by Noree Kahika
“Shall we go?” My tone came out snappy and I grabbed my clutch from the kitchen counter, checking my keys, cell phone, and money were inside.
“Charlotte,” he called and I ignored him. Instead, as I walked into the hallway, I issued an order over my shoulder for Roman to shut the door behind him.
His obvious lowly opinion of my home shouldn’t have bothered me that deeply—so why did I care so much what Roman thought of my place? It wasn’t as if I were asking him to sleep the night or move in. My little SoHo apartment may not be some luxurious fancy hotel suite in Paris or a swanky yacht docked in Venice, but it was comfortable, clean, and tidy and definitely rocked the chic industrial design.
Just another reason why it wouldn’t work between the two of us, I thought.
Dinner, of course, was amazing—the food exceptional, the wine Roman chose superb. The restaurant, which obviously catered to the city’s affluent populace, had an intimate and surprisingly earthy quality to it, with striking views of Columbus Circle and Central Park. Initially, Roman asked me myriad questions regarding school life, which somewhat put me at ease, and despite my belligerent mood at the beginning of dinner, the conversation eventually flowed. He listened happily while I talked about my students and how adorably sweet they all were. And he even feigned avid interest when I went on to describe in great detail the philosophy of Whitfield Academy and the progressive curriculum they prescribed to.
While Roman was in the middle of explaining some new venture his company was embarking on to me, I caught myself scrutinizing his handsome face. Every now and then, his tongue would dart out and he’d lick his lips before he’d continue on; it was very cute. And I noticed when he talked, he didn’t use his hands like a lot of people did; in fact, apart from the lip-licking thing, his features didn’t candidly convey whether the topic he was discussing was favorable or not. Apparently, he’d mastered the art of the perfect poker face and I pitied the poor suckers who went up against him in the boardroom. He’d be one hell of a tough negotiator.
Regardless, Roman’s sharp intelligence and shrewd intellect, coupled with his wry sense of humor and natural charisma, made him an exceptional, intriguing individual. Combine all of that into the stunningly gorgeous package of his body and I could see why there was a reservoir of tall, leggy brunettes lined up for his attentions.
“Am I boring you, Princess?”
His sudden question caught me off guard. “Huh?”
“You’re frowning, Charli, so you’re either bored with what I’m saying or you’re thinking of something unpleasant.”
Yes, I’m thinking about your reservoir of tall, leggy brunettes.
“No, just enjoying your sparkling company,” I lied. “So what’s this surprise you mentioned earlier, Mr. Knight?” I finished the last of the wine in my glass.
His devilish smirk reappeared. “I promised to show you around the city, so what better way than to start with Central Park?”
“We’re not hiking through the park, are we?”
He laughed, probably from the horrified look on my face.
He signaled the waiter for the check. “It’s not what you think, Princess.” Once he’d settled the bill, he stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Let me show you your surprise.”
We walked several yards across to the entrance of the park, where a man waited beside a carriage drawn by a beautiful gray speckled horse. “You can’t be serious,” I squealed, and dropped Roman’s hand to run over to the gorgeous animal. “Aw, you’re so cute. Yes, yes, you are, beautiful boy,” I cooed.
“Hmm…how is it that I’m the one to wine and dine you and yet he gets all the affection?”
“Oh shush.” I scoffed and patted the horse’s mane. “Besides, if you play your cards right, I might give you a kiss goodnight too.”
“I was rather hoping for the petting. If the horse gets it, then I want it too.”
Ignoring his innuendo, I turned to the driver. “Can we go for a ride?”
“Of course. That’s what the man paid me for.” He gestured to Roman.
We climbed into the carriage and the driver passed Roman a small checked blanket to ward off the evening chill and with a whistle from the horse’s handler, we were trotting off through Central Park.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were attempting to woo me, Mr. Knight.”
Roman raised a brow. A small grin played around his lips. “Is it working?”
“Hmm, maybe.”
“Only a maybe? Clearly, I need to try harder then.”
“For a man who once told me you don’t like complications or commitments, your behavior is…well, it’s kinda contradictory.”
“Ah.” His face transformed back into a mask of impassivity. “Charlotte, I don’t normally do permanent commitment, as you put it, and everything I feel about you is complicated. But, I’d like to see where it could go between you and me.”
He stared into my eyes with such incredible intensity that I bit my lip and held my breath, frozen to the carriage bench. His statement literally rocked my foundation and I was torn between wanting to jump into his arms and smother him in kisses and go running and screaming for the hills. Less than a week ago, I’d thought my relationship with Roman was over—an impulsive holiday fling that had run its course. I’d foolishly fallen for the unattainable playboy and in time, my broken heart would heal. But not only had Roman manipulated circumstances to where I now found myself living and working in New York, but he was also telling me he wanted some kind of commitment. It was all too much to process at that moment.
Roman, obviously waiting for my reaction, clearly lost patience when he didn’t receive one, and sighed in resignation. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough. What I’m saying, Charli, is—”
His words were cut off when I scrambled from the carriage seat and practically launched myself in his lap, threading my fingers through the soft locks of his ebony hair, and forced his lips down on mine.
And the only sounds I heard apart from the soft mewling moans that came from deep within my throat were the clip-clop-clip-clop of the horse’s hooves below us as Roman kissed me back.
Chapter Eighteen
“Doesn’t it feel like you’re living in a fishbowl?” I heard Roman’s muffled chuckle from the foyer of his apartment, where he’d disappeared to hang up my coat.
“Would you like a drink?” The sound of his voice became louder as he strolled back into the living room. I didn’t turn to face him as he approached me and instead focused all of my attention on the view beyond the massive wall of glass that spanned the length of the room.
“No, seriously, Roman, you wouldn’t want to be running from the bathroom to fetch a towel—the whole damn city could see you naked. And the heating bills alone must cost you a fortune.”
We’d come back to Roman’s apartment, or more accurately his penthouse, after the horse and carriage ride through the park. I told myself I’d agreed to come back to his place mostly out of curiosity but the truth was, after him telling me he’d wanted a commitment—I really wanted to jump his bones.
Of course, I’d imagined he probably lived in some impressively large apartment, perhaps even one of those beautiful ornate brownstones on the Upper East Side. However, the gargantuan penthouse of a seventy-five-story, colossal towering glass structure overlooking the entire length of Central Park was beyond even my imagination.
“Charli,” Roman called.
I turned my gaze away from the extraordinary sweeping views of Central Park to face him. “How big is this place?”
He frowned. “The penthouse?”
“Yes, the penthouse, Roman. Your living room is the size of a football field. How many bedrooms does this place have?”
Understanding dawned and he chuckled again. “It’s roughly nine and a half thousand feet.”
Like a predator cornering its game, he stalked toward me. A glint of mischievousness lit his dark blue eyes. “And there’s only one bedroo
m that counts right about now, Princess.”
Heat rose in my face and I flushed. The sound of his carnal voice sent tingles to my lower regions. I wanted to climb him, wrap my legs around his strong, lean hips and kiss him until I couldn’t breathe anymore. But, despite everything that had happened between us tonight, a tiny part of me was smarted over his response to my apartment earlier.
“How can this possibly work?” I blurted.
Confusion clouded his face. “How can what work?”
My arms crossed, and I took a deep breath for courage. “Between us, I mean. You and I—we’re worlds apart, Roman, and from your reaction to my apartment earlier tonight, well…” I unfolded my arms and swept a hand around to indicate the room. “Well, look around…” I stopped, too afraid to finish the thought.
His features morphed from confusion to surprise and then irritation and finally settled on determination. Why I’d thought he’d had such a good poker face before, I couldn’t remember.
“I see. That’s the reason you were upset when we left your apartment earlier tonight?”
I nodded and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Charlotte, there’s nothing wrong with where you live—it’s an apartment. Clean, a reasonably good neighborhood, small but it’s not a dump by any means. The problem is, I don’t want to see you in an okay apartment—I want you living in the lap of luxury because that’s where you belong, Princess.”
My eyes moved to the floor as I struggled to hold back the sudden well of tears gathered there. It was quite possibly the nicest, sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me.
“Look at me, Charli,” he ordered and I lifted my face. “We’re not doing this…we’re not adding bullshit excuses to what’s developing between us. I’m a very wealthy man. I’ve worked extremely hard to get where I am. I enjoy the fruits of my labor and I make no apologies for it. Money, careers, social status—including where we fucking live—doesn’t have a place in this relationship. You understand me?”
My eyes slowly roamed his handsome, expectant features as he waited for me to acknowledge his statement. I nodded and cleared my throat. “Okay, but you have to understand, all this…” I flicked my wrist out to indicate the room once again, “is overwhelming and a little intimidating at times, so you’re going to have to be a bit patient with me. Okay?”
His answering grin was dazzling. “That I can do,” he agreed, reaching for me. “Now…I believe we were discussing something about a bedroom.”
Roman took four large steps forward; each step forced me to retreat until my back collided with the wall of glass windows. “Hmm…I think we’ll save the bedroom for the next round,” he murmured seductively.
His hands rested on my waist and then slowly, ever so slowly, they slid down to my hips and around to cup my bottom. He bent forward and inhaled my scent as if I were a fine bottle of vintage wine, an aroma to be savored. My mouth felt suddenly parched; I licked my lips and bit the bottom one in an effort to stem a moan when Roman’s fingers deftly kneaded my ass.
My palms flattened over the lapels of his suit jacket as I angled my head to allow him better access to the column of my neck. His mouth leisurely moved over the delicate skin of my throat, bestowing tender, tiny kisses in their wake. The soft, sensual caresses were steadily driving me crazy—every provocatively imparted kiss of his lips, every languid lick from his warm tongue, and every squeeze of his talented nimble fingers was painstakingly deliberate and utterly maddening.
“Roman—”
Kiss… Nibble… Lick… Knead…
“Hmm, Princess.”
Kiss… Nibble… Lick… Squeeze…
“Roman—I—oh God—that feels so good. Don’t stop—”
Kiss… Nibble… Lick… Knead…
My fingers splayed flat on his jacket lapels curled and clenched. I tugged the jacket from his shoulders, momentarily forcing his gifted hands from their task at my ass.
His answering chuckle was immediate and wickedly carnal. “You in a rush, Princess?”
“God, yes,” I breathed harshly. “I haven’t had your hands on me, your body in mine for weeks.” My voice was both desperate and unashamedly beseeching.
Roman stilled. His features sobered as his midnight-blue eyes moved between mine, searching. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he finally said, his voice hoarse but earnestly heartfelt in its tone.
My heart stuttered. A small gasp escaped my lips as I trembled from the sincerity of his words.
“Roman—” His name was barely a whisper from my lips and then, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point, we both simultaneously snapped.
His hands were greedy and tugged up the hem of my dress to expose my thighs. My fingers franticly unfastened his belt and ungracefully popped the buttons. My lace panties were violently ripped away, carelessly discarded on the floor. His zipper was viciously yanked down and I slid his pants over his hips. All the while, our mouths wrestled like two prizefighters, hungry and desperate to conquer the other.
Mercilessly, Roman bit my collarbone, instantly smoothing the sting with his tongue. “Wrap your legs around me, Princess.”
My legs snaked their way around Roman’s waist; my arms entwined tightly around his neck and my mouth ravenously, impatiently devoured his soft, luscious lips. “Hurry,” I demanded urgently against his mouth. “I want you inside me now.”
With one powerful thrust of his hips, my back was pressed rigidly against the glass wall as Roman entered me—the overwhelming sensations of being filled with this beautiful man so mind-blowingly good.
The next following two weeks passed in a blissful cloud of contentment—I’d felt as though I’d finally found my footing, not only in my personal life but in my professional career as well. A balanced rhythm slowly formed at school and my classroom of students were nothing short of amazing: they were these curious, precocious, intelligent little balls of energy that seemed to take delight in dually challenging and testing me every chance they got. I loved every single minute of it.
I’d also gotten to know the other teaching staff a little better, too, and after the initial awkwardness that inevitably comes when meeting new people, I found I liked them all very much.
Julie—the only other first grade teacher at Whitfield Academy—was the nearest to myself in age and we’d often spend the majority of our lunch breaks discussing our mutual students and the teaching curriculum.
Adding to my blissful state of existence was Roman. The man frequently challenged me with his raw, primal sensuality and drove me crazy with lust—he was just so damn sexy. Roman was also thoughtfully attentive and surprisingly considerate, and with each passing day I increasingly found him more and more intriguing. When I thought I’d rolled back one layer to Roman Knight, there was another layer waiting to be discovered. Despite not being entirely forthcoming with all the personal details of his life, he was letting me in bit by bit. With his honesty came my trust and belief that together we might actually be able to build some kind of a future.
Over the last two weeks, we’d fallen into our very own contented little bubble of euphoria that I suspected accompanied all blossoming new relationships—not that I’d had any valid practical experience being part of a couple before.
And just as I’d suspected when we were together in Europe, Roman was indeed a workaholic—he spent crazy hours at his office, which I’d recently discovered was located in Lower Manhattan. But to my increasing disappointment, I’d yet to visit in person, although, I had spoken to Roman’s personal assistant, Maggie, who seemed both professionally polite and lovely.
I’d called Roman the other day and his phone was automatically diverted to Maggie. When she answered my call, Maggie informed me Roman was in a meeting but insisted on putting me through to him despite my vehement protests. Maggie told me Roman had given her a standing order to always put my calls through, regardless of what meeting he was in attendance. At her words, tiny little flutters swirled in my chest at the sweetness of his actions an
d I, Charli Evangeline Gilmore—not one to be known to swoon—swooned like a love-struck teenager at a One Direction concert in that moment. I had it bad for the guy.
Regardless of Roman’s hectic work schedule, we’d somehow made it work between us. Over the past two weeks, Roman and I had gone out to dinner several times, caught a movie in Midtown, and visited the Museum of Modern Art last Sunday afternoon. I’d also found myself spending most nights sleeping at Roman’s, in his bed at his penthouse. At first, I was reluctant to sleep over so often—even with my limited experience, I knew that couples who’d spend too much time in each other’s space so early on in a relationship could find it stifling and suffocating. And that was the last thing I wanted to happen with us. Hell, it was the exact reason I’d used to break it off with a guy in a previous relationship. Everyone needed their own space from time to time—to breathe, be themselves without feeling as though they were being shadowed every day of the week.
However, Roman was adamant we spend at least four out of the seven nights together and despite my concerns, I loved going to sleep at night wrapped in his arms and I loved waking up to him in the mornings.
On those nights that Roman worked and we didn’t have plans, I would spend time with Sam in our trendy SoHo apartment. The girl was obsessed with cooking and she was a culinary genius. So long as I provided a steady supply of wine, Sam would happily cook dinner for me.
At the end of my second week in New York, I discovered a great little gymnasium located a couple of blocks over from our apartment. They offered an extensive range of classes, including contemporary dance, and Sam joined with me. Together, we decided to go to the early morning yoga classes a couple times a week and some evenings I attended the dance sessions alone.
My days were filled with teaching at Whitfield’s and the nights were either spent with Roman when he wasn’t working or at the gym or with Sam having dinner and hanging out. I’d even accompanied Sam to one of the local bars close by in SoHo, although bars weren’t really my scene. I preferred clubs were the music was loud, the dance floor was crowded, and I could lose myself in dancing all night.
