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“And me?”
Roman draws back and stares down at me with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“You admitted earlier that you only took me in to spite Jim because he was in the police.”
He gazes down at me with an intensity that makes my heart pound hard enough for us both. “Emberly, I have never brought a woman to my family home, never spent the night with a woman, let alone slept beside her.”
My breath shallows, and every butterfly in my stomach takes flight. “Oh.”
“I’ve never hidden a fugitive who wasn’t a blood relative and never risked going back to prison by murdering a cop to protect a woman.”
“Okay.” I gulp.
“And I’ve never told a woman that I loved her. I did all those things for you because you’re the only person in the world who makes me feel alive.”
“Really?” I rasp.
His dark eyes soften, and he cups my face with both hands. “Being with you is like soaring the kite-tails of freedom.” He pauses to brush his thumb over my cheekbone. “It doesn’t matter if you’re sleeping, painting, or freaking out, each moment with you is fresh, exciting, and new. You make me feel every emotion under the sun.”
“Why me?” I whisper.
“Because you’re the most unique person I’ve ever met, and the opposite of what I expect. Everything about you is addictive. I would kill for you, maim for you, and step over a pile of twitching and dead bodies if it meant keeping you by my side.”
“Oh,” I say with a breathy sigh, not knowing how to respond.
“And thank you.”
“What for?” I ask.
“No woman has ever fought to protect me.”
Before I can ask if he’s excluding his mother, his lips find mine, and I melt into the warmth of his kiss. I dig my fingers into his shirt. This kiss is different from all the others and carries an urgency I’m not sure I understand.
It’s as though he’s afraid of losing me, even though we’ve had much worse spats. I kiss back, trying to assure him I have no intention of ever leaving.
Still joined to his lips, I whisper, “I love you, too.”
He draws back, his gaze dropping to my mouth before meeting my eyes. “I never get tired of hearing that.”
“Anytime your honor needs defending, I’ll be there with a craft knife.”
He chuckles. “I’ll be sure to order you an extra supply.”
I give him a firm nod.
“Now, will you please stay in the car and let me get rid of this pest?”
“Fine,” I mutter as Roman opens the door, letting in the sound of her yelling.
As he steps out into the night, I sit back, my mind reeling, and my pussy unusually wet. What part of wrestling Roman was a turn on, or did I just get over excited from the memory of him touching himself as I painted?
I shake off that thought and resolve to make more of an effort not to overreact. Roman was telling the truth about his association with the officer.
There’s no need to concern myself about other women, regardless of what else he might be doing.
FIFTY
ROMAN
