Chapter 2 #2
“Yeah.” She stood, holding her weight with one palm against the wall. It hurt like hell, but she wanted to be standing when he came in. It felt somehow important.
“Jesus, Kate,” he responded, when his eyes met hers. He was angry, but she wasn’t afraid. There was contained control to him, a sense of emotional strength that was soothing even when his temper was clearly short. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”
“I’m okay,” she said.
His eyes probed hers, his lips compressing with the effort of not saying whatever he was thinking. He stopped just short of her. “Can I take you back to your room, or are you going to insist on walking?”
Her lips pulled at the question. Even the fact he asked it was somehow reassuring. “Would you let me, even if I wanted to?”
“I’d prefer you to make a smart decision.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re really arrogant, too.”
“Yes.”
She laughed then, surprising herself with the sound—and the fact she was genuinely amused. “Take me back. Please.”
And she stared into his eyes as she said the final word, without realising how husky her own voice had become, and how much it sounded like a plea for something else.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she looked away quickly, clearing her throat as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her against his chest, cradling her easily as he strode through the penthouse and back to the guest room.
“I’m too wet,” she said, when he placed her on the edge of the mattress.
He looked at her for a beat before disappearing into the bathroom and returning a moment later with a small towel and a hair dryer.
“Thank you,” she said, expecting him to hand the hair dryer to her. Instead, he plugged it in, picked her up once more and moved her to the head of the bed, before he proceeded to blow dry her hair.
To blow dry her hair.
And in contrast to the way he was so strong and gruff, and had single-handedly put down her two attackers, his touch on her hair was strangely…gentle. He lifted it in segments, running his fingers through the ends, drying each part before moving on to the next.
She caught a glimpse of their reflection in one of the enormous windows and shivered. She looked away, then glanced back almost as if she couldn’t help it. This time, she felt his eyes on hers in the window, too.
“Right.” He cleared his throat as he turned off the hair dryer and unplugged it, taking the time to neatly coil the cord around the base. Control. Fastidiousness. He was someone who took care of what was his.
These insights came to her instantly, but each one sparked a question. Why was he this way? What else was his? Was there someone else in his life?
“Garrett organised these for you,” Roman said, moving to the wardrobe and removing a bag, placing it on the edge of the bed.
He hesitated a moment. “It’s clothes,” he explained, frowning as he looked at her.
She didn’t even want to think about how she must appear.
She’d let the water run over her until it was clear, no sign of the blood that had matted her hair, but she had no doubt bruising was starting to show all over her.
She held her towel more tightly, like a barrier.
“That’s kind.”
“It’s necessary.” He hesitated a moment, consternation flickering on his features. “Will you call out if you need help?”
Hardly likely, but she nodded anyway, because she sensed it was the only answer he’d accept. “Yep.”
“Kate?” A sharp rejoinder.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’ll call for you if I need help. But I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to manage…”
It took longer than she wanted to admit, but eventually she was dressed in the softest pair of yoga pants and a sweater that she suspected was cashmere, moving gingerly back into the bed. She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
He’d checked on her hourly overnight. It was probably overkill, but he’d be damned if he was going to let anything happen to her on his watch.
Ordinarily, he wouldn’t dream of invading the privacy of a house guest by entering their room while they slept, but this was no ordinary situation.
Kate had been hit, hard, and her condition could worsen at any time.
He wasn’t taking any chances; that wasn’t how he operated. Not after Grace.
He’d left that to chance.
He’d focused on his life, his business. He’d focused on his success, on the way it felt to know he was making it, just like he’d sworn.
Meanwhile, he’d lost Grace. And with her, he’d lost a part of himself, too.
The last remaining part that had believed in hope and goodness, that had thought everything actually could turn out okay.
The part of him that had been willing to let some parts of life play out.
Now? He was all about control. Rules.
Which was why he had every intention of moving Kate somewhere else in the morning. Not to a hospital, but perhaps a hotel. Somewhere with paid staff to tend to her. He’d still make sure she was okay, but after tonight, she wouldn’t require his personal intervention. Would she?
It was the best Kate had slept in as long as she could remember.
And it wasn’t just the million-thread-count sheets or the plush pillows and down doona.
It wasn’t even the perfectly decorated room that was immaculately clean and ordered, nor the view over the city that greeted her when she blinked open her eyes.
Central Park was down below, trees turning rust coloured and losing their leaves, the city showing all the hallmarks of a Fall season in full flight.
It was a feeling, that had wrapped around her all night, of exquisite safety. Of being wrapped up in something special. Of feeling cossetted and protected. Valued in a way she’d never known.
Not uncommon when you’d been bounced from foster home to foster home, but still. This was next level.
She stretched instinctively and cried out, her ankle immediately complaining, and her head throbbing.
She pushed back the deliciously luxurious doona as Roman strode in, wearing a pair of low-slung jeans and a loose grey shirt that somehow only emphasised his strength and also lent him an air of danger.
“Kate.” The way he said her name was both a statement and a question, and it sent a shockwave of awareness through her.
She gestured to her ankle and grimaced, trying to focus on the situation rather than the man, and how he made her feel.
But in the light of morning, with the shock of last night having faded finally, it was so much more overwhelming.
“It’s worse.” That was almost an accusation. As though she could do anything to stop the swelling and bruising. “You’re going to need an x-ray.”
“No.” Her response was immediate and so was his. Irritation flickered in his face.
“Tell me why.”
Another statement, rather than a question.
It wasn’t something she wanted to admit. To anyone, out of self-preservation, but to Roman because it made her feel like a failure. Like he might see her differently. Might judge her.
And yet, there was something about the way he stared at her, and the vestiges of the safe haven he’d created, that had her glancing down at the bed and saying, quietly, “I overstayed my visa. I’m here illegally.”
The only reaction was the soft rustle of clothing as he shifted and crossed his arms. She glanced up at him and felt the questioning scrutiny like a physical touch.
“Why?”
“That’s…complicated.”
“And you don’t want to talk about it,” he surmised.
“It’s complicated,” she repeated.
“Come and tell me about it.”
That was surprisingly tempting. There was something about this man that made her want to confide. To lean on someone.
“Okay.” A moment later, he was carrying her through the apartment and she had to remind herself that this wasn’t permanent.
This wasn’t real. He’d helped her last night, but he’d also made it clear that it was for one night only.
So she let herself relax into how good his arms felt, how secure she felt, and didn’t worry about anything more complicated.
Soon, she’d be out of here, back to whatever her life had been like before last night. Reality…