Vows of Revenge
He came toward her with his phone, holding it before one of her eyes, which widened in stern outrage.
“This is your love nest,” she accused as he clicked.
He didn’t respond to that immediately, taking his time tapping the screen before tucking his phone in his shirt pocket. “You saw how I slid open the reader. It’s painless. No flash or anything. Just look into it and the door will open.”
She folded her arms. “You’re not going to admit you bring women here?”
“I have an office here in Paris,” he said. “With accommodations attached. Very utilitarian. If I’m here strictly for work, I usually stay there.”
“But if you have a companion, you tuck her up here.”
“If it bothers you that you’re not the only woman who has stayed with me here, we can get a hotel.” He showed no emotion, completely matter-of-fact about it.
“It bothers me that you’re maneuvering me into being your companion,” she said. “This is nice,” she hurried to add, sweeping her hands to indicate the gorgeous outfit she wore and the beautiful flat. “But I can’t let you take over, Roman. I can’t—”
“Is that what it is? Melodie,” he cut in with gentle firmness. He came forward to take her flinging hand in both of his. “The first day we met you said there was only one way to get to know a person, and that was by spending time with them. I want to spend time with you.”
“I’d like to get to know you better, too, but—”
“I can’t sit in Virginia waiting for you to find a job that will keep you out all day. Listen, I understand not wanting to rely on people. I’m a foster kid. I was always a guest, always a burden. I hated that feeling. But now I’m someone who can pay and pay back. I want you to let me.”
He was taking all her arguments, defusing them and setting them aside like empty milk bottles.
“It seems wrong,” she mumbled weakly.
“You’re not taking advantage of me. This is my decision. Do you really want to go back to Virginia?” he asked, playing dirty by drawing her against him so she was surrounded by all things Roman: his warm strength and the animal scent that went straight into her brain and shorted it out. A streaking sensation of kindled desire followed the brush of his lips from her temple down her cheek to her nape.
“No,” she allowed, throwing back her head so he could nibble the sensitive skin in a way that softened her knees. “But you’re not playing fair,” she complained.
“And if you stay I will play unfair to you as often as you want me to,” he promised, biting lightly into her earlobe. “Would you like that?”
A shiver of acute need chased through her.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Here? Or somewhere else?”
She almost hated him in that moment, wishing she had the strength to insist on going somewhere that he hadn’t taken other women when he obviously had the capacity to hold off and she didn’t.
“Here,” she moaned weakly, chasing his mouth with her own.
“Good,” he growled. “Because I can’t wait.”
They didn’t even make it up the stairs, christening his Turkish rug instead.
CHAPTER TEN
THE WEEK IN Paris passed in a pleasant blur of lovemaking and walking tours of the old part of the city. And, when Roman had time to join her, they window-shopped and he bought her whatever she showed the least bit of interest in. He was too generous, buying her a new outfit for every dinner, cocktail party or gala cruise on the Seine. If he didn’t buy her something while they were out, he brought her flowers or, this morning, a fancy new mobile phone.
“Roman, I can’t.”
She was starting to feel as though all the spoiling was his way of compensating for the fact he didn’t offer much of himself. He was the most attentive lover she could ask for, but when it came to anything really personal, he was very adept at turning the conversation in another direction.
“You’re doing me a favor. It’s a prototype. It needs to be tested.” He showed her how to log feedback for anything that didn’t work to her satisfaction. “If they don’t notify you of an update that fixes it within twenty-four hours, tell me. I’ll follow up. Look, it has a GPS so I can track you down wherever you are and join you.”
“Or you could call me and ask,” she supplied with a chipper smile. “What about a cover? I don’t want to break it.”
“It’s unbreakable and waterproof. If it’s not, my suppliers will answer for it.” He went on with nerdy enthusiasm about its space-age alloys and special screen, the airtight design and its ability to be compressed into a diamond if dropped under a steamroller. “If you lose it, we can track it to within a meter, but try not to lose it. I might misplace my temper if you do. And if you sell it, do not settle for less than a quarter of a million euros or I will be highly insulted.”