NINETEEN
TO GIVE ROMAN his due, he’d been more charming through that evening’s meal than he had on other nights.
“Struan’s not used to being the fuck up. That’s the problem.” Unfortunately, with the subject continually returning to his superiority over his brother, Roman was no less insufferable than normal. “He knows how to fall in line, how to do what he’s told. He can take instruction, direction. This is him acting out or a sign of his ability to make stupid decisions.” Roman snickered. “I think it’s a signal he’s better staying in his lane.”
Her position was impossible. Impulse demanded she argue and defend Struan, that she point out he hadn’t fucked up or made any bad decision. He’d simply followed his own desire for once. And, yes, that desire might be sexual, in this case, but that didn’t diminish his right. Choosing her, from what she could gather, was the first thing he’d ever chosen for himself.
The meal was lovely, neutral, polite, she’d done her duty, right? No waves. No opposition. She’d nodded along and let Roman listen to his own voice all night long.
“It’s getting late.”
“Do you want dessert?” he asked, sliding a hand to the middle of the table, his fingers beckoning hers.
Damnit, she’d have to reciprocate.
Every muscle clenched as she forced a smile to her lips and allowed him to hold her hand there near the edge of the table. Just because she hadn’t seen press didn’t mean they weren’t there. Everyone had a camera these days, and in LA especially, most all wanted to make a name for themselves somehow.
Magnus said they picked the restaurant to control the visual. Did he mean they were surrounded by friendly people influential enough to spread the tale of what they’d seen in the right circles? Would that straighten out what Roman classed as Struan’s mess?
Holding his hand didn’t feel right, neither did gazing into the smile on his face. Smug was the only word that came to mind to describe it. Did he feel like he was getting one upon his brother?
She definitely didn’t want any part in that pissing match and would always choose Struan. Still, not rocking the boat made his life easier.
“It’s getting late,” she said, “I’d like to get to bed.”
“No argument here.”
He stood up, hand still in hers, and helped her onto her feet.
“Shouldn’t we ask for the bill?”
“It’s covered,” he said, still bearing that cocky arrogance.
Maybe she should punch him in the face. Right there. How would that be for a visual?
He led her out, nodding and smiling at those who caught his eye as they passed.
Yeah, those were his people. The brownnosers. Sycophants, Struan called them. He recognized their falseness, did Roman miss it? Maybe he just didn’t care. She’d put money on him being the same in return. If only there was an Oscar for fawning.
In the back of the car in the dark, in shadow, his hand crept onto her knee. Her thigh actually, not exactly indecent, but not welcome either.
On an inhale, his head turned her way, words couldn’t have been far behind—his phone rang, granting her a reprieve.
Thank God! If she had to put up with him prattling on any more about how wonderful he was or how wrong Struan was, she would lose it. Through the years, mortal folks heard tales of celebrities going crazy.
Now she better understood why.
Maybe it wasn’t the adoration of fans or the long hours and stressful work conditions. Maybe it was the egos, those who knew little screaming about how clever they were, how valued and loved and welcomed.
She wanted to be valued by one man.
Damnit. She had to stop thinking that way.
Roman fished the phone from his pocket and answered with a, “Hey, buddy,” so exaggerated, it betrayed she’d be secondary for a while.
Good.
Not just a while it turned out, the call passed second by second, minute by minute… Whoever was on the other end deserved her gratitude, honestly, she’d pay the caller every cent from her bank account if it saved her discovering just why that hand was there, still on her skin.
The car stopped at the front door and she got out. Sometimes there were people there to open doors, sometimes there weren’t, but she never waited. What was the point when she was fully capable? Why pander to an extreme that should have gone the way of the petticoat?
Roman could enjoy his call as long as he wanted.
Was it rude that she hadn’t said goodnight? Probably more wrong that it hadn’t occurred to her until she was at the top of the staircase, just a few feet from her bedroom.
Loosening the clasp from her hair and removing her earrings, she shed the wares of the night. Shower? No shower? She couldn’t be bothered drying her hair, which she’d have to. Morning, she’d get up early tomorrow.
“Hey.” She’d just clicked on the bedside lamp and didn’t have to look to know the visitor was unwelcome. “Sorry about that.”
An apology? From Roman? Unusual.
“It’s fine, I know you’re busy.” Now leave. “I had a nice time. Thanks for dinner.”
The words tripped off her tongue, like an I’m fine after someone asking how she was. They weren’t genuine. Honestly, she didn’t mean them, and just stood there, waiting for him to excuse himself.
He didn’t.
In fact, he did the opposite and stepped inside, pushing the door though it didn’t reach the frame. Oh, shit. Alarm thrust her shoulders back and her chin rose a little, armor required. How much wine did he drink? Did it matter with an addict? Why was that her first thought? Didn’t the man deserve a clean break? If he’d gone through the program and come out the other side, he was renewed, right?
Excuses and self-criticisms ebbed and flowed, fading to nothing as he came right up close. If she were a cat, this would be the point she’d pin her ears back and sink her head into her neck to hiss.
“This has been hard on you too. You thought you were getting into something, and it became something else. There was a promise of something maybe. And then it got complicated. You’re a beautiful woman, Bambi.” When his fingertips touched her jaw, her molars clamped tight. “You don’t have to be alone in this. Don’t be afraid. If I intimidate you—”
“You don’t,” she said and backed up a step only to be caught in the angle of the nightstand against the edge of the bed. “You don’t intimidate me, and I am not alone. I am, however, tired, so I’d like to get some sleep.”
“I know what you want.” And there it was, a phrase so many women heard on lips just like his the world over. “You can have what you want.”
As he bowed, she dipped back, planting a sure hand on his chest. “I don’t want that. I don’t want you. I want to go to sleep. And if I’m not allowed to do that here, I’ll find somewhere else to do it.”
“Don’t be like that,” he said, fingers curling to strengthen his grip around her skull. “Don’t worry about anyone else. We’re here, and this is right. Take advantage, baby…”
Of his time? His presence? His presumption? No, thank you. He tried again, and without thought of discretion, she shrieked.
She pushed hard and he reared back. “What the…”
The pin from one of her earrings had pierced his shirt. The other earring and the hair clasp fell to the floor while that one stayed put, not fully in, but enough for him to react. Except he only grinned.
“You like it rough?”
God, no! He grabbed her arms and pulled her closer, another scream burned her throat. Objecting, tugging left, right, backwards, forwards, she struggled for freedom. He laughed and pulled her tight against him.
“No! Roman, don’t!”
The second she hit the bed, she expected him to follow. Instead flesh thwacked flesh and someone tumbled to the floor. Spitting hair from her mouth, shaking her head to clear it from her eyes, there was Roman on the floor with Struan standing over him.
“Out!” The upright brother glared at the prone one. “Get out of here now!”
“You fucking asshole!” Roman leaped to his feet, provoking Struan to pounce closer.
“Give me the excuse, brother, I’ll give you a left to go with the right. Don’t kid yourself, you know how this ends. I’ll play if you want to get dirty; you won’t win. Get the fuck out of here. Now!”
Struan wasn’t to be messed with.
Muttering under his breath, Roman stomped on out and slammed the door, probably to punctuate his anger. Who cared? She was pleased of the barrier, the shield beyond, and the guard who’d defended her without hesitation.
“Bambi,” he said, whirling around.
“I’m okay,” she said, running her fingers through her hair as she sat up. “I don’t know how that—”
“I’m sorry. I promised nothing like that would happen, that you’d be safe here—I’m sorry. Come here. Let me look at you.” He grabbed her wrist to tug her onto her feet. When her body bounced off his, he stopped and raised his hands in surrender. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—you don’t need another guy pawing and manhandling—assaulting, that’s what—”
“You’re not another guy,” she said, capturing his wrist to direct his arm around her as she went up close to rest against him. “You’re the guy. Beau, there’s no way for me to express—I don’t know how that would have gone if he’d—if you hadn’t been here…”
Ridiculous that terror could visit in such an upmarket place with such a well-known face. These things weren’t supposed to happen in nice neighborhoods. Rich folks were supposed to be well bred and mannered. Did economic status matter? No. At the end of the day, predators were predators.
The calming words he whispered into her hair, stroking it from her crown down her back, clued her into the tears, her tears. She’d acted—no, reacted. At the time, she didn’t feel sad or emotional, just on edge. Survival instincts came from the very depth of a person, all the way from their most basic roots. Fight, flight, or freeze. And she’d gone for being rescued by the right twin.
Her arms, nestled between them, shifted so she could wipe the tears from her cheeks.
“Sorry. I don’t know where that came from,” or how long they’d been standing there possessed by it.
“Do you want the law? We can call—”
“No, no, you know what he’s like.”
Funny she should be saying that after only knowing the man a few days. Every minute with Roman was a lifetime she wanted to end. With Struan…
Eyes wet, she blinked up at him. “I’m tired.”
“Yeah, it’s late,” he said. With an arm still around her, he shuffled their position to reach over and pull back the covers. “Do you want me to lock the bedroom door? There’s a key—”
“I want you to stay.” She clung to his hand, possessed by that brazenness again. For the first time, tension held a fear of potential rejection. “I feel safer when you hold me, beau. Would you lie down and put your arms around me?”
Her heart raced, thumping hard until, with a single nod, he granted her wish.
Without looking at him, she unzipped her dress and shimmied out of it, discarding it there on the floor as she crawled onto the bed.
Already in just sweats, he joined her and tucked the covers over them, spooning her against him. The heat of his chest met her back, and immediately she felt stronger, more in control. He kissed the top of her head and tucked it beneath his chin.
She closed her eyes.
This was what she needed. After Roman, she’d never have been able to sleep under that roof without the man holding her close. He’d never let anything happen to her. He’d stood up to his own brother to protect her. Nothing but him would touch her, and that was exactly how she wanted it. From then until…