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Filled with conflicting emotions, Elizabeth twisted the engagement ring around her finger as Roark opened the door to his loft. She needed to keep her head in this game and ignore the messages from her heart. And by the looks of what Roark had planned for the evening, that was going to prove challenging.
Candlelight illuminated the dining table, barely making a dent in the darkness filling the large open space. Soft music played. Intimate, romantic, staged for seduction.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I thought we were supposed to go out tonight.”
“You sounded tired when I spoke to you on the phone earlier. I figured we’d stay in tonight. Have a quiet dinner, just the two of us.”
She should struggle to free herself from the spell he wrapped around her so effortlessly, but his hand, sliding into the small of her back, and her exhaustion undermined her willpower.
“What about the club hopping we were supposed to do? You want us to be seen.”
“We’ve been seen enough this week. Tonight, I want you to myself.”
Treacherous delight stole through her. She cautioned herself to resist, but the intense light in Roark’s eyes weakened her resolve. “Dinner sounds nice, but I’m so tired I might fall asleep over dessert.”
A crooked smile bloomed. “Sweetheart, if I have my way, you’ll be dessert.”
His words seared through her like lightning, bringing her body to vibrant, tingling life.
“That’s not funny.” Her voice shook.
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Roark.” Elizabeth’s feet remained glued to the floor as he headed toward the kitchen. “We’ve talked about this. I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Don’t make any decisions until you’ve tasted my lamb stew.”
“You cooked?”
Honestly, how much more could one girl withstand?
“It relaxes me.”
Without further argument, she let him tow her toward the table. The man was nearly impossible to resist. But she would keep up the battle until the last of her strength left her. She’d made a promise to herself. No more bad boys.
But was Roark as bad as his reputation made him out to be?
Or was she fooling herself instead of confronting reality? How many times had she coated her doubts about a boyfriend in iridescent layers of hope, transforming ugly and uncomfortable truth into pretty falsehoods she could live with. Trouble was the bad stuff wasn’t gone, only covered up by her optimism. Not this time.
* * *
“That was delicious.” Elizabeth gathered their plates and headed for the kitchen. “When did you learn to cook?”
“Before I learned how to sneak out, I used to spend a fair amount of time in the kitchen with Rosie. Our cook.” Melancholy settled over Roark as it always did when he talked about what it had been like to grow up in a penthouse high above the bustle of New York.
“What was your mother like?” Elizabeth looked contrite as soon as the words were said. “I’m sorry. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand.”
He shrugged. Talking about her had never been easy. His shame in leaving her the way he had was tied up in his resentment of how fiercely she’d sheltered him from the world, not understanding that an energetic boy needed activity and adventures.
“She was smart and tough. I never understood why someone with her head for business and her iron will became like a terrified child outside her front door.”
“Did something traumatic happen to her?”
“Not that I ever found in her journals.” The square stem of the crystal wineglass felt cool against his fingertips as he spun the goblet and observed the play of candlelight in the facets. “She wrote about eve
rything else.”
“If she never left her penthouse, how did she…”
