Shala Mungroo
We’d driven for about half an hour when Max pulled up in front of a secluded building hidden by a garden and an olive tree out front.
You wouldn’t even know the restaurant was there unless you were really looking for it. I liked it immediately.
We were immediately seated in the corner of a wide terrace, which afforded us privacy. After ordering a bottle of wine, Roman pushed his menu aside and clasped his hands on the table.
“Where are you from?” he asked curiously. “I hear a bit of an accent when you speak sometimes. British?”
I flushed a little. I had tried so hard to lose the accent after migrating to the United States with my mother. I’d wanted to fit in.
“Originally from Staffordshire, England, yes,” I confirmed truthfully. “I moved to the US with my mother to take care of my grandmother. I never knew my father.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“Where did you move to?” He fired off questions as if he couldn’t wait to learn all about me.
“California, then here to study law,” I responded quickly, and had to swallow the tickle in my throat after that lie. I had actually moved to Arizona.
That’s where I met him. I shoved that thought to the back of my mind.
Roman didn’t seem to notice my discomfort, so I pressed on. “What about you? I also hear an accent.”
He smiled and shrugged as if unbothered by it.
“My mother is from Parga, Greece. My father is from Brazil, where I was born. He was in politics and died when I was just a boy. Then, like you, I moved here with my mother,” he said softly.
That explained why his skin always looked so tanned, as if he lay in the sun all day. It was his heritage. Though the green eyes were unique, and they continued to study me.
“Is your mother alive?” he asked.
I bit my lower lip before responding.
“She died when I was sixteen.” That was also true. I couldn’t lie about that.
His eyes widened then narrowed in concern.
“You’ve been alone ever since?”
I nodded.
“That must have been extremely difficult for you. I’m sorry.” His voice was deep with regret.
“It made me tougher, that’s for sure. I had to grow up pretty fast.” Too fast, which is why some people took advantage, my conscience said.
Our wine was served along with some antipasti, breaking the sudden tension. I decided to change the subject.
I took a sip of wine and then leaned back in my chair, fortified to ask my next question.
“Why am I here, Roman?”
He looked as if he were expecting that question.
“Not a lot of things surprise me, Sloane. When I got into that elevator the other night, I didn’t expect to find you,” he admitted.
“I had just left a client meeting that didn’t go very well, and then I walked into the elevator and there you were.
“You captivated me from the moment I saw you, as clichéd as that sounds. I had to meet you. Learn more about you.”
I’d felt the same, but unlike him, I wasn’t going to admit it. I wouldn’t be able to act on it anyway. No matter how sinful he looked sitting opposite me.
I shook my head instead.
“It’s not a line, Sloane,” he said with a frown. “I’m being completely honest with you.”
I looked at him skeptically.
“I don’t think you have any trouble getting women, Braga.”
He leaned close again.
“That’s not the point. You aren’t like any woman I’ve ever met.”
“You don’t know me,” I told him seriously. “Not really, anyway.”
“But I’m getting to, and that’s enough for me. For now.”
I watched him take a sip of his wine as he let those words sink in. I felt like I was being stalked and the hunter was trying to cage me in.
“What is it you want from me exactly?” The words came out in a whisper, even though no one else could hear us.
“Like I said, to get to know you,” he said simply.
“I’m not looking for a relationship, Roman,” I told him bluntly.
“What are you looking for, then?” he countered, unperturbed as he turned my question back on me.
I frowned.
“I’m not looking for anything. With anyone.” I picked up my glass and finished off my wine, nearly slamming it back down on the table.
He looked at me for a beat and then refilled my glass.
“So why did you come to dinner with me tonight?” he asked mockingly.
I could feel my skin flush at being interrogated.
“To talk business.”
“And that’s all?” he asked, unconvinced.
“Yes.”
“If we were alone right now, I’d punish you for lying to me.” His voice was an angry whisper.
I sucked in a breath, but my body responded to his words, making me grit my teeth.
“I’m especially not looking for that.”
“That’s because you don’t have a clue how pleasurable that can be,” he answered easily. “I look forward to showing you.”
Then, as if sensing he was on dangerous ground, he changed the subject.
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“Can we talk about business now?” I asked, irritated by the personal questions.
I was about to reach for my glass to take another large sip of my wine when Roman pulled the glass toward himself.
My eyes clashed with his, but he just lifted an eyebrow mockingly.
“At least get some food in you, sweetheart.”
As if on cue, the food was served swiftly, then we were alone again.
“Do you have to make everything sound like a command?” I muttered before taking a bite of my shrimp scampi.
“Someone has to rein you in,” he replied, cutting into his salmon expertly.
“What about you?” I asked between bites. “Don’t you want to settle down?”
“Of course,” he said. “If the right woman came along, then definitely I would.”
My expression was doubtful.
“You don’t think I could be faithful?” He frowned as if he’d heard my unvoiced question.
I shrugged. He was thirty years old. I doubted he was ready to settle down in anything serious.
“I’ve seen the gossip magazines. You’re with a different woman every week.”
“That’s because I’m looking for the right one,” he teased, lightening the mood.
I rolled my eyes at his very male response.
“And what exactly is the right one?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He cocked his head, considering me soberly.
“I’m still trying to figure that out,” he said softly.
I met his eyes and then lowered my lashes quickly.
“Why law?” he asked, changing the subject again.
Now this was a topic I could handle.
“I like helping people. Blurring the lines between right and wrong,” I added mischievously.
“Finding loopholes, you mean,” Roman corrected.
I grinned at his interpretation.
A party of four young women were seated on the other end of the terrace. I could see their gazes turning toward us, and I heard one of them whisper Roman’s name.
“Is something wrong?” he asked in his uncanny way of reading me.
I let out a breath.
“People are staring. I don’t like being the center of attention,” I said, then I met his eyes squarely. “That’s what being with you would mean, Roman.”
“It’s not by choice, Sloane.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The conversation shifted to him telling me what growing up in Brazil was like, how his father was killed by a group of radicals, and how his mother had passed recently.
He didn’t go into much detail on either subject. I didn’t pry, sensing it was a delicate subject for him.
We were in the middle of dessert when Roman finally brought up the topic of the StarFish Inn.
He leaned back in his chair and considered me carefully.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Sloane,” he began, “I’ll bid on the Inn again, if you go out with me again. On a date.”
I gasped.
“Isn’t that what this is?!” I exclaimed. “Besides, I already told you, I don’t date.”
He grinned.
“You’re going to have to make an exception. For me.”
I clenched my fists on the table. He saw, of course, and his eyes went hooded as he watched me struggle with indecision. He knew he had me backed into a corner and was clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“That’s blackmail, Braga.”
“That’s business, Miss St. James,” he answered smoothly. “I believe it was you who wanted to talk business tonight.”
My jaw dropped.
“It’s against company policy to date a client,” I told him, grasping at any excuse I could find to back out.
“We’ll be very discreet.”
“I…” My mind raced with excuses. “I’ll have to think about it,” I said lamely.
He signed the check and dropped the pen on the table.
“Of course,” he said, like he was confident that he had already won.
The atmosphere on the drive back home was filled with tension. The privacy screen was up, but Roman hadn’t made a move to touch me and I had to admit it was frustrating.
He had made it clear over dinner what he wanted from me, but I’d known men like him. He would be demanding both in and out of bed.
I’d vowed to myself a long time ago that I would never be under a man’s control again.
He finally brushed his fingers down my cheek, making my skin flush in the moonlight as I turned to him.
“What are you thinking?” His eyes searched mine.
I went for honesty.
“I don’t think I can give you what you want, Roman.”
He took my hands in his and I knew he could feel them shaking. He frowned.
“What are you so afraid of, Sloane?” His lips brushed the back of my hand, hot against my skin, making me shiver, making me ache.
He knew exactly what he was doing, too. He rubbed our joined hands against his thigh so I could feel the hardness of his body. I nearly pulled my hand away.
It was a relief when we pulled up to my apartment.
“Thanks for dinner,” I told him as he walked me up. He watched as I unlocked the door.
“Anytime, Miss St. James,” he said softly.
He reached for the doorknob to open the door for me, and I instinctively put my hand on his chest to stop him, fingers curling in his sweater.
The feel and smell of him combined with the wine made me reckless, and then I was on my toes, slamming my mouth to his.
I felt him go still, then his body hardened and went hot as he groaned into my mouth.
God, he tasted good, and it had been so long since I’d kissed anyone. I tilted my head to the side to give him better access, and he didn’t hesitate.
His tongue plunged and stroked mine, making moisture pool wickedly in my core.
His hands went to my hips and gripped them, lifting me tighter against his body. I could feel the hot length of him against my belly and I wrenched myself out of his arms.
What the hell am I doing? I can’t do this.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” My voice was hoarse as I shook my head, watching as his eyes narrowed on my shocked expression.
He ran a shaking hand through his hair to get himself back under control.
“Get inside, Sloane.”
When I didn’t budge, he opened the door and all but shoved me inside and closed the door soundly. I put my back to the door and slid down the frame, covering my face with my hands.
What the hell did I just do?