by Noree Kahika
Nevertheless, although it wasn’t my scene, we still managed to have fun and I adamantly refused to become one of those joined-at-the-hip couples who ditched their friends for their new boyfriend. Lucky for me, I had plenty of time to do my own thing with Roman’s crazy work schedule.
He’d call me when he was leaving the office and I’d meet him at his place and by the second week of our part-time cohabitation, he’d presented me with a key to the penthouse. Obviously it caused an argument between us: I felt we weren’t ready for the key exchange portion of a relationship and he insisted I take “the fucking key” regardless of my opinion. We ended the night having toe-curling, mind-blowingly angry sex and I had a new key on my key-ring.
Reluctantly, I had to admit there was another bonus to spending nights at Roman’s—besides the obvious, of course: he had a wonderful housekeeper who provided an endless supply of clean fluffy towels and freshly ground coffee beans. I adored her.
Everything for once in my life seemed to be effortlessly falling into place. After almost a year of searching, I finally had my dream job and it was everything and more I’d hoped it would be. I had a great new apartment with a roommate who was funny and quirky and kind and fast becoming one of my closest friends on the planet. And lastly, I had Roman—the man who I was falling deeper and deeper, spiraling head over heels in love with, each passing day.
The only real quandary I had: the last three or four days, I’d been experiencing the strangest uncanny sensation of being watched. Watched wasn’t quite accurate when I considered it more carefully—it was more like an eerie impression that I was dually being watched and followed. It was both disquieting and discombobulating. I hadn’t mentioned it to either Sam or Roman but this evening when I stopped to buy a pint of ice cream at the small grocery store a couple of blocks from Roman’s penthouse to take over for dessert—he’d called me earlier in the day to tell me he was ordering take-out Italian for dinner—I distinctively felt the presence of another person shadowing me.
When I glanced around to scrutinize my surroundings, there didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. However, when I’d paid the sales clerk and went to leave the store, I swear I saw a man loitering down the end of the second aisle who looked eerily similar to the creepy man I’d met briefly in the first class lounge at the Venice airport when I was flying home. I pushed open the glass door to the store and stepped out onto the sidewalk, taking one more look back as I left. But when my eyes scanned the aisle where I’d seen the man, it was empty.
My grip tightened on the strap of my bag, and I quickened the pace of my steps and walked to Roman’s building in record time, telling myself it was probably a figment of my imagination.
“This is good, right?” I asked Roman. My words came out muffled from the large spoonful of mint chocolate ice cream I’d just stuffed into my mouth.
He didn’t reply but one of his brows rose and he gave me an unmistakable look that said he thought I was nuts—adorable, but nuts.
“Oh, come on—you don’t like mint chocolate?” I hoisted myself up onto the granite countertop in Roman’s kitchen and I swung my dangling legs back and forth.
Roman’s kitchen was enormous, just like the rest of his five-bed, six-bath, two-living rooms and study penthouse. The kitchen had glistening granite countertops, top-of-the-line sparkling stainless-steel appliances, glossy dark polished herringbone wooden floors, and gleaming Macassar Ebony cabinetry—basically the room was one giant disco ball of shininess and a chef’s wet dream.
“Princess, mint chocolate isn’t my flavor.” He leaned over from his standing position beside me and kissed me on the tip of my nose.
I dug my spoon into the tub of ice cream and scooped out another huge chunk and placed it into my mouth. “So tell me your favorite flavor and I’ll buy it next time.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth and he grimaced. “If you insist on eating the ice cream straight from the tub and not a bowl like a civilized person, then at least wait until your mouth’s empty before you talk.”
“Whatever.” I shrugged and then threw him a wide toothy grin, knowing my teeth would be covered in mint-colored ice cream and tiny specks of chocolate. “Now tell me your favorite flavor,” I demanded.
Roman shook his head in disbelief and snatched the spoon and container from my hands. He tossed them haphazardly into the sink and then placed the palms of his hands on either side of my thighs. “My favorite flavor is you, Charlotte. You’re my favorite dessert.”
His midnight-blue eyes both heated and darkened simultaneously and I painfully swallowed the dollop of ice cream I’d been savoring in my mouth. The intense fiery glare in Roman’s eyes was all it took for me to ignite like a bonfire, and liquid heat flowed low in my belly and down between my thighs like molten lava. By now I’d learned what that glare in his eyes promised and I loved that glare—that glare meant I was in for a very, very pleasurable few hours ahead.
“Wait…wait for a second. Hold that thought.” I held up a pleading finger to Roman and jumped off the kitchen counter, dashing into the formal living room to retrieve my purse.
“What are you doing?” Roman’s voice trailed behind me. A small amount of exasperation colored his tone.
Digging around in my purse, I located my cell phone, pulled it out and typed out a quick text message to Sam. “I’m just texting Sam to let her know I won’t be at the yoga class tomorrow morning.”
“Hmm, because you’ll be getting a workout with me tonight?” he teased.
Without thinking, I distractedly told him the truth. “No, because it starts at five thirty in the morning and after tonight, I don’t feel comfortable catching the subway or walking around when it’s still dark.”
“Charlotte.” Roman’s tone had an ominous ring to it. “What do you mean after tonight? What happened tonight?” he demanded curtly. My eyes instantly swung to his. Concern covered his features and he frowned at me.
I pressed Send on the phone, dropped it back into my bag and not looking directly at Roman, I sighed. “You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but the last few days I’ve had this weird sensation that I’m being followed and watched.”
When I finished my confession, I lifted my gaze to Roman. He stared at me with a…thunderous glare. His lips were pursed and his jaw was rigid.
My head tilted as I studied him momentarily, confused by his reaction. He stood a few feet away from me, silently glaring with his hands fisted on his hips. I couldn’t understand what on earth I’d possibly said that had made him so mad. “Roman—”
“Why in the fuck didn’t you tell me this earlier,” he barked.
I automatically flinched at his tone. “Because it was just some dumb feeling I’d had until tonight, and even tonight could be some figment of my imagination. It’s not like I have any concrete evidence that someone is—”
He moved toward the dining room table, where his keys and cell phone were, cutting me off as he reached for the phone. “I’ve asked you repeatedly to agree to a driver to take you to and from work but no—you had to be fucking stubborn and insist on taking the fucking subway everywhere on your own. Well, no more.” Roman’s tone was terse and accusatory.
I flinched again at his tone and then blinked three times as I tried to process his words. When they finally sunk in, I mimicked his earlier pose, fisted my hands on my hips and let him have it. “What in hell are you talking about, Roman? What has me refusing to have one of your drivers and cars chaperoning me around the city at a whim got to do with any of this? And don’t fucking swear at me—it pisses me off.”
“Seth,” he barked into the phone. His eyes remained steadfastly on mine. “I need you up here now.” Roman disconnected without so much as a please, thank you or good-bye to poor Seth.
“Roman,” I called again and watched with apprehension as he stalked toward me with barely controlled fury in his handsome features.
“Charlotte,” he said through gritted teeth when he stopped inche
s away from my body. “I own a multi-billion dollar company. A company I’ve personally built from the ground up and a company that has made me an exceptionally wealthy man. You don’t get to where I am without making a few enemies along the way. Enemies who’d like nothing better than to mess with me or try to tear me down a notch.” He paused; his gaze softened slightly and his fingers reached out to smooth a lock of my hair behind my ear. I tried to suppress another flinch at his touch but failed.
His frown deepened but he didn’t remove his fingers from my hair straightaway. “Princess,” he began in a gentler tone. “Unfortunately, some of those enemies might decide one way of getting to me is to mess with my girlfriend.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I understand, but I don’t have to like it.” My protest came out half mumbled so I spat the toothpaste out of my mouth, rinsed and then repeated my objection to him. I was currently standing in Roman’s pretentiously large marbled bathroom and brushing my teeth.
His master bathroom was beyond ridiculous: who in their right mind needed two twin vanity sinks, and his-and-her matching showers, toilets, and bathtubs—two enormous bathtubs—come on!
My morning grumpy mood was largely due to the fact that last night was the first time Roman and I had slept together in a bed and hadn’t actually had sex. Seth arrived within minutes of Roman calling him and I was then subjected to an interrogation the likes of which rivaled some of the best drama-filled cop shows on television. Seth bombarded me with questions and wrote down a slew of detailed notes. When I mentioned the man at the grocery store looked vaguely similar to the creepy guy I’d met at the Venice airport who’d introduced himself as Jonathan Gray, Roman and Seth’s eyes snapped to each other’s.
“What? What is it?” I noted with irritation that both Roman and Seth appeared to be communicating in silent code with each other.
Seth’s usual menacing demeanor looked downright terrifying when he said, “I’ll put a man on her twenty-four-seven, Mr. Knight.”
“A man? What man? What do I need a man for?” My head felt as if I were at a tennis match, volleying back and forth between Roman and Seth’s grim faces.
Roman nodded once. A muscle ticked in his jaw and then he tore his fingers roughly through the dark strands of his hair. “Nothing,” Roman finally said, his tone brusque. “It’s just a precaution like I said earlier. As of tomorrow, Charlotte, you’ll have a driver to take you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go.”
Lifting his chin, Roman indicated to Seth. “My study.”
With a quick troubled glance toward me, Seth wordlessly walked down the hallway to where Roman’s study was.
I frowned, shifted on the couch to face him better and for what felt like the millionth time tonight, I asked again, “Roman, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet.” His words were laced with a heavy mixture of frustration and confusion. “I’ll know more after Seth and I talk. Get ready for bed, Princess. I won’t be long.”
Stubbornly, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Roman—”
Roman’s gaze appraised my obstinate pose and then he let out a long sigh. “Please…just don’t worry about it and go to bed. I promise I won’t be far behind you.” He then placed a perfunctory kiss on the top of my head and without another word, followed Seth into his study.
As I went through the motions of getting ready for bed, myriad concerns and doubts badgered me. While I brushed my teeth, I wondered what Roman and Seth were discussing alone in the study. When I washed and moisturized my face, I pondered why they’d both reacted so strangely when I’d mentioned the creepy Jonathan Gray. And as I dressed in my pajamas, I considered what having a driver/bodyguard was going to mean to the landscape of my everyday life. Lastly, as I slid into Roman’s king-sized bed, I frustratingly stewed over Roman’s continued reluctance to be forthcoming with me. It was as if Roman would let me into his life only so far and then when I gained a little ground, he’d slam up these walls of secrecy and firmly shut me out.
It took me ages to fall asleep and despite Roman’s assurances that he wouldn’t be long, I drifted off before he’d returned. Vaguely, sometime in the early morning hours, I felt the bed depress from his weight when he climbed in and remembered feeling him gather me into the warmth of his arms, the feel of his lips on the crown of my head when he kissed me there but then I must have fallen soundly back to sleep.
I’d awoken in the morning to an empty bed and momentarily wondered whether I had imagined Roman coming to bed at all last night. However, the pillows and sheets on his side of the bed were crumbled and strewn, both convincing evidence that he had. I glanced at the clock and was startled to see that I had overslept. It was almost seven thirty and I quickly dashed into the shower in haste to get ready for work.
While I blew out my hair, Roman strolled up behind me and slid a freshly brewed cup of coffee on the marbled countertop next to me, and then casually announced my driver/bodyguard’s name was Richard; he’d be waiting for me downstairs when I ready to leave for work. Richard, according to Roman, was both proficient and discreet, his deployment was a precautionary measure and lastly, I was not to worry.
Argh!
I didn’t want Richard the driver/bodyguard—I wanted to know what the fuck was going on!
I inhaled the rich aroma, picked up the coffee and took a mouthwatering sip and instantly realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth, so I placed the cup down and rummaged in my toiletries bag for my toothbrush. “Why do I have the feeling there’s more going on here, Roman?” I couldn’t disguise the accusatory tone in my voice.
“As I’ve said already, Charlotte, it’s nothing for you to worry about—it’s just a precaution, nothing more.”
My frustrated gaze lifted to the mirror and I watched, exasperated, as Roman strolled back into the bedroom. As I stared at his retreating form, it occurred to me in that moment—Roman had the telling habit of addressing me by my full name when he was either sexually aroused, annoyed, or was trying to manipulate me into doing or agreeing with his wishes. I huffed in irritation. However, I was running late for work. I didn’t have the time or the energy to examine Roman’s motives further—but at least I had a ride to work, which would be a hell of a lot faster than taking the subway or walking. For the first time since waking up that morning, my mood lifted.
Richard, my temporary driver/bodyguard, was of medium height, stocky, nondescript brown hair and brown eyes; nevertheless, his outward demeanor and appearance was just as ominous and intimidating as Seth’s. Inside, however, he seemed really nice, friendly even, and greeted me warmly. I immediately liked him. Richard was far more affable and talkative than Seth, and I guessed his age to be well into his forties. Richard dropped me off at school and I made it to my classroom in time before the bell rang.
Later in the evening, when I was at home eating a scrumptious bowl of satay chicken noodles Sam had cooked while I filled her in on the whole drama, my phone pinged to alert me to an incoming text message.
“So did you ask Richard the Chauffeur if you could call him Dick?” Sam burst into a fit of giggles at her joke.
“No,” I answered, distracted as I read the screen of my phone.
I must have sighed too loudly because Sam pointed her chopsticks at my phone. “Who’s it from?”
“Roman. Apparently he has some issue at work and will be working late tonight at the office. He said he’d see me tomorrow evening instead.” I exhaled another long sigh. Damn, after last night and this morning’s drama, I’d really hoped to discuss the situation with him. After thinking about it all day, I was determined to get some answers.
My phone pinged again with another message and after reading it, I groaned and muttered under my breath. “Oh shit.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“Roman again. He’s sent a text to remind me of some charity cocktail event we’re supposed to be attending this Sunday night.”
“Ooh-la-la. Sounds swanky,” she teased.
Mirth danced in her large blue eyes. “So why don’t you sound more enthusiastic about it?”
“Hmm…I am excited…or at least I was until last night.” Using one of the chopsticks, I pushed a cashew around in my bowl.
“I know you said earlier you weren’t any danger but are you sure, Charli? I mean, Roman wouldn’t have put Richard the Chauffeur on duty if this was all some misunderstanding, would he?”
I grinned at her reference to Richard. Since telling Sam about Richard shortly after arriving home from work that afternoon, she’d been referring to him as Richard the Chauffeur. “Nah…there’s no danger, Sam. Like I told you—it’s probably all in my head. Seriously—who’d want to stalk me? I’ve barely been here a month, let alone know enough people in New York for one of them to decide to follow me around. Besides, I’m a schoolteacher, not a movie star.”
She threw me a mild look of disbelief and sucked a long noodle through her lips, slurping it loudly.
“Ooh, now that’s”—I pointed my chopsticks at her—“classy.”
“What can I say—I’m all about class.”
Sunday had decidedly ended on a high note after what had turned out to be one of the strangest weeks, replete with a bizarre series of inexplicable events I’d ever experienced.
Firstly there was Roman’s reaction to my speculations of being stalked, and then his surreptitious discussions with Seth, which resulted in me being assigned Richard the driver/bodyguard. Having Richard stoically escort me everywhere I went all week was a little constricting and felt mildly disconcerting. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to someone shepherding my every move.
And lastly, there was Roman’s absence for the past few days. According to a brief phone conversation I had with Roman the night before last, a deal he was in the final stages of negotiating on had had a major setback and the whole situation had reached a critical impasse. Roman and his senior team of executives would be working around the clock to rectify the crisis.
