Chained (Roman Holiday 1)

The important thing was, with Noah’s help, Roman could make sure no one took advantage of Ashley Bowman.

“But I can’t work overnight,” Noah said.

“You can leave at five. I’ll take care of the night shift.”

“Sounds good.”

Roman climbed into the Escalade while Noah gathered his crew and explained that they wouldn’t be knocking down any buildings today. He turned the key in the ignition. The V8 awoke at his command.

It gave him a deep, warming satisfaction, every time. Pride. Vanity.

Roman wasn’t above them. He knew what he had going for him. People were easily led astray by appearances, seduced by wealth and a symmetrical face, well-tailored clothes, confidence.

He had all those things. He used them like the tools they were.

He glanced at Ashley as he put the truck into reverse.

Not a bad-looking woman, and not as powerless as she seemed to think, given the situation. But she didn’t know how to use what she had to her advantage. As obstacles went, she was a bump in the road.

One day. That was all she would cost him. He’d known something like this was a possibility when he purchased the property. Susan Bowman had made it clear that her granddaughter wouldn’t approve of Sunnyvale’s sale, and she wasn’t to know about it until it was a done deal.

An odd agreement to strike, but that was one of several conditions Susan had demanded, and the sale had been too good to pass up. Sunnyvale sat smack dab in the middle of a prime stretch of real estate whose owners had purchased the land when it was going cheap after World War II and then refused to release their choke hold until the string of hurricanes in ’04 and ’05 had pushed up insurance rates and driven them out. Roman had snapped up as many as he could get the financing on, and when he’d run out of credit, he’d gone to Heberto on his hands and knees.

In a gratifying display of faith, Heberto had bought in. Big. Roman had most of the property, the vision, and the plan: exclusive architecture in a gorgeous setting, high-end shops, a small-town feel. Heberto owned the parcels of land Roman hadn’t been able to afford. More important, Heberto’s funding and Heberto’s reputation would make it possible to build the resort hotel—a much bigger project than Roman could swing on his own.

Coral Cay would make him, and Sunnyvale was the keystone—situated at the center of the spot where the hotel would go, with a marina that he intended to turn into a world-class beach.

All he had to do was remove the woman who had padlocked herself to his keystone.

He could think of any number of ways to shear her off, but he preferred to let her do it herself.

The sort of person who bolstered her courage by singing show tunes in the dark—who cared enough for a falling-down collection of crappy 1960s rental units to plead for their rescue—she wouldn’t last long.

He’d studied Ashley Bowman. She floated through life without attachments, never sticking to anything or anyone. She had no will. No backbone.

Roman knew what it felt like to be in her shoes. Stunned by grief, clinging desperately to the flotsam of the life you’d just lost. Alone. Frightened and helpless.

But he also knew how to survive it, how to wash up on the other side. His experiences had taught him how to do it.

Hers hadn’t.

He’d be surprised if she made it through the night.

CHAPTER THREE

It was harder with an audience.

Sitting alone by the tree last night hadn’t been so great, but sitting here knowing Noah was out there in his truck, listening to music, running the AC, counting down the minutes until her next sip of water?

Much worse.

Robbed of all dignity, Ashley felt like a performance of herself. A tasteless melodrama with a silly protagonist. If she were in the audience for this play, she would be full of critical thoughts.

Why doesn’t she just give up?

What does she think she’ll achieve here, heatstroke?

But Roman had robbed her of even that outcome. He’d protected her from the elements and left her to stew in the consequences of her own choices, accompanied only by her gritching belly and a lot of self-sabotaging mind noise.