by Joanne Rock
No way would she leave his bed without feeling thoroughly appreciated.
He kissed his way down her body, veering toward her hip before returning to her navel. Circling. Dipping. She shifted beneath him, her movements restless. Needy. He skimmed a touch down her leg before tracking back up the inside of her thigh. When she made a soft, hungry sound, he guided one leg over his shoulder and tasted her.
Her back arched, hips lifting off the bed as she offered herself to him. Roman lost himself in her, eager to feel her pleasure against his lips for the first time. He didn’t have to wait long before her muscles were spasming, hips twisting. He held her steady, stroking every ounce of pleasure from her until she eased against the bed again.
By the time he lifted himself higher on the bed, he was already plotting how many ways he could take her to that brink again before the sun rose. But first, he needed to be inside her. Had to be.
She must have thought the same thing because she already had the condom packet in her hands, shaking fingers ripping open the foil. Even in the half-light from the outer room, he could see the flush in her cheeks. Color he had put there.
Possessiveness clawed at him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since—hell. He shut that thought down as fast as possible, then took the condom from her, a flare of anger at himself making him all the more desperate to lose himself inside her.
“Roman?”
His name on her lips gentled the self-recriminations in his head. He took a moment to roll on the protection.
“I’m right here with you,” he assured her, stroking her cheek. “So ready for you.”
“Can I be on top?” She sounded breathless. Excited. A little nervous?
He quieted the turmoil in his mind to tune into her. “You can have anything you want, beautiful Sable.” To prove it, he rolled to his back and hauled her on top of him; she looked like a goddess straddling his thighs. “I want to see you from every angle anyway.”
Her bee-stung lips curved in a satisfied smile. He searched her eyes, making sure she was totally on board with this. But her attention was already on his body, her focus glazing with desire as she lined up her hips with his, then dragged her sex over his.
Heat blasted through him. He couldn’t have held back the thrust of his hips if he tried. He gripped her waist to steady her and buried himself deep. The feel of her around him was incredible. So much better than the mindless release he’d occasionally allowed himself in the past five years.
So much better that he couldn’t even dwell on the hows or whys of that. He just let the sensation build until he had to move. Had to take more.
“Sable.” His grip tightened on her, fingers flexing into her softness. “I need—”
“Me, too,” she gasped, wriggling on him.
Rewiring his brain so she was the center of it.
With a curse that was both pleasure and pain, he answered her movement with his own, a rhythm syncing between them that drove all thought out of his head, leaving him with nothing but burning need.
They moved as one, feasting on each other, finding out what one another liked. Which was everything. There wasn’t a thing she did that didn’t make him feel amazing. When he’d held off as long as he could, he reached between them to stroke her, taking her higher. He could feel when she got close, when her legs started to quake on either side of him. Only when he was sure she was there, when her body started to clamp hard around him, did he let himself go.
The release went on and on, his shout coming from the depths of his gut. When he became aware of himself again, he lowered her to her side on the bed, needing her next to him while he checked to be sure he remembered his own name.
Because, damn.
Once his breathing was somewhat back in the range of normal again, he opened an eye he hadn’t realized had fallen closed. In time to see Sable bending to kiss his chest. That possessiveness he’d felt before simmered again, so he was grateful when she looked up at him through her long lashes.
“Don’t go to sleep yet, Roman.” She repositioned herself to tuck an elbow under her head.
He had no intention of sleeping while she was in his bed, but he didn’t share that with her.
“No?” He twined a dark strand of hair around his finger, and was amazed to feel his body stir again. “What did you have in mind instead?”
“If I only have one night with you, there are other...things... I want to try,” she confided, her tone a sweet mixture of bold and shy that socked him in the gut.
And definitely had his body stirring now.
“Anything you want, beautiful girl.” He hauled her closer to kiss her neck, savoring the brush of her breasts against his chest. “But you’re going to have to be more specific.”
He couldn’t wait to hear what she wanted. And to deliver. But he was seriously regretting the deal he’d made with her about this lasting just one night. Already he was plotting to find a way around it without complicating things for her.
Because he would honor the pledge to leave town tomorrow. And he’d give her some time to miss him while he worked out a way to ensure that seeing her again didn’t compromise her job. But once those two months were up, he had every intention of returning for more.
Three
In the eight weeks that followed her toe-curling, mind-blowing, breath-stealing night with Roman Zayn, Sable sometimes thought she must have dreamed the next-level sex with the man who owned the company she worked for.
Now, seated on the edge of the tub in the fourth-floor bathroom of her shared Brooklyn apartment, watching a second pink line appear on her pregnancy test indicator, was not one of those times.
This can’t be happening.
But according to the third pregnancy test she’d taken that week, it absolutely was happening, whether she wanted to believe it or not. She just couldn’t understand it. They’d used protection. Except for one time, just before dawn when they’d been half asleep and she’d straddled him before remembering the condom. Even then, it had only been a momentary error. And Sable hadn’t thought twice about it because when she was with her ex-husband getting pregnant had been such a struggle.
She let her head fall against the white sink basin, wondering how and when she was going to tell Roman. He’d followed their bargain to the letter, leaving her life two months ago without a word since. While she appreciated the way he was respecting boundaries, a tiny part of her couldn’t help wondering if he’d thought of her. Or if he sometimes wanted a redo of that night.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Sable?” It was Tana Blackstone, the aspiring actress who’d moved into the apartment the month before her. She was pacing in the hall outside, the volume of rock music on her phone rising and falling depending on how close she was to the door. “I’ll never get this job if I go to my audition with unwashed hair.”
“Coming,” Sable muttered. Shoving the pregnancy test in the trash, then covering it up with a tissue for good measure since she wasn’t ready to share the news, Sable stepped out into the hall.
Still wearing a sleep shirt that said Coffee, Nap, Sparkle, Repeat, Tana darted past, a guitar solo blaring from the phone in her hand. “The landlady is waiting downstairs to see you, I think,” she said before shutting the door between them.
“Cybil Deschamps is here? In the house?” Sable’s feet stalled on the hardwood outside her bedroom, wondering what the philanthropist cosmetics heiress could want with her.
Cybil not only owned the gorgeous brownstone that Sable now called home, but also handpicked the occupants as part of a well-publicized social experiment. The seventy-something society maven had long ago resided in the storied Barbizon Hotel, a women’s residence that she credited for helping her find her footing in New York while she got her career as a model underway. Last year, Cybil had decided that pricey Big Apple real estate was making it impossi
ble for young women to chase their dreams, and started a women’s apartment of her own. As one of the city’s wealthiest women, she just happened to have a Brooklyn brownstone available, and she’d offered reasonably priced rooms to talented people she deemed worthy—after a lengthy and rigorous application process, of course. Sable was grateful to her since it had been the only way she could have afforded to take the internship at Zayn Designs.
“I think so,” Tana called back through the door. “Three floors up is a long way to eavesdrop so I’m not a hundred percent sure.”
Sable grabbed her bag from her bed and began the trek down to the main floor. Logically, she knew Cybil couldn’t already be here to kick Sable out of the apartment, even though she suspected that having a baby while in residence would be frowned upon. Was it perhaps even in the lease’s fine print? She couldn’t remember but wouldn’t be surprised. This gorgeous refuge overlooking Fort Greene Park was intended for single women working to get ahead in artistic careers, not accidental baby mamas faced with giving up their career ambitions to raise a child.
Her belly knotted at the thought of walking away from her career. But she wanted a baby. She’d had so much trouble getting pregnant when she’d been trying, and then there’d been the miscarriage that devastated her. While her circumstances weren’t ideal for parenting right now, she would never risk this opportunity to be a mother that—for all she knew—could be her one and only chance. But she hadn’t really thought about what that would mean for the dream job she’d been working so hard to get off the ground. She was on track to be a celebrity stylist, putting in extra hours to build the Zayn Designs social media accounts along with her own so that she would have a following and some contacts by the time her internship ended.
Now? She needed to rethink everything.
What would Roman say when he found out about the baby? Should she call him? Wait for him to show up again in New York? She’d been rejected by her ex for not being an effective baby-maker, so she had a lot of unresolved feelings about a partner’s role in parenting. Not that Roman was anywhere close to a partner. For that matter, she wondered what Marcel would think once he learned she was pregnant with his brother’s child. Would he even want her to finish the internship?
She’d almost reached the main floor—the parlor floor, as Cybil Deschamps called it—when she heard voices coming from the great room.
“Here she is now.” Cybil’s voice rang with authority across the foyer, bouncing off the twelve-foot ceilings.
Tall and blonde with perfect skin, Cybil thrived on her reputation as a charity gala queen, never missing an opportunity to network. She wore a pink-and-white vintage Chanel suit with nude pumps and a T-shirt from a recent breast cancer benefit. Beside Cybil stood a man she recognized as her son, Lucas, and a younger woman Sable had never seen before but who shared Cybil’s height and Nordic good looks.
Lucas and the newcomer seemed to be studiously avoiding looking at one another, yet studying each other at the same time. Like they wanted to check each other out but didn’t want to be caught.
“Hello, Cybil.” Sable attempted a cheery welcome but suspected her smile was flat because her mind was still on her baby news. “I was just on my way to work. Did you need me?”
“I want to introduce you to your new housemate.” She put her arm around the younger woman next to her. “This is Blair Westcott. She’s not only a talented makeup artist, she’s going to be working for our family business, too.”
Sable thought she saw Lucas Deschamps tense at this remark, but she focused on the newcomer and extended her hand. “Sable Cordero, fourth floor. Welcome.”
“Nice to meet you,” Blair murmured as she shook her hand, a heavy silver charm bracelet sliding down her thin wrist. Meanwhile, Cybil went on about how much Blair and Sable could help one another with their “complementary skill sets.”
“Absolutely,” Sable agreed, guilt settling on her shoulders at the reminder that soon she wasn’t going to be using her stylist skills anymore. Cybil would be filling her spot in the apartment in no time, and then Sable wouldn’t even be around to offer the new tenant any help. “We can talk more when I get home from work, but I’m already running late.”
It was true. She’d somehow lost half an hour to her pregnancy test freak-out. Still, she felt a little twinge of guilt at the idea of leaving Blair to her own devices with Cybil, who would take up the rest of her morning with name-dropping and mapping out the younger woman’s future.
Not that a map always mattered. Sable pushed open the front door to the street as she considered how far off course her own life was veering from the direction she’d envisioned.
“Good morning, Sable.” It was the sexy voice from her dreams.
Roman Zayn stood at the bottom of her stoop, dressed in gray pants and a custom-fitted white shirt that she recognized as one of his brother’s designs. He tugged off the aviator sunglasses.
He looked...hot, with his GQ-worthy style, plus a whole lot of lean muscle beneath the clothes.
“Um.” She realized she was staring.
The street was quiet around them, although the park on the opposite side of DeKalb was already busy with joggers, cyclists and women pushing babies in strollers.
Babies.
The reminder made her even more tongue-tied.
“So. I picked up some coffee on my way over here.” Roman nodded toward the black SUV with deeply tinted windows parked behind him. A driver sat behind the wheel. “Why don’t you join me for a cup, and I can take you to work?”
She blinked and nodded, telling herself to pull it together.
Why did he have to show up now of all times? If only she could have had a couple of days to absorb the changes in her life before he came striding through her door and tilting her world all over again.
Well, she didn’t have the luxury of time now.
“Sure. Thank you.” She needed to figure out a way to explain to her boss she was expecting his baby despite their one-night deal.
She didn’t think there was enough coffee in the city to fuel that confession.
* * *
As receptions went, Roman could have wished for better.
The woman now seated next to him in the SUV had filled his waking thoughts and starred nightly in his dreams ever since his last trip to New York. He’d royally pissed off his brother by staying away from the fashion house for so long, and Marcel was even angrier when he learned that Roman had made a brief trip to Manhattan without even staying long enough to speak with him.
Roman regretted that. But he’d taken his promise to Sable seriously. He refused to put her in a compromising professional situation, and he had been hell-bent on establishing that being with him wouldn’t be a conflict of interest with her work. Because he wanted to be with her again.
No woman had gotten under his skin since his wife’s death the way Sable had. And while he would never remarry or replace the only woman who would ever hold his heart, he could at least take pleasure with someone who fascinated him. Someone who seemed to enjoy their connection as thoroughly as he had.
Or so he’d thought.
But seeing Sable’s reaction to him today made him second-guess what he’d remembered from their one night together. Sure, there’d been the flash of heat and awareness when their eyes met. He didn’t doubt the attraction was still strong on her side, too. He’d felt it in those tense moments when they’d faced off in front of her building.
Then, she’d seemed to slip away from him. Her thoughts had gone somewhere else and he didn’t have a clue how to get them back.
He watched her sip from one of the coffees he’d bought, her gaze focused on the river as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. Dressed in denim capris and a pink sweater that drooped off one shoulder to reveal the white lace strap of an undershirt, she looked entirely edible.
He’d been dying to
taste her again for months.
“You seemed surprised to see me,” he remarked finally. “Did you think I wouldn’t return?”
She hit him with the full force of her hazel gaze as she put the foam cup in the molded console holder. The morning sun brought out the gold and green flecks in her eyes, subtleties he hadn’t been able to appreciate in the darkened studio bedroom.
“I never doubted you’d visit the studio again, but I wasn’t expecting you at my apartment.” She adjusted the leather strap of her bracelet, making him wonder if he made her nervous. “I guess it makes sense that, as my employer, you’d know where I live.”
“I never looked at your personnel file,” he clarified. “You’re easy to find in an internet search since you’re living in Cybil Deschamps’s apartments and they get a lot of publicity.”
He hadn’t realized that Sable had captured the eccentric heiress’s attention through a highly competitive vetting process to award the housing situations to talented applicants.
“I couldn’t have afforded to accept the internship otherwise.” Her shoulder brushed against his as the vehicle turned north, and she edged back quickly. “But you probably know that, too. My hometown paper gave the story a lot of coverage.”
Along with coverage of her divorce from a local would-be politician, a media angle he would have found intrusive and in poor taste even if he hadn’t felt protective of her. But seeing her in an old photo with another man had been...uncomfortable, to say the least. He shouldn’t feel jealous of another man in her life, but the feeling had been stark. Obvious.
His phone vibrated on the seat beside him, but he barely glanced at it, wanting to savor this time with Sable.
“They should have focused more on your accomplishments and less on your personal life.” He was grateful for the gridlocked traffic; it gave them a private moment together, especially with the partition between them and the driver raised. Roman hadn’t had nearly enough time to talk to her. He still needed to convince her to see him again. “Your professional track record is commendable. It was obvious why Marcel wanted you.”
