Page 45 of Roman

CHAPTER 10

ROMAN

Iopened the suite door, pleased to see the cases I had sent upstairs by my desk, waiting. I picked them up and headed to the bedroom. It was empty, but I knew Effie was there. A small bag was on the bed, and the shoes Vi had brought her were neatly by the door. Effie was very tidy with everything she did. I had noticed that.

The bathroom door was shut and I waited, but she didn’t come out. I listened at the door, hearing some odd sounds and became concerned. Was she ill? Crying? Without hesitation, I flung open the door and stepped in, freezing.

Effie was climbing out of the tub. The air was heavy with steam swirling around us. She stopped her movements, shocked into immobilization. I stared, transfixed. She was exquisitely formed. Her legs were shapely, her ankles and feet small. Wider hips set off the sweet curve of her waist. Her breasts were surprisingly large for someone so petite. Her nipples were rosy, a dark pink color, and the narrow thatch of curls between her legs matched the deep raven color of her hair, which was piled on the top of her head. Her mouth formed a shocked O. My cock hardened instantly, and in the flash of a moment, I decided the type I had sought my entire life was incorrect. Effie was my perfect type. She became irresistible as she blushed, the color suffusing her body, turning her skin pink and her nipples a darker hue. I was mesmerized.

Neither of us moved. Our gazes were locked, mine intense and hungry, hers wide with shock and uncertainty. My heartbeat picked up, my body tightening. Her chest heaved, her breath escaping in short, sharp rasps. Injured or not, I wanted her. Reluctant or not, I wanted her. I stepped closer, grabbing the towel off the vanity and pausing.

I looked one more time at her sensual beauty. The beauty she kept hidden under loose clothing. I wanted to take a picture of her, yet the thought of anyone seeing her this way, anyone but me, was abhorrent. I burned her image into my mind. It was one I knew I would revisit often.

I handed her the towel, then I turned and walked out before I gave in to my desires.

A long time later, Effie walked into my office, looking decidedly nervous. I was working on a stack of paperwork, trying to find a solution to an ongoing problem. I needed to occupy my mind and hands and stop myself from returning to Effie and throwing her on the bed and tasting her pretty pink skin—everywhere.

I glanced up, trying not to laugh. The shirt she wore was old and shapeless. The leggings covered her right down to her feet, and she wore socks. The shirt was buttoned up to her neck. As if by covering herself it would erase the memory of my eyes on her. Her gaze drifted to the table, and I smirked. She was braving the lion in his den because she smelled the pasta. The aroma of garlic and basil had been tickling my nose since it arrived a short while ago, and I had wondered if she would join me or hide all night.

“Hungry, Little Tiger?”

She nodded and I stood. She scurried to the table, sitting down so quickly she almost missed the chair. She grimaced, and I shook my head, sitting across from her.

“Don’t hurt yourself. I won’t touch you.”

My nonna had drummed it into our heads from young boys that women were to be respected. Admired. Treated with the utmost care. My father’s teachings had been drastically different, but even he held to the one simple truth. No means no. I never had, nor would I ever, force a woman.

Especially the tiny one sitting across from me.

I poured some wine and lifted the lids. “I thought pasta would suit,” I explained. “Soft on your throat but filling.”

She looked at her plate, a delicate alfredo on one side, a Bolognese on the other, both with fresh pasta.

She glanced up. “They are my favorite.”

“Then eat. You need the strength.” I winked at her. “And my chef is directly from Italy. It is amazing.”

She chewed and swallowed, tasting each one. I liked watching her eat. She enjoyed her food, and I was pleased to see that. Eating was one of the joys in life.

“So delicious,” she murmured. “Perfect sauce and pasta.”

“I want that plate clean.”

She ate slowly, savoring the meal. She sipped a little wine but drank more water than the red liquid.

“You don’t like wine?”

“I rarely drink.”

“I can order you something else.”

“No, thank you.” Then she laid down her utensils. “And thank you for my clothes. And the picture. That was very thoughtful of you. Or should I thank Vi?”

“No, I didn’t ask Vi. I went to check on your diner and thought some of your own clothes would be more comfortable for you than the ones I sent upstairs.”

“I saw the garment bags. You can send them back.”

“No.” I drew in a deep breath, wondering when I had become nervous about telling someone, especially a diminutive woman, what I expected them to do. “You will need them.”