by Noree Kahika
So, less than forty-eight hours after meeting Roman Knight—a man who simultaneously stole my breath every time I saw him and infuriated me to no end—he would escort me to what amounted to a cozy, romantic dinner alone together before I would accompany him back to his hotel suite, where I would spend the next two days.
After reluctant hugs and kisses good-bye, along with promises that I would call Courtney and Jake every day, I followed Roman down to a waiting Seth standing sentinel over a sleek black Mercedes town car, the same one I saw Roman get into yesterday morning.
And now I was all alone—well, not entirely alone—with Roman in what was undoubtedly the most romantic city in the world, and we were walking into a charmingly quaint, rustically intimate little French restaurant on one of the most famous avenues in the world and we were…bickering. Yes, bickering like some old married couple.
“Manipulating you?” Roman snorted incredulously. He whirled me around and tugged me forward until the front of my body hit the solid muscled wall of his chest.
“How?” he demanded, his tone low and menacing. Before I could reply, he continued, each word delivered like a sobering slap in the face.
“Was I manipulating you, Charlotte, when I called the police, then translated on your behalf because you couldn’t speak French? Or was it when I phoned in a favor to a friend of mine at the US Embassy to speed the process along for your replacement passport? Was it when I offered the use of my hotel for your extended stay here in Paris and thus assuring your continued wellbeing in a foreign country with the imminent absence of your friends? Perhaps it’s the offered aid of my plane to safely ensure you get back home without further expensive costs to you?”
I blinked several times and swallowed hard. He was mad; he was beyond mad—he was furious. His features were thunderous and his eyes were hard like black coals staring back at me.
I thought back over the events of the evening. Tonight, Roman had been nothing but gracious—exceedingly generous—and very accommodating throughout this whole dilemma. His only transgression was to be assertive and insist on my compliance in his plan. But that was the type of man Roman Knight was. He was decisive, authoritative, and a natural leader: he saw a problem and provided an instant solution.
And although partly true—he did kind of manipulate or rather, guilt, me into going along with his plan out of concern for Courtney and Jake—I didn’t have to agree and go willingly with him. I made that decision all on my own and mainly because I knew Courtney and Jake would’ve never have left me here in Paris by myself and I also knew they couldn’t afford to stay either. Ultimately, Roman’s solution was the best course of action for everyone concerned.
Oh fucking hell—I sounded like an ungrateful, spoiled, and petulant child.
Everything he said was true. He was a tremendous help with both the police and the US Embassy and I felt a hell of a lot safer knowing I would be staying with Roman. But in the back recess of my mind, I couldn’t help the small nagging suspicion that Roman Knight also had an ulterior motive.
Trusting people and taking them at face value did not always come easy to me. I’d always been overly cautious when allowing people to see the vulnerable side of my personality and whether those insecurities stemmed from losing my parents at an early age or because of the partially nomadic lifestyle I grew up in, either way, I was immediately ashamed of my behavior.
I looked into his beautiful face, bit my lip and then sighed. “You’re right. I’m not being fair and I’m sorry. Thank you for all your help tonight and for so generously offering me a place to stay.” I tilted my head and smiled at him. “And thank you for offering me a seat on your very posh private plane.”
He gave a short bark of laughter at my reference to his jet, and then his features sobered. I stared, mesmerized, as those enchanting midnight-blue eyes of his intensified and held mine captive in the entrance to the restaurant.
The sound of a clearing throat broke the spell between us and Roman shuffled us with an arm around my shoulder to the side and made way for the passing patron. Then he tucked an errant curl of my hair behind my ear and he entwined his hand in mine. “Apology accepted but let me make myself perfectly clear, Charli: my offer of assistance comes freely, without any strings attached. Now, let’s get something to eat.”
The meal was amazingly good; the wine Roman chose even better; the service, view and ambiance, spectacular; but by far the best part was Roman’s company. He was…unexpectedly easygoing and surprisingly, a great listener. Although he didn’t readily open up about himself, he was both engaging and inquisitive regarding my life. He asked me questions about my teaching degree and college, what it was like to perform in an acrobatic troupe, about Uncle Mike, Jake, and Courtney, and he was subtly sensitive when I shied away from answering questions about my parents and their deaths, which I was grateful for.
The topic of my parents was a subject I tended to avoid but the rest of my life was more or less an open book. My unconventional childhood always sparked a certain level of curiosity and Roman was no exception, openly laughing when I shared some of the more crazy stories that had happened on the road. By the end of our meal, I was relaxed and thoroughly enjoying our time together. However, it did not escape my attention that Roman wasn’t as forthcoming regarding his own life. A closed book was more an accurate description and when I tried to steer the conversation back to him, he’d volley yet another question at me. It was a textbook distraction technique, which I’d let slide during our dinner conversation but now I was intrigued.
“So…” I hedged tentatively, stalling until the waiter finished placing our coffees down on the table.
“So…” he mimicked with a grin, picking his coffee up and taking a mouthful.
As his throat worked to swallow the liquid, I watched, fascinated for a moment until I regained my train of thought. “I’ve spoken enough about me all evening. Now I want to hear about you.”
“I’m really not that interesting.”
My brows rose. “Oh, I beg to differ.”
“Alright…” With his cup down on the table, his gaze returned to mine. “What would you like to know?”
“Married?”
“No.”
“Have you always lived in New York?”
“Yes.”
“Age?”
“Older than you.”
I shook my head. “You’re not very forthcoming, are you?”
“No, not particularly,” he deadpanned.
With a frustrated sigh, I took a sip of my own coffee. “And apparently you have a preference for monosyllabic answers.”
His lips twitched in amusement at my sarcasm.
“I don’t find your ambiguity amusing, Mr. Knight,” I huffed. “I’ve been more than candid about myself with you all evening, which I can assure you doesn’t come naturally to me. You can’t expect me to accompany you back to your hotel, alone, without even knowing the basics about yourself. You’re virtually a stranger and I have trust issues.”
All previous humor fled his features as he studied me for a long time and I was proud of myself for not recoiling from the intensity of his scrutiny.
“I can assure you, Charlotte, you’re perfectly safe with me.” He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, but I caught the flicker of apprehension flash over his features before the mask of stoicism dropped firmly into place. The man definitely had hidden layers.
“I’m thirty-two, born and raised in New York. I have two sisters—one older and one younger—and my parents are divorced. I’m an extremely private person and I don’t particularly enjoy discussing my family.”
He paused briefly, as if thinking about his next words. “I don’t have a wife nor do I have a girlfriend—I relish my freedom too much. Between my company and its vast investments, I barely have the time for a personal life, let alone a relationship.”
With my elbow propped on the table, I rested my chin on the palm of my hand and smirked at him. �
�Hmm, so what you’re telling me is you’re a middle-aged workaholic with commitment issues.”
His answering bark of laughter lifted the heavy mood between us. “Middle-aged, eh? I don’t know whether I should take offense to that or not. Perhaps you should have majored in psychotherapy and not teaching, Miss Gilmore.”
“Oh, heavens no—children are so delightfully uncomplicated and much more virtuous than adults.” I picked up my cup to take another sip of coffee. “Take you, for example.” I motioned to him with my cup. “Totally unscrupulous. Within an hour of meeting me, you crudely propositioned me.”
His grin was almost predatory and completely unapologetic. “What can I say—I’m a man who knows what he wants, and make no mistake about it, Charlotte—I always get what I want.” With a shrug, he finished the last of his coffee and motioned the nearby waiter for the check.
“Not this time,” I mumbled under my breath.
Roman handed over his credit card to the waiter and then turned his attention back to me. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Princess. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I was a scrupulous man. From that first moment I first saw you wander onto that stage, in that sexy little costume of yours, I wanted you.” He leaned across the table toward me and his gaze intensified with determination. The tenor of his voice lowered and I instinctively leaned closer to listen. “And Charlotte, I will have you. I will have you in my bed, writhing beneath me, begging me to fuck you harder and you will scream my name over and over until your voice is hoarse.”
Flinching, I hissed in indignation, “You’re one arrogant, cocky man, Mr. Knight. What makes you think I’d sleep with you?” But his words had my thighs pressing together in a veiled attempt to stem the unsolicited heat my body felt from his words.
God—what was up with me? My brain was offended while my body practically hummed aloud with desire.
Scoffing, I folded my arms across my chest. “Other women may be impressed by your designer suits, private planes, expensive cars, and wealth—you’re probably some obscenely rich millionaire—but I can assure you, I’m not one of them.”
His only response was to smirk unrepentantly. It appeared the magnanimous man who had so generously helped me earlier that evening was gone, replaced by the conceited jerk I met two nights ago.
“I thought you said there weren’t strings attached to your offer of help.”
“We back to this again? As I’ve already explained—my offer to assist is without obligations. Something you should know about me is that I detest being questioned repetitively regarding my actions, and I don’t tolerate being called a liar.” Each word was clipped through clenched teeth as fury blanketed his features.
Contritely, I bit my lip and looked anywhere but at him. Twice in so many hours, I had ungraciously thrown his generosity back in his face. “I’m sorry. I apologize…again.”
When his glower turned to skepticism, I attempted to explain my thoughts. “It’s just that I find you very confusing. One moment you’re this presumptuous jerk—” I hesitated for a moment when I noticed his scowl morph into a glare.
“And…well, the next minute, you’re this literal knight in shining armor coming to my rescue. Then as soon as I let my guard down, you’re back to being a jerk with the…,” I paused to use air quotes with my fingers, “the whole ‘I’m going to fuck you’ thing.”
He tilted his head to the side and studied me for a moment as his gaze roamed over my face. “Hmm, I see. Then allow me to make myself perfectly clear, Charlotte. I’m attracted to you. Now, whether you choose to admit it to yourself or not, you’re equally attracted to me.”
When I started to balk at his words, he held up a finger to stop me. “You have two choices here. You can be naïve, denying yourself the pleasure on acting on those feelings, or we can, as two mutually consenting adults, enjoy a few passion-filled nights together. Either way, the choice will always remain yours.”
Huh…yeah, right—like I have an alternative! I thought, but didn’t voice.
As he rose from his chair, Roman held his hand out toward me. “Come, it’s getting late and you have an early morning appointment at the embassy tomorrow.”
Reluctantly, I placed my hand in his much larger one. The contact sparked a current of electricity to zing up along my arm. Oh hell—the guy was right: I was illogically and irrationally attracted to him. Unbidden, the image of me naked, wanton beneath Roman as he lavished my breasts with the heat of his mouth caused a shiver to rack my body.
“Cold?” he asked and I shook my head. His silent answering smirk made me wonder whether he could read my thoughts.
Pulling his phone from the back pocket of his pants with his free hand, he pressed a button. “Miss Gilmore and I are ready,” he said curtly, and then pocketed his cell.
“Who was that?” I asked, as Roman held the door to the restaurant open for me.
“Seth.” He gestured to the curb with a nod. My gaze swung to the road where I saw Seth, Roman’s driver/bodyguard, waiting with the back passenger door open for us. Roman let go of my hand, motioned for me to climb into the back, and then bent down low, his mouth close to my ear. The warm exhale of his breath ruffled my hair and for the second time tonight, I clenched my thighs tightly together.
His murmur was so soft, I almost didn’t catch it. “And Princess, for the record…I’m not a millionaire.”
My brows furrowed in surprise. “You’re not?”
“No,” he answered firmly. Amusement twinkled in those inky blue eyes of his. “I’m a billionaire.”
Chapter Eight
A freaking billionaire!
Whoa… The thought was both disconcerting and mind-boggling. I mean, the guy was thirty-two—which wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination—so how in the hell does someone relatively so young amass such a fortune? Was he born into it or was he some kind of genius business savant?
An even more disconcerting thought filtered across my mind: Roman Knight was the type of man who could have any woman he wanted. He was unbelievably handsome, devilishly charismatic, and clearly intelligent—so what in the hell was he doing with a woman like me? The words sophisticated and worldly would never be adjectives used when describing me. Although I wasn’t some horribly disfigured ogre, I was relatively pretty; however, a beautiful supermodel I most certainly was not. And a worldly supermodel or some stunningly gorgeous sophisticated woman was exactly the type of woman who I could picture on Roman Knight’s arm.
My eyes drifted to Roman, who sat silently beside me on the car’s plush leather backseat. The soft glow from the street lights and passing vehicles partly illuminated his handsome profile while simultaneously casted ominous shadows across his features as his fingers flew over the keypad of his phone. I watched, fascinated, as his brow furrowed; his eyes scanned back and forth along the small-lit screen in concentration and occasionally he darted his tongue out and ran it the length of his bottom lip. Whatever he was reading on his phone at that moment had his complete concentration and I found watching Roman work was equally fascinating and mesmerizing. I guess being a billionaire meant work was a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week obligation.
Not wishing to break his concentration, I glanced away at the passing buildings, grateful for the opportunity to consider what I was going to do once I reached Roman’s hotel room. Would I choose to naively, futilely cling to the idea of a purely platonic relationship with this enigmatic man or would I throw all caution aside, give in to my desire and jump his bones for the next forty-eight hours while we were in Paris together? The idea was a tempting one.
By the time the sleek luxury vehicle slid smoothly into the circular driveway of Roman’s hotel, I had come to two major conclusions: First, I was going to sleep with Roman Knight. You only live once, right? So why not go all the way? A passionate, no-holds-barred, scorching hot fling in Paris was certainly the way to do it. Besides, there was no use in denying to myself any further—I was unequivocally attracted to the man.
He beguiled and enthralled me like no one I’d met before and I had a feeling being seduced by Roman would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience and one not to be missed. Therefore, I was going to “carpe-freaking-diem” the hell out of the remaining forty-eight hours I had left in France.
Secondly and probably more importantly, when the next few days were over, I was going to boldly embrace the next chapter in my life when I got home. Courtney and Jake’s lives were changing as they moved forward into impending parenthood, and Uncle Mike would most likely be on the road with the troupe for the next year. I was metaphorically standing on the threshold of the rest of my life.
Though I’d applied for teaching positions outside of California, my effort was lackluster at best. But to truly embrace my future as a full-fledged adult, I needed to leave my friends so they, too, could begin the next chapter of their lives without me hanging on as the proverbial third wheel. I’d been toying with the idea of moving on for months now but it wasn’t until tonight did I finally have the courage to make that decision. So upon my arrival home, I was going to fearlessly take the next step in life. But first, I was going to decidedly let loose for once in my life and allow myself the excitement of a wild, thrilling new adventure.
My gaze flickered forward and caught Seth’s in the reflection of the rearview mirror. His dark brown eyes swept curiously over my face before his attention turned to the valet attendant who waited outside of the car. Absently, I wondered how long Seth had worked for Roman. Besides being his driver, why would a businessman need a bodyguard?
“Ready?” Roman’s deep voice drew me from my thoughts and I nodded, but not before I noticed how tired he looked in the harsh light of the hotel’s entrance. Small dark circles appeared beneath those inky blue eyes, revealing fatigue and a hint of exhaustion. The thought disturbed me for some strange reason.