Chapter 5 #2
Kate nodded, then took the bowl he was holding out. Rather than leaving, Roman sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to shift ever so slightly and touch, if she wasn’t careful. He sipped the wine, watching as Kate lifted a forkful to her mouth and tasted the noodles.
It was incredible.
“She has a key to your place?” Kate could have kicked herself for asking, but the observations had been circling through her mind on repeat ever since Roman brought her to this room.
Not only did Tia have a key, she’d shown up uninvited, unplanned, bringing a favourite take out option and known exactly where the champagne flutes were stored.
In short, she’d obviously been very comfortable in Roman’s house—and life.
“It makes sense.”
That told Kate precisely nothing. “Why?”
He sipped his wine. “Are you jealous, Kate?”
She gasped at the direct nature of his question, and she could see by the darkening in his eyes that he was a little surprised to have asked it as well. The air between them sizzled with the words, the implication, and she felt the weight of her answer.
She stared down at her bowl of food, her appetite waning. “I was surprised.”
It was a clumsy sidestep.
“Why?”
“You weren’t expecting company.”
“No. I have company.”
Her heart throbbed.
“She seems very comfortable here.”
“Tia’s spent a lot of time at my place.”
Jealousy, yes. She felt it now. Sharp and searing, it made it difficult to breathe, much less talk. “You’re…involved?”
“No.”
“You were involved?”
“No. Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“A few kisses, when we were teenagers,” his smile was nostalgic, lacking in any kind of ‘lost love’ vibes. “Mostly out of boredom.”
“Oh.”
He sipped his wine, then handed the glass towards her, offering her some.
And there was something so intimate about lifting it to her lips right after it had touched his, sipping it, tasting it, knowing the same flavours were bursting through her mouth as they were his.
She swallowed, eyes on his because she couldn’t possibly look away.
There was such a magnetism to his look, such a heat to his expression.
“We grew up together. There’s no one else in my life who knows me as I was then. No one who sees the real me.”
The jealousy was back, searing her insides with white-hot heat.
It was bad enough to think of the stunning other woman making love to Roman, but to imagine her really knowing and understanding him?
To imagine her having the privilege of seeing all the way into his deepest crevices and knowing why they’d formed?
“What’s the real you?” She handed the glass of wine back, her heart tightening in her throat as he took it, this time, his fingers brushing hers. A shiver ran the length of her spine and she sat up a little straighter, stared right at him.
He sipped the wine. Her pulse trembled. “Not this.”
“No?”
“No. Eat.”
She looked from him to the food, then back to him.
She was tempted to say she wasn’t hungry, but the truth was, the food was so good, she found she couldn’t resist. She scooped some more noodles into her mouth, a thrill of adrenaline pounding inside her as he watched her eat, unmistakable approval on his face.
She’d never cared what anyone thought of her. She’d learned a long time ago that she couldn’t earn her way into someone’s good graces, so she’d stopped trying. Why did it matter so much that Roman should like her? Approve of her?
Vulnerability quickly followed the realisation, but she was too far gone to fight it, even if she’d wanted to.
“Is it a secret?”
His lips curled in a half-smile. “No.”
“So?”
He sipped the wine, then handed the glass back to her. She took it, this time letting her fingers linger close to his a beat longer. She had the strongest sense that she was playing with fire, and so was he.
“She’s allowed to know you, but I’m not?”
“She knows me because she was there.”
“That’s not something I can change.”
“Would you want to?”
“I want to know you,” she said, sipping the wine quickly, because her throat felt dry and thick.
His eyes flared when they locked to hers, this time, the heat unmistakable. “How well do you want to know me, Kate?”
She bit into her lip. “I want to know all of you.”
He lifted his brows, encouraging her to continue.
“And I want you to know all of me.” She glanced down at the bed, embarrassed by what she’d admitted. He caught her chin though, forcing her gaze back to his.
“Sex isn’t the same thing as knowledge.”
She sucked in a quick breath at his blatant description of what she’d been hedging around.
“And sex between us isn’t a smart idea.”
She swallowed. “Why not?”
“Because you’re dangerous.”
“Me?” she responded, voice squeaky.
“What I want from you is dangerous,” he corrected.
“What do you want from me?”
“Things I never let myself want.” He dropped his hand to her hip, and a soft moan escaped her. “You scare me, Kate. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be happy, but then, I need you to get out of my life.”
Her lips parted in surprise at that.
“Because if you don’t leave, I’m worried I’ll never let you go, and that’s not for me. I don’t think it’s for you, either.”
All the heat drained from her face, but she didn’t pull away from him. “So this would be really stupid, huh?”
“Very.”
“But you’re still sitting here, touching me.”
“Apparently, where you’re concerned, I don’t mind being a little stupid.”
“Would you kiss me?”
His eyes dropped to her lips and lingered there, staring at her mouth as though he were a starving man, and salvation lay within her lips.
He reached down and removed the bowl, placing it on the bedside table, then moved his hand to her chin, gripping it gently before lifting a finger to her mouth and tracing the outline of her lips.
Then, pushing a finger inside, so her eyes widened and her whole body surged with heat at this invasion.
“Roman,” she groaned, as he pushed his finger deeper, then removed it, eyes locked to hers, taunting, teasing.
“I think it would be a bad idea, Kate.”
The way he said her name though sent a shiver down her spine, and a moment later, he was standing, staring down at her as though genuinely torn. She stared up at him, the taste of him, of wine, of needing more assaulting her from the inside out.
“Don’t go.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to.” He reached down and cupped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lashes like fans against her skin.
“So don’t.”
“I have to. Don’t you get it? I brought you here to protect you, to keep you safe. And there’s nothing safe about what we’re doing now.”
He pulled back from her completely, stepping to the side.
“Goodnight, Kate. Call if you need anything.”
“I need—”
“Other than that,” he groused, expression a thunderclap, so she almost laughed as he stalked from the room.
But need was too urgent, desire too rampant, to give into humour.
She watched him go with a sinking feeling, and a sense that for the first time in her adult life, she wanted more than was smart, more than wise.
She wanted, no matter what. To hell with the consequences.
And that was something Kate had always sworn she’d never do – because wanting more than someone would willingly give was a guaranteed pathway to pain.
And she’d known enough of that in her life.
A cold shower could usually fix most things, Roman found, but even the torture of letting the icy water pummel him did nothing to subdue the heat in his veins and the hardness of his cock.
Eventually, he gave in. Not to Kate, but to surrender.
He reached down and touched himself, eyes closed, remembering the way it had felt to push his finger into her warm, moist mouth, to feel her wrap around him and know she was as desperate for him as he was for her.
Afterwards, chest heaving from the explosive pleasure, he dressed in jeans and a shirt and returned to the living room, pouring himself a neat measure of scotch and taking it, barefoot, out on the balcony.
Icy wind rushed around him; good. More coldness.
More punishment. He threw back the scotch, the contrast between warmth and cold inevitable and necessary.
He gripped the glass and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds from far below.
Cars, distant voices, wind. He closed his eyes and imagined Grace, her last nights on earth.
Was she afraid? Or too far out of it to realise how perilous her life choices had been?
Was she too high, too wasted, to realise that she was about to kill herself?
Was she angry with him? Did she know how badly he’d failed her?
He pressed back against the wall of the building, eyes squeezed shut at the familiar sense of panic that made it hard to breathe.
Panic and blame, the kind of self-recrimination from which he’d never recover.
Saving Kate was something. It was a glimmer of redemption, but it was not enough. Nothing ever would be.
For as long as he’d failed Grace, he didn’t deserve to forgive himself, and he didn’t deserve happiness. He particularly didn’t deserve a woman like Kate to beg for him, to want him, as though he alone was the answer to all her prayers.
Kate looked at him like he was a hero, like he could save anyone and anything. But the truth was, he’d failed. He’d failed to save Grace when she’d needed him, and saving Kate wasn’t enough to erase that. It never would be.