Breathe You In (Sweet Torment 1)

It was going to take a few more cups of cocoa before Hazel and I saw eye to eye on that.

“You’ve traveled around New York with the governor for his campaign the last couple weeks, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” I acknowledged quickly.

“And you work at a nonprofit rehabilitation facility?”

“New Beginnings,” I answered, mentally double-checking my posture and keeping my eyes on the interviewer, just like I had been taught.

“Is your personal relationship with the governor the reason he has turned up the heat on anti-drug policies, and is pushing for more funding for facilities like the one you work for?”

“The governor supports New York and all her citizens. Drugs are a serious problem that needs to be addressed. The solutions he is putting forth are for the good of New York.”

“Do you stay in separate hotel rooms when you travel?”

“I…ah…”

“No!” Bill slapped his papers down. “That pause is the same thing you did last week. Respond quickly and clearly, or you look guilty of something.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry. I can do better,” I promised. Yes, I could do better—if I could just get a handle on my freaking brain, and get it to think about something else other than Roman’s body and all the things I wanted to do to it.

The last couple of weeks had passed so quickly. Between traveling around New York with Roman and attempting to keep some kind of work schedule, I could count on one hand how many nights I’d slept in my own bed. Which was still more than I’d slept in Roman’s.

I’d made a commitment to myself that I wouldn’t sleep with Roman again until there was a real exchange of honesty and emotion between us. Unfortunately, the lack of connection, in every sense, was taking its toll.

Because the truth was, not only were we not sleeping together, we were staying in separate rooms. Ever since the night I’d had the panic attack and Roman had reiterated that his feelings weren’t tied to sex, he’d kept everything surface level between us. He wouldn’t talk about that night, and until he did, I wouldn’t give in, a fact I had made very clear. But that hadn’t stopped him from trying to lure me to the dark side…

“Maybe you’re stressed out, sweetheart,” Roman said, leaning over the back of my chair so his lips were right by my ear. “Maybe you need to blow off some steam.” He nipped my earlobe, and I stifled a moan. Lowering his voice so that only I could hear him, he finished with, “Say the word and I can help with that.”

I glanced up. Damn him. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to bring me around to his way of seeing things. Roman thought we were “real enough” without him actually sharing some piece of himself or talking about what had happened between us. The sly glances he threw me, the way he would whisper naughty phrases, had me constantly wet. But I stayed strong. He had his terms, and I had mine.

I wanted more.

He wanted more.

We just had different definitions of what that word meant.

I didn’t think anyone had noticed a difference, except for me. I knew the difference between being seen by Roman and being looked over. And the lack of connection with him was chipping away at me, making my plan to achieve what I wanted all the more difficult.

“That’s enough for today, Bill,” Roman said, standing to his full height.

Bill rose and gathered his files.

“Practice.” Bill handed me the list of questions he had been grilling me on for the last two weeks.

I nodded and took a deep breath. Roman showed him out, shut the door, and walked toward me.

“You okay?” He had been asking me that a lot lately, and frankly, I was feeling more like a porcelain doll than a human being.

“No, I’m not okay.” I gathered my nerve, stood, and stepped toward him. “I need to practice my replies.”

I handed him the paper, and he cleared his throat and leaned against his desk.

“I only have a few minutes,” he said.

Of course. Keeping it quick, like he had been doing for the past two weeks. Tempting me one moment with his sexual innuendo, only to hustle me out the door if we were on the brink of actually talking. That’s when he suddenly became busy. He was probably worried that if he was near me too long I’d…what? Freak out? Insist that he talk to me?

I was already not thrilled by my behavior at the fundraiser. But at the time, he had been supportive, calming me down, not making me feel like some kind of unhinged female. There had been a moment when something in his eyes had told me he understood. Knew what panic, lack of control over your emotions, your body, felt like. But whatever piece of Roman had related to me in that moment was gone now, because there was one thing I was certain of: Roman was in control of his world and himself. All the time.