in the park, I’ll give you that. You’re no pushover, and you’re more suspicious than an entire cop convention. You don’t just fall over with your legs in the air because of who I am, or whatever. I’m going to have to chase you, and win you, and I fucking love that. Because once I get you in my bed—and make no mistake, that’s totally where we’re headed—I’ll know I’ve earned every magnificent piece of you, Shy girl. And when that happens, I’ll know that all of you will be mine.”
For no reason I could explain, my throat snapped almost completely shut. “Romeo—”
“No point in telling me otherwise.” With a sudden change in spirits, he gave me a weirdly happy grin and stepped back toward the door. “I’ve made up my mind, so as far as I’m concerned it’s in the books. Now, grab your coat and let’s hit the mall. I’ve a mind to spoil you rotten, and gloves are only the beginning.”