"Iisus Khristos, no!" he says instantly. Forcing a smile, he pours the last of the wine bottle in my glass and he switches to a bottle of vodka he pulls out of the fridge. "Buried in paperwork and bullshit business details for the rest of my life?"
"You do make it sound so enticing," I say dryly. "If Dmitri's the big guy in charge, what's your position, this being a family business and all?"
"I could really use a shower," Rose interrupts us. "Can you show me where we're sleeping? I mean, we can use the couch in the living room, though, no problem."
"What kind of host do you take me for?" Roman sets aside his drink, taking us up the stairs to the third floor of the house.
"Is this house all yours?" I ask. The paintings lining the walls as we walk up the stairs are so precise and clear that I want to stop and examine each one in the golden glow cast by the chandelier. It's an enormous polished brass and crystal creation, lording over the two-story entry.
"Yes," he says, "though my brother Alexsey is here often enough that I should start charging him rent."
"It's a big house for one person," Rose observes.
"I'd get lonely, I think," Iris adds.
"Don't worry about Roman," I say dryly, "I'm sure he hasguestsover all the time."
"Do you mean female guests?" Roman slows down to let the girls pass him, whispering in my ear. "You're thinking this is my fuck palace? I'm disappointed in you. I thought I'd crushed all your assumptions that I lived in a bachelor hellscape."
Shrugging, I do feel mean-spirited. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
"I rarely bring women home," he says, opening a door. "Present company excluded, of course."
He's looking at me as he says it, green eyes dark and intent and damn him if it doesn't send my long-dormant hormones screaming into overdrive.
The guest bedroom he offers the twins is three times the size of the one at my apartment, the paneled walls are painted a dark teal and the bed is ridiculously luxurious, cashmere blankets and velvety-soft sheets and pillows. It reminds me that I haven't had a decent night's sleep in… I can't remember.
Roman must notice my shoulders sag, because he moves the tour along, showing the girls the attached bathroom and tells them he'll have one of his guards bring their bags up.
"Can the hot one with the neck tattoo bring them up?" Rose says, smiling innocently.
"No seducing my men," he says, pointing a stern finger. "You two are dangerous, I can already tell."
"You have no idea." I rub the back of my neck as Roman escorts me down the hall. "They've left a trail of broken hearts behind them since they were twelve. Going to an all-girl's school did nothing to stop them."
He leans against the wall, a door next to him and another directly across the hall. Nodding to the one facing us, he says, "That's my bedroom. Do you want to see if I've got a bed covered in hooks and restraint gear? An armoire filled with whips and ball gags?"
Why did that just send a bolt of lightning down to light up my lady garden?
Clearing my throat, I say, "You leave it all at the club. Too much work to set up a full bondage apparatus in your bedroom. Your decor is too perfect. You'd never find a St. Andrew's Cross that would match all this oak furniture."
This sets him off, throwing his perfectly-shaped head back and laughing heartily, showing off his even, white teeth.
Damn him! Why couldn't Roman be ugly, or hideously scarred? I can't think clearly with all this masculinity going on the offensive with me.
"That's somewhat accurate," he says, stepping closer and running his fingers through my hair. "Not in my bedroom, anyway." He leans closer until I can feel his breath, warm on my cheek. "I do have a room on the second floor, however, devoted to all things carnal. Things to bind you. To break you and make you whole again."
To my horror, a high, little whine escapes my lips.
"Would you like to see it?" Even his whisper is filthy, filled with dark promises and I sag against the wall. The knowing curve of his lips tells me he knows exactly what he's doing to me.
This man pulled aneyeballfrom Jack's head tonight.
But, then he came to rescue us, his hands still bloody.
Why does he smell so good? Like the vodka he drank and peppermint. Something crisp and wintery, like snow.
Roman's head is bent, the tip of his nose running along the line of my jaw. He's enormous, all muscle and heat, surrounding me.
