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Grabbing my coat off the rack by the door, I wondered how things had gone so wrong.
Chapter Nine
I tugged my jacket tighter and crossed my arms, trying to seal in the warmth. It was late and cold and, in theory, not a good time or place to take a walk, but I had to get out of there.
I just couldn’t handle Roman’s presence any more. Couldn’t take the idea of his chauffer driving me home. Couldn’t have another discussion about our twisted “relationship.” I had to clear my head before this spiral of shame became inescapable.
My heels clicking on the pavement sent tiny shocks up my calves, reminding me that it had been a long day and my feet hurt.
“The bus stop is just right around the corner,” I said aloud, mostly to create the illusion that I wasn’t alone on a dark street. As my nerves grew and my body cooled off from the encounter with Roman, a dose of adrenaline coursed through me.
Fear.
I was alone.
Every little sound echoed. Every shift of the breeze sounded like a whisper.
Paige had taught me to carry my keys in my hand so that if someone attacked me, I could hit them with the jagged edges. I reached into my pocket to grab my keys—
Empty.
“Shit,” I whispered. I started going through my pockets. No keys, no phone, no wallet. Closing my eyes, I let out a long breath. I had left my purse at Roman’s.
I looked around quickly. The night felt like it was closing in as the street lights illuminated my every insecurity. I couldn’t even leave right.
Headlights approached and I picked up my pace.
The car sped up, then screeched to a halt. I didn’t look behind me, not even when I heard the door open and close, then quick footsteps. My pulse pounded in my throat, and my nose and lips were turning to ice from breathing the cold night air too quickly.
“Amy!”
My entire body froze as if commanded to do so. It was like the pavement beneath me had snatched my ankles and wouldn’t allow me to walk away.
“Amy!”
I turned and saw a dark figure striding toward me. The deep rasp of his voice and those bright obsidian eyes were recognizable anywhere.
“Roman.”
The relief that burned through me was quickly replaced by embarrassment. I had nothing left: I was out of fight, out of reasons and gumption to argue, out of the will to defend myself—to do anything.
“I forgot my purse—” I started, but my sentence was cut off when Roman charged at me and wrapped me in his arms.
With my face pressed against his chest, I could hear his wild heartbeat. He hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe, but I liked it: I felt safe and wanted. So much so I wanted to cry, but I forced myself to maintain my composure.
He took a deep breath, my cheek rising and falling with his chest. Then he stood back, gripping my arms and looking at me.
“Are you alright?” he asked, examining the entire surface area of my body.
“Yes.”
As I said it, his face morphed into sheer anger and his brow sliced into a scowl so deep, it looked painful.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he yelled.
Whoa, what? He was just—I’d thought—happy to see me. Or relieved. At least, not mad.
“I was thinking that I wanted to leave,” I retorted.
