by Joanne Rock
“We met when she was still in college. I’d already graduated, but I went back to campus to speak at the invitation of one of my finance professors. Annette was one of his star students, on track for a big career after interning at a prestigious equity firm. She asked to speak with me about the industry and we—” He broke off, shaking his head as if he didn’t want to reveal intimate details.
Sable’s throat burned. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel jealousy for a dead woman. But the sight of Roman’s obvious all-encompassing love for someone else hurt far more than it should have. What room would he have left in his emotions for anyone else?
“You said she needed a heart transplant?” she ventured, trying to give him a way out of whatever he was remembering right now.
Nodding, he took a long breath. “She was born with a heart problem that required a transplant when she was just two years old. Transplanted organs have a shelf life, and although she’d done well with hers, she understood that there would come a time she’d need another one.” His head dipped as he paused, lines carving into his forehead while he seemed to gather his thoughts. “She took antirejection medicine her whole life. Took great care of herself, and had such an amazing outlook.”
The unevenness of his voice touched Sable, chastising her for the earlier flash of jealousy she’d experienced. She tipped her head to his shoulder, needing to give him some kind of comfort while she waited for him to continue.
“After the wedding, she had problems almost immediately. But I was traveling quite a bit those first few months, and she had a new job, so I didn’t know about the signs.” He sounded harsh. Almost angry. Did he blame himself somehow for her health issues? “When I found out about them, I insisted she see her doctor, and we cut short a delayed honeymoon trip to the Seychelles that we took six months after we married. We flew home and her cardiologist put her on a transplant list right away.”
Her head still on his shoulder, Sable threaded her arm through his, her gaze tracking a speedboat slicing through the river spread out below them. She breathed in Roman’s scent, which brought to mind woodsmoke and pine.
“Did it take all that time to obtain a heart?” She didn’t know anything about organ transplants, but if they were together for fifteen months, that would mean it took nine months to find a donor.
“No. She was scheduled for a transplant six months later, but there was a problem with the donated organ and her doctor couldn’t use it. So she went on the list again.” His voice dropped. “When the next one arrived three months later, it seemed like a good fit. But—” He broke off before finishing in a rush. “Her body rejected it.”
“How unfair for her. For you, too. And her family. What a traumatic way to lose a loved one.”
“There are no good ways,” he muttered dryly, his muscles still strung tight with tension where Sable touched him.
She lifted her head to see his face, and blinked at the stark pain in his brown eyes. Her fingers pressed into his forearm, and she wished she could take away some of the hurt with her touch. But she knew instinctively she wasn’t going to make a dent in those feelings.
“Still, you had every reason to think you’d bring her home after surgery. She was young and vital. If she kept the first heart for over twenty years, you surely thought you’d have more time with her once she received the second.”
He wrenched his gaze away from hers, shaking his head slowly, as if it weighed heavily on his shoulders.
“The risks are high every time. We both knew that. But—I would have given anything for even one more year. One more month.” The trace of bitterness in his tone, of love, was unmistakable.
And it sharpened her understanding of her place in Roman’s life. She might be the mother of his child, but it was clear that another woman still held his love. The realization sank home, like a cold weight deep in the pit of her belly.
Not that it should matter, since she’d been insistent on keeping him at arm’s length to protect herself. Turned out she needn’t have worried when Roman had no intention of a deeper relationship than shared parenting with her anyhow.
“And you think the news of this pregnancy brought the grief close to the surface?” She knew it was foolish of her to ask when her emotions were already unsteady.
Major understatement.
She ached with knowing how deep his love and loyalty ran to his late wife, and how far she’d always been from experiencing a love like that. She certainly hadn’t had that with Jack. And she’d never have a chance to experience it with Roman.
“Annette wanted children,” he said simply, in a way that made it clear he would have moved heaven and earth to fulfill her wishes. “We agreed we would contact an adoption agency on our first anniversary. Then we delayed it, thinking there would be time after her surgery.”
Sable withdrew her arm from his, unsure she could offer comfort right now when she was feeling a hole open up inside her. “I can see why this pregnancy would bring a lot of mixed feelings for you, Roman.”
“It doesn’t,” he said fiercely, his hands clamping on her shoulders as he shifted positions, seating himself in front of her so he could look her in the eye. “There are no mixed feelings about this baby. I will love this child and so will you.” He waited a moment, as if allowing her to absorb the weight of that. Then, more gently, he stroked her hair from her face, combing it behind her ear. “I already do.”
Her eyes stung. The silence stretched between them until she didn’t trust herself to speak for the emotions bubbling up inside her. So she nodded a little frantically in agreement. “Okay,” she managed in a raspy whisper as she tried not to cry. “Yes.”
Roman took her in with an intense look in his dark eyes, making her wonder what he saw in her expression. She hoped he could only glean her love of their child and not the misplaced envy for his love, which she couldn’t have for herself. It was foolish. She was foolish.
“Hormones,” she finally said, as a couple of tears slipped free even as she attempted to laugh. “It must be the pregnancy hormones.”
Whatever he saw in her face, it seemed to push him to make a decision. He gave a thoughtful nod before he spoke.
“Come on.” He stood, took her hands and hauled her to her feet. “I’ve heard there’s a surefire cure for that. But first I need to know, what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”
* * *
In the week since he’d last spent time with Sable at the Cloisters, Roman’s mood had plummeted, getting worse and worse on a daily basis.
Every frustrating hour of that time weighed heavily on his shoulders, a weight he dragged around whether he was seeing properties with his Realtor, taking conference calls with his office in Los Angeles, or reviewing the books for the fashion house in Marcel’s cramped back office at Zayn Designs.
Like now.
Parked behind his temporary desk, scrolling through his brother’s business expenses on the computer, he could hear the easy rapport between Marcel and his assistants—Sable included—filtering through the open door. It made no sense that Roman felt a surge of jealousy every time Marcel teased a laugh out of Sable, the musical sound stirring equal parts gratitude for her happiness and possessiveness that he hadn’t been the man to cause it. The caveman instincts were utterly new to him and unique to his relationship with Sable. He told himself it was because she was carrying his child.
There could be no other reason to account for the tangled-up reactions he hadn’t even experienced with Annette, a woman he loved more than life.
Scowling, he ignored the latest round of laughter floating over the strains of a Duke Ellington song. The theme of the day seemed to be jazz and big band music. Roman had no idea what they were working on in the design studio now that it was past five o’clock on a Friday, but it sounded a whole lot more fun than reviewing endless columns of poorly organized numbers, many of which struck him
as unnecessary expenditures.
“Sotheby’s Auction House?” Roman called through the door, needing clarification on a staggeringly costly purchase.
“Original artwork for the flagship store,” Marcel shouted back, before his voice returned to a normal pitch as he gave instructions to someone about adding more beadwork to a gown.
Roman’s head pounded at the response, since Marcel didn’t even have a property purchased for his store, let alone a finalized business plan for a dedicated retail space. Roman wanted Zayn Designs to be a global success—needed for it to be since he’d invested much of his personal savings into financing the venture—but his brother refused half of Roman’s business advice. It made him question why he bothered remaining in New York when Marcel ignored his counsel and Sable found excuses to avoid him ever since his revelation about Annette.
Had Sable been spooked by the fact that he’d been married before? He failed to see how that affected their relationship. Sable had been married to someone else before they met, too, so if anything, it put them on more equal footing. But what else could account for the radio silence all week? It had been tough as hell to leave her at her apartment door without so much as a kiss goodnight after their day together, but he’d forced himself to do so. He’d hoped that by respecting her boundaries, taking a break from the ever-present chemistry, he’d get her to trust him more.
But damned if he didn’t feel more alienated from her than ever.
Closing the laptop with a muttered curse, Roman threw the plan to keep his distance out the window and charged out of the office into the studio. He needed to see Sable.
Now. Tonight.
When he reached the open workspace, however, his feet stalled as he took in the scene in front of him.
A slender model, who couldn’t have been much older than fifteen, stood on the raised dais in front of a bank of windows. She wore a flame-red gown with a highly structured, asymmetrical design. One shoulder was bare, the other supported a decorative flourish that came to an exaggerated point beside her left ear. At the young woman’s feet, Marcel and Sable sat together on the platform, heads bent together as they examined the dress’s hem, comparing it to fabric swatches in Sable’s hand.
Beside his tall, powerfully built brother, Sable looked absurdly feminine, with her soft curves encased in a pink cotton dress. Her wavy dark hair almost tipped onto Marcel’s shoulder as she tilted her head to view a swatch from another angle. And damned if the sight of her so close to his sibling didn’t make Roman feel short of breath.
It didn’t matter that his brother was gay. Or that Roman cared about both of them. He just knew he wanted her close to him instead. Wanted it with a fierceness that put an edge in his voice.
“Sable.”
They both turned toward him. He could feel his brother’s scrutiny and guessed that Marcel saw more than Roman meant to reveal. But his focus was all for the woman beside his brother. Her color rose slightly at Roman’s regard, and whatever she saw in his face caused her smile to falter. Emotion flickered in her hazel gaze. Annoyance? Awareness?
Too late, he remembered that his brother was unaware of their relationship. But there was no calling back Sable’s name from Roman’s lips now. He withdrew his phone to text his car service so there would be a ride waiting for them downstairs.
“I can finish up here,” Marcel said, his attention shifting to Sable as he grabbed a tablet from the floor at the model’s feet. “You’ve worked late every night this week, Sable. We can pick up with up my notes on accessories on Monday.”
She frowned, her gaze darting between the two brothers before returning to the designer. “Are you sure? What about the fitting?”
“I’m almost done. And Cara can help me with the last dress.” Marcel waved over one of the women at his drafting table who’d been looking at sketches.
The petite Black woman with long braids piled on her head rushed to his side and sank down beside him.
Sable passed her colleague the fabric swatches before she moved toward Roman, her pink skirt swishing with the subtle sway of her hips. Now he could read the frustration in her expression. A simmering emotion that bordered on anger.
“Yes?” She bit out the word while retrieving her handbag from a low couch.
Seeing her bend over the seat back, her curves pressing the fabric of her skirt, didn’t do a thing to ease his need to have her next to him. His hands itched for the feel of her, for the chance to slide up her legs and explore the softness beneath her dress.
“I’d like to speak to you. Privately.” His low voice was pure gravel, a direct result of the onslaught of hunger for her that he’d shoved to the back burner all week.
Hell, it had been longer than that, since he hadn’t even touched her the last time they’d been together. The fascination with her only grew when he tried to ignore it.
Her jaw worked, revealing her resistance to how he’d called her away from her work, but she gave a short nod. He guessed she simply didn’t want to discuss anything more with him while they had an audience. Now he had to hope she didn’t bolt when they reached the street.
“Have a good weekend, you two,” Marcel called over his shoulder, his tone so casual an observer might miss the undertone in his voice that let Roman know he hadn’t missed the byplay.
That he’d expect answers about what was going on between his brother and his stylist intern.
Well, damn.
With their relationship effectively outed, Roman couldn’t resist resting his hand at the small of Sable’s back as they moved toward the elevator. He felt her tense, and nearly withdrew the touch.
But it was a good thing he didn’t because then he would have missed her shiver. A swift, sweet undulation of her spine that called to the heat simmering hotter in his veins. He wasn’t alone in this hunger.
Far from it.
When they entered the elevator, there was already an older woman inside, preventing conversation and giving Roman more time to work out what happened next. He hadn’t formulated a plan ahead of time, which was unlike him. But he now knew this much—Sable might be avoiding him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aching with the same need he felt. And all at once, he hated that he’d left her alone all week. He could have fulfilled that need for both of them.
One way or another they needed to navigate a relationship, and the chemistry between them wasn’t just going to disappear. He’d tried staying away from her enough times to know that for certain.
When they reached street level, he guided her out of the elevator and toward the waiting luxury SUV, a glossy black Escalade that he’d retained for the month. Seeing his intention, she halted outside the vehicle.
“I thought you wanted to talk,” she said in her unhurried Southern cadence even though her eyes still snapped with frustration. She pouted, only making her full, bee-stung lips more irresistible.
“We can speak in the car.” He let go of her to open the door, gesturing her inside.
She didn’t move. “I was going to head home,” she explained, wariness replacing her annoyance.
“Haven’t you avoided me long enough?” He hooked his hand over the top of the door, prepared to debate this for the chance to spend time with her. “The clock is ticking on those nine months, Sable. We’ve got a lot to work out, including how we’re going to share parenting when you dodge my texts and don’t return my calls.”
She pursed her lips. “You only called one time,” she shot back, though she seemed to let her guard down because she stepped inside the Escalade, sliding across the back seat. “And I knew I’d see you at work, so I didn’t see the need to ring you.”
He followed her into the vehicle, taking the seat beside her and closing the door. The driver was impassive behind the partition but pulled away from the curb almost immediately; Roman had texted him their destination earlier.
“Right. Because you’ve been so chatty when I see you at the studio,” he reminded her dryly. “You wanted to keep our relationship private, and I tried to respect that—”
“Until today.” Folding her arms, she flashed him a look.
“Until today,” he agreed easily, hoping she understood why. “When you gave me no easy option for speaking to you without drawing attention to the fact that we know each other outside of work.”
For a moment, she didn’t answer. She looked out the window as they headed north. Away from the route that would have taken them to her home in Brooklyn.
“Where are we going?” She turned toward him again, her hazel eyes wide, her pulse thrumming rapidly at the base of her neck.
He wanted to stroke that spot. Lick it. Taste it.
But only if her staccato heartbeat was a sign of excitement. He hoped like hell it was.
“I want to feed you dinner,” he explained, lifting the hand that rested in her lap and bringing it to his lips. She watched him with rapt attention, her lips parting slightly as he skimmed a kiss along the pulse in her wrist. “I happen to know you worked right through lunch today, so you need to eat now. I’d prefer to cook for you myself, but if you want to go somewhere else we can.”
The car stopped for a red light, jolting them slightly, giving him an excuse to wrap his arm around her and pull her toward him. He could feel her breath shudder through her before she released it in a long sigh and nodded.
“Okay. I’ll go home with you, Roman. Just for dinner, though.”
His own tension eased a fraction at her words. He wanted her to stay well past dinner, but for now, having her with him was enough. He stroked a hand over the back of her dark hair and told himself to be grateful for small victories, even if it might kill him to leave her at her own door tonight without a kiss.
Nine
“Where did you learn to cook like that?” Sable asked an hour later, sipping herbal tea from a sleek white mug as she sat on the sofa in Roman’s temporary apartment.
