ROMAN (Lane Brothers Book 5)

by Kristina Weaver

  I get really annoyed then, and I lash out, feeling as insecure about this situation as I know Bee feels right now.

  Why should I be the one chasing him? I’ve done everything he wants, gone to his parties, worn his choice of clothes, and I’ve spent days throwing myself at him.

  Bastard.

  “Maybe I should just go. I mean, why would I possibly want to spend another night here with you, watching you jack off and give me the blow off when I can waste my time at home with my vibrator?”

  Whoa, that was just unnecessary, Sis. Get a grip.

  “Dove—”

  “And what’s with the clothes, huh? Do I look like a goddamned Barbie doll to you? If you want to play dress up with a woman you should—”

  “That’s enough!” he roars, slamming me into his chest.

  I look up to see his eyes have changed color to a deep moss green that glows with anger.

  “Not one more fucking word.”

  “But—”

  “I sent you the dresses because I didn’t want you spending money on something you can’t afford right now. I specifically chose them to suit you, to be something you yourself would have chosen. Believe me, Cecelia, if it had been my choice you’d be wearing enough fabric that no other man gets to see an inch of your delectable skin.”

  Oh crap. He’s right, and I know it. Those dresses had been far sexier and more colorful than Vincent would go for.

  “I’m sorry,” I sigh, leaning my forehead into his chest. His scent hits me, that blend of citrus and man, and I feel myself melt into his heat. “I’ve been iffy all night after Bee’s boyfriend went all dictator on her. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  He relaxes and rubs soothingly at my back, kneading the tension from my shoulders I hadn’t even noticed till now.

  “What has this Eric done to upset you so?”

  “He’s been buying all of Bee’s clothes lately, and…he’s just been really controlling, I think. I think he’s even been telling her what to eat, because tonight, when she ordered food, he went nuts about what she was eating. And she’s lost weight.”

  “Dove, I would never try to change you or force you to be something you’re not. I actually like that you don’t look like a carbon copy of what society wants, and you can bloody well believe I would never try to starve you.”

  I snort at that and duck my head in shame. In fact, the man feeds me way too much when we’re together, and has a hernia if I so much as make a crack about needing to drop a pound or two.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Now come along, woman: you have a painting to start.”

  My worries and the anger melt away, replaced by the familiar tingle of anticipation and the sexual heat I am now more than familiar with. As I follow him upstairs and into his bedroom, I release it all and allow myself this time with Vincent.

  I have every intention of seducing my guy tonight.

  “I’ll go grab a shower while you get ready, dove.”

  Same as every other night before this. He strides away, leaving me alone, and I waste no time whipping the dress up and over my head. The shoes stay on, along with the lingerie, and I smile to myself as I hear the shower turn off.

  Bending at the waist, I lean down to swipe the dress up, fully aware of the view he’ll see when he come back out.

  My ass is pointed up and on full display, the creamy globes bare but for the thin string nestled between the cheeks. I hear Vincent curse and smile smugly as I straighten slowly and turn back, taking my time with fluffing and folding the dress.

  I know exactly how great I look with my hairless mound visible through the lace and my breasts spilling over the snug cups of the bustier.

  “Dove.”

  “Get a move on, Vincent.”

  By the time he’s dropped the towel and reclined on the bed I’ve decided to at least try and play this game. I reach for the front hooks of the bustier and stifle a grin when he shakes his head.

  “No, dove, leave it on.”

  I shrug as casually as I can and boost myself onto the stool, taking note of his fascination with my jiggling breasts and the slight peek of aureole he’s getting with my every move.

  I’m aroused and giddy with triumph to the point that when I pick up my brush and start mixing oils, I’m as steady as a rock for the first time in days.

  Funny what a little change in power can do for a girl.

  “Are you done then, dove?” I hear an hour later, just when I’ve started to get into it.

  Vincent has been shifting around restlessly and throwing irritable sighs around the entire time. And he hasn’t touched his dick once, I note, biting my lips to keep from laughing.

  “Not yet, but—”

  He’s up and tossing my brush and palette in the next instant, and I yelp when he picks me up and tosses me at the bed.

  “Christ, you’ve been teasing me into a frenzy, woman,” he snarls, stalking to the foot of the bed with a lazy glide that belies the tension I see gripping his large frame.

  “I’ve been teasing you? All I did was keep my underwear on and paint.”

  His eyes droop to half-mast, and he bares his teeth in a growl.

  “That getup should be illegal, and you bloody well know it. I can’t think for wanting to unwrap you. Take off the pants, dove.”

  I already know, thanks to my more than humiliating experience at the Met that pants are panties, so I hook my fingers into the fragile strings at my hips and push them down, being careful to keep my legs closed the whole time.

  “Shoes.”

  I oblige and kick one heel to the ground, gasping when he raises the other and slowly slips it off, his large hands cupping my foot, holding it still for his lips.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he groans, licking at the arch of my foot before running his tongue to the delicate bones at my ankle. “I want to taste you everywhere.”

  My body starts doing the victory dance when he spreads my legs and plants his hands beside my hips, bringing his face perilously close to my bared slit.

  “Have you enjoyed teasing me tonight, dove?” he asks, blowing a hot breath over my folds.

  I whimper when he grabs my hips and holds me down, stilling my movements to get closer to his mouth.

  “Answer me, dove. Did you enjoy teasing me?”

  “No… Yes, I just wanted you to stop torturing me, and I…oh!”

  His mouth closes over me, and I moan, my fingers fisting the sheets when he spreads his hands over the insides of my thighs, pushing me open for the onslaught.

  There’s no hesitance or teasing involved, and I scream my pleasure when he sucks my clit into his mouth and keeps up a steady, brutal pressure that has me peaking in a glorious rush.

  He sucks until my orgasm is nothing but soft pulses of pleasure and then lifts his head to look up at me with a hard stare that totally obliterates my satisfied glow.

  “Vincent?”

  “I wanted to wait and make this special,” he growls, crawling up my body with a groan of desire that loosens the fist clutching at my heart.

  “But I can’t hold off anymore. I want you.”

  “Yes,” I groan, opening myself as he settles between my legs and slowly pushes forward, entering me with a slow, unceasing thrust until he bottoms out.

  “I knew it would be this way,” he groans, pulling back to thrust back in a slow rhythm that makes me clench deep inside.

  “Please.”

  I’m moaning one syllable words as he thrusts in and out in a maddening rhythm that makes me clench and push back, needing more. He’s torturing me with his control, and I don’t think I can stand another minute, when I feel his fingers glance around my clit on the upstroke.

  I orgasm, yelling out his name in a strangled garble, and scream when I feel him push deeper and still, the hot splash of his own orgasm filling me with heat.

  “God have mercy, you’ll be the death of me,” he mutters, burying his face in the perspira
tion-slicked skin at my neck.

  I smile and wrap my arms around him, sighing out my pleasure.

  “I’m going to have to paint from home, or I’ll never finish. God, I can’t believe you made me wait for that!”

  He rolls onto his back and pulls me into his side, cupping a possessive hand around my ass cheek.

  “You belong here. Now go to sleep, woman, you’ve caused quite enough trouble for one night.”

  Chapter Nine

  As I stand in front of Bee’s floor-to-ceiling mirror and take in the nurse’s outfit she’s picked out for me, I think about the fact that it’s only available because Bee herself can’t wear it. The damned thing’s way too big on her rapidly shrinking frame.

  “Goddammit, Bee, what the fuck is going on with you! You look like you haven’t eaten a good meal in months, and your hair’s starting to fall out. I swear to God, you either break up with that asshole or I’m calling your brother!”

  I know that yelling at her right now is not a good idea. She looks so fragile I’m afraid to breathe too heavily around her, and yet I can’t stop myself now.

  I haven’t seen Vincent in two days, thanks to some cockamamie business thing in China, and I’ve been using this time to try and talk some sense into her.

  Instead of acknowledging that her relationship with Eric has fallen into unhealthy territory, she’s been alternately defending him or giving me the cold shoulder.

  The last straw had been this morning, when I’d walked into the bathroom and seen her naked, skeletal body. That bastard is killing my best friend with his controlling ways and bullshit, and I refuse to watch her become a shadow of herself just because he’s suddenly decided the woman he’s loved for years needs to change to fit his new mold.

  “Sissy, please, you don’t understand!” she wails, covering her face with her hands to drown out her sobs.

  “What? What could you possibly say that will make this right? He’s been controlling you for months now, without anyone noticing. God, when I think back on all those times you blew me off and— Is Eric the reason you haven’t called your brother lately? Gavin is gonna flip when he sees you.”

  She cries harder, and I force my temper down in an effort to provide some comfort. Throwing the nurse’s outfit to the floor, I shimmy back into my shorts and tank and lower myself to the bed, taking her into my arms.

  “Bee, you can’t spend your life trying to be what Eric wants. I know you love him, but it’s not healthy to let him control everything about your life, and you know it.”

  “I don’t understand!” she wails, trembling against her sobs. “He’s been so great since we met in college, and then he gets that new job and all of a sudden I’m too immature for him. He said I dress like a teenager and that I was getting fat and… What should I do, Sis?”

  Telling her what to do in her relationship is not a good idea, not when she’s loved the guy for over four years of her life, but I can’t just shrug and tell her to make her own choices. I can clearly see and feel her bones through her skin, so obviously she’s not in a place to make the right ones all on her own right now.

  “You call that asshole and dump him, Bee, and then you and I are going to the doctor to get you checked out.”

  I spend the next hour listening to her argue and cry as she tells Eric she won’t see him anymore, and then I bundle her up against the chilly weather and grab a cab to the doctor’s offices.

  “Well, you’re severely undernourished, Miss Parker and from what your friend tells me I understand that your weight loss has been very rapid. We’ll need to get you on some vitamins and an eating plan. I’d also like you to write down exactly what you have been eating lately, and quantities, if you can remember. Your hair loss isn’t too bad considering, but I’d like to put a stop to that before your hair thins too drastically.”

  By the time we’re done at the doctor’s—an hour and a half later and with the number to a shrink—I pull Bee into a cab and get her home as fast as I can.

  If—no, when I see Eric Brennan again, I’m going to kick his balls into his throat for this. My best friend is a husk of the bright, bubbly woman she used to be, and I am so mad at him for doing this I can hardly breathe.

  “Thanks, Sis,” she mumbles tiredly when I tuck her into bed and lay a kiss to her forehead.

  “That shot the doc gave you must be some powerful shit.”

  She smiles groggily and closes her eyes with a sigh.

  When she’s sleeping I close her bedroom door and answer the four missed calls I have from Vincent.

  “What the hell is going on, dove?”

  “Sorry, Vin, I put my phone on silent when I went into the doctor’s offices and—”

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt? Patrick, I need a flight back to New York!”

  I hear the panic in his voice and smirk. Yeah, this guy is so into me it’s crazy, and right now, knowing he cares enough to rush back for me, I know how seriously bad I have it for him. It’s scary as hell, and weird, to fall so quickly for a man like Vincent, but it’s there, and if this tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach is any indication, it’s not going away any time soon.

  “Calm down! I’m fine. I took Bee to the doctor’s,” I rush to say, feeling tears fill my eyes along with the lump in my throat.

  I’ve been fighting this need to cry since I’d seen what a wreck she really is right now, and now that she’s sleeping I let it overtake me.

  “You should see her, Vin. She’s so thin I don’t know how I could have missed it. Jesus. I am the world’s shittiest friend.”

  “Oh, love, no, don’t beat yourself up over this. You’re a good friend to Bianca. She’s just been very good at hiding things.”

  “She told me everything this morning when I threatened to call her mom and—”

  I tell him everything. How Eric’s been breaking down her confidence and trying to alienate her from everyone, including me. By the time I’m done I’m openly crying, and I practically hear him grinding his teeth at my distress.

  “I’ll get a flight out—”

  “No. You have another week in China, and…I think I need to spend as much time with Bee as I can right now. You do your thing, and I’ll call you if I need to.”

  “Are you sure? I can get Havers to cover the remaining meetings.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mr Blake, pinky promise. Now go take over the world or something. I have a landscape to finish, and my client will really ride my ass if I slack on the job.”

  “Count on it,” he growls.

  ***

  “Just turn it off and come here. The doctor emailed me your diet, and I’ve cooked you a good hearty meal of liver to get your iron levels up,” I yell to Bee from the kitchen.

  I look down at the two portions of liver and shudder. The things I do for friendship.

  “Jesus, that looks like dog shit on a plate.”

  “Thanks a lot. I’m only the idiot who cooked it and has to eat it with you,” I mutter, dumping the pan into the sink and sitting down across from her.

  From her pinched expression, I can see she’s about as excited about liver and onions as I am, so I dig in first.

  “Okay, this is actually not too bad,” I say, surprised that a recipe off the internet has finally worked for me.

  Okay, so maybe it’s not gourmet, and has a weird metallic taste that makes my belly roil, but it’s not making me retch. Yet.

  “Can’t we just order Chinese and watch Thelma and Louise?”

  “Nope. Doc said I have to watch you eat, and so here we are. Eat your liver.”

  We both crack up at the sound of that and spend ten minutes swallowing without chewing. When I see that her plate is cleared I grab us each a virgin Bloody Mary and park us both on the sofa.

  Halfway through Thelma and Louise I see her inch toward the bathroom slowly, and I just manage to stifle a snarl. Doc had warned me to keep an eye on her in case she starts upchucking her food, and it seems little Miss Bee is as predi
ctable as all other bulimics.

  “Sit your sweet ass back down on this sofa before I kick it into next Tuesday, Bianca Parker.”

  I hear her groan and spear her with my deadliest look, the one that tells her exactly how close I am to losing my shit if she doesn’t obey.

  Like the broken shadow she is, she slinks back to me and lies down, her head in my lap, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I run my hands through her long brown hair and grind my teeth when a few strands come loose.

  “It’s okay, Bee. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

  There’s nothing else to say or do but stroke her hair and pretend to watch a movie while grief and rage course through me. I’ve decided against calling the Parkers for the moment.

  Bee is too fragile for them right now, and I’m quite frankly a little afraid of what her brother Jeff will do if he sees her this way. I don’t like Eric Brennan at all right now—in fact, I suspect I hate him—but I refuse to let Jeff go to prison for ripping that douchebag’s lungs out through his ass.

  “He was so angry, Sis. I’m scared he’ll come here and… You haven’t seen his temper.”

  She’s groggy by now and slurring her words, so she misses the evil grin that twitches at my lips, thank God.

  “Vincent will rip him a new asshole if he so much as breathes near you, Bee.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next day is no better than yesterday, and I find myself selfishly wishing I’d let Vincent come back so that I could excuse myself, excuse the way I want to run from Bee and the mentally draining grief she seems cloaked in.

  But I can’t, won’t do that to her. She needs me, and no matter how hard this is to witness, I know that I have to be here for her.

  “Bee! Breakfast!”

  I’m not that surprised when she comes stalking into the kitchen with a belligerent attitude and a bratty scowl that shoots daggers at me. I simply turn back to the stove and flip some bacon again, listening to her mutter about the coffee ban and the nutritional shake she has to slurp down with food she doesn’t want.