Page 85 of Roman

I drained my glass of scotch. “People like me,” I repeated.

She switched on the light beside me, making me utter a curse and cover my eyes. She said nothing for a moment, then to my shock, slid down on her knees between my splayed legs. She ran her hands over my thighs in what I knew she meant to be a soothing manner. My body tightened at her touch, the lust I felt for her roaring through my entire being.

“Roman,” she murmured. “What is it? Tell me what you need.”

I met her gaze. Goddamn it, I swore I could see her soul in the luminous depths. Her sweetness and beauty of her very being showed in her eyes. No one looked at me the way she did.

She stared back at me with nothing but concern and worry in her expression. The blue was vivid in her pale face, the dark of her hair setting off her creamy skin. She wore another shirt of mine. It was too large, and the neckline was stretched, hanging off one shoulder. I drank in the expanse of skin showing. Our eyes locked and held, and before I could think, I leaned down, cupping her face. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away. I bent close, our lips almost touching.

“What do I need, Little Tiger? I need the one thing I can’t have.”

“Which is?”

“You. I fucking need you.”

“And you hate that.”

“Yes. But it’s true. I fucking need you more than I need to breathe.” I brushed my mouth over her trembling lips. “Tell me I can have you. Don’t deny me,” I begged, my voice strained, my body tense and anxious. I never begged. But for her, I would.

“Yes,” she whispered.

I yanked her into my arms.

She was mine.

EFFIE

I woke up to an odd noise, and I looked around, confused. The door to the bedroom was open, but the office down the hall was dark. Then I heard it again. The sound of glass moving. Roman was in his office. I glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was only just past midnight. He usually wasn’t back until later.

I slid from the bed and padded down the hall, stopping at the entryway to the office. The room was dim, but there was enough light from the windows that I could see Roman sitting on the sofa. A bottle of scotch was on the table in front of him. He was hunched over, the glass hanging loosely from his hands. His head was down, and his forearms rested on his thighs. His body screamed exhaustion and tension. Always aware, he didn’t even notice I was there.

I stood in front of him.

“Roman?” I asked quietly. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t look up. “Go back to bed, Effie.”

“Why are you sitting in the dark?”

He barked a laugh. “People like me love the dark.”

I pushed the bottle over and sat on the coffee table in front of him. “People like you?”

He drained the glass of scotch. “People like me,” he repeated, his voice emotionless.

I switched on the light beside him, and Roman cursed and covered his eyes for a moment, then sat back with a sigh. I studied him. He had left earlier wearing a suit. Now he was in a T-shirt and sweats, his hair damp. He’d obviously had a couple of glasses of scotch, if not more. His expression was tormented, his body tense. I wasn’t sure what to do or say, surprised at how intense the need to comfort him was. I slid down onto my knees between his splayed legs and ran my hands over his thighs, wanting him to know I was here.

“Roman,” I murmured. “What is it? Tell me what you need.”

He met my gaze. Torment didn’t begin to cover the expression in his dark green eyes. Fury, agony, distress—they were all there. Plus, a vulnerability I’d never seen before this moment. He was in conflict—at war with an invisible foe I knew nothing about.

Our eyes locked and held, and suddenly he leaned down, cupping my face. His touch was gentle, his thumbs working circles on my skin. He was close enough our lips almost touched. My breathing picked up, and I felt the heat rise between us.

“What do I need, Little Tiger? I need the one thing I can’t have,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Which is?”

“You. I fucking need you.”