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I ignored his first two calls, but panic set in, so I turned away just long enough to check my phone’s screen.
It was too long.
The ball got away from me.
I took the call and spoke to my boss, while Roman blew my high score away.
I can’t say I was disappointed.
The entire time I was playing, I seriously considered whether or not to throw the game to him.
Fate took the decision and ran with it.
“No,” Roman says with a smirk. “I won fair and square.”
“You didn’t,” I playfully argue. “I thought the call was an emergency, so I looked away.”
He leans a hip against the machine as he listens. “We’re even. You distracted me last time by bringing up the ball team you like.”
“Love,” I stress. “I’m a huge New York Yankees fan.”
I say it loud enough that a few people near us raise their hands to pump the air and join in with chants about the team.
Roman waves them off with a wave of his hand. “The Mets rule.”
“Yay, Mets!” A woman calls from the corner before a man repeats her words louder with a toast to the team.
I burst out in laughter.
“I won, Bianca.” He studies my face. “You know it, and I know it, so let’s stop wasting time.”
“Roman,” I say his name with a tremor in my voice. “Are you asking me to go home with you?”
“Or you can take me home with you.” He reaches for my hand. “If that’s too much, we can take this to a neutral place.”
“A neutral place?”
“I’ll show you.” He squeezes my hand. “Are you game?”
I place my trust in his hands, and nod. “I’m game.”
Chapter 27
Roman
“You don’t live here?” Bianca’s gaze stays trained on the view out the windows of this penthouse apartment. “Why not?”
The answer to that is too long, complicated, and personal for me to answer right now.
“It didn’t feel like home,” I sum everything up in that tidy package. “It’s on the market, but I doubt like hell the broker will bring anyone through at this time of night.”
She lets out a giggle that shakes her shoulders. “If you’re selling this place, where do you live? It would have to be a castle to beat this apartment.”
It’s home. I live in a place that finally feels like home.
This penthouse is a reminder of a life I’d rather forget.
“It’s different,” I admit.
“Different as in more square feet and a better view?” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Because that’s hard to imagine.”
“Where do you live?”
That turns her right around. The light streaming into this main room from the hallway casts a shadow on her, highlighting her curves.
I want my hands on her now.
I need to touch her, kiss her, and feel myself inside of her.
“Madison Avenue,” she says quietly. “In a building with a nosy doorman and a neighbor who thinks I steal her food.”
“Sounds like the makings of a great sitcom.”
She laughs that off. “I like it. My apartment is big enough for me. The rent is reasonable. I feel safe there.”
“Do you feel safe here?”
I debated bringing her here, but the building is always bustling with people. We rode the elevator up with six others before they departed on lower floors. There’s nothing in here that speaks of my life. I removed all the pictures from the walls, and cleared out my belongings on the day I got the keys to the three-bedroom apartment I live in now.
Sometimes, walking into the inner sanctum of another person’s life can douse the heat of the moment.
It’s happened to me.
I’ve gone home with women who wanted to give me hints into their private lives. When I’m only looking for a fuck, I don’t want to see family photographs or gain insight into their decorating choices.
I want that with Bianca, but there was hesitation in her eyes when we talked about where to go tonight. I could tell that she’s not ready to take me home with her yet.
“I do feel safe,” she says. “I don’t think you’re an ax murderer.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m far from it.”
She steps closer to me. “What are you?”
I want to tell her. Jesus, do I want to confess that to her. I’m more than an attorney who works hard for every dollar he earns.
“A man who wants you.”
The corners of her lips curve up. “You have condoms.”
“Several,” I admit, tapping the back pocket of my pants.
“And high hopes.” She laughs.
“Need,” I say without a hint of amusement in my tone. “I have a desperate need for you, Bianca.”
She inches closer still. “Need is a strong word.”
“It’s not strong enough to describe what I’m feeling.” I keep my gaze trained on her face to see her reaction. “Want doesn’t suffice either. There is a constant ache when I’m near you.”
“An ache?” she questions in a whisper. “What do you mean?”
