15. Isabel
“It’s not just a sex thing, Isabel. And I don’t want to get over it.”
I stood on the top step of the spiral staircase when Roman said that. And those words sent a vortex of sensational shivers blasting through me and dipping in between my thighs. Before I could say anything he was gone.
It was quite the exit, I’ll give him that. Leaving me so unattended with my desperate need. I understood that he might have been fleeing before he lost control of himself. But even with the trepidation clawing at me, I would have been okay with him breaking his promise.
I would definitely not have held it against him.
My body was the only thing I wanted to hold against Roman Belmont.
When Emily had someone lay a lunch table in Henry’s room, you could have knocked me over with a feather when she mentioned Roman would be joining us for lunch.
“Who?” I asked, because I couldn’t believe my fucking ears.
“Roman, Henry’s son,” Emily chatted. “He is Roman Henry Belmont IV. He lives in the south wing.”
Oh for God’s sake, whose idea was this?
“I suggested that the two of you meet, and he came up with the idea to join us,” Emily continued.
Not that I was going to make this a big deal, but I sure as hell blamed Roman for agreeing to any of it. I wasn’t too thrilled at the prospect of pretending to be a complete stranger to this man whose mouth and tongue had been all over my body. Repeatedly. And who I couldn’t look at without imagining the indecent things I wanted him to do to me.
For a fleeting moment I thought perhaps if I messed up the lasagna there wouldn’t be any lunch. But Sophia and Mrs. Sheldon’s excitement at learning how to make pasta from scratch was nixing that idea.
I decided to put on my big-girl panties and face my pending burden like a champ.
When Roman casually strolled into Henry’s bedroom with a bottle of wine, I immediately confronted him, even though all I really wanted to do was curl into his arms and kiss his beautiful mouth.
My biggest concern was Emily getting the faintest of inklings about Roman and me. He didn’t seem too concerned about that aspect, and I figured I was probably working myself up for no good reason. All I had to do was just keep it together for thirty minutes. How hard could that possibly be?
When Sophia rolled the serving cart into Henry’s room with three plates of lasagna under silver domes, she gave Roman a brief nod of acknowledgment.
In rapid Italian she sweetly told to me that he was quite the hunk and that perhaps he could be the fix to my heartbreak from the bastardo.
She mentioned something about doors closing and others opening. And this to her looked like a door opening. I didn’t have the heart or inclination to tell her the truth since I was still getting used to the whole idea myself.
Although it appeared that I was settling into it all very smoothly. Maybe a little too smoothly.
And it turned out lunch wasn’t hard. It was fine. Not counting the moment Roman winked charmingly at me when Emily wasn’t looking, and my breath faltered and I almost sprayed wine all over my lasagna.
So yes, everything was fine.
Absolutely fine.
Except when Roman started telling the story about Daphne and Pierre, and all other thoughts moved into the background. As I watched him talk, memories from our night in the penthouse flooded back. Me sobbing as I read the letters to him, and Roman so tenderly soothing me, like I was all that mattered to him in this world.
And finally promising me that he’d find out what happened to Daphne and Pierre. A promise he kept, though he didn’t really have to.
And today when tears welled up in my eyes and Roman softly told me it was going to be okay, I had to concede that this wasn’t just a sex thing. There was something else between us, something achingly gentle and caring that made it seem the whole world could go to pieces as long as the two of us were still breathing the same air.
If there was any moment when I definitely lost my poise a bit, that was it.
But I pulled it together again. Giving Emily no reason to believe that I was the kind of woman who would seduce her precious Roman. I couldn’t imagine how disappointed she’d be if she ever found out.
The invitation to the library was a bit blatant, I won’t deny it. But I blamed that on Roman for driving me insane during lunch. What right did any one person have to be so terribly charming, and so effortlessly too?
I stood at the glass railing on the second floor in the library, waiting. When Roman entered the room, he immediately looked up to where I was.
“Hello, my sweet.”
“Bon jour, mon coeur.”
He stepped toward his usual place by the oak table, where the two books were still perfectly arranged. “Your lasagna was spectacular, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Having lunch with Emily was very risky, bad man. But I think we pulled it off successfully.”
A half-smile adorned Roman’s mouth. “I’m glad you think we did.”
“I had no idea you and Emily were this close.”
“My mother died when I was four, so Emily took on the role. And she’s wonderful.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry about your mom, Roman.”
“It’s fine. I never really knew her. But that’s altogether another story, for another time.”
I had a thousand more questions on the tip of my tongue, but I was careful to choose the ones that were foremost in my mind. “Why are Henry and Emily not married? They’ve been together for almost three decades.”
“I can’t speak for them, that’s something you should ask her.” Roman was once again so in charge of himself, so perfectly resistant to my charms. Even if I knew how little it would take to peel off that resilient mask.
“Thank you for Daphne and Pierre. That was an amazing thing you did.”
“I thought you might appreciate it,” he said softly, studying me as if I was the most precious object in the world.
“And I never thanked you for that exquisite cameo you bought at the auction. I hope you understand why I had to give it back.”
Roman smiled. “Yes, I do. It’s in a safe place… Waiting for the day when you’re ready to wear it.”
“And since I’m on my apology tour, let me say I’m sorry I tore your hotel’s dessert menu apart. I didn’t know you had a connection to the Belmont Hotel. It took someone at Le Petit Chateau the other night to tell me.”
“What do you mean?” Roman asked, curiously.
“A couple at the chef’s table who attended the doomed wedding wanted to know if I was the woman Roman Belmont, and I quote, was getting cozy with, unquote, in the foyer of the Belmont Hotel.”
“Hopefully that doesn’t bother you. People like to gossip. And I’m not known for getting cozy with anyone in public. You were the first…”
Those words sent flames licking my inner thighs. Was this man for real?
He smiled. Probably because he noticed me squirming with such delight. “So,” he said, “what did you tell them, if I may ask?”
“I told them I must have a twin walking Newport’s streets because I didn’t know you from Adam. Although I’m not so sure they believed me.”
Roman grinned. “I hope you didn’t do it for my sake. The last thing I worry about is what people think or say.”
“That’s quite the honey badger attitude,” I said. “You know what they say about honey badgers?”
“No, tell me.”
“Honey badgers don’t give a shit.”
That wonderful laugh of his echoed through the library. I was two seconds away from flying down the spiral staircase. “Roman, if you want me to behave you should probably not laugh like that.”
He held my gaze and bit a smile. “Says the woman who makes me laugh like this… Listen, I was serious about what I said earlier. You should come up with a proposal, a list of French pastries you think belong on the Belmont Hotels’ dessert menu in America.”
“Proposal? As in a presentation?”
“Exactly.”
“Like in I make a few different pastries and feed them to you?”
Roman chuckled. “Don’t throw away that thought, but no, you’d have to make the proposal to a man called Jordan Cotliar, who’s in charge of putting the dessert menu together for the Belmont Hotels in the United States. The main thing here is to show why we should put your pastries on the dessert menu. You said the hotel’s pastries lack the right ingredients and technique. I’d say that’s the crux of your presentation. Naturally, the taste would speak for itself. Jordan Cotliar is in Chicago, so when you’re ready, we fly you out there for a day or two. If you’re interested, let me know. We’ll get a contract together and I’ll get a lawyer to go over it with you.”
I contemplated this man, in his element doing business, so self-assured, wielding his power and giving me this boost in my career. All while I was trying to stay afloat in this persistent fog of desire. I was a little breathless. “You’re something else, you know that Roman?”
“Why’s that, honey badger?”
“You drove me absolutely insane during that lunch, and now you’re casually giving me the opportunity of a lifetime. That’s pretty bold of you. I’m still dealing with the part this morning where you suggested pushing me up against a wall.”
Roman wiped a hand over his mouth, probably deleting a pending smile. “All I need is a yes or no on the proposal, Isabel. Surely that’s not a difficult decision.”
“No, it’s not,” I said. “And yes, I’m in. Thank you. Also, I don’t need a lawyer.”
“Yes, you do.”
I insisted. “Meg just passed the bar exam, and contract law is her thing. So, I have a lawyer.”
Roman matched my confident tone with a wry one of his own. “She just passed the bar exam, Isabel. You need experience with contract law. Let me get you a lawyer. I’m paying the fees if that’s a concern.”
“Then I’ll tell Meg to bill you if you insist. She would really appreciate the business. And thank you again. That’s really generous of you.”
The dead silence implied a slight standoff. I could see Roman trying to break free from his formal business instinct in order to satisfy my whim. A minute later, my whim gained momentum and prevailed.
“Well, it’s not the most complicated contract and I’m sure it will be fine,” Roman admitted reluctantly.
My finger trailed across the glass railing as I headed for the spiral staircase. “Meeting adjourned then, let’s move on to the other urgent matter.”
“Which urgent matter is that?” Roman asked, not nearly as ignorant as he was making himself out to be. I navigated my way down the spiral staircase and toward the library door, locking it. When I turned back to Roman I held his gaze, watching him agonize over a few decisions of his own.
“The urgent matter of you pushing me up against a wall, Roman.”
He shook his head. “This is probably not the best idea,” he replied in a ragged breath. “Weren’t there a few more things we needed to iron out first?”
I pulled down my leggings and panties, tossing them on the oak table, the pirate shirt barely hiding my naked thighs. “We’ve covered the broad strokes. I’m pretty sure the rest can wait.”
Roman watched me, slowly losing his self-control and I knew the exact moment that precious control of his got lost in the fray between lust and common sense. Those blue eyes became bottomless pools of intensity, the vein throbbing madly in his temple, his mouth pursed in an effort to hold back just a half second longer.
I leaned against the wall, once again stunned by this feeling curling and twisting through me in waves, extracting all rhyme and reason. There was still no clear indication of how any of this was possible or how it was going to work.
And at this very moment, I didn’t care.
It took Roman a few long, impatient strides to shrink the distance between us. And as he braced his hands against the wall, caging me in, he could barely contain his desire, speaking through gritted teeth. “This is not how we should do it.”
Him being so close, without touching a hair on my head, blurred my mind. I soaked up his smell, aching to feel him against me, inside me. And all I saw was him wanting me as much as I wanted him, which was an unbearable lot.
“Like how,” I asked.
“Five minutes against a goddamn wall,” he hissed.
“It’s what we have right now, Roman. Let’s deal.”
He closed his eyes and when my hands crawled underneath his sweatshirt I watched the last shred of his self-control slip into oblivion.
“Ditch the shirt,” I demanded.
Roman wrenched his sweatshirt off, throwing it on top of my leggings on the table. I suppressed a smile.
He lifted my chin, both of us panting with anticipation. “What are you smiling about, Isabel?”
“Good aim,” I barely managed.
He wrapped me in his arms. “Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet.”
I tipped my head back and the world blurred when his mouth seized mine, his kiss deep, ablaze with desire. My body molded into his, every inch of me aching for his touch, my fingers digging into his hair.
When his hand gently nudged my thighs apart, his fingers found my core slick with heat and want. I clenched around his touch and his breath hitched. “My God, you are so very very wet.”
My eyes fluttered closed as those long probing fingers drowned in my essence, stroking me until the tight heat gathering in my belly at the base of my spine had me writhing against him, crying out in exquisite agony as I begged. “Please I need you!”
“Take what you need, Isabel,” he muttered into my mouth. “It’s all yours.”
I frantically pulled the string on his pants, my hands greedily clawing their way inside. They were met by his big, jutting cock, covered in the silkiest of soft skin, belying its power to completely seize me, body and soul.
Roman groaned at my touch and swept me even closer, one finger inside me rousing that sensitive little spot that worked together so eagerly with his shaft to drive me to the edge and finally push me into a tempest of euphoria.
I drew his cock out, feeling its size and strength against my belly, sending ferocious spasms of need through me. Roman strained back to look at my face as if to engrain every inch of it into memory. “Isabel,” he whispered hoarsely. “How I’ve missed you.”
And then Roman lifted me up against the wall, pulling my legs around his hips. Time was suspended for an agonizing beat before he entered me, inch by inch, causing me to whimper as he split me open and filled me up. He clasped me to him. “You okay?”
I answered him with a deep kiss, which he returned with equal intensity, giving me a few moments to get used to him inside of me.
My fingers tangled in his hair, my face in his neck, inhaling his familiar musk of spice and soap, the taste of Roman on his skin. I started to grind against him, ready for more.
“I want to know something…” he whispered as he started thrusting into me slowly, precisely, intensely.
“What?” I whispered breathlessly.
“The profiteroles yesterday—”
“Yes…yes,” I breathed into his mouth. “I wanted you to remember how I licked every drop of that cream off your cock.”
I felt his deep groan reverberate up and down my spine. It filled me with a strange pleasure, knowing the effect I had on this powerful man. Roman ran his tongue from the hollow in my throat up to where he found my mouth waiting to be consumed by him.
My hips curved, pulling him in deeper, his thrusts becoming more demanding, and greedier, causing a turbulence of sensations to wash through me.
Like a rising tide my orgasm was building toward the tipping point, and with every deep stroke, I felt another jolt of unmeasurable pleasure coursing through me, the looming edge getting closer and closer until I was on the verge of losing my hold.
This was not the penthouse where we wanted to savor every moment. This was that insatiable need both of us immediately wanted to fulfill for each other at any cost.
My heartbeat was roaring in my ears, all my senses balancing on a razor-thin tip and about to explode into unfathomable pleasure.
All I heard was Roman’s voice raggedly urging me to come with him. We were both on top of that cliff and when I whispered yes, we both tumbled over the edge.
As I shattered in fragments of bliss around Roman, his arms circled my entire body, and I clung to him, feeling his warm seed emptying inside me, his cock pulsing, waves of pleasure holding us both captive for the longest time.
And in the silence was the sound of our rapid breathing, our hearts beating against each other. His lips kissed their way up to my ear, and then he softly chanted, “Isabel, Isabel.” The way he said it sent a divine shudder through me, and I knew there was no stopping any of this anymore.
My legs slowly slid to the floor as Roman still held me to him. He cupped my face with one hand and kissed me. As if he was sealing the new beginning, burying everything bad that had happened.
A sliver of fear crept through me. I wanted to control this consuming affection I had for Roman. But instead, it was consuming me.
Roman drew his pants up, fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently dabbed it between my thighs. He was cleaning me while he smiled into my eyes and held me close with his other arm. Then he whispered into my ear. “I know what you’re feeling. I feel it too.”
A relieved sigh escaped me and I nodded slightly. “It is a weird feeling, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t call it weird,” he replied. “Wonderful, is a better word. Breathtaking is another. And distracting, most definitely. Very distracting.”
He gave me a soft kiss and then snagged my panties and leggings from the oak table, crouched in front of me, and dressed me one piece of clothing at a time. It had a ritualistic air to it, and I wasn’t going to interrupt the man.
By now I knew it was what Roman did when conflict arose inside him. His only appeasement was to control his immediate environment, arranging things his way, precisely and meticulously.
He dressed me to make me whole again, to make me look the way I had before he broke his promise to not desecrate my already tainted virtue. Before he lost control, something that was apparently in short supply when it came to me.
Roman’s admission about having the same feelings I did made its way into the smallest crevices in my chest.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask for more clarity on the so-called “complication” awaiting us. But I didn’t want to ruin the mood. Denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt, and I was its queen.
When Roman was done, he straightened and looked at me, his lips pressed together. “We need to do this right. I can’t imagine five minutes of sex against the library wall is the way to go.”