by Sasha Gold
She winces. I’d forgotten her bruises. That primitive instinct flares hotter. I want to hurt the man who bruised my girl. I set her down gently, holding her shoulders until I’m certain she’s steady on her feet.
“Okay, Tessa?”
I half-expect her to move away from me, to try to put some distance between us. Instead, she looks up at me with an expression of surprise. Her pale face pinks slightly.
“I must have fainted because of the cold. I’ve never fainted before from the cold. Blood, sure. But who doesn’t faint when they see blood, am I right?”
She’s talking fast. She’s nervous because there’s something about me that reminds her of someone. A man who’s completely obsessed with her. I’d like to lay my cards on the table, but I have to bide my time. Which I fucking hate. I won’t be able to steal her away just yet, because I can tell she’d fight me. I want her to come willingly, obviously, because I want to protect her. Make her mine permanently.
I thought if I saw her, I could talk myself out of this obsession. I thought I’d see how young and vulnerable she is, and I’d be reminded of all the older, willing and eager women who would be happy to do anything for a second date. The instant I saw her, I knew I was too far gone.
“You need to eat something,” I tell her, attempting to sound like a reasonable man.
The gentleman who opened the freezer door appears in the doorway, holding a tray. I coax Tessa over to a chair and table. I take the tray, thank the man and set the food in front of her.
I sit down and watch her, resisting the urge to simply tell her everything. She still doesn’t look like she’s completely recovered. I don’t want her to faint again.
She picks up her fork and gazes down at the steaming pasta. “The food here is usually pretty good.”
Nothing like your cooking… by the way, I’m Roman Savage…
I hold back the words. I need to be patient. She’s not sure if she trusts me. I followed her into the walk-in freezer, just to make sure no one bothered her. She thinks I locked the door on purpose.
“Tessa, I could help you find a place to stay. Away from your roommate and that whole situation.”
She freezes, stares with unblinking eyes and slightly parted lips. Sitting there, wrapped in my miles-too-big coat, she looks impossibly young. She is young. Eleven years younger than me.
“I don’t need help,” she says quietly.
“You can’t go back to that apartment.” My tone is rough. “I mean, you shouldn’t go back there.”
“Hmm… okay. I’ll think that over.”
She lowers her gaze and picks at her food. She’s not really eating which makes my irritation flare. My offer of help isn’t terribly elegant and might come off as opportunistic, but I don’t have time for sugar-coating. She needs a new place to stay. Now. Why is this so difficult? I’ve built a company that protects heads of state and rock stars. My employees are hard-assed, highly decorated military vets, and yet this girl is giving me the brush-off.
“Tessa, this guy who shoved you will only get meaner. This isn’t the part where you think something over. This is the part where you listen to someone who knows more about dangerous situations.”
“That would be you?”
“That would be me. I’m a security expert.”
Two women enter the staff room. They nod a polite hello and go to the linen closet in the back. Tessa’s shoulders relax a little, probably because now that we’re not alone, she doesn’t feel so vulnerable. Neither of us speak while the ladies are in the room. They’ve come looking for blankets, apparently, and debate how many they need.
Tessa eats a little, not enough, but she has a few bites of everything and then pushes the tray aside. I watch her every movement, trying to take in all of her. I feel like I’m stumbling along the edges of a desert and she’s the spring in the distance. A sexy, mind-fucking little mirage.
I feel my mouth curve into a smile as I let my gaze wander over her pretty face.
When she talks, she gestures, her small hands moving in time with her words. Her lips are full and make me imagine sinful things. How they would taste. What they would feel like when I gently bite them. Her hair is a mess. A sexy mess. I can almost feel how soft the tresses would feel as I trailed my fingers through them. Silk, that’s what they’d feel like as I held them and sank into her sweet body…
She leans forward and suddenly I’m aware that she’s waiting for an answer to a question I didn’t hear.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“Are you okay?”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
Just imagining all the filthy things I want from you…
The women leave the linen closet, carrying stacks of blankets. Tessa’s eyes follow them as they cross the room the direction of the exit. She shifts nervously.
“I’ll be up in a little bit to help assign beds,” Tessa tells one of the ladies. A moment later, the women are gone and we’re alone in the staff room once again. I breathe out a long sigh and pull myself together, barely.
“I have resources, Tessa. I could make you comfortable.”
I keep from wincing, barely. I can practically hear Claire mutter how creepy I’m being. There’s no time for finesse or charm, though. Which works out surprisingly well since I’m not feeling either right now. I’d rather just tell Tessa what’s going to be happening after tonight.
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Roman.” I grit my teeth. Probably should have introduced myself from the get-go, but that’s just proof how much this girl fucks with my normally well-ordered thoughts.
“Thank you, Roman. I should return your coat to you.” She moves to take off my coat.
“Keep it. I’ll get it back from you sometime.”
She gives me a wary look. “When?”
I smile, letting my gaze wander over her features. Lust claws inside me, pulsing with the need to get my hands on her again. She’s worried? I might be a little worried too. I’ve never felt anything so primal in my life. I steel my resolve not to reveal everything. I can wait. I need to wait.
I hand her my phone. “Dial your number.”
She bites her lip. I stare at the way her teeth sink into the pillowy softness of her lips. I resist the urge to adjust my cock. There are a dozen different ways I could have gotten her cell number, but I want her to enter it herself. She takes my phone and taps the screen. I hear her phone chime from one of the lockers.
I hold out my hand. She sets the phone on my palm. I listen, waiting till her phone goes to a generic voicemail message. I keep my gaze on her.
“Hi there, Tessa. This is Roman. We just met. Remember? In the freezer? I’d like to take you to dinner. Soon. Tomorrow would be good. You can give me my coat back and we’ll talk about a nice, little drama-free apartment for you.”
“Dinner?”
“Dinner.”
“You and me?”
“Correct.”
“You don’t waste any time do you, Roman?”
“I’ve already wasted too much.”
She blinks, studies me for a long moment and when she replies, her eyes glint with amusement. Her voice is low and conspiratorial. “Can I bring my husband and my six kids?”
I shake my head. Her sass is music to my ears. If she’s relaxed enough to give me some attitude, I know dinner is a sure thing. A surge of satisfaction rushes through me. I’m pretty fucking pleased, but noting the spark in her eye, I know I need to address her sass. “I’m the jealous, possessive type.”
“Really? Who would have guessed?”
“Right.” I get to my feet. “So just bring the kids. No husband.”
She laughs softly as I walk to the door. I stop in the doorway and look back at her. “And if you need something before then, like tonight. If you don’t feel well or anything, you’d better call me.”
It’s taking every ounce of self-discipline to leave her here. I don’t want to wait another d
ay. I’m forcing myself to be patient, but there’s no way I’m leaving without a commitment from her. Either she’s going to agree to call me if she needs me, or I’ll just take her with me now.
She doesn’t reply.
“Tessa,” I say softly. “Promise me that you’ll call me.”
She sighs. “Okay, Roman, I promise.”
Despite her promise, it’s difficult to turn around and walk away. I know this place is safe. They have security. They have plenty of staff. Nothing will happen to Tessa, and yet it takes everything I have to walk away. I let myself take one last look.
“This is the last time you’re spending the night here, Tessa.”
Her lips part with surprise. “What?”
“I don’t care what you do during the day, but you’re not sleeping here on a cot, ever again. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
She purses her lips together like she’s trying to keep from grinning at my announcement. “Good to know. Thank you, Roman.”
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow night.” Before I can say anything that will make her question my stability or scare her off permanently, I force myself to leave the Com Center and drive home.
The only way I can tolerate leaving her there is the fact that I have several operatives in the building, keeping an eye on things. They’re posing as homeless people, two men and two women. I know that if there’s trouble, I’ll hear about it right away.
Still, I have a restless night, thinking about the pained look on her face when she reached for the box. She’s been hurt. That pushes me over the edge, and I won’t stop till I make sure she’s safe from that bastard or any man who tries to harm her.
Just before dawn, I wake from a dream of Tessa. My cock is hard, aching for what I can’t have. In my dream, Tessa came to me, crossing a crowded room and wearing a dress that molded perfectly to her curves. She smiled as I pulled her onto my lap and kissed her. And fuck if I didn’t wake up right then.
I growl as I stalk to the bathroom. I step into the shower, letting the water wash over me. As usual, the icy stream does nothing for my frustration. I stroke my cock, imagining her in my bed. She’s naked, her chestnut ringlets spread across the pillow, and she’s asking me to fuck her. I come when I think about her voice and what it would sound like as she begged me.
She’s sassy.
And sweet.
And perfect.
And today I’m ten times more obsessed with her than I was yesterday.
Chapter Five
Tessa
The night passes quickly, despite the evening duties. I distribute blankets to the female clients in the women’s wing. Later I make sure the bathroom supplies are replenished. Finally, I set out water bottles and a basket of apples and oranges. Sometimes clients get hungry in the night.
In the morning, after catching a little better than five hours of sleep, I grab a shower. I have a few things with me to tidy up. A shirt, underwear, makeup and a toothbrush. Maybe it’s from having to pick up and leave foster homes in a hurry that I always carry everything I need for at least one day of bugging out. My ID. Makeup. Charge cord and phone. I had too many living arrangements ripped out from under me. I’ve learned to travel light.
Chelsea and my apartment could be swept away in a tidal wave or hit by a meteor and I’d have everything I need, for a couple of days anyway. After I drag a brush through my damp hair, I put it in a ponytail holder and head to the kitchen.
I set up the coffee for the staff and clients. I help make breakfast which means scrambling a huge pan of eggs and baking dozens of biscuits. Since they’re short-staffed this morning, I stay on and help clean the kitchen. But then it’s time to go. I pull on the jacket Roman lent me last night, grateful for the protection against the brutal wind. The blizzard hasn’t arrived yet, but already the buses are delayed. I grab my regular bus and check text messages. Part of me hopes there’ll be one from Roman. But he hasn’t called or texted.
He reminds me of Mr. Savage. I realized it this morning when I woke from a torrid dream about Roman. Weirdly, he and Mr. Savage were sort of morphed into one person. Which is ridiculous. What are the odds Mr. Savage volunteered at the Com Center?
My phone chimes, making my heart jump in my chest. I scramble, searching for my phone in the depths of my purse and dropping it twice before I manage to bring up the message. But the message isn’t from Roman. It’s from Chelsea. An image of her dressed in lingerie, sprawled across her bed, giving the camera a sultry look. I draw a sharp breath.
Brendon said he can get $100 for this pic. He wants to know if you want in.
I stare at the image, wondering if I’m seeing things. With a shudder, I promptly delete the picture of my friend. What’s happened to her? And how crazy is it that he’d ask me to do something like that? Can Brendon really imagine that I’d pose wearing next to nothing? How could Chelsea suggest that. With him, of all people?
The worst part of that image is that it means Brendon and Chelsea are definitely back together. He probably spent the night last night and will again tonight. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the situation sink onto my shoulders. Working for Mr. Savage pays very well, but that doesn’t mean I have enough to move out. Even if I did, I’d need a roommate, at least until I got full-time work at a restaurant.
I think about Roman’s words last night.
Tessa, I could help you find a place to stay. Away from your roommate and that whole situation.
And what did that mean, I wonder. Am I jumping to conclusions, imagining that some stranger wants to put me up in an apartment? Because I’m so irresistible? I glance at my boots, combat boots I bought at an army surplus store. Chelsea and I both got a pair. We paid ten dollars and painted them with flowers and vines.
What kind of woman would Roman go out with, I wonder. Probably a woman who’s the opposite of me in every way. Tall and slim. Wealthy. With a degree from an Ivy League school in something like finance or pre-law. She probably wouldn’t touch a carb. If it weren’t for carbs, I probably wouldn’t have a career. Or at least not a very fun career.
By the time the bus drops me off, I’m nearly an hour late. The blizzard hasn’t arrived yet. The wind whips my hair and as I turn the corner, a blast of arctic air hits me with a force that practically knocks me over. I run to the apartment building and burst through the doors, grateful to escape the cold.
Hopping from foot to foot, I wait for the elevator. I’m trying to coax the blood flow back into my feet. The elevator carries me up to the top floor. As usual, I pause to listen for any sounds before getting off the elevator. No one is here, thank goodness.
I go about my usual tasks, tidying the kitchen, when a call comes over the intercom. A man’s voice breaks the silence and I nearly scream. My nerves are seriously on edge. I stop myself from shrieking by clapping my hand over my mouth.
“Miss,” the man’s voice said. “This is David.”
“Um… hello. Yes? David?”
“I’m the doorman. There are some packages for Mr. Savage. Would you like me to bring them up?”
“Okay.” My voice is shrill. “That would be fine. Perfectly fine.”
My heart jackhammers my ribs. I’ve always avoided any of the doormen, but now I’m panicking even more. Does this guy know Margie? Grabbing my phone, I hastily dial Margie’s number.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I hiss, pacing around the kitchen.
“Hellooo, Contessa,” Margie drawls.
I don’t have time to correct her. Margie always said what a pretty and feminine name Contessa was and refuses to call me Tessa. The light on the elevator lit the numbers, one by one as the car ascends. “The doorman’s bringing some packages. What do I do?”
“Really, that’s interesting. I wonder what he’s bringing?”
“No idea, but what if he recognizes me, or what if he figures out I’m not you?”
“Don’t be such a worrywart. Just smile and act natural. The doorman will probably think you’
re Mr. Savage’s girlfriend.”
I watch the numbers above the elevator door. The elevator passes the twentieth floor. It will arrive in a matter of seconds.
“His girlfriend, okay.” I let out a huff of air and laugh a little. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I heard you’re getting a blizzard. It’s a clear eighty-five here in the Keys. I’m planning on staying another couple of weeks.”
“Great. Glad you’re having fun.”
“Everything okay with you, dear?”
“Yup. Perfect. I’ll call you soon, okay?”
Without waiting for a good-bye, I end the call. I yank my ponytail holder free, fluff my hair and paste a smile to my lips. The doors slide open, revealing a uniformed man holding a stack of boxes. He steps off the elevator, giving me a polite nod.
“I assumed these packages were for Mr. Savage, but I must be wrong, Miss.”
“Not to worry, David. Just set them on the table.” I gesture to the foyer table, a massive, ornate piece with a marble inlay. “I’ll put them away.”
“Of course, Miss.”
He carries the boxes to the table, returns to the elevator for another stack and once more for the bags. Then he tips his cap and steps into the elevator car. The doors close. He’s gone, leaving me alone in the penthouse once more.
I stare at the boxes and bags, unsure what to do next. What would Margie do? Probably put them away. Warily, I step closer and inspect the various parcels. Peering into a bag, I part the swathes of tissue to find a pale pink, silk blouse. A woman’s shirt.
I jump back, shove the shirt back into the bag and grab another bag, and then another. Every bag and parcel has the name of a woman’s boutique or lingerie shop written in elegant scroll across the front. My mouth goes dry. Mr. Savage expected company. Clearly. This is a first. In the weeks that I’ve been working for him, I’ve never seen a hint of girlfriend.
I draw a deep, trembling breath. What difference does it make if he has a woman? It’s none of my business. Still, my throat feels parched. I get a glass of water and pace back and forth in the kitchen a few times until I am able to gather my wits. Instead of stewing on this, I focus on carrying the shopping to the guest room. I set things on the floor beside the bed. I have no idea if his friend will stay overnight, but I don’t want to just leave the stuff in his room.
