Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Roman felt a sick sense of dread curdle in his gut as he watched her stiffen and turn slowly toward the bedroom. He dropped his feet to the floor, ready to stand and stop her—beg her forgiveness. The second he leaned forward, though, he caught himself.
He couldn’t go after her—not like this. He felt awful for hurting her feelings, but what was he going to do? The reminder of every word he’d said tasted like acid on his tongue, and he longed to pull her to him, tell her he hadn’t meant any of it.
He wanted to… but he couldn’t.
Aside from that, a huge part of him was still pissed at himself for what had happened back home.
Her words hit him hard because he blamed himself for not noticing someone had tampered with her brake lines.
It was no consolation that they couldn’t pin down an exact time, but he hadn’t forgiven himself, and apparently, neither had she.
If it was… she was right. She deserved someone better.
For the past few days, ever since that morning out on the patio, he’d done his best to ignore her.
He’d pushed her away, unable to stand being in her company for more than a few minutes—and not because he disliked her.
Each time she was near, he felt the overwhelming urge to pull her close and lose himself in a kiss that he knew would change his life irrevocably forever.
He’d shot down every opportunity to leave the house, telling her that they needed to keep her out of the public’s eye.
But that was only half of the story. The truth was, he was terrified.
Going out, even for a walk on the beach, would force him to interact with her, and if they ran into someone who was interested in talking, they’d have to act like they were married.
The last thing he wanted was a replay of the scene in the airport when she’d slipped her hand into his.
Her skin had been so soft, so perfect, he couldn’t help but wonder how the rest of her felt.
It called to mind the night in the shower when she’d been pressed against him from chest to thighs, and he nearly broke into a sweat at the thought.
He craved her like he’d never wanted anything else in his life.
Though she’d thrown herself at him that night, she’d been drunk—possibly drugged—and out of her mind.
He refused to make a fool of himself by laying a move on her and being turned down.
It wasn’t the possibility of rejection that stopped him, but everything else.
Her safety, as well as his job, was at stake here, and he couldn’t risk it.
He sank back against the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face. He’d made a huge mess of things, and he had no idea how to fix it. Maybe things were beyond repair.
Guilt pressed in on him, rendering him motionless. He didn’t know how long he sat there staring blindly at the TV before he finally turned it off and stood. He had to at least apologize.
He did a quick once-over of the small bungalow, then used the bathroom and headed to bed.
The room was completely dark when he entered, though that was no surprise.
She probably needed the privacy of the dark after everything that had happened.
What he’d said was horrible and completely uncalled for, that was a given.
But he couldn’t figure out her reaction.
The Irina he’d come to know over the past couple of weeks had a backbone of steel, a sharp retort at the ready.
But not today. Instead of fighting back like normal, she’d turned and fled.
That alone told him how badly he’d hurt her, and the knowledge made him feel sick to his stomach.
He couldn’t shake off the way she’d looked at him the moment those words left his throat. Her eyes were like an open book—he’d read everything in the blue depths from “you’re an idiot” to “you’re right, but I don’t want to admit it.”
This time, though, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. They’d been completely devoid of emotion as if he’d reached into her chest and ripped out her heart. He literally watched the walls go back up over her expressive eyes, the vibrant sparkle leaching away as she shut down and pushed him away.
What made everything worse, though, was the amount of trust she’d placed in him. She was so certain that he would protect her, keep her safe, and the thought was both bolstering and daunting. It was hard to fathom having that kind of faith in someone.
Silently, he closed the door behind him, then crept toward the bed.
Not wanting to scare her, he dropped to one knee next to the mattress.
A silvery shaft of moonlight spilled through the sliding doors and over the bed, illuminating her pretty face.
What he saw there made his heart clench.
A trail of dried tears was visible over the curve of her cheek, and he hated himself for putting them there.
He stretched one hand toward her then halted, frozen in midair.
Helplessly, he let it drop to his side. He’d done this to her.
God, he was such a jerk. Heaving a sigh, he pushed to his feet.
Making his way to the foot of the bed, he collapsed onto the pile of blankets and lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Guilt and unease swirled in his stomach. He had to find a way to make it up to her. By holding back and keeping her prisoner in the house, he was only hurting them both. There was no reason they shouldn't be able to coexist in harmony. Besides, it was his fault that things had been so awkward.
After tossing and turning for hours, he finally fell asleep only to wake again just after dawn.
Irina slept soundly as he crept from the room, for which he was grateful.
He knew he needed to apologize, but he wasn't ready to eat crow just yet.
He needed to come up with a game plan. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then headed out to the patio for his daily morning workout.
For the next hour and a half, he kept an eye on the sliding door, watching for the slightest movement inside the house that would indicate Irina was up and about.
Finally, around nine o'clock, a tiny shadow passed in front of the door as she made her way to the kitchen.
He hopped up from the stretch he was doing and hustled toward the house.
He wanted to catch her where she had no escape, no choice but to listen to him.
His gaze zeroed in on her as soon as he stepped inside, and there was no mistaking the tense set of her shoulders.
She kept her eyes cast downward, ignoring him completely as she grabbed a water bottle, then made to leave the room.
He set one hand on the counter, effectively blocking her escape.
Every muscle in her body went completely rigid, and though she refused to look at him, he heard her swallow hard.
“Irina.” Her eyes lifted to his chest, and she stared straight ahead. He’d take it; it was better than nothing. “I need to apologize.”
He hadn’t meant to put it so bluntly, but the second the words were out, her gaze snapped to his. The pretty blue irises, normally so full of life and warmth, were cold and hard. “You need to or want to?”
The girl wasn’t pulling any punches this morning, was she? “Both,” he admitted. “You were absolutely right. I've been a jerk about this whole thing.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she didn't say a word. He forced himself to continue. “This, all of this, is new to me. Being a bodyguard, having a—”
The word wife sprang to his lips, and he clamped his mouth shut to keep it from flying out.
He started over. “It's not a good excuse, but it's the only one I've got.
I've been trying to keep you safe, trying to follow the rules, but it's only made things worse.
There's no reason you shouldn't learn to defend yourself.”
“There's not?”
“No,” he said firmly. Irina was gorgeous and talented, no question about it. But what he admired most was her strength and resilience. He was sure it had taken balls of steel—or whatever the female equivalent was—to ask him for help to pull this off.
She was independent and headstrong, and he knew she would never relinquish her freedom, even in the face of danger.
She wanted to ensnare her stalker, wanted to learn to protect herself.
And he respected her for that. “I'll show you what you need to know.
Tell me what you want to do, and I'll do my best to make it happen.”
For several long seconds, she eyed him like she couldn't believe a word she’d heard. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I'm tired of fighting.” He dropped both hands to his sides. “I just want to get through the next week and a half without hating each other.”
Two little lines appeared in the space over her nose. “I don't hate you,” she said softly.
It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “I still can't guarantee that we’ll be able to go out much, but I don't want to spend the next ten days cooped up in the house.”
A delicate shudder shook her body. “Me, neither. I'm starting to go crazy.”
He cracked a small smile. “What would you like to do?”
“Honestly?” Her eyes darted out the window toward the ocean. “I'd like to go back to the beach. I would love to see it first thing when the sun comes up, go for an early morning run when it's peaceful and quiet.”
“Tomorrow,” he promised. “We’ll go down to the beach in the morning when there are fewer people out.”
Blue eyes filled with caution blinked up at him. “Really?”
“I promise,” he replied. “Let's just try to enjoy the time we have left here, okay?”
Her lips slowly lifted, curling into the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. “Okay.”
He knew it was going to cost him every shred of sanity and control he harbored within him, but seeing her smile like that was totally worth every bit of it.