Joyce’s fingertips traveled below her chin and down her throat. “Thank god Angie brought you over today. I’ve been meaning to get this office in order for ages. Just needed a big, strong man to help finish the job.”
“Mom,” Angie warned. She couldn’t believe that her mother was putting the moves on her… Angie blinked. Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Worst nightmare?
Homicidal maniac?
Angie, more than ever, was at a complete loss as to what Roman was to her.
“No, it’s okay…” Roman said, smiling directly at Joyce. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, lifted it just above his belly button, and then hesitated. “Do you mind if I--”
“Please!” Joyce nearly groaned.
“Great.” He tore the shirt over his head, every muscle in his body moving and contracting as he did. This time, as he dropped the shirt to the floor at his feet, his eyes were riveted to Angie. “It’s hot in here,” he said, another smile creeping to his lips as he bent down, lifted the desk with ease, and pushed it across the floor.
Angie watched as he moved, too entranced, herself, to tell him that it was surely so hot because her horny mother had purposely shoved the thermostat up to ninety degrees.
As they watched him work and sweat, Angie couldn’t help but be in awe at her mother’s sheer genius. Every inch of him was glistening, and Joyce was no longer alone in her thirst for Roman. Angie was right there on her heels. No matter how crazy that made her.
After a few more unnecessary adjustments, Joyce finally gave Roman a break. They settled on a spot for the desk, nestled in a quiet corner of the room next to the window.
After thanking Roman and giving him an, what Angie deemed, exceedingly long hug, Joyce made her way out of the room. Her eyes widened suggestively in Angie’s as she passed while running the tips of her fingers down the dip in her throat.
Angie could read her mom’s eyes like a book.
Get it girl, is what they screamed.
When Joyce slapped Angie’s butt on the way out the door, it was official.
Her mom was officially a sixteen-year-old girl.
Waiting until Joyce had closed the door behind her, Angie turned back to Roman, motioning to the closed door. She would bet her last dollar that her mother was listening in from the other side.
“I don’t know who enjoyed that little show of yours more: you, or my mom.”
Roman licked his smirking lips as he sat on the edge of the desk. He kept his head bowed for a moment, and when he looked up at Angie, his eyes glowed.
“She’s adorable,” he said. “She’s just like you.”
“Bite your tongue right now. I rebuke you.”
The smile that crossed his face was glorious, and he had no qualms about directing it right at her. His chest was still heaving softly as he nodded his head with a smirk. “Come here.”
She felt fear zoom through her, fear mixed with lust, and she couldn’t decide which one was winning. Everything in her bones told her to fear him completely, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t turn off what she felt.
And she couldn’t give him any idea that he was now her prime suspect.
If she was going to keep him close, she would have to play this cool.
So she crossed her arms. “No.”
“I said come here.”
She tried to change the subject. “You were teasing my mother on purpose.”
“She didn’t leave me much choice. It really is hot as hell in here.”
“You don’t know my mother. You have no idea what you’ve done. You’re never going to be able to get rid of her now.”
“Who says I want to?” He bit his lip, released it, and blinked seductively. “She comes with you, right?”
“Why are you here?”
Roman craned his jaw, eyes narrowing. “Why not?”
She held her hands out at her side, and then let them fall. “I don’t know. Maybe you get off on making women fall for you, and my mother was just the next unsuspecting victim on your list.” She kicked her feet against the carpet. “Isn’t that what you do? Huh? You lure them in with your pretty blue eyes, you whisper all the right things, you wait until you’ve got them right where you want them, and then wham!” She pretended to bring a dagger down. “Right between the eyes. Am I right?”
His eyes darkened. “Come here.”
This time, she began making her way slowly over to him, biting her own lip, going straight for the dagger she’d just put in his hand. That thundering under her heartbeat was back, that dangerous thundering, leaving her feeling a feeling she wasn’t accustomed to with him.
Doubt, uncertainty, fear.
Still, she was unable to stop herself from moving toward him, drawn in by his eyes, his outstretched hand, him. The only thing that overrode the terror that was lurking in her heart was the love. The love still thrived, overpowering her common sense, her mind, and her gut.
Once she was within reaching distance, he took a clump of her shirt and pulled her in the rest of the way, taking the back of her thighs in his hands as her chest crashed into his. He leaned back, bringing her feet off the floor. She had no choice but to straddle him, climbing on top of the desk, and his lap, feeling his heat immediately.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her eyes studied his face in desperate search for anything that rang false, but all she saw was love. Love soaked his eyes, so blind with trust and adoration that she wondered if she’d become so deluded in her love for him that she’d convinced herself she was seeing it manifested in his eyes.
“You said she harasses you about being single…” He shrugged. “I thought why not show up? Make this visit a little easier on you.”
“So now you’re my trophy boyfriend? My boyfriend for hire? The one I get to put on my arm for family dinners and special events?”
He sputtered. “If that’s what you want to call it, fine.”
She ran her eyes along him, wondering if a face so lovely could belong to a killer. Her heartbeat sped up, but she didn’t know if it was her logic, or her desire. She was a fool to still want him, to still respond, but she did.
She hadn’t proven him guilty of being a killer, after all.
Then again, she hadn’t proven him innocent, either.
Play it cool, Angie.
She breathed in. “Thank you for helping my mother out. Dad is still gone a lot, and she’s been so lonely lately. It’s always the little things that bother her the most. Like not being able to move this ridiculously huge desk that she probably won’t even use. It was nice of you to put on that striptease for her, as well. Gave her quite the thrill.”
“The only person I was putting on that show for was you, and you know it.”
She continued to watch him shrewdly. Listening to his words more deeply than she had before. She still couldn’t read anything but love. Was he that great an actor?
His hands traveled her body, lingering on the tight little dips, the curves he’d come to know well.
“What’s wrong with you?” he suddenly asked, eyebrows coming together.
Angie was surprised by the question. Perhaps the entire time she’d been trying to read him, he’d been reading her. She’d never been an actress, so it shouldn’t have surprised her that he could see right through her. He could see something was off, even as she forced a smile onto her face.
“Nothing,” she said, forcing that very smile.
He wasn’t buying it, and it showed. “You’re acting strangely.” His frown deepened. “Different.”
“How am I different?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You always sneak out on me, but this time… It felt different.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“I haven’t been able to get you off my mind all day. I feel like you’re upset, but I have no idea why.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
He almost laughed. “I don’t know how to do that.”
Angie tried to push off his lap, surprised by how t
ight he was holding her. When she tried to retreat, he only pulled her in closer. When he leaned in and kissed her neck, she felt the tiny sliver of control she’d managed to maintain instantly slip away.
“It’s been impossible to focus on anything.” His voice warmed her neck, and he replaced the warmth with his lips and tongue, sucking softly at her skin. “Don’t hide from me. Please. Just tell me what it is, and I’ll fix it.”
“I’m fine. I’m not angry at you, or anything.” Just highly suspicious, is all.
“Then what? I know it’s something. And I know it’s not just your office. It’s something deeper.”
“It isn’t.” Her mind was racing, once more. He’d never been this interested in what she was thinking and feeling. Did he realize she’d made the connection between the Cadillac in the photo, and the one in the video? Was that what had made him so suddenly curious?
Was he onto her?
Angie pulled back.
But, again, all she saw was love.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Prove it.” He swirled his hips against hers as his hands moved to her ass. He clawed at it hungrily.
Her body responded. She couldn’t deny wanting him, at least not physically. But mentally, she couldn’t fake it.
“Here?” she asked. “On the desk that my mother just used to get you naked?”
“She doesn’t have to know.”
“She can’t know. She might die from sheer pride alone, if she knew I screwed you on this desk.”
“So let’s give her something worth dying for.”
“Just so we’re clear, talking about my mother? Really not doing it for me.”
He pressed his lips to hers, barely lingering before his tongue was pressing them apart, moaning deeply.
Angie pulled back.
Distracted by his need for her, he didn’t notice her troubled eyes. “I need it so bad, baby. I need it right here.” Without waiting for confirmation, he popped open the button and zipper of her jeans before moving to his pants and doing the same to his own. “Right now, I can’t wait.”
Angie pushed at his chest, stopping him, looking away when his eyes met hers with a new look behind them.
“We should stop.”
He gripped her waist tightly, craning his head as he fought to catch her eyes. “Look at me.”
Angie didn’t look until he shook her once more, catching his face from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t turn her mind off for even one moment, amazed at how many different places it went to as her gaze ran his face.
“This isn’t why I came here today.” He pressed her hips into his hardness. “I mean… it’s a big reason why, but…” He tried to give her a coy smile, but it vanished when she didn’t give him one back. “But it’s not the only reason. I know you’ve been confused these last few months, Angie, and that’s largely my fault. I hope you can understand that I’ve been confused myself. I have. But I’m not anymore.”
He released her waist and reached into his pocket.
Her eyes followed his hand as he produced a gold key. It glimmered against the moonlight blaring in through the window. She stared at the key, but didn’t take it, eyes slowly moving back to his.
“I want you to stay with me,” he said, swallowing heavily. “Until you feel better about being alone. Until you feel safe.”
She moved her arms from around his neck, and he held her tighter in response, as if he was afraid she’d fly away.
“I don’t feel unsafe,” she said.
He grinned bashfully, caught. “Fine. Me. I want you to stay with me until I feel better about you being alone… I want you close to me. I need you close. Safe. Take the key.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re under no obligation to use it. Just know that I want you to, very much. Just know that you can.”
Angie rang her hands together, mind racing.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, his tone dead serious this time, eyes like fire. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” she breathed, climbing off of his lap and taking a healthy step away from the desk. “I just have a lot on my mind today.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s nothing you can help with, Roman. I just lost my office. My livelihood. Everything that meant something to me. It’s all gone. I can’t help it if it’s affecting me.”
“Talk to me about it. You can’t keep it all bottled up. You’ll go crazy.”
“Why do you even care, Roman? You’re not my boyfriend. We’re just fucking, right? I’m pretty sure that relieves you of the obligation of giving a shit about me and my problems.”
“Why do we keep having this same conversation, Angelica? Just because I’m not in a relationship with you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you! I will always care. I lo--” He stopped himself.
She wondered why? As she read relief on his face, she wondered why he’d stopped himself from saying what he was about to say.
“I think you should go,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I really just need to be with my mom right now.”
He stared at her for a long while.
For a moment, she wondered if he was going to honor her wishes and leave. It occurred to her that she certainly couldn’t make him leave, and neither could her mother.
He could finish them both off easily. With his bare hands, if he wanted to.
The same way he finished off Zoey’s parents?
Her thoughts sent her blood running cold. She could no longer pretend. She was afraid. He was a suspect, she was afraid, and she couldn’t pretend, not for another moment, even if it came at the expense of getting more information out of him.
It wasn’t worth it, anymore. Not until she knew for sure.
“Leave.” Her voice shook. “Now, Roman. Please go.”
The disbelief in his eyes melted into pain, and he looked away from her before she could confirm the moisture she thought she saw pooling in his eyes. He stared down at the shirt, button down, and coat that he’d laid across the desk, then clutched them in his fist.
Angie gasped softly when he snatched them up and stood tall.
He turned his bare back to her, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his undershirt.
Just before he got the shirt over his head, Angie saw it.
On the back of his neck, visible just before he pulled the shirt down over his torso, was a tattoo.
Before she could think another thought, reconsider, stop herself, Angie was racing across the room. She took the back of the shirt in her hand and tugged it down roughly, revealing the tattoo once more.
Her eyes went wide. Her blood ran cold.
She knew it the moment she saw it. The image had been burned into her brain.
It was the same tattoo.
The same tattoo that had been on the back of the murder’s neck in the streetlight footage.
Having gotten only one arm in his shirt before she’d come up behind him, Roman stopped dressing, craned his neck towards her, and raised an eyebrow. She had his t-shirt pulled back tight, so tight it was currently digging right into the crevice of his neck. The same crevice he’d taught her to aim for whenever she was in danger.
“I can’t breathe,” he said.
Angie pulled the shirt down tighter, nearly choking him as she struggled to accept what she was seeing.
“I can’t breathe, Mama. What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, turning to face her completely. He towered over her, shadow looming darkly as he moved in close.
She didn’t respond. Her eyes fell to that dip in his neck. That dip he’d taught her to spot, right between his collarbones. She readied her thumb and forefinger.
Roman didn’t miss the placement of her eyes. His gaze fell to her fingers, posed to strike, just the way he’d taught her, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back up at her.
“Please leave.” Angie gasped.
When he suddenly covered the curve of her waist with his hand, gr
ipping tight, she came close to using his own move against him, and jamming her fingers into his neck. She exhaled when, right in the nick of time, he slid the key in his hand firmly inside her pocket. He covered it with his palm once it was inside.
Angie swatted his hand away.
Roman took the hit, his hand frozen in the air, shock registering on his face. He could hardly speak. “I can’t touch you now? I can’t even touch you?”
“Get out.” A plethora of emotions were now coursing through her, each more powerful than the last. To her amazement, some small part of her brain was still trying to make the truth mean something else. Something other than what was now clear as day.
Roman had killed Zoey’s parents.
“Get out, Roman. Get out now!”
Her eyes fell to the floor, unable to stand the stunned look in his eyes. She steeled herself as he moved past her and left the room, placing a trembling hand over her mouth.
She heard Joyce say goodbye, insisting he didn’t have to leave. Angie didn’t take another breath until she heard the front door close. Minutes later, Joyce came charging into the room.
“Angelica Colt,” Joyce beamed. “That man just stormed out the door like a bat outta hell!”
Angie looked to Joyce, allowing her hand to fall from her mouth. She’d never seen such blind disappointment in her mother’s eyes.
Joyce confirmed that disappointment, voice rising fifty octaves. “What did you do?”
16
The drive to her office was long that night was long, but Angie had been so lost in her thoughts, her terror, her wildly working mind, that she found herself there in what felt like an instant.
Arming the Bentley, she made her way down the Harlem street, gripping the red folder at her side as she made her way to the decimated building that used to be her office. The walls were charred black, some areas so destroyed that she could see inside from the street.
The steel door of her office stood perfectly intact, and the silver sign bearing her name still gleamed. Even more than ever, the sign looked like it didn’t belong.
Claiming Roman Page 27
