Breathe You In

by Joya Ryan

  “How much experience are you talking about, Amy?” His hands ensnared mine, stilling them before I could open his shirt fully.

  “I’ve had one boyfriend. We were intimate…but only a few times…” I mumbled, all the heat I’d been feeling turning chilly as unwanted memories suddenly invaded.

  “How long ago?” Roman’s voice was low, like he really wanted to know, cared to know.

  “Two years.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Keeping a grip on my hands, he ran his free palm down his face.

  “I liked the other night…with you,” I said, cutting him off.

  He was on the brink of saying something, most likely something along the lines of me leaving. Which was not happening. I was standing in front of him naked. I wanted to take advantage of that fact while I still had the good sense not to have sense. He was finally showing the real side of him that I was desperate to know more of. Maybe we could be more than an arrangement. Maybe sex and emotions did go together, because right then, I saw it on Roman’s face. Emotion.

  “I just didn’t know how to react. But now I have a guideline.” I tried to tug my hands free, but he kept a tight hold.

  “Amy.” The way he said my name wasn’t like the other night. And it wasn’t like at the office. He wasn’t demanding, commanding, or asking. He was unsure. Again, the tone of his voice allowed that tiny sliver of softness to come through.

  “You said it’s my choice,” I whispered. “I want to be here, Roman.”

  He shook his head and backed away. Wait. Why was he pulling away from me? I tried to hold on, but he just took another step back, making me release my grip. As my hands dropped, they snagged the edge of his shirt, opening it just enough to see his torso.

  “Oh my,” I breathed, lost in his presence.

  Roman was pure strength. I knew this. But the sight of him—slightly disheveled, his perfectly pressed shirt hanging open, revealing flank after flank of lean, cut abs—was dizzying. A small line of dark hair trailed from his navel to the waist of his low-slung pants. I wanted to see the rest of him. Wanted to experience him. Because right now, he didn’t look like the governor. He looked like a man.

  Clarity hit me. Without fully understanding it, I knew this moment was important. Something very consuming and very rare washed over me.

  Pride.

  I had an opportunity to see Roman in a way not many did. For the first time, I felt like we were close to the same level. He wasn’t tiers above me, polished to perfection. He was a man. An incredibly built, complex, endearing man, who I wanted to know. Wanted to feel in more ways than I could even fathom in that single second.

  “I think we should call it a night, Amy.”

  My gaze snapped to his, surprise and terror enveloping me when I saw his face. It was like he’d fastened a mask back into place—the glimpse of softness I’d seen in his expression was gone, replaced by a cool indifference. Nothing, not even the fire at my back, could have warmed the chill that raced through me.

  “Why?”

  He looked me over, but not like before. There was a sorrowful expression, like pity, in every rove of his stare.

  “I just think our expectations don’t match up.” There was no sugar in his voice.

  “What do you mean? I thought we were going to—”

  “Fuck?” The single word was like a shot to the stomach: hard and brutal. “We can. And I’d like that,” he went on, his eyes roaming over me once more, “but I don’t think you can detach yourself.”

  “And you can?”

  He nodded.

  My blood turned to ice in my veins, and I couldn’t form a sentence. Couldn’t figure out how in a matter of milliseconds, I’d gone from desperation for this man to utter embarrassment. How was he able to make me feel the very ends of the emotional spectrum with so little effort? He built me up with a series of hot gazes and erotic promises, then shot me down with a single cold glare and look of pity. It was as though the truth of my past relationship—what little there was of it—had changed his perception of me.

  Did I want meaningless sex? No. I wanted something meaningful. With Roman. He’d given me a taste of that, so I knew it existed. Now, though, he didn’t seem to care to explore that option, so he was pulling back.

  I was a fool. A naïve fool.

  “You expect honesty from me.” It was the only thing I could think to say as I quickly bent to grab my skirt and put it on.

  “I’m being honest with you.”

  “You make me stand in front of you naked when I speak,” I continued, my tone louder than I had expected.

  Recapping the moment wasn’t helping, but it was the only handle I could grasp. Why did he do this? To purposefully hurt me? Humiliate me? Remind me that he was beyond anything I could ever be?

  “Amy,” he said, reaching out, but I jerked back.

  “No.”

  My mind was jumping like a cut telephone wire crackling in a puddle. In light of my thwarted desire, complete humiliation, and the sheer vulnerability of this moment, my entire being mustered up the only defense mechanisms it could.

  Fight or flight. I chose both.

  “You wonder why I left? Why I feel the way I do?” I snatched up my shirt and pulled it over my head quickly, not caring to bother with a bra. I just needed enough to cover my body. “You! Everything about you unnerves me. I get these small glimpses of the man I thought you were, and all other thoughts go out the window. I trusted you, like an idiot. Answered your questions. Went along with this whole thing—”

  “And that was your decision to make,” he said, throwing my admission in my face.

  “Well, it looks like maybe I made the wrong the one.”

  “Amy,” he said slowly, as though trying to soothe a spooked animal. His tone only made my fury and tears rise. “I think we should talk and reevaluate a few areas of this arrangement.”

  “Now?” I looked down at my poor excuse for an outfit, feeling similarly messy and frayed. “What is it you want to reevaluate? The fact that you’ll fuck me so long as I don’t get clingy? So long as I promise not to actually feel something?”

  His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word. The look on his face spoke volumes, an expression of “poor-damaged-confused-girl” mixed with some kind of anger. I wouldn’t take it from him, sad looks and exasperated words. I might not have been experienced, but that was the least of my problems at the moment. Roman had made me feel more like a competent woman than I ever had, and now he was taking that away. Right in front of my face. Telling me what I could and couldn’t handle.

  I clutched the fabric of my shirt against my stomach and tried not to cry. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” I said.

  “I don’t. I just think that my behavior the other night was overzealous.”

  My chest struggled to take in breaths. His words were so clinical. I wanted him to look at me like he had previously, with fire and intensity. Not like something he was trying to contain.

  “Your behavior was intense. It left me feeling several things, but weak wasn’t one of them,” I said.

  “I don’t think you’re weak.”

  “Then stop looking at me like that!”

  He raised his chin. “I’m trying to have a discussion with you so that we’re clear on this relationship.”

  “Oh, I’m clear. We are together in the eyes of everyone, right? We need to behave the way a real couple does. We can behave the way a real couple does in private too, so long as I understand that no real sentiment or feelings are involved. Is that correct?”

  “It is not my intention to cause you pain or discomfort in any sense.”

  “You are right now,” I whispered.

  Something in his expression changed. An awful look laced his entire face, and I hated myself for causing it. What was happening? I couldn’t read him. He looked almost sick, like my admission that he was hurting me truly bothered him. And suddenly I felt the need to apologize.

  “Roman, what’s happ
ening? Are you messing with me on purpose? Playing mind games?”

  “No,” he said roughly.

  “Then why are you treating me this way?” I said, unable to hold back my confusion and shame any longer.

  “Because I don’t know how the fuck to treat you, Amy,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He paced a few steps and mumbled something that sounded like, “I didn’t plan for this.”

  “Well, if your plan was stomping on my sanity for fun, then congratulations, Governor, you’ve won that race.”

  He stared at me, zeroing in on my expression. I honestly had no idea what was visible on my face at that moment, but whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

  “I’m done playing,” I said, and walked toward the door.

  “Amy,” he called after me. “Let me at least take you home.”

  I was clenching my jaw so hard, it hurt. I couldn’t look at him or say anything to him. Keeping my head down, the last thing I saw before leaving was my undergarments, still lying on the floor.

  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.

  “By ditching my driver and walking half naked across town?”

  I looked down at myself. “I’m not half naked.” True, I wasn’t wearing any undergarments, but it wasn’t obvious.

  “You can’t do that, Amy!” He gently shook my shoulders, and I saw a look of utter terror behind his normally steely stare. “You can’t just take off. I had no idea where you were. What had happened to you.” His tone was harsh, but there was that familiar glimpse of pain behind his words and expression. Like I had truly scared him.

  “I’m an adult, Roman.”

  “You’re mine, Amy,” he said, and a tremor slid over my skin. “If we disagree, fine. I’ll take you home. But don’t run off and disappear. Do you understand?”

  Water danced on the rims of my eyes, and my shoulders slumped from the weight of tonight. Too much. It was all too much, and I had no idea how to process it all.

  “No, Roman. I don’t understand.”

  He glanced at the ground and gently rubbed my shoulders. Pulling me into another hug, he kissed my forehead and whispered, “I don’t either.”

  His warmth and scent surrounded me. I gave myself up to the moment, to him, because there was nowhere left to run and nothing else to do. Roman seemed just as confused as I was. Earlier, when he had been trying to create distance between sex and feelings, he’d been upset when I’d left. In light of that, his behavior now didn’t make much sense. Whatever was going through his mind, whatever he was feeling, I didn’t know. But right then, I felt like he truly cared. Maybe that was something.

  Or maybe I was once again being naïve.

  “Not many people scare me,” he said against my brow. “Don’t do it again.”

  I nodded, resigned to letting go for tonight. I needed time, space, rest. I needed my nerves to calm and my perception of reality to right itself before tackling this issue that was Roman Reese. I needed a clear head.

  “Will you please take me home?” I asked.

  He looked down at me, and that slight flame of vulnerability flickered across his face. Whatever thoughts caused that hurt, that unease, I wanted to know. To help him. I was sure that this time, he was going to say something. Something to give me a glimpse into the darkness he kept bottled up.

  Instead, the only word he uttered was, “Yes.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Roman said close to my ear.

  They were the first words Roman had spoken directly to me since Monday night’s disaster. It was now Saturday, and while I had gotten a few text messages and e-mails, there had been no verbal communication until now. I had heard the phrase “leaving with your panties in your purse” before, but I’d had no idea how humiliating it could be. To say my emotions had been tumultuous would be an understatement. It had been days, but my body was still humming with confusion and achy from the amount of stress and adrenaline endured that night.

  Now, standing in the governor’s mansion and getting ready for the fundraiser, I worked on taking calming breaths and focusing on the external environment. I had no desire to be inside my head right now, or to overthink how to handle the spiral staircase of feelings I was currently treading. Besides, every time I tried, I came up with no solution. I liked Roman, but the situation was tricky. Nope. I would tackle that later. Right now, I needed to prepare for tonight’s fundraiser.

  Between the setup and the people bustling around, it didn’t look like the subtly lit, quiet home I’d visited just a few days earlier. The organized chaos was a welcome distraction.

  I looked up at Roman, my heels squeaking as I adjusted to the brand-new stilettos.

  “You’re welcome,”
I said.

  I didn’t know where we stood after Monday’s fiasco. But there was something in his eyes: a softness. The thing I was now calling “The Real Roman” burned in those charcoal depths.

  I turned to face him as people continued to rush by, setting up chairs and coordinating where the orchestra would be staged. I simply focused on Roman.

  “I shouldn’t have left the way I did the other night,” I said.

  He lifted his chin slightly and gave me a look that was wary and cautious, as though I was luring him to his doom.

  “You were right,” I continued. “It wasn’t smart. It could have been dangerous, and,” I shrugged, “it was definitely kind of stupid to leave without any money, house keys, or cell phone.”

  He scoffed, but I caught sight of a small smile. Roman wasn’t offering to share any of his own thoughts, so I was doing the only thing I could to move on: taking responsibility for my part.

  “I usually don’t get so upset. I felt like you were toying with me. But I’ll be more prepared in the future.”

  He frowned. “I wasn’t toying with you.”

  I pursed my lips because I didn’t want to argue, not here and now. I didn’t think Roman had meant to mess with me, but he had. I had been too confused to sleep well the last few days. Yet, despite all that, my mind was consumed with thoughts of Roman’s body.

  The small glimpse I had gotten kept me buzzing, wanting another look. Maybe a taste. I wanted to tap into all that power and confidence and devour him.

  “I pushed you too far,” he rasped. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. It was the first sweet gesture he’d made all day, and I found myself arching into it. “You seemed like you could use some space.”

  In some ways, yes, he had pushed too far. But in others, he hadn’t pushed far enough. There was no way for me to explain this to him, especially now. Based on his behavior and change in attitude since finding out about my sexual history, I assumed he thought he’d crossed a physical line, but all I wanted was to get back there. To him dominating me, taking me, consuming me.