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Over the next two days, Roman wakes up before me and goes to bed after I sleep. He won’t touch me out of guilt that I got hurt. I catch glimpses of him through the day while he’s in tense discussions with his brothers or his men.
From what I can glean from overheard snippets I hear, they might go to war with a rival in New Jersey who’s encroaching on Roman’s territory. And the man who shot Roman is an undercover cop, which is why everyone is on alert.
After lunch on the second day, Sofia brings me another box from the Dolce Vita boutique. She doesn’t explain where we’re going, but says Roman will pick me up at seven.
It’s a deep red cocktail dress designed to show off my shoulders, tightly fitted around the bust and waist before flaring out at the hips. Thankfully, it doesn’t drag on the floor.
Even the heels he provided are sturdy and easy to slip off in case I need to run. There’s a little jewelry box containing a large pair of teardrop earrings with a green stone that might be emerald.
“This is far too generous,” I whisper, my voice breathy.
But Roman is a multi-millionaire who owns several companies, and that’s not including all the other illegal activities he doesn’t declare to the public. An outfit like this won’t even make a dent in his wallet.
I stand in his dressing room and gaze at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The woman staring back at me is a hundred miles away from the one who had to shop at thrift stores.
“This is just like Pretty Woman,” I murmur.
Richard Gere helped transform a hooker to a sophisticated lady, and Roman is turning an impoverished artist into a socialite.
The door opens, and Roman steps into the dressing room with a towel wrapped around his waist.
I whirl around, my eyes widening, my gaze roving down the contours of his tattooed chest.
The last time I saw him shirtless, I made an effort not to focus on his body because I wanted to get a start on his portrait. That’s a lie. I was so completely entranced by his huge cock and the way he stroked it to completion that I barely noticed all his body art.
Now that the towel is firmly wrapped around that distraction, I can focus on his tattoos. His left arm is encased by a sleeve of black designs. The head of a serene wolf stares out from his shoulder, its mane dissolving into a pattern of swirls. Beneath it are two smaller wolves, either fighting or playing. Their bodies merge into fur and feathers that end just below the elbow.
“Your ink is beautiful,” I murmur, my fingers twitching toward his chest.
Roman grins. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“That’s not what I said, but yeah. You are.”
My gaze rakes over his chest, where a pair of wings take up the space beneath his collar bones, leaving a gap in the dip between his pectoral muscles.
“Is that complete?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I wanted to add an angel in the middle, but then I got arrested.”
My heart sinks. “Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”
“And ruin my night?”
“Sorry.” I turn away, run a finger through my curls, trying to tame them into a semblance of an evening style.
Roman appears behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “I didn’t mean to be abrupt.” He kisses my bare shoulder. “When I’m with you, I lose track of all my resentment.”
“Really?” I ask.
He runs his fingers through my curls and twists them into a chignon. “Really. You’re my safe space.”
My chest flutters. The irony is that Roman is also mine. “How do you know what to do with my mane?”
He chuckles. “My mother had curls like yours. The only one of us who even close to inherited it is Cesare.”
“Who ties his hair back.”
“Curls look pretty on a woman. Not so flattering on a man.”
