Chapter 9 #2
She pushed up onto her elbows, one brow raised. “Aren’t you Roman-I-Can-Do-What-I-Want-Hayes?”
His lips lifted in a half-smile of concession.
She pushed up higher, one hand fisting in his shirt. “And don’t you own the company?”
He grunted his agreement.
“So why don’t you…invest…in this?” It didn’t occur to her until after she’d made the invitation that she was putting herself so far out there.
That she was asking him for more than he might give; that she was inviting rejection.
Because it didn’t occur to her that he would reject her.
They’d gone too far. Besides, he wanted her as much as she did him.
She’d felt the evidence of that a moment ago, had shamelessly pushed herself down on his rock hard arousal, as though his pants would somehow magically disappear and he’d take her like that.
“Believe me, there’s nothing I want more.”
Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes flew to his. The need to protect herself rattled to life, a muscle she hadn’t thought she’d need in this moment suddenly flexing. She dropped her hand away from his shirt immediately, as though she’d been burned.
“I have to go,” he said, no hint of apology in the words. If anything, they were like steel.
That self-protective muscle flexed once more. “Oh, sure, no problem.”
But then his finger was on her chin, tilting her face so she either had to face him head on or squeeze her eyes shut.
Closing her eyes would tell him too much about her vulnerabilities so she faked a courage she didn’t feel and held his gaze, even when the probing of his eyes was making parts of her wither and twist.
“We aren’t going to rush this.”
Her heart thundered.
He moved closer, this time, lifting his knees to the edge of the bed and straddling her.
When he kissed her, his head pushed her backwards into the mattress, and his body weight gently eased down on Kate, so she was lost once again on a sea of need, forgetting to protect herself, forgetting to act nonchalant in the face of the desire that was ravaging her system, protective reflexes be damned.
“Who said anything about rushing?” she murmured, one leg lifting to wrap around his waist.
His eyes swept closed for a moment, his lashes thick and dark against the tan of his skin. “You’re impossible.”
“I thought I was perfect?”
“Perfectly impossible.” He pressed a kiss against her again. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
She blinked up at him and his eyes were now not only open but piercing hers with their intensity.
“I mean it. Stay here, exactly like this, Kate, and I’ll reward you when I come home.”
She should have laughed it off, pretended his heated command didn’t affect her but the truth was, his words were their own form of torment. “How long will you be?”
“I don’t know,” he said, something shifting behind his eyes that she didn’t understand. “But believe me, thinking of you like this is going to get me through the next few hours.” He pressed a kiss to her lips then straightened. “Stay.”
“Yessir,” she murmured, with a flicker of her eyes that indicated sarcasm rather than heat. As he walked across the room, Kate’s hand moved to her breast, circling one of the nipples he’d so effortlessly tormented.
He stopped walking and turned, stared at her, cursed again and she held her breath, wondering if he might change his mind, wondering if he might come back to bed after all. But with another swallowed curse from deep in his body, he turned on his heel and left, closing the door heavily in his wake.
Sometimes he wondered if they were sadistic to torture themselves like this, and yet he knew they’d never stop.
Every year, on the anniversary of Grace’s death, they came to the cemetery together, Tia and Roman, each with their own weight of responsibility, their own burdens.
There was grief, for both of them, but time had dulled that, had changed the ways in which they missed Grace.
It was a constant presence, but it was also woven into his being now, a part of his life.
He no longer picked up his phone expecting to see her face, calling him.
He no longer went to text her when something good happened.
He no longer carried the worry he had for the last year of her life, knowing that her career had taken her into associations she should avoid, a niggling, constant sense of concern that she downplayed and insisted was unfounded.
What he wouldn’t do to go back and change the past, to insist she check into rehab and let them decide how ‘balanced’ her habits were.
But he hadn’t, and while his grief had eased, his guilt was as strong as it would ever be, because he knew he could have saved her, if he’d done things differently.
If he’d been less focused on his career, less obsessed with building himself into the goliath he was today, less singular in his outlook.
He'd thought he was looking after her, as though a phone call every few days was enough. She’d slipped through his fingers, though, drugs taking her from him before he could realise just how bad it really was.
Tia leaned against his side, and he put an arm around her shoulders on autopilot, her soft, floral fragrance tickling his nose.
She shivered against the cold—Fall had the city in its grip now; it was easy to see that winter would be here soon.
Every year was like this; icy winds at Grace’s grave, with its view of the city.
That had been the least he could do—offer her a resting place worthy of her. Small compensation, though.
“Such a goddamn waste,” Tia muttered, lifting a trembling finger and wiping at her cheeks. She glanced up at Roman, her beautiful face with those soulful dark eyes showing a torment Tia rarely revealed. “Do you ever blame me, Roh?”
It was the first time she’d ever asked him that and the question caught him completely by surprise. “Blame you?”
“I was her best friend.”