Chapter 10 #2
“I need to move on from you,” she whispered as his heart broke into a million pieces.
It was as if he was standing outside of his body, watching the scene unfold while this moment happened to someone else. When he lifted a hand from his pocket, he had to brace against the wall for support.
“I want what Luke and Eva have. Knox and Addy. Liam and Emily,” she added in a soft, slightly strained voice as though this was difficult for her to confess. “I realized after our last op that I need more. I can’t just be married to my job.”
He wanted to be the one to give her more.
But that was out of the question, so he wouldn’t stand in the way of her chasing after what she wanted.
“I figured even if you wanted to come to the club, it wouldn’t be right if I talked to another guy. Danced with him in front of you. I’m sorry.”
Now he was the one closing his eyes for a brief moment as he pulled in a deep breath and let it go, hoping his frustrations would leave with it.
“Then I should be in there in case some asshole tries something. I’m your friend. I have your six. You know that.” That was partly true. Of course, he had her back. But watch her with another man? He’d have to get Finn to help bury the body.
“You can’t always protect me,” Harper said, her voice still sounding pained. “And you know I’m capable of handling myself. Plus, Finn and Jackson are inside.”
Roman allowed a few seconds of silence to stretch between them before speaking.
“You really want me to go?”
Would he be able to turn away? A million what-ifs bounced around in his head about what might go wrong with some douchebag inside that club. And was that even the real reason he didn’t want to peel himself away from her?
She remained quiet. Her lips drawn tight. Eyes contemplative as they flitted over his face as though trying to get a read on him.
“How can you ever move on if we don’t go in there together as friends?
” This was his lame attempt to stay. He set a hand to the side of her arm and lightly gripped.
“Dance. Flirt. Have fun. I’m here as Finn’s wingman.
And you know, I can be yours, too.” Yeah, that wouldn’t be happening.
Actively help Harper get laid? He’d likely snap someone’s arm if they so much as touched Harper inappropriately. “Friends.” Liar.
“Are you sure?” Doubt filled her beautiful brown eyes. Or maybe hesitation. She didn’t believe him, and why should she when the tension was so thick between them?
And it may have been wishful thinking on his part, but he hoped her reluctance for him to join her inside a club full of beautiful people hinted that she just might lose her mind if she saw him with another woman. But she had to know he’d die a thousand deaths before he’d ever do that to her.
“Of course,” Roman answered in a deep voice, then turned to the side and opened his palm toward the entrance as a signal to head inside.
He knew damn well he wasn’t going to walk into that club as her friend, only as her protection from another man touching her.
His eyes clung to the low back of her dress as she walked, which showed an old tan line from a bikini top. Braless? No, Harper wouldn’t go braless. The dress must’ve had something built into it. He had to think that, at least, or he wouldn’t survive the night.
They walked past the bouncer and entered a narrow hall that led to one expansive, dimly lit space. The corners of the room were dark enough to kill a guy if he had to. And the massive horseshoe-shaped booths scattered about with shitty overhead lighting could disguise a blowjob.
No DJ in sight, but the music was a blend of house and hip hop from what he could tell as he maneuvered across the dance floor, and he dodged people bumping and grinding as if he were back in Iraq instead, trying to avoid an IED.
“Jackson booked a few rooms at the hotel,” Harper casually tossed out, and he had to read her lips when they were in the thick of the crowd on the dance floor. “I’m staying here tonight, so you don’t need to worry about me making my way home,” she added, and he heard that loud and clear.
Great. Now he had to worry about some guy escorting her to her hotel room with no intention of saying goodnight at her door. Roman would be the one walking her, not some prick in a thousand-dollar suit. And maybe he should have been thanking God Finn had invited him after all.
He cursed under his breath when they found themselves blocked by a group of dancers on all sides of them, forcing Harper right up against him. She swiveled around, which had her breasts smashing to his body, and he couldn’t help but drop his eyes and steal a look.
His breathing picked up when hers did, her chest rising and falling from deep exhalations.
Look. The. Fuck. Up. He tore his eyes up to her face, body ramrod straight and muscles tense, to find her staring at him with a dangerous expression, desire dancing there.
Whatever wheel of emotions he was cycling through right now, she felt them, too.
“Come on.” He reached for her hand and pushed their way off the cramped and hot dance floor before he did something he’d regret.
“Hey,” Jackson called out at the sight of them, and he forced himself to lose hold of her hand before her brother saw their fingers interlocked.
Roman bypassed Jackson’s crowd, leaving Harper there to get to Finn, who was already nursing a drink while standing by one of the reserved booths.
“Scotch? Whiskey? Tequila?” Finn pointed to the bottles lined up on the table. “Champagne?”
“Nothing right now.” Roman folded his arms, redirecting his focus to Harper, where Jackson had an arm around her shoulder.
“Are you mapping out an extraction plan in your head?” Finn asked, and Roman side-eyed him to catch a smirk.
Yeah, part of him would have loved nothing more than to create an escape plan to evac Harper right out of there.
But instead of escorting her to a safe house, he’d throw her over his shoulder, take her to her room, and tear every scrap of fabric off her body.
And that was the opposite of what needed to happen, especially after she gut punched him with her words about needing to move on.
It was probably the reality check he both needed and deserved.
“More like a plan to leave,” he lied after allowing way too much time to pass after Finn’s joke.
“Sure you are.” Finn lifted his chin Harper’s way.
A guy in a three-piece suit and dark tie that made him look like he belonged on the cover of a Wall Street magazine approached and began chatting her up. Roman resisted the impulse to test a few of the new fighting moves he and Finn had worked on at the gym last week on the man.
“When are you finally going to—”
“Heading to the bar to get something else to drink,” Roman glibly responded to his buddy, ripping his gaze away from the scene before he made a scene. Wall Street Guy was one left hook away from going flat on his ass, and Roman assumed blood would be an unwelcome addition to the club’s décor.
Move on. She needs to move on, he scolded himself and tried to push his dark thoughts from his head. Also, push aside the dirty ones, too. Like her mouth wrapped around his cock, those luscious pink lips stretched while he—
“Gin tonic, please,” he ordered from the blonde bartender, someone who would’ve been his type before meeting Harper. Before he realized he’d actually been wrong about his type all along.
The bartender scrunched her nose, the small diamond stud on the side catching the chandelier light. “Never heard anyone say anything other than gin and tonic,” she said with a smile before grabbing the green bottle of Tanqueray gin from the shelf behind her.
“It’s easier to say,” he remarked in a low voice, thinking back to his last time in Spain, where he was pretty sure the Spanish made gin popular again.
He slid onto the stool, his eyes going to the Fleur-de-Lis tattoo on the bartender’s shoulder blade, which was visible in her white tank top.
“You know, they used to ink criminals with that mark. Brand them as traitors or convicts,” he found himself muttering the fact.
The bartender turned to face him with a look of surprise. “Like that Yellowstone show? Where they brand the Y onto the guys that work there?”
“Uh, sure.”
She shrugged while pouring his drink. “I got it when I was drunk one year during Mardi Gras in New Orleans.”
“Can you make that two?”
Roman’s body went stiff at the sound of Harper’s voice, and he slowly looked to his right to see her standing beside him, palms flat on the bar top.
His eyes locked on to her graceful hands, and he immediately imagined her short, carefully manicured nails, which were painted a pale pink, digging into his chest as she rode him.
He gulped back a mouthful of the drink as soon as the bartender handed it to him.
“I need some alcohol in me if I’m going to dance out there alongside those pretty models,” Harper commented.
Those women have nothing on you.
“But hey, I’m sure at least one of them is single.”
He cocked his head, his gaze narrowing on her. Was she suggesting he talk to one of the so-called models?
“For Finn,” she sputtered in clarification.
“And those guys with your brother, are they single?” He took another sizable swallow of the drink.
Harper shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“You’re both with the Jackson Hanover party, right?” the blonde asked. “Those drinks are taken care of.”
“I can pay for my own,” Roman said.
Nevertheless, Harper covered his hand with hers as he went to reach for his pocket, then quickly pulled back when he dropped his gaze to their hands.
“Not necessary.” Harper took a quick sip of her drink, then backed up a step from the bar. “Thank you,” she said to the woman, then disappeared.
He closed his eyes and finished his drink before ordering another.
“She your ex?”
Roman’s eyes opened in surprise at the bartender’s question.