Without the engine’s rumble in the background, the cab’s quiet was deafening. Even more concerning was the piercing stare he aimed her direction. “My brother reminded me tonight that assumptions are our greatest enemy. Do not make the mistake of assuming my intentions. Particularly where you are concerned.”
With that, he opened the door and slid out, the thud as the door slammed shut like a giant exclamation point on his words. Which might have meant something if she had the vaguest clue what the hell he meant.
His intentions? Where she was concerned?
What did that mean?
Her door jerked open, and he held out his hand. “Come. It is late and I do not want you exposed longer than necessary.”
She hopped out with his help and doubled her strides to match his longer ones, not the least bit inclined to argue with his abrupt change in mood.
“A word of warning,” he murmured. “Whoever visited your apartment went through your father’s house as well.”
“You telling me it’s a wreck?”
He nodded, slipped the key in the lock and pushed the door wide. He slid the lock into place as soon as the door was closed and motioned for her not to move. “Stay here.”
He flipped on a light in the living room.
“Whoa,” she said backing against the door.
Shit was everywhere—and not in the usual messy sense her dad and brother were known for either. If something had once been on a shelf or a table, it was on the floor now, and not a single cushion for the chairs looked like it was salvageable. Roman flipped on the lights in the kitchen then checked the three bedrooms before returning to the living room. “Where does your father keep important documents?”
“Got a particular kind in mind?”
“Bank accounts. Mortgages. Investments.”
At the mention of the last one, Bonnie couldn’t help but snicker. She shook her head and strolled down the hallway toward her father’s room. “I don’t think my dad knows how to spell investment. Let alone buy stock.”
Just inside the door to his room, Bonnie paused and scratched the back of her head. Like the living room and every other room she’d passed, it looked like a tornado had hit. In fact, the only thing that looked somewhat normal were the dresser and nightstand her parents had bought before she was born. The finish was a weird white-wash style that had a pinkish tint behind it. The deep turquoise chair her mom had kept wedged in the corner had a slash deep in the center of it and the ugly as sin Southwest patterned bedspread was mostly pooled on the floor. Clothes were all over the place and drawers to the dresser in varied states of open.
“Okay...” She twisted to the nightstand. “I’ll look in here and in the dresser. I can’t imagine he’s gonna have anything worthwhile, but it’s worth a shot.” She crouched next to the bed and opened the first drawer. “It’s a long shot, but you might want to check under the mattress. It’s as cliché as they come, but dad trusted his bed more than he trusted banks.”
For the next thirty minutes they methodically went through everything. Every drawer. Every nook. Every cranny. She even checked the gun closet for any extra compartments he might have hidden something in, but every effort came back with a big fat zero.
“This is hopeless.” With a heavy sigh, she closed the gun closet door and turned—only to step squarely into Roman.
She tried to scramble backward, but he clasped his big hands on her shoulders before she could gain any distance and held her in place.
“Sorry.” She didn’t dare look up. Couldn’t breathe between the gaping chasm of fruitlessness their search had created and the sheer power pulsing off Roman. She pressed her palms against his chest. “I’m okay. You can let me go.”
He kept his silence, and his hands stayed right where they were—completely unmovable.
And good Lordy, she felt him everywhere. Solid muscle. Heat and one-hundred percent man. Even his scent held a grip on her. As if that wintery bite that clung to his skin just had to get in on the action and hold her lungs hostage, too.
“Roman...” She closed her eyes and curled her fingers into loose fists. It was either that, or let her hands explore the warmth and strength beneath them. “Seriously. You need to let me go.”
His fingers tightened for a moment, then loosened as though he meant to release her. She braced for the loss of contact, relief and regret both wrestling for the upper hand.
But instead of stepping away, he moved in closer. Anchored one hand low on her spine and pulled her body flush against his. His other hand palmed her nape. The rumbling depth of his voice was pure wickedness and fierce determination. “No, malen’kaya koroleva. I do not need to let you go.” His hand at her neck slid upward and his fingers tangled in her hair. He tugged her head backward, forcing her gaze to his.
Holy wowzah—what a look. His steel gray eyes blazed and the harsh angles of his face were drawn tight with intensity. “What I want is quite the opposite, and I am done waiting.”
He captured her gasp with his kiss. A hot demanding kiss as ruthless and cunning as the man himself. He didn’t ask for her participation. He took. Devoured the taste of her and demanded her response.
And she all too easily acquiesced. Only an idiot would have fought it. Or someone void of a pulse, which was definitely not her. As it was, her heart thrummed its appreciation for each glide of his tongue against hers. For the low growl she earned when she wrapped her arms around his neck and how tiny and coveted she felt inside his arms. Protected even as his hand at the back of her head held her hostage to his sensual invasion.
She could drown in this kind of passion. Could willingly surrender every want and need just to glory in the magnificent sensations. The heat of him. His scent and his taste. His dominance and complete command of her desire. It all rolled through her, dragging her deeper and deeper until the only thought that remained was a demand for more.
He ripped his mouth from hers and a tiny mewl slipped past her lips. Her fingers tightened against his neck and her pulse pounded in her throat so loudly it seemed to echo in her head.
No, not in her head. The pounding was at the front door and matched the incessant rhythm of her heart. A fact Roman clearly had acknowledged long before her, given the way his head was cocked toward the hallway, listening. His growl was that of a wolf interrupted from his feast and none too happy about it, but his gaze when he refocused on her was scorching hot. “You will wait here. I will deal with whoever it is.”
An unspoken And we will finish what we started seemed to hover in the space between them, and as tight as he clamped those lush lips of his together she halfway expected him to reconsider leaving her at all. But in another second, he did just that, striding toward the hallway in a way that made her pity the person on the other side of her father’s front door and leaving her shaking with loss.