Breathe You In (Sweet Torment 1)

“Two years.”

“Jesus Christ.” Keeping a grip on my hands, he ran his free palm down his face.

“I liked the other night…with you,” I said, cutting him off.

He was on the brink of saying something, most likely something along the lines of me leaving. Which was not happening. I was standing in front of him naked. I wanted to take advantage of that fact while I still had the good sense not to have sense. He was finally showing the real side of him that I was desperate to know more of. Maybe we could be more than an arrangement. Maybe sex and emotions did go together, because right then, I saw it on Roman’s face. Emotion.

“I just didn’t know how to react. But now I have a guideline.” I tried to tug my hands free, but he kept a tight hold.

“Amy.” The way he said my name wasn’t like the other night. And it wasn’t like at the office. He wasn’t demanding, commanding, or asking. He was unsure. Again, the tone of his voice allowed that tiny sliver of softness to come through.

“You said it’s my choice,” I whispered. “I want to be here, Roman.”

He shook his head and backed away. Wait. Why was he pulling away from me? I tried to hold on, but he just took another step back, making me release my grip. As my hands dropped, they snagged the edge of his shirt, opening it just enough to see his torso.

“Oh my,” I breathed, lost in his presence.

Roman was pure strength. I knew this. But the sight of him—slightly disheveled, his perfectly pressed shirt hanging open, revealing flank after flank of lean, cut abs—was dizzying. A small line of dark hair trailed from his navel to the waist of his low-slung pants. I wanted to see the rest of him. Wanted to experience him. Because right now, he didn’t look like the governor. He looked like a man.

Clarity hit me. Without fully understanding it, I knew this moment was important. Something very consuming and very rare washed over me.

Pride.

I had an opportunity to see Roman in a way not many did. For the first time, I felt like we were close to the same level. He wasn’t tiers above me, polished to perfection. He was a man. An incredibly built, complex, endearing man, who I wanted to know. Wanted to feel in more ways than I could even fathom in that single second.

“I think we should call it a night, Amy.”

My gaze snapped to his, surprise and terror enveloping me when I saw his face. It was like he’d fastened a mask back into place—the glimpse of softness I’d seen in his expression was gone, replaced by a cool indifference. Nothing, not even the fire at my back, could have warmed the chill that raced through me.

“Why?”

He looked me over, but not like before. There was a sorrowful expression, like pity, in every rove of his stare.

“I just think our expectations don’t match up.” There was no sugar in his voice.

“What do you mean? I thought we were going to—”

“Fuck?” The single word was like a shot to the stomach: hard and brutal. “We can. And I’d like that,” he went on, his eyes roaming over me once more, “but I don’t think you can detach yourself.”

“And you can?”

He nodded.

My blood turned to ice in my veins, and I couldn’t form a sentence. Couldn’t figure out how in a matter of milliseconds, I’d gone from desperation for this man to utter embarrassment. How was he able to make me feel the very ends of the emotional spectrum with so little effort? He built me up with a series of hot gazes and erotic promises, then shot me down with a single cold glare and look of pity. It was as though the truth of my past relationship—what little there was of it—had changed his perception of me.

Did I want meaningless sex? No. I wanted something meaningful. With Roman. He’d given me a taste of that, so I knew it existed. Now, though, he didn’t seem to care to explore that option, so he was pulling back.

I was a fool. A naïve fool.

“You expect honesty from me.” It was the only thing I could think to say as I quickly bent to grab my skirt and put it on.

“I’m being honest with you.”

“You make me stand in front of you naked when I speak,” I continued, my tone louder than I had expected.

Recapping the moment wasn’t helping, but it was the only handle I could grasp. Why did he do this? To purposefully hurt me? Humiliate me? Remind me that he was beyond anything I could ever be?

“Amy,” he said, reaching out, but I jerked back.