He nodded. Swallowed. She watched his throat move convulsively up and down.
“I’ve never said that to anyone else.”
She blinked back moisture. “Me neither.”
His hands fell from her face to her shoulders. “What are you saying?”
“I love you too.”
“He’s gonna do it again,” one of the kids at the other table yelled.
“Eww,” his brother repeated, twice as loud.
Roman laughed and she felt his pleasure as strong and intense as her own.
“Can you imagine having a houseful of boys?” he asked.
“Don’t even joke about something so serious.”
He ignored her and merely grinned. “Boys run in my family and we both know it’s my genes that determine sex. And think about how much fun we could have making those babies.” His fingertips began a rhythmic massage of her shoulder muscles that turned into erotic foreplay.
Roman’s children. She trembled from the inside out, wanting more than she ever believed possible and knowing it was probably out of reach. They still had much to work out before she could let herself think about that kind of future.
But he’d touched her heart—owned it, actually. He always had, from the night he’d shared his deepest dreams and she’d had no choice but to push him away in response.
She hadn’t made any concrete decisions, but she knew she wouldn’t push him away now.
“Ready to order?” a tall, dark-haired waiter asked.
“No,” they both said at the same time.
Charlotte didn’t know how, but minutes later, stomach still empty and a twenty-dollar bill left on the table, they were back on the road, headed home, and half an hour after that, she let them into her dark apartment.
She hit the switch in the hall and the overhead lamp came on, bathing them in muted light. He kicked the door closed behind him and pulled her into his arms. Standing, she leaned against the wall as his lips came down hard on hers. His need was blatant, apparent, and as deep as her own. She shed her jacket, dropping it to the floor, and Roman made even faster work of her jersey, until she was wearing only her red boots, blue jeans, and white lace bra.
He sucked in a shallow breath as he traced the floral pattern with roughened fingertips. Her nipples pebbled beneath his touch and her body coiled tight, desire spiraling through her at a rapid pace.
“You’ve got to be hot in all those clothes.” She reached for the collar of his jacket and pulled it down, letting it join hers in a heap.
His blue eyes glittered with anticipation and desire. “What I’m feeling goes way beyond hot.” He pulled his navy shirt over his head and tossed it aside. It hit the wall behind them and dropped with a muted thump. “Your turn.”
A steady rhythm took up residence between her legs, and dampness accompanied his seductive words. Excitement was her companion as she bent over and pulled at her boots to get them off, but her hands shook and the leather seemed to mold tighter to her foot.
“Let me.” He knelt down and pulled first one red snakeskin boot off, then the next, before turning his attention to the button on her jeans. He worked it like a pro, his strong hands lowering the zipper, then easing the waistband over her hips.
Her legs shook and only the wall supported her as he brought the heavy denim around her ankles. And stopped. She tried to wiggle one foot free, but the jeans were too narrow at the bottom.
“Don’t bother. I’ve got you right where I want you.” He knelt on the floor at her feet and looked up at her. A wicked grin tugged at his lips and a satisfied expression settled on his handsome face.
She was held captive by more than confining clothing. She was imprisoned by desire and bound by love. Love he reciprocated. And when he bent over, his hair dark against her white skin, white-hot arrows of desire shot through her body, a distinct combination of erotic craving and emotional need.
She wanted nothing more than for him to satisfy the divergent desires, but knew nothing less than him being inside her would do. He met her gaze and must have read her mind, because instead of pleasuring her with his mouth as he’d seemed intent on doing, he worked her pants off and rose to his feet. In seconds, he was as undressed as she was, gloriously naked and as aroused as she.
He stepped toward her and held out his arms. “Come.”
She did as he asked and soon he’d lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands looped around his neck, and, once again, her back against the wall. His body heat and strength seeped into her, cocooning her in warmth and arousing her even more.
“I need you inside me,” Charlotte said.
Roman groaned. “I need the same thing.”
It took some jockeying, but she finally felt his erection, large and full, ready to enter her. And when he thrust inside her, her heart opened to all possibilities. How could it not, when he was full to bursting inside her?
As he moved, every hard ridge of his arousal caused a glorious friction inside her that built stronger with each successive thrust higher and deeper than before. She couldn’t catch her breath, didn’t need to, as sensation after sensation washed over her, carrying her up and over the edge and into the most explosive climax she’d ever experienced—because it was marked by love.
His shuddering groan told her he’d felt it too. She loved him. And later, as she fell asleep in his arms, she wondered why she’d denied herself the admission for so long.
* * *
Charlotte awoke and stretched, feeling the cool sheets on her bare skin. The sensation of waking up alone was normal and alien at the same time. No different than most mornings of her life, and yet because she’d slept through the night snuggled against Roman’s body, the chill was unwelcome and disturbing. So were the emotions that buffeted her still-dream-fogged brain.
She understood his reasons for kissing her and slipping out in the dead of night and she appreciated the respect he showed her in front of a gossipy small town. But she missed him, wanted to make love to him again. She loved him. Each thought frightened her beyond belief.
Rising, she went about her morning routine, attempting to pretend everything was still the same. Hot shower, hotter coffee, and a quick jump down the steps to work. Yup, Charlotte thought, same routine. But there was no getting around the fact that she was different.
Because she’d committed herself to Roman with those three little words. I love you. And now that the words were spoken, she feared her life was about to change forever. If history was anything to go by—her mother’s, her father’s, and even Roman’s—it wouldn’t change for the better.
On that disturbing thought, she entered the unlocked shop, hoping the familiarity of the ruffles and lace and the vanilla potpourri she freshened daily would soothe her nerves. She stepped inside and the unexpected smell of lavender assaulted her senses, jarring her and destroying any sense of soothing sameness she hoped to find here.
“Beth?” she called out.
“Back here.” Her friend strode out of the back room, a bottle of sachet air freshener in her hand, spraying as she walked. “The cleaning people were here last night and they must’ve spilled a bottle of ammonia in the office.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “You could die from asphyxiation back there. I’ve been spraying from the front on back trying to cover it.”