Breathe You In (Sweet Torment 1)

I looked around the car to see if I had somehow been transported to some alternate plane of existence where anything about this conversation made sense. Nope. Still the back of his car and beyond the point of irritation.

“Because I have a big ass. Happy?”

“Yes.” He turned, openly eyeing my body like he had every right to do so. “Your ass makes me very happy, actually.” His dark gaze paused on my mouth. “In fact, I was just recalling how you looked, bent over my chair, skirt up around your hips, while I fucked you from behind.”

His lips twisted into a panty-melting smirk that nearly made my pulse flatline. I didn’t know whether it was his words or his expression, but I was on the brink of cardiac arrest.

Before I could say anything, the car stopped and Roman got out. “We’re here.” He walked around and opened my door, helping me out. “Welcome to Capitol Hill, Miss Underwood.”

Chapter Seven

Dresses or skirts for Miss Underwood, no pants,” Roman said to a small woman in her fifties, who was waddling beside him and furiously taking notes.

I walked behind them, trying to keep up and definitely not looking at Roman’s ass, or thinking about how perfectly his pants fit him.

“Get one of the assistants to bring up the wardrobe. I’m also going to need a draft of talking points drawn up, a schedule of engagements and events sent to Marcy Dunbay at New Beginnings, and all travel arrangements for the next eight weeks altered to include Miss Underwood.”

“Yes, sir,” the woman said, the beaded chain dangling from her glasses to her neck swaying as she peered through her bifocals.

She took an immediate right and sat behind the single desk in front of a massive mahogany door. The small bronze placard on her desk read JEAN POSY. Obviously Roman’s secretary.

Roman opened the door and ushered me through.

“This is your office?”

He nodded.

I looked around at the intricate décor. Rich wood and soft creams contrasted nicely with the burgundy and hunter-green accents. A couch and two chairs faced each other in the middle of the room. Between them sat a massive rug, quite possibly the most beautiful I’d ever seen.

With floor-to-ceiling windows as a backdrop, the huge wooden desk faced the room like a king’s throne. Cherrywood bookshelves lined one wa

ll, while the opposite held a fireplace surrounded by extensive brickwork and art hanging above the mantel.

“You really like your fireplaces,” I murmured.

“I’ve acquired a new appreciation for them recently.”

He walked behind his desk, and I couldn’t tell if he’d noticed how his mere words had made my face flush more than those damn glowing embers.

“Are you going to fill me in on what’s going on?” I said.

He looked up from a few papers he was perusing at his desk. “I’m preparing for you to travel with me over the course of this campaign.”

The only thing missing from that statement was a “duh,” and I was in no mood for his obvious repetition.

“Yeah, I gathered that when you barged into my office—”

“Cubicle.”

“And interrupted my day,” I said.

“I thought my girlfriend would enjoy spending time with her man.”

I folded my arms and walked toward him. “Maybe she would if that man wasn’t being a gigantic prick.”

He arched a brow, and I stifled the urge to throw a palm over my mouth. I didn’t know where this forwardness was coming from, but I was so off-kilter at this point that anything was liable to come out of my mouth.

“What do you want from me, Roman?”