Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  She hadn’t known he could cook. She would’ve bet against him. Actually, no. Beth would never bet against him. He could do no wrong. He was one of those guys who always got it right when he tried. She could hate him for it, but it worked to her benefit.

  The second night, since neither of them had been called up by the CIA or Titan, they got drunk and went to bed. And they stayed in bed and got wild. It was a rush. Fun. Lots and lots of screaming orgasms. God, the man knew how to make her body do things it had never done.

  The third night, they went back to his bed and got naked again. He wasn’t a sight she was going to get used to, but for some crazy reason—or not so crazy given the recent time-zone changes, the days of scorching sex, the night’s big meal, and the genuine life upheaval—they lay under his roof, in his fabulous sheets, surrounded by all the warmth he’d put into his house, and just slept.

  And now it was three days later, and she still hadn’t caught up with Nicola. That made her a bad friend. It also confirmed that she was, without a single doubt, digging her time with Roman. But Beth was also out of clean clothes, and she refused to wash her laundry at his place. A girl could only shack up for so long before she felt a little clingy. So she went home and did laundry. She showered, using her own shampoo, not his or travel bottles. She lounged in fresh clothes and watched her phone, still waiting for the CIA or Titan to say go.

  They didn’t. Time just ticked by.

  Beth picked at her cuticle. She hadn’t been without Roman for more than a few hours in the last week. Now she was alone with her thoughts. But the time did her good. She made at least a couple decisions. First, if he didn’t know, she needed to tell him how much he mattered to her. She also wanted to say that she couldn’t close her eyes without thinking about how he warmed her from the inside out.

  Beth searched her heart and soul for pangs of guilt. Nothing, which was good because that meant another day moving forward, courtesy of Roman. She sent him a message telling him to come over, then she put a bottle of wine out to breathe and called her local pizza joint.

  Thirty minutes later, her phone buzzed. I’m here. Let me up.

  Her man had arrived, and she felt the excitement rush through her. It hadn’t been that long since she’d seen him. Really, that was pathetic. But she loved it—the excitement, the unknown, the comfortableness, all wrapped into one hard, hot body that couldn’t keep his hands off her. Okay, there may’ve been a small guilty heart twinge. But it was minor.

  Roman knocked on her door, and out of habit, she checked the peephole before she let him in. As wide and tall as the door, when he entered the room, he became her sole focus.

  “Pretty girl.” With a quick kiss on her cheek as if it had become their normal greeting, he breezed by. “I’m starving. Order in and a movie?”

  She followed him to her couch. “Already ordered pizza. Half with pineapple.” She made a gagging face. “And there’s a bottle of wine screaming for us to drink it.”

  “Pineapple. Nicely done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But the wine?” He shook his head. “Guess it’ll have to work.”

  Five minutes later, they were on the couch, delivered pizza and red wine in hand. Like a date, except for more integrated and cozy.

  On her second large glass of vino, while her hand grazed up and down Roman’s chest, Beth startled when her phone buzzed. CIA or Titan? A little fuzzy; she maybe should’ve opted for the smaller wine glasses. She leaned forward to check the caller ID.

  Fuck.

  Her blood turned cold as everything stopped. Then her stomach lurched. She shoved away from Roman like the world could have seen his arm thrown around her and her bare feet tucked under her legs as if she’d found comfort, as if she’d found herself, with him.

  No, no, no! Teresa Tourne.

  The name. The picture. They stared at Beth, accusing her of being a whore. Her hands began to tremble, slowly at first, then they quaked, her muscles violently chattering as if she’d stepped from his warm embrace straight into an arctic freeze.

  “Beth?”

  “The date. Roman, what’s the date?”

  “October fifteenth. Why?”

  Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  She tried to swallow, but her throat wouldn’t unlock. How had she been so stupid? So dumb? To think that she could just… ugh. Where had her mind gone? Selfish and shallow. She knew what she’d forgotten. She knew better. But damn her, she was too caught up in Roman to even think straight. Traitorous bitch. Selfish, shallow whore.

  “Hey.” Roman touched her back, but she couldn’t face him. “What’s the matter?”

  She backed away from the couch as if he were a pariah. But really, it was her. She turned, staring at her still-ringing phone, then looked back at him.

  “Beth?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowed, concern marring his chiseled face. “Who’s—”

  She forced her eyes from him and back to the phone. She accepted the call. “Hello?” Her tone sounded guilty to her ears. “Teresa?”

  “Hey, sweetie. I was just checking on you. You survive okay?”

  Beth’s head dropped. She averted her gaze from Roman and walked toward her bedroom, then she couldn’t go in. Roman had been in there with her. “I’m fine,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, just like she was cracking up.

  “You don’t sound fine. Honey, are you—”

  “I—” Her voice broke. “Teresa, I’m…” A whore. An embarrassment. A Tourne impostor. “I… have to tell you something.”

  “You’re scaring me, honey. Do you want me to come over? I can be there in, um, two hours.”

  “No!”

  “Okay. What’s going on?”

  “Oh God…” Tears stung Beth’s eyes. “See… I don’t know where to start.”

  “Try the beginning.”

  She sniffled, praying Roman would leave. She couldn’t face him now. “I know you’re my sister-in-law—”

  “Oh, we’re going back to the very beginning.” Teresa’s voice held a smile. “Gotcha.”

  “But you’ve always been more like a sister.”

  “Same here, honey. You know I love you, so no matter what you say, it’ll be okay.”

  “I forgot.” And then Beth lost it. Her tears ran hot and free. Every year, Teresa called the day after the anniversary of Logan’s death. She always said she wanted to make sure Beth made it through okay.

  “Oh, God. Beth. Honey…”

  “I can’t believe… I’m—” It would be both brutal and cathartic to just pour her guts out. But Teresa wasn’t the one to share it with, to burden with her guilt. “Thank you for calling me.”

  “It’s okay, you know, sweetie,” Teresa whispered.

  “No, it’s not.” Beth’s eyes burned.

  She was already forgetting everything. She was letting her guard down and falling in—no—being distracted by Roman. Because she couldn’t fall for anyone, ever, especially if she was careless enough to forget about that date.

  “Beth? Beth, honey? You there? I’m telling you, it’s okay. It’s okay, honey. Listen to me. It’s life, and life happens.”

  Beth shook her head. “No. Not like this it doesn’t.”

  “It’s been years. You have to—”

  “I should have remembered.” She backed against the wall in her hallway, dropping her head, then remembered how Roman had her begging for his touch in that very spot. She jumped away from the wall as though it were the gates of hell.

  “One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Teresa went on. “I’ve had to, and I’m better for it. None of it was your fault.”

  Beth stayed silent, staring at the wall.

  “He’d want you to move on.”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “One of these days, you’ll—”

  “Teresa, why are you saying that? Stop it!” Beth looked down the hall, and Roman stood there. She wanted to run from him, to him. Kick him, push him, scream that it was his fault she�
�d forgotten. Instead, she waved him away then closed her eyes.

  Her memory was vividly clear. Logan hung, spinning slowly in half-circles, dangling in their garage. She remembered how she’d seen his feet first as the garage door went up. And how, when she’d eventually returned to their home days later, she’d had to throw out the bags of groceries. They’d spoiled in her trunk.

  Why had he done that to her? She’d only been gone an hour. One damn hour. Just long enough to go to the supermarket. She’d kissed his cheek on the way out, and he’d said, “Bye, darlin’.” That was it. He left her, and all he could say was “Bye, darlin’.”

  Tears obscured her vision.

  “We’ll never understand, but we will survive,” Teresa said, just as she’d said so many times before.

  “I… please don’t hate me.”

  “Beth, sweetie. We’ll always love you, and that’s why I’m telling you this is okay.”

  “You don’t understand…” She cried silently into the phone. “There’s something else.”

  Teresa sighed. “Honey, is there someone there with you?”

  The guilt was strangling her. Tears streamed down. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Good. Remember, that’s alright. It was bound to happen one day.”

  Beth shook her head, anger, guilt, sadness all warring to take top billing.

  “Is he a friend?”

  She nodded. “Um-hmm.”

  “Maybe more than a friend?”

  “Yes,” Beth whispered, her voice choked.

  “Good. That’s good, sweetie. It’s going to be okay.”

  Beth wiped her eyes. “You don’t hate me?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Promise?”

  “I could never hate you. You’ll always be my sister.”

  Fresh tears sprang up. “I really do love you, Teresa.”

  “I know you do, and I love you too. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  “M-kay.”

  “If you’re okay, maybe find your more-than-a-friend and ask for a hug.” Teresa paused. “I’m going to jump off. Call me whenever, but definitely by next week, okay?”

  “M-kay,” Beth whispered.

  “I love ya, Beth. Don’t you ever forget it.” And the line went dead.

  Beth stared at her phone then scrolled to the calendar. Yeah, she’d missed it. She never marked it on the calendar because it was a date she would never forget. But she had.

  Sadness and guilt stepped aside for fury. She stormed back to the couch and grabbed her wine.

  “What is going on?” Roman, propped against the wall, watched her warily. “You okay?”

  “Nothing. Doesn’t matter to you.”

  His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  She ignored him, slugging back a gulp of wine. He stalked toward her while she glared. Of course she’d fall for him. How stupid could she be to think she wouldn’t? That was why she was supposed to stay away. She knew better. Damn it. She had known better than to let him touch her. But God, it felt too good when he did. Maybe he could right now. Maybe he could make her forget it all.

  No! What was her problem? Sex with Roman wasn’t a cure-all.

  But it wasn’t a half-bad idea. Some people had alcohol, others drugs—cocaine. She had Roman. That was it. He was nothing more than a lay. And anything else she’d cooked in her brain about a relationship was… stupid. Just stupid. Nothing else.

  Her heart hurt at that lie. But wouldn’t it be easier if it were true? If Roman meant nothing more than incredible sex?

  She scrubbed her face clean of tear streaks, gulped her wine again, and headed toward her bedroom. “Let’s go fuck.”

  He didn’t move. She turned.

  A darkness colored his expression. “Excuse me?”

  “Come on.” She stormed around the room, trying to think where the best place to do this was. Here on the floor, just until she couldn’t think. “Let’s go.”

  His lip hitched, an angry, annoyed hurt on his face. “I’m not sure—”

  “God.” She raised her wine glass. “Wait, hold on. I need this first.”

  Roman strode over, stilling her arm, the glass inches from her lips. “What the hell is going on with you?”

  “I was wrong about everything. If we could kick this thing between us back to hot, heavy, and meaningless, that would be awesome.”

  “Who was on the phone?” he growled.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does if you’ve gone crazy-bitch in a matter of seconds.”

  She pulled her arm away, splashing red wine everywhere, and took a long sip from what was left in the glass. “Fuck me and leave me, baby. It’s all I want from you.”

  “Would you shut up, Beth.”

  “No. Let’s go. Drop your pants. I’ll even suck you off.”

  “Stop running your goddamn mouth. I swear to—”

  “You swear what, Roman? I mean, really.”

  “Watch yourself. Go sleep it off. Whatever the fuck your problem is.” His dark eyes grabbed hers and held on. “Don’t act like you’re a lay and I’m a cock and that’s all this is. Because newsflash, sweetheart, you’re wrong.”

  “No!”

  He stepped back, snarling. “Suck me off? Are you out of your goddamn mind? Who was on the phone?”

  “No one!” She circled the room again.

  “Get over here,” he ordered.

  “I hate you! Hate!”

  He smiled. He fucking smiled then crossed his arms. “Which apparently sucks for you, since you also love me.”

  “Bastard!” Beth threw her wine glass at the wall. More wine splattered. She stared as streams of red ran down to the pile of shattered crystal. “If you don’t want me, then get out.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, deep and wounding.

  She ran at him, slamming him in the chest with both hands. “Get out.”

  When he looked down, her fingers tightened, clawing into his shirt, his muscled chest. He was as intense as she was.

  He nodded to the wine streaming down her walls. “Finally, you get some color on the walls.”

  “Go away!” She tried to shake him. He didn’t budge, so she pushed. “Get out of my place.”

  “Not a chance, pretty girl.” His voice was gritty and gruff. “If I’m going to fuck you on the floor, it’s because I want to take you on the floor, make you scream on the floor, listen to you fuckin’ moan while I slide my dick inside you on the fuckin’ floor. Not because you get some phone call that makes you go berserk.”

  Her fingers flexed, pinching him. Her nails dug in, and the man didn’t flinch. She wanted to run but couldn’t let go. “I hate you.”

  The skin around Roman’s dark eyes crinkled. “You have five seconds to figure your shit out, woman.”

  “I said I hate you.” Because that had to be what burned in her soul for him. White. Hot. Hatred. Anything else was unforgivable. Had she seriously forgotten the anniversary of Logan’s death? Stupid, stupid, pathetic traitor.

  “Four, three—”

  “You’re the biggest, cockiest son of a bitch I’ve ever—”

  “Beth.” He stepped closer, shaking his head. Her fingers tightened, and still he didn’t acknowledge her clinging to him. “I love you, babe.”

  Her mouth fell open. She was suddenly angrier than she’d ever been in her life. “You’re a liar. You awful person, how dare you do that to me? Love? Liar! You are lying!” Hands twisted in his shirt, she threw her weight against him, wanting to shake him until it hurt both of them.

  Roman didn’t budge. “I’m a lot of things. Maybe a liar. Definitely an asshole. But in control of how I feel about you? Not at all.”

  Damn him! Her anger quadrupled until it was all-consuming, completely debilitating.

  “There’s nothing between us but sex,” she lied, trying to make herself believe it.

  “Wish that were true. You’re a pain in my ass.”

  The veins in her neck pounded. Blood rushe
d in her ears. She could barely gasp out, “What do you want from me?”

  Roman closed the inches between them, placing his hands on her wrists and holding them against his chest. “Everything.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Roman watched her face contort. He’d laid it out there, and Beth fought it, though there was no point. It was the truth, and he didn’t have a single doubt that she loved him, too. All she had to do was work through it in her head and move forward. “Take a breath, pretty girl.”

  Her mouth flapped. She tried to back up, but her knees gave out. She would’ve crashed hard, except his hold on her forearms slowed the descent.

  Her eyes rose to his, and she whispered, “Fuck you.”

  “Let it go, Beth. It hurts. I get it, babe. But you have to stop making yourself crazy.”

  “Nothing to let go.” She sobbed.

  “He’s gone,” Roman whispered. “And it wasn’t your fault.”

  She curled into a ball on the floor. Roman watched the pain pour out of her, wishing he could wipe it clean, while knowing if he did that for her, they’d be back to the same spot all over again. He didn’t know the psychology behind it all. But he knew he wasn’t competing with a dead man or a memory.

  “Nothing says living your life means you forget your past.”

  “But I did forget…” Her hands pressed to her chest, her knotted fingers digging into her breastbone. “I’m dying. Everything aches. All over again.”

  Roman kneeled in front of her and shook his head. “Baby, you have to forgive yourself for whatever you’re holding onto, not for whatever you think you did.”

  “I’m just… dying,” she choked out. “My heart’s breaking. I’m…” Another gasp. “And you… I can’t do this.”

  Sitting on the floor, he gathered her limp body into his arms and held her to his chest. Her fingers grabbed onto him.

  Big, fat, sobbing tears poured out as she curled into him and shook. “You’re strong. I’m… shattered.”

  “Take a breath.”

  She opened her eyes and hiccupped. “I can’t.”