Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  “Roman, what—hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I got that,” he growled.

  “You’re home?” Even though she’d known he had been for a few days now. She had wanted to check on him, but what was the point? Nicola had pointed out exactly why Beth shouldn’t, and staying away was the right thing to do, even if it hurt.

  “Yeah, home.”

  “Are you… okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  The right thing wasn’t the easy thing. “Roman, maybe we should talk.”

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  She laughed, aggravated and turned on, and surprised by how she felt him everywhere. “What’s your problem? You called me.”

  He remained quiet.

  “Seriously, Roman. Can we move on? You’re mad at me. I’m sorry, okay?”

  “What do you have to be sorry for?”

  “Because I messed us up. We’re fun. We’re a joke. We’re nothing, and it worked.”

  “I heard you talking to Nic.”

  She cringed. “About that…” But she didn’t know how to explain. The only thing she could say was something she’d never admit.

  “And the tears?”

  She cussed silently. “I wish everything would go back to how it was.”

  He said nothing. Again. Her silent, overly emotional, overwhelming tears were back and burning her eyelids.

  “Look, Beth.” He paused. “I don’t want to.”

  The words were so low she almost thought she had imagined them. “What?”

  “I don’t want everything to go back to how it was. I’ve sat here for days, fighting the urge to call you. And what’s the point?”

  “What’s the point?” she repeated.

  “Babe, what I’m saying is I want to talk to you. I want you.”

  A full-body shiver erupted and ran down her back, sliding along her nerves. Roman wanted sex. That was all, and it should’ve been fine. But it wasn’t, and because of that, she needed to say no.

  “Babe?”

  Ugh! She wanted to hate him. Her chin dropped, and she ran a hand into her mess of hair. She was completely messed up in the head. “No, Roman, you don’t want me. I’m doing you a favor, ending this now.”

  “Say it to my face.”

  She bit her lip. “You’re asking me to come over?” The invitation made her heart rip through the barbed-wire stranglehold. All kinds of emotions bled together: nervousness, excitement, and the always-present guilt.

  “I want to see you. Wherever. However.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  Yes. “No.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll head your way after I take a shower.”

  “Good.” Then the line went dead.

  Thank God he’d hung up, because now she couldn’t back out.

  Beth took too long in the shower, shaving her legs even though she didn’t have to, and letting the water run down her body. She thought about touching herself, imagining it was him running his hands over her breasts. Her nipples beaded so tightly they hurt. And between her legs… God, she ached. But for what? Nothing worked. No relief. Only complete frustration.

  Instead, she turned the water to scalding and let it burn her skin until she couldn’t take it anymore and had to abandon the shower. The want hadn’t gone away, and she was so confused that she decided it wasn’t arousal at all. It was aggravation at a level she’d never experienced before.

  Freakin’ aggravation.

  That was the only option, because if it was arousal, and if there was the chance that she could have an orgasm while thinking of Roman, than she was fucked.

  “Stop it.” She stared at the steamy mirror. “The past is the past, and Roman is not an answer.”

  He’d never shown an ounce of interest in having a relationship with her, or with anyone, for that matter. She was a conquest. A fun to-do.

  With that understanding, she calmed her wildly beating heart, got dressed, and jumped in the eco-friendly Lexus that the Agency thought fit her cover.

  Instead of obsessing over him, Beth listed the reasons she hated that car as she drove to his place. It was pretentious. It was the wrong color. It was not her. Though it did have a glass roof that allowed for a killer view if she ever took the time to lean back and relax, which she never did.

  Focusing on how much she hated her car helped her keep cool. She was a seasoned operative who knew how to hide her feelings. She could do that. Easy. But her stomach knotted as she arrived at Roman’s. This was absurd. As long as she didn’t acknowledge wayward feelings, they didn’t exist. It would be as though she’d boxed her innermost thoughts and walked away.

  Beth parked in the driveway of his nice house, which sat on a huge piece of property. After a quick knock on the door, it opened. Roman was bruised and battered and shirtless, and the shelved box of feelings came screaming open. Whatever his agenda was, the shirtless hello wasn’t fair.

  “No, no, no.” She closed her eyes and pointed blindly. “Turn around, get dressed, and we can try this again.”

  She stood her ground and wouldn’t cross the threshold. There was no possible way to remain detached when a wall of perfectly sculpted muscle stood a few feet away. “Roman.” She shook her head. “I’m not a booty call, go find a shirt.”

  “Babe.”

  She peeked through one eye. Holy shit! He was perfect. Her mouth watered. Definitely dangerous, he was a man who could leave her without a sane thought left.

  “I didn’t say you were a booty call, Beth.” He left the door open and walked down the hall. “Come in or leave. Either way, shut the door.”

  Freakin’ attitude problem. “You’re a jerk.”

  “Surprise.”

  “The asshole routine isn’t a good look for you, just so you know.” Though the shirtless look was. Carefully, she stepped into his house and prayed that he’d put on a shirt. Well, kinda.

  She went down the hall to where it opened into an expansive living room. It’d been a while since she’d been to his place, and she’d never seen the inside. She had visited for a backyard beers-and-brats-type thing. Somehow, she’d thought it would be sparsely furnished, but it wasn’t. Had Nicola done this? Dark colors and thick leather couches. Comfortable but somehow refined. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks.” He collapsed onto an overstuffed leather couch. “Took a while to make it look like the place was lived in, but it’s done.”

  “You did all this?”

  He shrugged a yes as she walked along the wall, eying pictures. It occurred to her that Greg had just done this in her place the other day, studying what made her tick. Now she was doing the same thing. The difference was, she hadn’t decorated her place—the Agency had. Everything fit her profile, the person she was supposed to be. Roman’s house was very much his, and she liked everything she saw. It was oddly familiar.

  She picked up a picture from Nicola and Cash’s wedding. It was the four of them on the dance floor, scrunched together for the photographer. Cash and Roman were in tuxes, Nicola looked gorgeous, and Beth smiled from under Roman’s arm. They had been the best man and maid of honor and acted as a tag team that night, giving a little hell to the bride and groom and helping them celebrate.

  “That was a fun night.” Roman pushed off the couch, went to a wet bar, and came back holding two bottles of water. “Want one?”

  She took the water as if it were a peace offering for his shirtless hello, though he was still shirtless. “Thanks.”

  He flopped back on the couch. “I can’t knock the bride, but you were the best-looking girl there.”

  Beth sat on the other side. She blushed. “Nic will have your butt for that. Careful.”

  “Do you ever not downplay a compliment?”

  She turned to face him, slipping off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath her. “No. Not really.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you act like the world revolves around you?”

/>   “You mean it doesn’t?” He gave her a wink, stretched, and groaned. Roman kneaded his shoulder muscle. “You left the hospital in a hurry the other day. You want to talk about that?”

  She bit her lip. “Sorry you overheard any part of that conversation. It wasn’t meant for you.”

  Still working on his neck and shoulder, he shifted. “Heard bits. Wasn’t trying to.”

  She was mesmerized by his hands kneading muscle. His skin was tan but looked suspiciously soft. Her mind drifted, her hands wanting to replace his.

  Roman stopped, oblivious to her staring, and cracked the water. “For all the pain pills the doc gave me, they don’t do shit for knots.”

  “Turn around.” It came out before she thought better of the offer. “I can help.”

  “What?” His eyebrows rose as he stopped with the water bottle midway to his mouth.

  “One-time offer for a backrub that expires in three, two—”

  He squinted as though he still hadn’t realized what he’d been doing, then gave her his back. “Alright.”

  He sounded as tense as she thought his back and neck might be. Beth scooted closer and put her hands on him. For a long second, her palms rested at the base of his neck, and her heart pounded. Shallow breaths screamed in her ears, and Roman’s body, though lax on his couch, reacted under her touch. Without moving her hands, her thumbs lightly stroked his neck. A rush of chill bumps erupted, decorating his skin.

  “You good?”

  He nodded wordlessly.

  Her hands floated down the cords of his back, fingers feathery over sinewy muscle. When she got to the base, her hands smoothed up, stronger, surer, and again clasped over his shoulders. As she massaged him, Roman didn’t relax so much as he bent to her will.

  Minutes passed as she ran her hands over every inch from his neck, down his back, and across his arms. Finally, she settled against him, daring to rest her chin on his shoulder. She let her palms come to a stop on his biceps, knowing it was a bad idea to be that close but unable to stay away. “Better?”

  A large, male hand covered over one of hers. Her lungs stopped, ignoring the fireworks sparking in her blood and rushing through her veins. Now was her turn for the goose bumps. They ran along her arm, up her neck, and down her spine.

  Roman turned around, his hand staying with hers too long. He finally let it go. “Much.”

  He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, letting his fingers slide across her cheek on their retreat. She needed to feel their touch again, and her eyes shut. The rise and fall of her chest mocked all her years of CIA training.

  “What do you want from me?” Her throat ached. “Because seriously, I have nothing to give.” Or nothing that she wanted to give. It would be cruel to fall for another man. To feel so deeply that a look from him would curl her toes. And… to be so scared of losing someone that she couldn’t live. That’d been her, not that long ago, when she couldn’t function or see through the tears in her eyes. Love had ruined her life.

  Not that she loved Roman. But that very second, she couldn’t move away from him, and if he didn’t kiss her soon, she would cry.

  “What do I want from you?” he repeated. A confident but somehow simple, sweet grin grew on the face that still showed the scratches and cuts from the explosion. “I want your mouth again.”

  Her lips parted, and she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t shock. Maybe want. All of this was arousal, and that was just impossible. His fingers traced her jawline, and with the careful touch of a hard hand, Roman brought her back from her hopeless past.

  “And you want that, too.” Roman moved over her, closing the already tight space between them.

  Her stomach tightened. He had good lines. The guy knew exactly what to say to make a woman swoon. That was all this was. He wanted her in bed, and now that they were both sober and in the same spot, he was making his move. Casual sex, nothing that should make her panic. That was all it was. Sex.

  Nothing emotional.

  Nothing that should make her warm and fuzzy on the inside.

  Nothing like what was happening between them now.

  Shit.

  His fingers touched her cheeks again, pushing her hair behind her ears. Warm palms cupped her face, sliding down to her chin, her neck, then he took his hands away. She wanted them back as much as she wished she’d never felt his touch.

  She closed her eyes and still saw his chiseled face. “Don’t be sweet to me, Roman.”

  “I’m not.”

  Beth opened her eyes and focused on his lips then his eyes, wishing that he would act like a belligerent ass, not this guy whose words held such gravity. “Then don’t do whatever that was.”

  “What? Touch you?” His fingers found a curl of hair, and he rubbed the strands. “Why not when it’s so much fun?”

  Ah, fun. That was the problem. Holding herself up much longer would require significant and obvious assistance. Everything he did turned her into a puddle of goo. And here he was having a great time. La dee flippin’ da.

  “I think I should go.” She jumped off the couch without looking at him. Her legs decided to work at the last second, saving her from a moronic tumble as she tripped while trying get away. “I don’t want to be here.”

  “Liar.” Standing behind her, he closed the distance until his stomach pressed against her back. She could feel the length of his erection as he held her to him.

  She was a liar. He spun her around, and she nearly apologized for doing so. Her stomach swirled. Arousal betrayed her with just the tickle and tease of his few words.

  But she had no follow through. Her heartbroken body would be an embarrassment. Even if she wanted him, there was no way anything would happen. She’d fake it and then disappointment would eat her alive. God, she wanted him to be different, and she seriously hated herself for admitting that. Because…

  No one had made her feel alive since Logan died.

  Certainly, no one could make her come.

  When it came down to it, she was defective. Maybe faulty wiring both upstairs and down because she hadn’t had an orgasm since her husband—her dead husband—

  Except… Roman gave her butterflies, and that hadn’t happened in years. He made her feel, all the way deep down in her soul.

  Fuck him for that.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Until death do us part.

  Well, she’d been parted by death. Far, far too early. Her husband had left her. He’d killed himself, and goddamn, that hurt as she dealt with life alone.

  There had been circumstances. Some people never really came home from war. She should forgive Logan and move on, but she couldn’t. He’d abandoned their future, severing the connection that she was only supposed to feel with him.

  “Babe?”

  She stared blankly, needing to run but stuck in place.

  “Beth?”

  Turning her head, she whispered, “I am a liar. And I’m a mess. Just forget me.”

  “Not in the mood.”

  That was said with a growl. She heard it. Felt it.

  “I don’t get you,” he whispered into her ear, grazing her skin as he pulled back.

  “I don’t get me, either,” she said. “I’m screwed up. Completely, categorically crazy.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back away from her. He actually brought her closer. “Everyone’s got a little crazy.”

  “Roman…” She tried to look elsewhere, but he caught her chin. If he only knew how messed up she was, he would run. He should run.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  He shook his head then rested his strong hands on her shoulders. They were chest to chest. His bare chest. He was huge and overpowering and had a hard-on pushing in his jeans that begged for her to drop to her knees. A fine scattering of hair decorated his well-defined pecs, and when she looked away, her eyes were drawn to his Nicola tattoo. It had his sister’s name, the date she was born and died, then the date sh
e’d come to life again. The ink was dark, the designs beautiful. The whole thing wrapped around his bicep. Mixed within the barbed wire, the block letters, and scrolled numbers was an angel that looked like a warrior.

  He followed her gaze. “Something to say?”

  “It’s gorgeous. I always meant to tell you that.”

  His jaw flexed. “She deserved it. Though its meaning changed. Obviously.”

  “What is it now?”

  “A reminder.”

  “Of?”

  “Of loss. I will never open myself up to hurt like that again.”

  Her mouth gaped.

  “Babe…” He’d read her all wrong.

  She wasn’t hurt. She knew where they stood, and that gave her a solid dose of relief.

  “Beth, that’s not to say—”

  “Shut up. You couldn’t have said anything more perfect.”

  She put her hands on his bare, flat stomach. His abs flexed, making her palms itch for more. She slid her fingers up his torso, his chest, the light hairs scratching deliciously under her touch, standing there for her to explore. She did. Ripped muscles, perfect skin marred by the occasional healing bruise.

  “You are so…” Her fingertips trailed along the hard swell of muscle, tracing the line of his breastbone as it disappeared into a six-pack.

  “Don’t say cocky. You should know better by now.”

  She caressed a nearly gone bruise on the side of his ribs then took her fingers to a healing scab on his cheek. “Such a warrior.”

  Roman’s hand threaded into her hair. His mouth took hers, biting her bottom lip and kissing her with the strength of that word. One lift, and he had her wrapped to him. Her legs gripped his hips.

  “The things you do to me,” he growled while kissing her. “It’s fuckin’ fierce.”

  Hard and fast, he backed to the wall. The impact made her moan, drop her head, begging for more.

  “That’s what you want, babe?” Roman flexed against her, rubbing his cock between them.

  “Yes…” Her hands knotted in his hair.

  Roman, dry fucking her against the wall, silenced her gasps with tongue-whipping kisses. He moved them down the hall and up the stairs. It’d been too long since she’d felt alive. She wouldn’t lose the feeling. Couldn’t. It was just too much, too good, and—