“Roman. Open up.”
Her stomach did an unsettling flip. “It’s late.” And she wasn’t in the mood for any more push and shove between them.
He banged on the door once more. “Come on, Charlotte. Give me five minutes.” His voice was a deep, seductive rumble.
She leaned against the door—even with plasterboard between them, her body flushed with heat. “Go away.”
“Not until we talk.”
“Come by the shop in the morning.” When Beth was around as a buffer, Charlotte thought.
His fist pounded the door in response.
“You’re going to wake the neighbors.”
“Then let me in.”
“I wish I could,” she said, too low for him to hear. No way could she allow him into her small apartment, where he’d overwhelm her with his presence, his scent, his essence. She tipped her forehead against the cool plaster but found no relief from the internal heat he inspired.
Silence descended from outside, and though it was what she’d told him she wanted and she ought to be relieved, Charlotte was disappointed he’d given up so easily. She walked back to the table, but the book, which she’d found appealing before, now just served as a reminder of pain. Suddenly a loud clatter reverberated from outside, the sound of heavy banging coming from the fire escape stairs.
Obviously the man didn’t give up as easily as she’d thought. Her heart rate picked up rhythm and her pulse pounded in her dry throat. She watched as Roman reached her terrace and ducked so he could wedge his big body through the window frame. He entered her apartment and rose to his full height.
He was imposing no matter when she saw him, but in her small apartment, his size and magnetism were overwhelming. She swallowed hard, wondering what he wanted—and if she’d have the strength to resist the tug-of-war he so enjoyed.
CHAPTER SIX
Charlotte stood in her apartment, hands on her hips, and eyed Roman warily. He felt like a first-class shit—which he supposed he was, considering all that had passed between them since his return, including his current uninvited entry into her apartment.
After leaving the dance, he’d hung around her building for the better part of the night. The longer she’d been gone, the wilder his imagination had grown, until he’d been forced to face the fact that when it came to Charlotte, his emotions were out of control. That she’d finally returned, alone, hadn’t made a bit of difference in calming him down. Though Rick respected brotherly boundaries, Charlotte by no means belonged to Roman.
No matter how damn proprietary he felt, he had to let go. His pacing time tonight had given him the opportunity to think, and Roman now knew exactly what he had to say to Charlotte. He just didn’t know how to begin.
“You’re strangely silent for a man who just broke into my apartment,” she said at last.
“I didn’t break in—”
“I didn’t let you in the front door, so what do you call barging in through the window?”
“Visiting.” Stalling. He ran a hand through his hair. “Obviously you’re not in the mood to talk to me, so how about you just hear me out?”
She shrugged. “You’re here. The sooner you talk, the sooner you’ll leave.”
Now that he’d entered the inner sanctum, leaving was the last thing he desired. Her small apartment was frilly and feminine, much like Charlotte. He took in the white walls, yellow trim, flowered furniture, and though he ought to feel out of place surrounded by so much femininity, he was intrigued and aroused instead. The journalist in him wanted to dig deeper, learn more. The man in him just wanted her.
Looking at her skimpy tank dress pumped more adrenaline through his veins. Though obviously meant for casual comfort, it was completely sensual. The snow-white shade contrasted with her tousled black hair. For a color that symbolized innocence, the white sheath conjured thoughts that were anything but pure.
But he wasn’t here to indulge in the sensual dance they did so well. He was here to explain himself and his feelings—something Roman Chandler had never done before, certainly not to a woman. But Charlotte wasn’t just any woman. She never had been.
And she deserved to know his pulling back had nothing to do with his feelings for her and everything to do with their differences—and the fact that he respected her needs. “I need to clear some things up.”
“What things?”
“You talked about the need to get me out of your system and vice versa.”
Her eyes opened wide, her vulnerability as apparent as the sexual tension humming between them. “You rejected that offer, as I recall. You pushed me away, then ignored me in public and now you’re back, barging into my private space, wanting to talk. You’re interested, you’re not interested, you’re interested again.” Her hands waved back and forth in time to her rapid-fire talk and her quick pacing in front of him. “Do I look like a pull toy to you?”