by Noree Kahika
He sighed with what appeared to be resignation. “But eventually we grow up and see the world as it really is.”
Whoa…
“But that’s not what I asked. I asked if you’ve been in love before.” I stared at him, not knowing why his answer was so important to me but I was like a freaking dog with a bone; for some reason, I needed to know.
He held my stare; a muscle ticked rhythmically along his jaw. Several seconds passed between us before his features smoothed. A small smile tilted the ends of his full lips. “I know. And I’m not going to answer you, Charli.” With that, he grabbed my hand in his, turned and began to walk again, dragging me along with him. “I’ll also have my phone back now,” he said wryly. I huffed in frustration.
The man was arrogant, bossy, egotistical, and guarded. He demanded to know all of my history without giving anything away about himself. It was both infuriating and exasperating; however, I’d never been so intrigued in my life.
What’s that old saying: Curiosity killed the cat?
Well…meow, meow.
Our last night in Italy, which also happened to be our final night together, got off to a rather somber start. Roman disappeared the moment we arrived back at the yacht, so I took a shower and packed up my belongings in preparation for the morning’s early flight. We hadn’t spoken much on the car ride back to Venice, both of us seemingly lost in our own thoughts, yet the tender way Roman held me in the backseat of the car made me feel…strangely content. With his arms wrapped firmly around my waist, my back flush against the solid wall of his chest, he softly traced continuous patterns with his fingertips along the length of my arms, bending every so often to place a kiss on the top of my head. Although previously ambivalent to constant displays of affection, I liked how he held me, how he found little ways to touch me frequently. As I thought back over the last couple of days, I realized Roman had often grabbed my hand, placed a kiss on my head, smoothed my hair from my face and I’d liked how those small ministrations made me feel. I was fast becoming addicted to Roman’s demonstrative affections. The thought was a disconcerting one and so was the fact that I appeared to becoming a cuddler too.
Around seven, I decided to seek out the missing Mr. Knight and found him out on the stern, leaned forward, both hands clasp around the rails, as he stared out into the calm waters of the lagoon. It was a reflective pose and I momentarily hesitated, not wanting to intrude.
“Hey,” I said softly as I came up behind him and wrapped my arms loosely around his waist.
Roman immediately turned his head and smiled at me. “Hey.”
“You looked deep in thought.”
Ignoring my comment, he shifted around and drew me into his embrace. With my cheek on his chest, I sighed and absorbed the warmth of his body.
“Hungry?” He placed a tender kiss on the top of my head.
“Surprisingly, yes. Even though I ate more than enough gnocchi today to feed a small army. That gnocchi was by far the best I’ve tasted.”
He chuckled. “Well, lucky for you, the crew has prepared dinner for us. Although no gnocchi, I’m afraid.”
“Thank goodness for that. I’m all gnocchi’d out, and we should probably stop saying the word gnocchi—it’s beginning to sound weird.”
He laughed and tightened his arms around me. The sound of his carefree laughter made my heart constrict.
I inhaled his scent through the fabric of his clothes and sighed. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I slipped into a carb-induced coma on the drive back this afternoon.”
Thankfully, our meal was not pasta; it was steak, cooked to perfection, and served with a medley of freshly made salads and deliciously home-baked bread smothered in garlic and drizzled with olive oil. The red wine Roman selected was beyond superb, based on the evidence of the four glasses I consumed on my own. Needless to say, I was well into tipsy land by the time we finished eating, so when Roman suggested an early night with a suggestive twinkle in his eye, I was more than a little excited at the proposal.
“Oh. My. God!” I screamed unashamedly, my voice hoarse from the effort. This past week, I had learned a great deal about myself, including the fact that, apparently, I was a screamer between the sheets.
With toe-curling madness, Roman drove into my sweat-misted body and with every powerful surge of his hips, mine eagerly rose to meet him. The result caused such indefinable pleasure; I thought I’d literally lose my mind. Sex had never been this good—not that I had a wealth of experience before Roman, but still…he was beyond incredible. In fact, incredible wasn’t the right word—mind-blowingly brilliant would be a more accurate description. I was on my back, in the large sprawling bed of our cabin, my legs wrapped tightly around Roman’s waist and both his hands were firmly entwined with mine high above my head.
“Look at me, Princess,” he demanded, momentarily halting his momentum.
What?
“What? Don’t stop!” I pleaded and writhed beneath him in frustration. “Oh my God, Roman, I’m almost there.”
“Look at me, Charlotte!” he barked sharply. The whip of his tone instantly cooled my passion. I tried to focus my eyes on him and when I managed to, I inhaled sharply at the molten, unbridled heat that flashed in the depths of his midnight-blue eyes—their color almost black from the intensity in them.
“Look at me when I fuck you, baby,” he commanded hoarsely against my lips.
I couldn’t think; I couldn’t process—all I could do was watch, transfixed and spellbound, as he resumed thrusting his hips, slow and measured at first, and then harder, faster, fiercer—claiming every inch of my body as he boldly possessed my soul within his gaze.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!
Something was clearly happening between us in that moment. Something I didn’t understand, but knew instinctively within the very heart of my being was both frightening and all-consuming simultaneously. It was raw, primal, and significantly potent—an indescribable desire connected us together on a far deeper level than just a physical realm.
“That’s it, Princess,” he whispered against my lips. His words felt like a litany against my mouth. “Feel it—feel me…owning you.”
“Roman!” I gasped against his mouth. Every muscle in my body contracted as I spiraled helplessly over the threshold of euphoria.
Roman’s thrusts became brutally savage; heavy grunts heaved from his chest as his hands continued to pin my own in an iron grip to the mattress of the bed. His eyes resolutely refused to leave mine until he agonizingly groaned out the last remnant of his own release. Then, releasing his grip on my wrists, Roman nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck. The warmth of his breath fanned the tender skin of my collarbone as both our heartbeats struggled to regain their steady beat.
Running the tips of my nails along the slick skin of his back, I gladly took all of his weight, savoring the feel of his much larger body as it pressed me down.
“W-what was…that?” My voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper.
His answer was muffled but unmistakably gruff. “I have no fucking clue.”
A sense of overwhelming fear permeated my consciousness and I jolted awake. Whatever the feeling was, it had abruptly wrenched me from the depths of sleep. Rolling over, automatically my hand reached out in the darkness and swept Roman’s side of the bed. It was empty and the sheets were stone cold, as if he’d vacated the bed hours before.
I propped myself up onto my elbows and swiped the heavy swath of hair from my face to glance around the dim cabin. Silhouetted in a wingback chair over in the far corner of the room, Roman sat bent forward; both forearms rested atop his knees, with only the faint beam of the moon partially lighting his beautiful features. He was still as a statue, his eyes locked on my form. By his posture, I’d guess he’d been sitting there for some time.
“Hey.” My voice came out croaky from the residue of sleep. “Is everything okay?”
Ominous moments of silence passed between us before he finally spoke. “No. S
omething has come up and I’m needed in New York. It’s imperative I be there by no later than eleven tomorrow morning.”
“Oh…okay. What time is it now?”
“Just after two, which means I need to leave now. With the time difference and flying time, I should make it back to New York by mid-morning.”
I nodded my head as I threw the covers back. “Okay then, just give me a few minutes and I can be ready to leave.”
“No, Charlotte.” The words were curt and something in his tone made my body instantly stiffen.
Belatedly, I noticed Roman was fully dressed: dark gray woolen slacks, white collared shirt, and beige sports jacket. His hair was damp as if he had taken a shower recently and when I glanced around the room, I saw his bag was packed and placed by the door.
“I don’t have the time to accompany you back to Los Angeles and make it to New York on time. So, I’ve had Seth book you a direct flight home, departing at nine, and Captain Tom has agreed to give you a lift to the airport first thing in the morning.”
“Oh—” My stomached lurched. “Uh…I’ll umm…walk you out then.” My voice sounded weak and unsteady; tears pricked the back of my eyes. My thoughts were a turbulent swirling maelstrom in my head. This was it. I’d known our time together was short, and after the flight home tomorrow, I’d figured we’d not see each other again but…this just seemed so wrong and so…cold—so final.
I hadn’t given too much thought to the end, but I had at least thought we’d part on more affable terms, perhaps swap email addresses or something like that. What I hadn’t expected was for him to ditch me in the middle of the night in a foreign country with a handful of brusque words when I was barely awake.
“No,” he said sharply, holding a hand up. “Go back to sleep, Charlotte. There’s no need for you to loose anymore sleep then you already have.”
My body froze, and I was completely paralyzed as I watched him stand and walk calmly toward me with both his eyes and features utterly void of any warmth or emotion. Over the past week, I’d seen Roman impassive many times—it was pretty much his baseline expression. But his eyes always held a trace of amusement, a level of intensity, or a shrewd measure of calculation in them. They were never completely void.
He paused beside the bed, bent low and placed a quick, chaste kiss on the top of my head. The whole gesture felt perfunctory and robotic. I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to stem the well of tears that threatened to fall as I felt his lips leave my hair. And then, without so much as another word spoken, he collected his bag and left.
He just…left.
Went.
Gone.
A sob erupted from my mouth, and before I could stop the next one, the tears that had filled my eyes flowed unbidden and freely down my cheeks. In an effort to not be heard by the crew, I threw myself among the pillows and finally allowed my body to release the torrent of heart-wrenching sobs I could no longer hold back.
Roman just leaving me like that hurt—it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch—and it hurt because I realized in that moment, somewhere during the past week with him, I had foolishly, stupidly gone and given the jerk a giant slab of my heart.
Fuck!
How stupid of me!
How so fucking stupid and naïve!
Chapter Thirteen
There was definitely something to be said for flying first class. From the moment I arrived at the check-in desk, the airline’s staff greeted me with zealous enthusiasm. It was all “Miss Gilmore this” and “Miss Gilmore that” as they ushered me into the first class lounge to await my flight back home.
A glass of champagne was thrust into my hand by a heavily accented Italian man with a gold airline nametag that announced him as Giovanni, with the word concierge neatly printed below. He shepherded me toward a plush navy blue velvet chair, and I slumped unceremoniously down, withdrawing my cell from my purse while I gave assurances to Giovanni the Concierge that I was in no further need of anything.
I typed out a quick text to Courtney to let her know where I was and what time my flight would arrive into LA, adding a “Could you please pick me up?” to the message.
Her reply back was immediate. * Of Course I’ll pick U up. Y U not flying back with RK??? *
Tingles pricked the backs of my lids and I inwardly groaned. No, not again. I refused to let any more stupid tears fall just because I was staring at his initials on my cell.
I quickly texted back: * I tell you later. Please just be there. * Then I turned off my phone and slipped it back into my purse.
True to Roman’s word, Captain Tom had escorted me to the airport at around six in the morning. My flight was due to leave Venice for LAX at a quarter past nine. As we drove away from the mammoth yacht, the sun was beginning to rise and cast rays of glittering golds and fuchsia over the rippling turquoise water of the Venice canals. My eyes were swollen and puffy from a combination of sleep deprivation and the deluge of tears that unwantedly descended upon Roman’s abrupt departure in the dead of night. Covering my eyes with a pair of oversized sunglasses apparently didn’t work, judging by the numerous glances Captain Tom threw me every three seconds or so. Nevertheless, I kept my chin held high and plastered a faux smile on my face as I thanked the kind captain for all his help, managing to mutter a final good-bye as I made my way into the terminal.
Painful waves of hurt and rejection continued to assault me as they had all morning since Roman left, which only served to confuse my emotional state further. It’s not as if I didn’t know going into this thing with Roman that it was short-term. After all, it was only intended to be a brief holiday romance, an opportunity for a little fun and adventure. Real-life fairy tales didn’t exist, and if by some slim, minute chance they did exist, then I certainly wasn’t looking for one when I arrived in France a little over a week ago.
Contrary to the evidence of my actions over the past week, I, Charli Gilmore, was an independent, level-headed, practical woman with a somewhat ordered plan mapped out for my life—one that did not include falling for some complex, enigmatic, arrogant playboy billionaire, despite how absurdly handsome he was.
Yes, I did jet off to both Paris and Venice with an almost virtual stranger, and also happened to have a brief, albeit passionate affair with said stranger. And although those two things by their very definition may be considered crazy and impulsive, I’d assumed I jumped into it with both eyes wide open.
It wasn’t as if I didn’t understand what was happening between Roman and me—it was nothing more than a casual affair. Hell, that’s the whole reason I did it in the first place.
But Roman’s abrupt emotional withdrawal, immediately followed by his physical departure, had inexplicably hurt me more deeply than I could have ever foreseen or imagined. Unwittingly, sometime during our short time together, I’d foolishly and stupidly let my guard down and given the unattainable jerk a small piece of myself.
A self-deprecating laugh bubbled up from within my chest.
Come on, Charli—listen to yourself!
Falling for a man you just met mere days ago…ridiculous.
Crazy.
Impossible.
Gah! I needed to get myself together before I got home and faced Courtney and Jake. This was a brief holiday fling, nothing more and nothing less.
So why did it feel like something more?
Because you’re being stupid, that’s why.
Roman Knight was trouble with a capital T and it’s not as though I didn’t spot that from the first time I laid eyes on his too handsome face. Roman Knight was too arrogant, way too complicated, too insanely wealthy and I’m one hundred percent positive Roman Knight invented the player’s handbook. So why on earth was I beating myself up?
No, what I needed to do now was to don some big girl panties like Courtney always says, corral those freaking wayward emotions of mine and move forward with my life as planned. Besides, what the hell was I thinking anyway? I wasn’t looking for a relationship. This whole trip was meant to
be the grand finale of one chapter of my life before I began the next chapter. A romantic relationship wasn’t something I was looking for and it sure as hell was not something I needed at this point in my life. Finding a permanent teaching position and focusing on my career was my number-one priority.
As I downed the glass of champagne, I glanced around for Giovanni the Concierge. I wonder whether he would think I was a big ole lush if I asked for another glass.
“Is this chair taken?” A throaty male voice drew my attention away from looking for the concierge and I regarded the tall man who stared at me with an expectant look on his face.
“Um…no, it’s not.”
“Do you mind?” He gestured with his hand to the vacant seat beside mine.
“Sure.” I smiled.
I watched as he folded himself into the chair and rested a small satchel between his feet. He was tall, with dirty blond hair that was past needing a cut, and he had dark brown eyes. I would have classified him as boyishly handsome if it wasn’t for a jagged scar that ran down from his temple to his jaw on the right side of his face. With the scar, he looked menacing. Dressed in fashionable jeans, a blue buttoned-down shirt, and a tailored navy coat, his clothes were undoubtedly designer and expensive. He wore several pieces of gold jewelry, including a gold and diamond Rolex that sat prominently below the rolled cuff of his jacket. A strong smell of new leather from his satchel scented the air and mixed in with the potent aroma of his musky aftershave. He certainly looked as if he belonged in the first class lounge but something about him was…off.
He gave me a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and stuck his hand out toward me. “I’m Jonathan Gray.”
I took his hand, which was ice-cold. “Like the author?” I withdrew my hand after a brief shake.
