Breathe You In (Sweet Torment 1)

I glanced at my watch. “I still have eight minutes of my twenty-four hours left.”

He lifted his chin slightly and looked down at me. “So you do. Is it your intention to make me wait?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled widely.

“Very well. I’m a patient man, especially when the odds are in my favor.”

“You’re so sure I’ve made up my mind?” I asked, hoping my bluff wasn’t written all over my face. Maintaining some kind of pride would be useful. The last thing Roman needed was an easy victory over me to further inflate his ego.

“I think you made up your mind last night before you left the table,” he said, his voice so low that only I could hear him.

He trailed his fingertip from my chin down my neck. The urge to break into a full shiver and wrap my arms around him became overwhelming.

Raw need buzzed through me so hard, it felt like an active bee hive had taken up residence in my chest. It was hard to remember that this was the same man who’d sat opposite me last night, harsh and demanding. This was the side of Roman that my body instantly recognized. He’d only touched me briefly, kissed me once, but it had apparently been enough to bury a seed of lust that was blooming into a full-blown craving.

“What if I need more?”

He frowned. “More of what?”

You. Despite that being the truth, I didn’t say it out loud. The other night at dinner, he had been upset with me, and I understood why. He had thought I was meeting him with an agenda, and the idea of being used didn’t tend to sit well with people. Hence, the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on for the past twenty-four hours.

I hadn’t shown up at that restaurant to talk about the center or its funding. I had shown up to see the man who’d carried my shoes and made me feel like the wealthy world around me didn’t matter. The man who’d kissed me with no reservation.

“I want more of that night,” I whispered.

He looked at me for a long moment. “The night we met,” he stated. Maybe he felt something too. Something beyond the proposed arrangement. Or maybe I was fooling myself…

“That was a good evening,” he finally admitted.

Something inside my chest relaxed, and breathing became a bit easier. Just his acknowledgment sparked an ounce of hope that there existed the potential for something greater than what I was about to agree to.

“I saw you.”

His frowned deepened. “What do you mean ‘saw’? You don’t see me now?”

“Not in the same way. I only get glimpses. That night you were…” A tremor rolled up my spine. He had been intense, engaging, consuming. But of all the things he’d been, only one word seemed to fit what I was trying to say. “You were real.”

“And you want more of this man you think me to be? This man you saw at the gala?”

“I know I saw him,” I said with all the confidence I felt, because that man was the one thing I was clinging to. The one who was honest and real, and seemed connected to a deeper part of me that I couldn’t explain. “And yes. I want more of that man.”

His fingers gently trailed behind my earlobe, then down to my collarbone. “Alright, Miss Underwood, I’ll see what I can do.” His mouth was so close I could feel the hum of his words vibrate my lips. “But I want something in return.”

I knew right away what that something was: my answer.

“Do you always get what you want?” I breathed, completely aware that I was leaning into his touch and not caring at all.

“That depends.”

“On?”

He palmed the side of my neck, and my gaze snapped from his mouth to his eyes. “On what the next word you say is.”

Holding that piercing black stare, I whispered the only thing that felt right. “Yes.”

He gave a quick nod. “Good.”

Just when I thought he’d kiss me, a loud cheer erupted through the bar as the patrons celebrated a touchdown.