by Sienna Blake
“What? No, the band’s name is the ‘No Name Band’.”
“Oh, right. What do they sing?”
There was a small pause. “You didn’t call me to talk about my awesome taste in music. What’s up?”
“Has there, um, been any calls?”
“From who?”
“Work.”
He snorted. “It’s a Saturday night, Capi. It’s our day off. Go have some fun,” he emphasized the word over the music in the background. “I’ll see you Monday.”
Fun. Right. I know what fun is.
I hung up and saw that another message had come through. My heart fluttered. Another one from Roman?
It wasn’t. It was from Christian.
Christian: I tried to call you. What are you up to tonight?
Christian Price was the son of Senator Price, my father’s childhood friend. Christian and I would sometimes see each other when my father dragged me to dinners at the senator’s mansion. If Christian was texting, he must be home from Princeton where he was finishing a bachelor of business or politics or something. My father didn’t hide that he encouraged Christian and me getting together.
Me: Sorry, I have plans tonight.
I felt a little bad for my lie. It was kinder than telling him the truth. I just didn’t want to date him.
Christian: Another time then.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like Christian, just that I never felt 100% comfortable around him. Our silences felt stilted. Our conversations were just…bland. I mean, what did a homicide detective have to say to the silver-spooned son of a senator? I didn’t feel any chemistry. That zing. The electricity and fireworks that my mother promised I would feel when I’d found the right one.
Like you did with Roman. I shoved that thought away.
Almost like he knew I was thinking of him, my phone dinged with another text message.
Roman: Don’t make me come get you.
I chewed on my lip and my eyes went involuntarily to my front door as if he might come barreling through at any second. I shivered at the thought.
My front door remained silent.
I shook my head. Silly. He was bluffing. He didn’t know where I lived. How could he possibly find out?
I washed the dishes, dried them and put them away. All the while Roman’s face kept intruding into my mind. I threw the dish towel aside and folded my arms as I leaned against the counter. The clock read twenty minutes to ten…
Maybe there was something good on TV?
It was still twenty damn minutes to ten.
Dammit, I couldn’t sit around staring at the clock. I walked out of my apartment, leaving the door unlocked behind me. I was about to knock on the door opposite when it swung open.
Nora, my sixty-something-year-old neighbor, was dressed in a powder blue skirt suit trimmed with black and shiny black pumps a la Jackie Kennedy. It looked stunning against her dark chocolate skin. Her light gray hair was coiffed into a French bun. She had a dash of deep red lipstick across her thick lips.
“Wow, Nora, you look great!” I said.
She beamed at me. “Thank you, honey. Can’t chat now. I’m late. Ta-ta,” she called back at me as she strode down the hall to the elevator.
Damn. Even senior citizens had more of a life than I did.
I slunk back into my apartment, shutting the door behind me. What now? I could go over cold case files from work like I did most nights. For some reason, this didn’t appeal to me right now. I sighed. I was officially the lamest single twenty-five-year-old in all of Verona, home alone on her Saturday night off.
The silence of my apartment seemed so stark and empty, the echoing of my clock reminding me that every second was getting closer to ten p.m. and my chance to see Roman again was slipping away.
My phone dinged again.
Roman: Don’t break my heart, Jules…
My chest felt funny again. I stared at my phone. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to meet him for a few minutes. Five. Ten at most. Just to let him know in person that us spending time together was a bad idea. I had a career to focus on. It seemed so rude to reject him over a text message.
A shiver ran down my spine at the thought of seeing Roman again. These strange feelings… the odd way my body reacted… I shouldn’t go.
Screw it. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.
I dropped my phone on the table as I half-strode, half-ran into my bedroom to get ready.
5
____________
Roman
Three text messages and still no response from Julianna.
I frowned at my silent phone that I was threatening to break by gripping onto it too hard. The connection we had at the graveyard was unmistakable. Sparks, fireworks and all that clichéd bullshit. It had caught me off guard. I hadn’t been as smooth as I usually was. I knew she’d felt it too by the way her breath hitched and her nipples hardened through her cotton dress. How could she feel it too and not come to meet me? Didn’t she feel this pull?
I fantasized about storming over to her apartment, breaking open her door and carrying her out of there over my damn shoulder. My cock stirred. On second thought, maybe I’d carry her to her bedroom. We were going to end up there anyway. At least that was the plan. I already had her address.
Most people didn’t realize that their phones were like GPS trackers. All I needed was her phone number and my connections at the phone company. Sometimes it helped to be a Tyrell.
I was standing with a group of people that I knew from high school in a roped off VIP section of Club Luxe. I haven’t seen these guys in almost eight years. I barely noticed them, forcing small talk and fielding uninspired questions about Europe. I was being a rude prick but I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. Usually, I was so good at this small talk shit.
Ten Twenty-three p.m. and she hadn’t fucking shown up.
I had pegged her to show up. On time. Women usually did. So why the fuck hadn’t she? Why the hell did I give so much of a shit?
I glared around the club, my eyes seeking her out, scanning each curve and honey shade of long hair for her. There was something about her…
Something…different.
It was like every single cell and fiber of her had been calibrated to strike at every single one of mine, making them all vibrate awake all at once. Fuck, every time I thought about how soft the skin on her neck looked or how silky her hair might feel I got hard.
And she was making me act…different.
I wasn’t even interested in the scantily clad girls pawing at my shirt, rubbing their breasts against my arm, tugging at my collar. I swatted them aside like they were flies. They weren’t her. I wanted her. I wanted her like I’d never wanted a woman before.
I would have her.
I drank down the rest of my scotch and slammed down my glass onto a side table. I stabbed out another text message to her and hit send.
Me: I’m coming to get you.
6
____________
Julianna
I was going to hunt down the asshole who invented high heels and kill him. Yes, it was definitely a him. Because no woman in her right mind would have created such torture instruments and called them fashion. I’d beat him senseless with these platform soles, then stab him to death with the spiky heels of his own demonic creations.
Death by Manolos.
I wondered if that would be considered good or bad publicity?
I had made the mistake of walking to Club Luxe. It was only a twenty-minute walk from where I lived, but I wasn’t used to walking in these things. My feet were already killing me.
I didn’t know what had been going through my mind when I chose this outfit. The dress was a slim-fitting black bandage dress with lace detailing that fell to mid-thigh. Nora had bought me this dress and these shoes a few years ago in the hopes that I might actually have a hot date to wear them on. Out of everything I owned I thought it would be the most appropriate thing to wear to a club, seeing as they had a dress co
de. It had nothing to do with how Roman might react when he saw me again.
I stepped into the main room of Club Luxe and froze. It was set inside a refurbished old warehouse, the colored lights ricocheting off the exposed pipes along the open ceiling. The ultra-modern décor was all chrome and black lines. The music, a funky house beat with husky vocals in French, thumped through my body like a second heartbeat. Bodies wriggled like a blurry sexual mass on a small dance floor. There were booths and tables along the edges, beautiful people draped across the couches with cocktail glasses in hand, people who looked like they were comfortable here, people having fun.
I didn’t belong here. What a dumb idea to come. Someone bumped me from behind and made a rude noise. I realized I was standing there like an idiot in the entranceway.
“Sorry,” I muttered to no one in particular, the offended party having already disappeared into the throng. I lunged for the closest bar that ran most of the way along the right side and clutched at the onyx countertop as if it’d stop me from falling over. What now?
Well, I’d find Roman, tell him I couldn’t see him again and leave.
I searched the crowd for him, trying not to catch anyone’s eye or draw attention to myself. Pretty hard in a dress that felt like it kept riding up my thighs like a horny teenager’s hand. It wasn’t as skimpy as the daring barely-covering-the-ass uniform in here but it was still shorter than I usually wore my skirts.
Where was he? I couldn’t see him from here.
Okay. One walk around. If he wasn’t here, I was leaving.
I turned around with my back to the bar and lifted my chin, preparing myself to push my way through the club. I didn’t move. There he was, standing across the room in a loose circle of guys and girls. I couldn’t tell you what they looked like. The only thing that was in focus was him.
He was more beautiful than I remembered. A dark god among mortals. He looked like a fighter out of his suit, a boxer or MMA fighter, his fitted black t-shirt showing off his sculpted torso. His hips, encased in fitted designer jeans, swayed lightly to the music. I bet he was as hard as granite underneath those clothes. I bet every muscle was defined. Not that I cared anything about that.
That same ache I felt earlier today flared deep in my lower belly, this time harder and stronger. Dear God. I wanted him. I wanted him in a way I’d never wanted anyone before. The sudden realization made me shiver.
Go up to him. Talk to him. He’s waiting for you.
I didn’t move. What if he thought I was a desperate slut for coming here? What if I was a desperate slut for coming here? This wasn’t me. I wasn’t a girl who slept with strangers. I never chased after guys; I was never interested. Was this my repressed sexuality all coming out now with a bang, like Nora always threatened?
The others in his group all laughed at something, catching my attention. He smiled curtly and nodded. The laughter died down quickly as if they’d quashed it because he didn’t approve of the joke. I could see them all turned towards him, facing him, leaning in, the other women around him eyeing him up. He barely noticed them. He had a slight frown on his face. He looked agitated or bored like he didn’t want to be here. You and me both. Unlike me, he looked like he belonged.
I watched him search the club like a sniper studying his area. Two girls gyrated in front of him, smiles only for him, trying to catch his attention. He ignored them and continued to scan the crowd. I could taste their disappointment from here.
He was exactly the kind of man my mother would warn me about if she were alive. Dominant without trying, coiled power in his thick muscles. It wasn’t just about his intimidating frame. There was an inherent leadership in the way he stood, self-assuredness and confidence, which made women want him and men want to be him. He was a born leader. People followed him without ever knowing why.
He’d be the best worst idea. I’d let him get close to me, I’d fall for him and he’d break my heart. Damn if it wouldn’t be one hell of a ride down. I let out the breath I’d been holding. I was way out of my depth. I had to leave now before he spotted me.
He pulled out his phone and I watched, mesmerized as he typed out a text. My phone in my bag buzzed. Holy shit. That text was for me. I had to go. Now!
Before I could move, he looked up. Our gazes fused together and a thrill rushed down my body. My heart jumped up into my throat and started beating so loudly that the music dulled. Too late to leave now. He’d seen me. Just say hello then leave.
Or go home with him and never leave.
Shit. He was coming over here.
7
____________
Roman
There she was.
Julianna. Leaning against the bar on the other side of the room. For a moment, I wondered if I had dreamed her out of thin air.
Sweet mother of God, she looked incredible. The sight of her hit me like a fist in my gut. The music seemed to go funny in my ears. The body that her outfit earlier only hinted at was now on display: taut legs in a black dress that clung to her curves and fell several inches above her knee. Her hair was loose and fell in soft waves over her shoulders, down the sides of her breasts.
She was stunning. More stunning than I’d imagined her, and trust me, I’d imagined her in all sorts of ways all evening. I stepped out of the VIP section, ignoring my friends calling out for me. I pushed my way through the crowd. It seemed like every motherfucker wanted to get between her and me.
She broke eye contact with me and turned to the guy who had sidled up to her, trying to speak to her. My blood simmered. Now he was touching her, playing with the ends of her hair close to her breasts. Too fucking close to her breasts. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her closer to him. Instant fury like a torrent of fire rose in me. Nobody fucking touched her. Nobody hurt her. She was mine.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” I yelled, rage booming though my voice, startling the club-goers around me, not that I gave a shit. I shoved the people in my way aside. I would kill the fucking son of a bitch who dared lay a hand on her.
Julianna twisted her arm, rolling it aside so that the asshole was forced to let go. She stabbed her heel into his toe causing him to hop before he tilted off balance. She shoved him down over the bar, pinning him by twisting his arm around his back. He let out a yelp.
Holy. Shit.
I skidded to a halt beside them, my anger turning to red-hot lust. I had never seen a woman handle herself like that before. I could do nothing but stare open-mouthed and mute at this powerful, gorgeous creature, respect building in my gut.
“Don’t you dare touch me again, asshole,” she said to him, her voice hard and fierce. The sound of her cursing made my dick harden.
Julianna looked up to me as the guy she had in an armlock made whining noises against the bar. She gave me a smile like nothing was the matter. Unbelievable.
“Oh. Hi,” she said, almost shyly. “Again.”
I gave her my best charming grin. “I was just coming over to save you…”
She raised an eyebrow. That tiny movement was a challenge. “Why?” she said sweetly. She applied the slightest pressure to the unfortunate guy’s wrist and he let out a low pained cry. She jutted her chin out and a defiance flared in her feline eyes. “Because I’m a girl and all I need is a big strong man to come save me?”
“No, because you’re a human being. I don’t like it when I see other human beings being treated without respect. Not when I can do something about it.”
She shifted, seemingly surprised by my honest comment, embarrassed even. “Well…I don’t need saving.”
“I can see that.” I indicated her unfortunate victim. I spotted a bouncer heading towards us. I held my hand up to signal to him that I had it under control. He nodded and kept his distance. The bouncer was a low-level street thug who’d been trying to climb my family’s ranks for years. Part of the reason why I could score the VIP treatment here at the last minute.
Julianna spotted this exchange. “Do you own this place or som
ething?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I know some of the guys who work here.” Here and pretty much every hot spot of Verona. I didn’t want to explain to her how I knew them. Tonight, I wasn’t Roman Tyrell. Tonight, I was just a guy and she was a girl…
“Can you let go of me now?” the man whose face was squashed up against the bar interrupted in a whining tone.
I shot Julianna a grin and leaned in close to him. “Tell the lady, you’re sorry and maybe she’ll let you go.”
The man’s eyes widened when he saw me, recognition flaring in his eyes. “Y-y-you.”
That’s right, stupid fucker. You just pissed off a Tyrell. “Tell her you’re sorry,” I repeated.
“I’m sorry,” he cried out.
I stared up at Julianna and was struck again by how stunning she was. She raised an eyebrow at me as if she knew what I was thinking. I gave her one of my trademark half-smirks. “Are you satisfied with his apology, milady?”
“Only if you don’t try and touch up a girl without her permission again,” she said to him.
The idiot was silent.
I leaned in closer and growled. “When the lady speaks to you, you answer her.”
He let out a whine. “Okay, okay. I’ll never do it again.”
Julianna applied some more pressure to the guy’s arm and he let out a louder cry. She was staring at me, a half angry, half lustful look in her dark eyes. “Tell Roman,” she said, her voice coming out low and heated, “that I don’t need him to fight my battles for me.”
“What?” the guy cried.
“Tell Julianna,” I said, matching her stare, “that she should learn that it’s okay for a man to help her. It doesn’t make her weak.”
“Tell Roman, that he’s an arrogant ass who has no idea what it’s like to be a woman in a man’s world.”
“Tell Julianna, that I can’t tell if she wants to fight me or fuck me tonight.”
