Breathe You In (Sweet Torment 1)

I wanted to escape the cloud that had been hanging over us since Monday night, when he’d explained that for us, sex and feelings weren’t to be intertwined.

“I can’t go inside with you, Amy.”

I smoothed my hands through his hair, hoping he’d return some affection. He didn’t, and the reality of the situation hit me. He couldn’t come in because there were loose ends to tie up, like his fundraiser back at the mansion.

“I know you have to go back to your place first. But come back later. After everyone leaves.”

The heat between us was cooling quicker than it had crept up.

“That’s not a good idea.”

I was about to ask why when a soft yellow glow caught my attention. My porch light was on.

“Paige is still at the gala, and Hazel had plans tonight. No one is home,” I offered, thinking that was his concern.

He scooted me off of him. Feeling him leave my body was like losing the last of the warmth he’d offered. I felt instantly empty. He didn’t look at me as he grabbed his pocket square, took care of the condom, and refastened his pants.

I didn’t even have time to ask what the problem was before he opened his door and got out.

My door opened soon after, and Roman was waiting to help me out. Andrew, also standing outside the car, handed Roman my purse, which I’d completely forgotten about. Their every move was fluid, like the passing of a baton, reminding me of the practiced actions I’d seen the first night I’d met Roman. He was indicating the night, and his time with me, was over.

Shards of ice spearing my ribs would have been more comfortable than my feelings then. When I had agreed to this arrangement, everything had, in theory, sounded fairly simple. In practice, it had the potential to shatter me. Still, I needed to hear him admit to certain things. Explain his reasons out loud.

“Why won’t you come in?” I asked. It wasn’t until Andrew got back in the car that he spoke.

“It’s just not a good idea,” he said and gave me my purse.

“Not a good idea,” I shot back. “Why?”

His eyes took on that hard, challenging look, but I wasn’t backing down. Roman Reese would answer me.

“Because it doesn’t look good.”

His statement jarred me and once again, I felt stupid for not even considering appearances. My thought process just didn’t work that way. But there it was. The truth. And he had been right, it was tough to take.

“I warned you about this, Amy. Told you where I stood on this matter.”

“About screwing me, you mean? Can you honestly stand there and tell me you feel nothing when we’re together?”

“I didn’t say that. I just think you hold a different caliber of feelings than I do.”

Wow. That really hit home. And by hit, I meant punched: a swift, straight strike to the gut. I told myself that I wanted The Real Roman. I had just seen him, felt him. Now this Roman, the one with the mask, was pulling back. Telling me I was wrong.

Maybe I was. Maybe The Real Roman was an illusion.

“I suppose you’re right,” I said, grabbing all the dignity I had before it flew away. “The governor of New York entering a small apartment in the middle of a crappy part of town—”

“I’m more concerned about leaving said apartment, and at what hour.”

If words had arms, Roman’s would have backhanded me a few times now.

“It’s not just that,” he added, a bit softer.

Oh boy, there was more! I honestly didn’t think I could handle whatever else he was going to hit me with.

“You apartment hasn’t been swept.”

Was that supposed to make me feel better? “You think there are bugs? Are you that paranoid? Who would even think to do that?”