by Dani Collins
It looked like wanting what you couldn’t have, he supposed, which was something he understood all too well. His childhood had been nonstop wishing. As an adult, he’d learned to get what he wanted or stop wanting it, very seldom coming up against a situation such as this.
I do want love and marriage and kids, she’d said. He turned that over in his mind, thinking how determined he’d been to find her in Virginia and take care of any child they might have conceived. There hadn’t been any hesitation in him on that score, but what would things look like now if she had been pregnant? Would they be married?
He supposed there were conditions under which he would seek a lifetime commitment, but those conditions weren’t love. His chest started to feel tight just thinking about opening himself up to that depth of emotion.
Damn it! Why the hell couldn’t she have simply forgotten her pearls again and given him an excuse to call? She’d taken them off at one point, but had asked for his help after her shower to put them back on.
He wandered the suite, scanning for forgotten items, finding only the hotel toothbrush she’d left in a glass next to the sink. Leaning in the bathroom doorway, staring at himself wearing his tuxedo pants and the shirt he’d been too lazy to close all the way, eyes dark with sleeplessness, shoulders slumped in defeat, Roman faced the fact he wasn’t going to forget her. Ever.
Which tightened the vice in his chest a few more notches.
You don’t tell me what you’re thinking. He heard female voices complain from the past. You go through the motions, but I don’t feel like you really care.
He cared. Cautiously. When it came to Melodie, he cared quite a bit. She was too sweet a person to deserve the battering of the Gautier gauntlet. He wanted to protect her from them, and he didn’t care for this new, overbearing boss of hers one bit, either. He should have given her his number, told her to call anytime. For any reason.
Not bothering to overthink it, he dialed her number to tell her exactly that.
A male voice answered.
“Sadler?” Roman guessed, even though it didn’t sound like him.
“This is his aide. Who’s calling?”
“I’m looking for Melodie. It’s Roman Killian.”
A muffled conversation, then a voice he recognized. “Killian,” Sadler said. “Melodie is no longer with us.”
The worst emotion, the one she seemed to bring out in him most and which weighed the heaviest—guilt—descended on him. “You fired her,” he deduced instantly. “For spending the night with me.”
“I need my employees to be accessible at all times,” Sadler said.
“But you told her to be nice to me,” Roman said with false conciliation. The man was lucky the sounds of traffic and car doors were coming through behind him, or Roman would be hunting him down in this hotel right now.
“Sluts become a liability,” Sadler said. “You know that.”
Roman closed his eyes, fighting the fire of rage that roared alive in him. Too intense. It had the power to murder. “I think you fired her because she wasn’t nice to you. You’re going to be very sorry you were not nicer to her.”
Roman ended the call and strode out of his room, straight to Melodie’s.
She didn’t answer his knock, so he took the stairs down to the registration desk, asking them to ring her room.
“She’s checked out, sir.”
He bit back cursing aloud, his fist so tight on the marble desktop he could have shattered the stone with a single pound. She was probably in a taxi heading to the airport and back to Virginia—
Wait. A woman sat in the lobby restaurant wearing a fitted business suit. She had her shiny brown-gold hair pulled into a clip at her nape. Coffee steamed next to the tablet she had propped before her.
She was going to splash that coffee into his face, he thought, but went straight over anyway.
* * *
Roman threw his disheveled form into the chair opposite her. He’d showered with her, still smelled faintly of hotel soap, but he hadn’t bothered shaving and, Lord, he was sexy with that stubble and hair that had dried uncombed. His shirt was still a deep, open V down his chest, the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. He was every woman’s walking fantasy.
And he wore the most thunderous expression.
“Really?” he demanded. “I got you fired again. Really.”
“It’s like a gift, isn’t it?” she said, thinking she ought to be more furious, but the relief was too profound. “Trenton phoned you to tell you? God, that’s just like him. He waited until I was down here, you know. So he could do it in front of everyone. He didn’t expect me to call him a hypocrite. Nice and loud, too. They all do it. I guarantee you all the other aides were picking up women in the bar while I was working the ballroom with him last night, but just because I’m a woman, I’m a slut. Men are such pigs.”
As Roman turned his face away, his expression falling into weary lines, she found herself feeling sorry for him.
“Present company excluded, of course,” she said.
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. “I didn’t mean to do this.”
“You didn’t,” she said wearily. She was the one who had stayed in the penthouse with him, putting her physical gratification above her job, but she didn’t get a chance to say so. The waitress arrived with her breakfast special.
“I’ll have one of those,” Roman said.
“Take mine,” Melodie replied, snagging the fruit cup off the plate and nodding for the waitress to put the rest in front of Roman. “But he needs his own coffee.”
He nodded agreement to the waitress, then looked at the plate of eggs and hash browns before him as if he couldn’t face it. “You’re giving me your breakfast? After I got you fired?”
“I had a voucher, but this was all I really wanted.” She gently stirred the fresh berries into the yogurt beneath.
“How are you this forgiving? Because I want to slash the guy’s tires. I want to slash my own,” he added with self-disgust.
She shrugged. “I guess because I’d do it again,” she said, hearing the poignant rasp in her voice as she recalled their night together.
“Would you?” He lowered his cutlery as he pinned her with a green stare as brilliant as the heart of a flame.
“I meant...” Wow. This wasn’t going to be easy. He only had to look at her. Focusing on chasing a blueberry with the tip of her spoon, she said, “I mean that, given the chance, I wouldn’t have made a different decision last night. But the decision I made this morning still stands, Roman.”
“Why?” he challenged immediately. “You don’t have a job to go back to.”
“I’m aware,” she said tersely, glancing at the tablet that had gone black, but had conjured a handful of weak prospects a few seconds ago. “Rent is covered for next month, at least,” she muttered. “But everything else is going to be a challenge.”
Paris was out of the question for the foreseeable future.
“Melodie, you have to let me help you.”
She shook her head. “I’ll manage. I’m just bummed about Paris. I feel as if I’m letting Mom down.” When her mother had refused treatment, had declined in such slow pain, the promise of Paris had been the only thing Melodie had been able to offer as comfort.
He reached across to take her wrist, thumb caressing the back of her hand. “Let me take you.”
“Roman...” She turned her hand so she was gripping his fingers. “I can’t.”
“You can. You just don’t want to.” He pulled his hand away, jaw thrust out belligerently. He took up his fork with an air of impatience.
She acknowledged he was right with a jerk of her shoulder, wondering how he’d managed to make her feel guilty.
They ate in silence, breaking it only to thank
the waitress when she cleared their plates.
Melodie took her last swallow of coffee, but struggled to get it down without choking as she realized this really was it. The end.
“Will you do something for me?” he asked, not letting on what was going on behind his aloof expression. “Will you come up and let me show you something in my room?”
“Etchings?” she guessed facetiously. “I really should get to the airport. I’ll be flying standby, so...”
“Please.” He stood and shouldered her travel bag.
“You can’t just tell me what it is?” She followed him to the elevator where she studied his enigmatic expression the whole way to the top floor. “You’re being very mysterious,” she said when he slid his key card into the reader.
“I’m really not,” he said with a disparaging smirk, leaving her bag just inside the door. Moving to the bedroom, he jerked his chin at the bed.
“What?” She stood beside him to look at the rumpled sheets and indented pillows.
“We’re both exhausted.” He turned his head to give her a somnolent look. “Let’s not make any decisions right now. I’m not asking for sex. I just can’t think when I’m this tired. I become very one track, and all I know is that I want you there.” He pointed at the bed.
“You really aren’t mysterious, are you?” she said, struck by a wave of emotion that maybe came from tiredness, but also from what sounded like an oddly revealing statement from him.
She was tired. Stupid Trenton had waited for her to check out before cutting her loose, so she couldn’t go back to her room and her own bed. She’d already been dreading the wait at the airport, trying to stay awake to hear if she’d been given a flight... It all began to look too overwhelming to face when there was a comfortable bed right there and a man peeling his shirt from his powerful chest.
She opened the button on her jacket, glanced at him with a small scold.
He said, “Thank you,” in a quiet voice that was strangely soothing. She removed her jacket, gave it a shake, then folded it and laid it over the back of a chair. The rest of her clothes went neatly folded onto the seat. She kept on her underpants, but shed her bra, never comfortable sleeping in one. Instead, she picked up his shirt from where he’d dropped it on the floor and slid her arms into it.
“Do you mind?”
“Not a bit.”
Closing a couple of buttons, she rounded the bed as he got in the other side. He held up the covers and she slid in beside him, feeling his arms close around her very comfortingly. Their bare legs braided together, and his lips nuzzled her hairline before he stole the clip from her hair and tossed it off the side of the bed.
Feeling secure and warm, Melodie let out a deep sigh. Roman’s arms grew heavier on her, and that was all she remembered.
* * *
She woke to feel his erection straining the front of his shorts and pressing into her stomach. He was still asleep, but she couldn’t help tracing the shape of him, already feeling liquid heat pooling between her legs in anticipation.
With a long inhale, Roman rolled onto his back, eyes opening to catch her gaze. They flashed with surprise and immediate desire.
“Come here,” he said in a sleep-rasped voice, lifting his hips to push his boxers down and off before drawing her to straddle his thighs.
She removed her underwear and leaned for the condom herself before straddling his hips and covering him.
His hand came to the back of her neck and urged her down for a kiss. They rocked in ever-deepening caresses, wriggling and adjusting until he was penetrating, making her moan with indulgence. For a long time they barely moved, just kissed and enjoyed the sensation of being joined. She sat up to throw off his shirt and he starfished his hands over her breasts, letting her lean into his grip as she searched for a rhythm that made them both happy. It was good, so good, and lasted for a deliciously long time.
He was the one who said, “I’m going to explode,” and slid his hand to her hip, thumb dipping inward to circle and incite.
The sharp sensation made her buck and seek more, so she moved urgently, flying them to a swift and sudden culmination that ended with him rolling her beneath him and kissing her deeply while the aftershocks played out.
Then came the reckoning. She didn’t know how to leave after that. It had been too good.
He rolled away to dispose of the condom and she asked, “What time is it?” It came off sounding as though she had a train to catch. Funny, he’d made it sound as though a solid sleep would help her think more clearly, but she was more conflicted than ever now.
“Two.” He rolled back and caught her hand, bringing her fingertip to the gentle bite of his teeth. “Our body clocks are going to be a real mess when we get to France.”
“Nice try.” She smiled, admiring his confidence. “But I’m not quite ready to head to Paris yet. There are a lot of hoops to jump through when you want to transport ashes. I’ve been wading through bureaucracy for months.”
“I’ll make a call,” he said, weaving their fingers together.
“To whom?” she demanded. “It’s not easy, you know.”
He dismissed that with a snort. “I’m an approved government supplier in both America and France. I have contacts.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a call,” she conceded. “Anything that could streamline that side of things would be a huge favor, but, Roman—”
“Listen,” he said in a grave tone. “I didn’t have the chance to do anything for my mother when she died. If there was a service, I wasn’t invited. I want to do this.”
She blinked, surprised. “Why not? What happened?”
He fell onto his back, untangled their fingers to tuck his fist beneath the pillow under his head. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. She couldn’t read a thing on his face and, as the silence lengthened, she felt as though she’d transgressed. He was spurning her, and it left her feeling bereft.
“If you don’t want to talk about it—”
“I don’t,” he said. “But I should. If I want you to stay, you have to know who I am. I was nine when she died. I had already been in foster care for a few years. She...” His face worked, fighting for control. “She had resorted to prostitution to feed me. Ironically, that’s why she lost me. She was just doing it until I was in school. I remember her telling me everything would be better once I started school and she got a real job, not that I really understood what she was doing. That came later, but...”
Shock closed cold fingers around Melodie’s heart.
“Then I was taken from her, so she did get a job, except it was a terrible one in a sweatshop. There was a fire. I realize there wouldn’t have been a body for me to see, but they didn’t even tell me when it happened. It took weeks. I kept asking if I could call and there would be all these muttered conversations, and finally they told me she was in heaven. It took years to find out heaven is actually Hart Island, where the poor and homeless are buried in mass, unmarked graves. There hadn’t been any money for a service, so there wasn’t one.”
“Oh, Roman, I’m so sorry.” She set a comforting hand on his chest.
He caught it. For a moment she thought he was going to reject her touch, but after a few seconds, his hand flexed on hers and he swallowed. “Every time I talked to her, I asked her when she was going to come get me.” His voice had thickened. “She took that stupid job for me.”
She opened her mouth, but only a burn of anguish came in, searing her lungs. Settling over him, she pressed her face into his neck and offered the only comfort she could.
* * *
Roman stiffened as Melodie blanketed him in compassion. It was almost cloying, making his old grief too fresh and unbearable. He wanted to push her away, push all of it away, but after a second her scent penetrated to the most primitive part of hi
s brain. Things he associated with her, such as softness and forgiveness and pleasure, pulled him back from falling into the dark emotions that talking about his mother had opened up.
Jerkily he closed his arm around Melodie’s slender frame, sealing her silken nudity against his own bare skin.
They lay like that a long time. It was strange. He wanted to roll into her and forget all of it with the pursuit of physical gratification, but he wanted to stay like this, too. Still and calm, in quiet harmony.
Maybe they dozed, because the buzz of his phone on vibrate made Roman jerk in surprise. Since he’d pretty much been off the grid for nearly twenty-four hours, he sat up to find his pants and looked at the screen. Melodie’s number flashed back at him.
“Looks like you’re calling me,” he told her, answering with “Sadler?”
“His aide again, Mr. Killian. We’re wondering, is Melodie with you?”
“She is.” He glanced at her.
She sighed and gathered the sheet across her breasts as she sat up and held out a resigned hand.
Roman kept the phone.
“May I speak to her?” the aide asked in a tone of tested patience.
“No,” Roman said. “Lose this number. I don’t want to hear from you again.”
“Wait! Ask her to call us. We’re looking for a file and can’t find—”
“No,” Roman repeated firmly. “Remind Sadler that I told him he’d regret not being nicer to her. Let him know that I’ll be making some calls to his biggest corporate sponsors, too. Melodie can give me that list, I’m sure.”
“We’re prepared to reinstate her,” the aide rushed to say.
“I’m not going to tell her you said that. And if you even think about making her life difficult because of this, you’re going to find out exactly how vindictive I can be. Am I making myself clear?”
After a beat of silence, the aide said tightly, “Let me pass this over to Trenton.”
“Don’t bother.” Roman ended with a cheerful yet filthy suggestion for the bunch of them and stabbed a button to end the call.
Melodie tucked her chin, admonishing him, “I heard them offer me my job back.”