Can't Stop Loving You

by Miranda Liasson

  He stood up, took a step back, frowning. “Conditions?”

  “Yes.” She could barely talk. “I’d like to keep this . . . private.”

  “What . . . do you mean?”

  “Roman, so much has happened. I—want to keep this loose. Not a relationship. Not a couple.” She forced herself not to wince. It sounded cruel in a way. But she had to protect herself. She couldn’t let herself feel too much. All those lonely years she’d endured . . . all that pain . . . she couldn’t risk that again. She just couldn’t.

  “You mean like a no-strings affair?”

  Roman searched her eyes to see if she meant it. Wow, Ms. I Believe in Love was offering him a no-strings affair?

  Not what he usually heard, and definitely not what he’d ever expect her to suggest. Especially now, when everything was so . . . perfect. Special. He was oddly disappointed. In the past, he would’ve probably jumped at the opportunity, but with her . . . it seemed wrong.

  “Fine by me,” he said. Anything to get back to kissing her. Which he did, starting at her shoulder, sliding down her blouse to reveal a lacy pink bra with a tiny rose sewn between her breasts. With one flick, he unclasped the bra. Oh, holy shit. She had gorgeous boobs. I mean, she always did, but . . . wow. Seeing her like this made him forget everything . . . like consonants and vowels. He reached out, his hand trembling a little, and cupped a breast in his hand, feeling its perfect weight. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to the pink tip.

  He paid ample attention to both breasts, and was gratified by the little noises of pleasure she made. But he made the mistake of stopping what he was doing and looking at her.

  She literally took his breath away along with his speech. With her thick, dark hair and smooth skin, she looked like the kind of woman who would grace a jug of fine Italian olive oil, a woman with a bandana over her hair and a peasant blouse hanging off her creamy shoulders and showing off the lush curves of her breasts.

  His chest tightened again, and he realized he was standing there staring at her like some dumbstruck idiot.

  “What is it?” she asked. Her gaze was wary, yet something in her eyes reminded him of their first time together, when she’d looked up at him with all the trust in the world. He would have done anything for her, anything, and at that moment, he felt it—that same feeling, that same desire to give her everything he had, to lay himself out before her and surrender it all.

  Had she ever felt like that about him? Ever wanted him like that? He suddenly realized she was the only woman he’d ever known who had the capability to burn him, scald him to the quick, and how could he have ever been such a fool to think he could play with fire and come out unscathed?

  Yet there she was, looking at him with those big, beautiful eyes, challenging him, wanting him. He couldn’t resist her then, and he sure as hell couldn’t now. “I—I want you so much. I—”

  She cut him off with a kiss, and every thought fled. Their tongues slid together, their touches became frantic. Her clever fingers had tugged open his belt and were working on his fly.

  “Take me to bed, Roman.” She clutched at him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Make love to me.” His zipper hissed, and she’d pushed his pants down far enough that he managed to shuck them off with his briefs.

  Somehow they ended up on the floor. She slid her arms around his waist and pulled him on top of her. He managed to scoot them over until they were at least on the wall-to-wall in her living area. “Do you want to try a bed or something?” he asked, worried about her.

  She reached up and smoothed the hair off his forehead. “I kind of like this,” she said. “Reminds me of how uncomfortable it was in that old cabin.” Her hand lingered on his cheek. Her eyes suddenly got soft and—was he imagining it?—a little misty. She was an enigma. She sure as hell didn’t look like someone who was just doing this for kicks. Just for the sex. No. It would never be like that for him.

  “Roman,” she whispered, staring up at him.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Tell me.”

  She paused a long time. Then at last she shook her head, like she was unable to speak. “Just . . . I’m glad you’re back.”

  He wanted to say so much to her. He wanted to talk honestly about so many things, but he knew that somehow he didn’t have her trust.

  Instead, he decided to show her how he felt. He helped her pull off her boots. Strip down her leggings to reveal—sweet and merciful God in heaven—a tiny white thong with little pink roses on it. He rested his hand lightly on her abdomen. Felt her breath suck in as he slowly crept his fingers down, down to her most intimate places. She startled a little, but he leveled his gaze on her, questioning, and she met it and smiled. He’d take that as a green light.

  Then he bent his head and gently spread her legs apart, kissing her, working his mouth slowly along her delicate flesh. She was wet and trembling, her legs shaking as he laved her over and over with his tongue. He was taking no prisoners, and he was not letting up. They had plenty of years to make up for, and dammit, he was going to show her what he was made of. Finally he placed a finger inside her, then another, using his thumb to circle her clitoris until she whimpered helplessly and bucked her hips and at last cried out his name in a pulsating, clenching release.

  Hearing his name on her lips undid him inside. He rose up and kissed her on the mouth. “I want to make love to you,” he said without a shade of doubt. “Not like an eighteen-year-old boy. Like a man. Like a fresh start.”

  “Roman.” His name again, on a breathy sigh. She smoothed her hand along his arm, his chest, his abdomen, and it felt so damn good to be touched by her. “So far, this is not eighteen-year-old-boy lovemaking. Just so you know.”

  He reached for a condom. “Also,” she said. “This time I’ve been on birth control for more than two weeks.”

  He smiled a little. “Yeah, well, if it’s all right with you,” he said, smiling a little, “I still don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Double might be the best way to go with us.”

  He sheathed himself and positioned himself over her. Poised to enter her and gazed into her eyes. There was that look again, like she was on the verge of tears, a surprise for someone so determined to keep things light. He kissed her tenderly, hoping to convey to her with his body the things he’d left unsaid.

  He pushed against her, entering her, filling her with his length, and she took him in, pulling up her hips and wrapping herself tightly around him. No words, yet their bodies understood each other perfectly.

  They let go at the same time. His own release was strong, swift, and powerful. She came apart in his arms, trembling and tightening and arching toward him as he kissed away her quiet moans and whimpers.

  And then suddenly there was quiet.

  A strange feeling hit him in the stomach. He was not an overly emotional or sentimental man, but he had the strangest sense of . . . relief. Like something long lost had been found.

  They lay together a long time, listening to nothing but the sound of the ice-cube maker filling with water and occasional knocks and footfalls from the apartment next door. Bella lay against him, her hair silky and wild on his chest, but there was a slight tension about her, in the way she held him, her arms wound tightly around him as if she were afraid he might bolt at any minute.

  As Roman held her sweet, soft body in his arms, he was afraid to break the silence. But the words rose in his throat nonetheless, ones he did not want to admit or feel, but were there, fully formed and sharp. That she was his sweet, sweet Bella, and after all the years of longing and wanting, he was finally home at last.

  Hours later, Bella startled awake. Her bedroom was dark, but her bathroom light was on, which was strange, because she never slept with it on. Her heart pounded, panic settling into her consciousness. Her bedside clock read three a.m. She pulled up the sheet, which was tangled around her limbs. A feeling of restfulness rolled over her in a wave. Like she’d just had the best dream ever. A quick peek confirmed th
at she was naked. Naked!

  One quick roll to her left, making certain the sheet covered her boobs, confirmed the worst. She swept back her hair, which was undone and springing everywhere in Medusa-like curls, and stared at the perfection that was Roman Spikonos. Lying on his back, his gorgeous chest exposed, his breathing slow and even. Roman Spikonos was in her bed. Was this a dream?

  The night came back to her fast. Their meeting in the park. The short walk to her apartment. And several rounds of frenzied lovemaking, followed by a slower round she’d enjoyed just as well.

  She lay her cheek on her pillow and stared at his sleeping profile. The picture of masculinity. Bold brows and angel-kissed lashes. That nose, that perfectly straight nose with diamond-shaped nostrils. His strong jawline, already covered with bearded shadow that she recalled scraping deliciously over her most sensitive places. It seemed a marvel to see him up close after only imagining him for so long.

  She never thought she’d ever see him again, much less be with him like this.

  Bella knew she needed to tell him the truth about what had happened all those years ago. Why she had let him go. He deserved to know why she’d lied to him.

  Part of her had hoped that making love with him now would prove that he was a fantasy, that the reality of him wouldn’t measure up, but it had only gotten better with time. No other man had ever moved her as he had, and a sinking feeling in her gut told her what she was deathly afraid to admit, that perhaps through it all, she had never stopped loving him.

  Worse, even after all those years of forcing herself to forget him, she hadn’t managed to drive him out of her system at all.

  Roman had been as confident and sure of himself in bed as he was with everything else. And tender. The way he’d touched her, what he’d done . . . oh, magic. A languor permeated every muscle, down to her very bones—the result of having been made love to well and several times over.

  She couldn’t stop staring. She wanted to memorize everything, record this moment in her mind so she could have it forever, it was that perfect.

  His eyes opened. “Hey,” he said.

  Oh shit. Her hand was half raised, on its way to . . . well, maybe to smooth his brow? Or touch his hair? She hadn’t really had a plan.

  “Hey,” she said, trying to pretend her hand wasn’t dangling conspicuously above his head.

  “You’re not doing anything creepy, are you?” He quirked a brow in concern. “Stealing a lock of my hair, something like that?”

  What on earth could she say? You’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and I wanted to memorize every inch of your face. And never leave my bed. “No, I was just . . .” He’d gripped her lightly about both her wrists, a move which brought her up against his chest, just the thin sheet separating them.

  “I was just . . . okay, fine. I was staring at you.” She laughed, looking down at him as he held her captive. “There, are you happy? Now let me go.” She twisted her hand so he would release her.

  “Okay, fine,” he said. But instead, he used the strength of his muscular torso to swing her arms around and pin her to the bed.

  His face was above her, his gaze boring down, searching hers, and she was unable to look away, unable to hide. He interlaced his fingers with hers above her head as he pressed his body over hers. She felt the delicious weight of him, the hair on his chest tickling her breasts, his erection demanding notice as he pressed against her inner thigh. His lips traced her skin in a fiery path down her neck, nuzzling at the base, then trailing across her collarbone, her shoulder, until at last he found her lips.

  Something was happening to her, something overwhelming, making tears well up. Too much pleasure, too much goodness, too much . . . happiness. She didn’t want to feel it. She was afraid to feel it, and she didn’t want him to see it. But she could tell by the way he looked at her that he saw it anyway.

  He deposited several quick but thorough kisses on her lips and reached for another condom. “You can say this doesn’t mean anything,” he said in a low, deep voice that sounded a little sleep roughened. “And you can say this is all about the past, or even that it’s all about sex, but you’d be wrong, Arabella. This is something bigger than the both of us.”

  “Wh-what do we do about it?” she whispered, staring up at his beautiful face.

  “I don’t know,” he said as he slipped inside her, kissing her again to take in her soft cry. “But happy birthday.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “What’s gotten into you this morning?” Drew asked as he walked into Roman’s tiny kitchen bright and early the next morning. Roman greeted him from the stove, where he was flipping pancakes on an old-fashioned griddle. Good thing Roman was in such a great mood, or he would’ve commented on Drew’s unkempt beard, which already looked bushman wild even though he’d only been here a few days. With Drew’s jeans, bare chest, and bare feet, and all that hair everywhere, he really did look like he’d been hibernating in the woods for a few days or a year.

  Drew took a look at his brother and shook his head. “Up at the butt crack of dawn, making breakfast, humming ‘I can’t fight this feeling anymore’ . . .” He leaned across the countertop, getting in his brother’s face a little and grinning. “You got some last night, didn’t you?”

  Roman felt too good to let the brotherly ribbing bother him. Actually, for barely having slept, he felt ready to . . . well, maybe not run a marathon, but he felt pretty amazing. Ready to tackle the barn roof his brothers had offered to help him with today. And what was wrong with humming some classic REO Speedwagon anyway?

  He poured Drew some fresh coffee and slid the mug across the counter. “You know, you’re going to frighten people in the neighborhood if you don’t get a haircut and clean yourself up.”

  Drew looked around, smoothing down his beard thoughtfully. “Is this a neighborhood? Because last time I checked you’re pretty surrounded by woods.”

  “You can’t hide out here forever, you know,” Roman said.

  “And you can’t avoid the question. You slept with Bella, didn’t you?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You slept with Bella?” The screen door squeaked shut as Lukas entered the kitchen, dressed in jeans and work boots. He said a quick hello to his brothers then indicated the coffeepot in Roman’s hand. “I’ll have some of that if you’re pouring.”

  Roman filled a cup for Lukas and handed it over. Lukas was eyeballing Drew out of the corner of his eye. “He’s a lot taller than when he was six, huh?” Roman said.

  “I was going to say hairier, too,” Lukas said, “but I was afraid to joke so soon.”

  “He’s a Spikonos,” Roman said. “He can take it.”

  “Actually I’m very sensitive,” Drew said. “But it seems like Roman will do anything to change the subject.”

  “I never kiss and tell,” Roman said with a grin.

  Lukas walked back to the door and peered out through the screen. “By the way, there’s a mangy dog on your porch.”

  “Is he dangerous looking?” Drew asked, turning to look.

  “Yeah, fierce,” Lukas said. “Foaming at the mouth, ready to pounce.”

  Drew joined him at the door. “That’s not foaming at the mouth, that’s drool.”

  “With all that tail wagging, he’s practically swept the porch clean,” Lukas said. “It’s almost like he’s excited for something.”

  Roman decided to play dumb. “It’s a she, and you can let her in.”

  Drew raised a brow. “Does Bella know you’re sharing custody of her dog?”

  Once Lukas opened the door, the dog bolted in, going right for Roman, who grabbed a piece of bacon off the counter and tossed it. Gracie caught it midair and lay at his feet, chowing down on it.

  “You’ve been cooking bacon every morning,” Drew said. “And that dog was here yesterday, too.”

  “Yeah, so what?” Roman asked.

  “You’re feeding Bella’s dog.”

  “More like he’s l
uring it over here,” Lukas said.

  “I’m just having pity on a poor, skinny animal,” Roman said.

  “Bullshit,” Drew said. “Where the animal is, the woman follows.”

  Lukas frowned. “Maybe you should toss him some Lipitor along with the bacon. You’re clogging that poor animal’s arteries.”

  Roman set the platter of bacon down on the counter. “Okay, you all have had your fun. The clock’s ticking. Time to get to work.”

  “I just remembered something,” Drew said. “We used to have a dog, didn’t we?”

  “Not for very long,” Lukas said.

  “I remember ChiChi,” Roman said, stooping to pet Gracie, who was now slowly but thoroughly licking his hand, lavishing him with doggie love.

  “That’s right,” Drew said. “ChiChi. I remember coming home from school and being so excited, petting it. The little thing curled up and went to sleep with me every night. A couple of weeks later, I came home from school and it was gone.” He looked down at his coffee. “I looked everywhere. Went into a panic. Lukas, you sat me down and told me it belonged to some family. The kids had been crying for their dog and they were so happy it was alive and being so well cared for. That they really, really missed their dog, and to thank us for taking care of it, they left us money for ice cream. Then you took me out and bought me some.” He got a little quiet. “I’m afraid to ask, but what exactly happened to that dog?”

  Roman exchanged a glance with Lukas. “You really want to know?” Lukas asked.

  “Yeah,” Drew said.

  “ChiChi was a pit bull I found behind that old rotting woodpile in the backyard. He was shivering, just skin and bones. I took him in and hid him in my room. Our parents never even noticed, really. Drew, you were the one who really took to him. One day when I was at school, Dad somehow found it. He must’ve messed with it pretty badly because the dog took a bite out of his leg. Landed him in the ER for stitches. Never saw the dog again after that.”

  Drew cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for the ice cream. Don’t know how you got the money for that, but I appreciated it.”