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He nodded, but his face remained hard and his eyes like black steel. “Something like that.”
I searched his face. Something that looked like shame flicked across his expression so quickly, I almost missed it.
“Do you have them?” I asked softly.
“Not anymore,” he said. “I did a few times when I was a kid.”
My hands started to fist his shirt, but I held back, not wanting to wrinkle his tux any more than I already had by sitting on him. I remembered the hard muscles and tan skin beneath the formal attire. The open, raw energy currently pouring from him was such a contradiction to his usual composure.
“Do you want to tell me about
it?” I asked.
“No.” The word was quick and definite. No room for questions. Which I could understand. I would respect his boundaries in this, just like he was respecting mine. The other night had shown how far each of us could be pushed. Roman liked control, especially over himself and his world. That much was perfectly clear. Why he kept such a tight grip on situations and people, I didn’t know. But I didn’t want to go there, or poke too much only to have him close up completely.
Something was hidden deep within Roman. Maybe I would see it in time. Maybe not. But whatever it was, it was dark. That much I could feel.
“Thank you for getting me out of there. I hope I didn’t cause a scene.”
His thumb trailed from my cheek to my bottom lip. “No one noticed.”
“Won’t they notice you’re gone?” I breathed, as his thumb kept up a slow sweep along my mouth.
“We have time.” His voice was gravelly and low, and held the same tone I’d heard Monday night before things went to hell. “Why don’t I take you home?”
And again, like Monday night, it was as if some kind of “helpless” sign had flashed across my forehead. That was not what I’d been expecting—hoping—he would say next.
“But this fundraiser is important. I can handle it.” Even as the words came out, the thought of going back down and facing everyone, mostly Warren, made my stomach churn.
“It’s getting late and guests are already leaving. I think we should call it a night for you.”
“Oh.” I glanced at my hands, suddenly feeling like a child. Then I looked him in the eye one more time. He leaned in slightly, his mouth so close I could almost taste him. But he didn’t close the distance. Instead, he pulled back again. My hands itched with the need to reach out and cling to him. To bring him close. Instead, I got up and stood on shaky legs.
He rose as well and buttoned his tux jacket. I ran my hands over my dress, trying to straighten it. I didn’t even want to think about how my face looked after that mess.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” he said, standing before me. “Because if I do, a whole hell of a lot more will happen.”
My breath caught, but he didn’t let me speak. He just grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the door.
“Andrew,” he called as soon as we hit the hallway. Andrew appeared as if from thin air.
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring the car around back. We’re taking Miss Underwood home.”
“Yes, sir.” Andrew disappeared down a hallway while Roman led me to a different part of the house I hadn’t seen before. Private and quiet, you’d never know a full-blown gala was happening in the same building on the bottom floor.
We passed a set of closed metal doors. “I didn’t know you had an elevator. Do you ever use it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
We came to a small stairwell at the back of the house, descended, and went to the back door.
“Because I don’t like them,” he said plainly.
When the crisp night air hit my face, I took a deep breath. The familiar black town car I had gotten used to was already running at the curb.
