Claiming Roman

by Trevion Burns

  Falling into the doorway of the bathroom, the steam surrounded them as his fingers disappeared past the band of her panties, finding her weakness with one flick of his fingers.

  Angie moaned.

  “Mine,” he breathed, taking her bottom lip between his teeth gently. He stared at it when he released it, watching it plop from his mouth, glistening. “Don’t ever tell me I have to live without this again.”

  “It’s yours, Rome.” She squealed when he removed his hand from her panties and shoved them down her legs before lifting her off her feet. Her legs went around his waist with ease, leaving her panties on the floor.

  He removed the foggy glasses from her eyes, and placed them on the perspiring granite counter.

  “It’s yours.” She ran her hands down his face as the steam nearly engulfed them. “Come on. Get in.”

  His face had gone serious, overpowering even the need to be inside her. “I’ve been sick these last few weeks. Sick. I don’t think you have any idea. I don’t ever want it to happen, again.”

  He was looking for answers that she couldn’t give.

  “Mr. Fixit.” She purred, putting her fingers in his hair, which was now dampened from the steam, smiling when the nickname caused him to turn his head away. In moments, however, his eyes were back on hers. “It’s work, Roman. Out of my control. Bigger than you. Bigger than me. Than us.”

  Truer words were never spoken. He had no idea. What could she tell him? That one of his brothers was a killer? She realized that, now, it would be just as hard to tell Roman as it would be to tell Zoey.

  It was too soon, and like Zoey, he was too close. Too involved, emotionally.

  She couldn’t tell him.

  Not yet.

  “Nothing is bigger than us,” he said.

  “I’m not always going to be able to share my work with you, and yeah, sometimes it’s going to make me a little crazy.” She curled her fingers into his hair, tightening her legs where he held her easily around his waist. “But I promise you that I’ll never let it drive me to the point it drove me to this time, again. I’ll never put you through that, again. I love you, I do, and I swear it Roman. I’m here, and I’m yours.”

  His eyes searched hers. “I want all of you. The good, and the bad. I want you completely. Inside and out. I’ll never judge you. I’ll give it everything I got to protect you. Regardless of circumstance.”

  She brought her legs from around his waist, came down to her toes, and stepped into the deep, door-less shower. The raining showerhead immediately claimed her, and she smiled as his eyes began falling along with the water dropping down her naked, soft brown skin.

  The stubborn gleam in his baby blues gave way to desire. It had been weeks since they’d had each other, and the deprivation was evident, not just in his eyes, but in his member. It became fully erect.

  “Do you believe in accidents?” she asked.

  He smiled softly as she asked the very question he’d asked her months ago. Months ago, when she’d been nothing but a pair of glasses and a cheek full of freckles to him. He could hardly remember what it felt like to not know her, to not know what it felt like to want to get inside as badly as he did right then--inside, mentally, and physically. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to.

  “No. I don’t believe in accidents,” he answered.

  “Neither do I. Everything that’s happened between you and me? It’s all happened exactly the way it was supposed to…” She used his phrasing, word for word, and couldn’t believe how succinct it was. How deep and on point it had turned out to be. The man before her wasn’t just insanely sexy, standing there hard as a rock for her, but he was brilliant, too. “Do you still believe that, Roman?”

  Eyes rising to his, she reached out of the shower and tucked her finger into the towel around his waist, giving a silent flick. The towel pooled on the floor. Her hungry eyes fell to his hips, his naked hips this time, and she could feel the devious smile spreading across her lips.

  “I believe it,” he answered, a wicked smile of his own flying to life. He couldn’t wait another second. She stood before him, beautiful, naked, and soaking wet. Surrendering all control, he finally stepped into the shower, moved in behind her, and immediately encircled her in his arms.

  She closed her eyes against the warm steam, and the glorious feel of his lips pressing into the crook of her neck from behind stole her breath.

  She could feel his lips, hot on her skin, searing it with his loving caress, warming her up even more than the steam water pounding down on them. She could hardly remember to breathe as blind love continued to coarse through her like a rocket.

  “You’re the best thing in my life,” he said. “I don’t know how I got through thirty years without you next to me. I love you more than anything.”

  With those words, everything was forgotten, the photo, the car, the suspicions, the case, Zoey, her parents, anything that didn’t have to do with what she was feeling right then, was completely forgotten. All that mattered to her was the warmth of his embrace, the kindness of his whispered words, and the hardness pressed persistently against her back--a hardness she wanted to handle both violently and lovingly, all at once.

  She turned in his arms and leaned in, pressing her lips between his pecks. Her eyes fluttered shut once more as the salty taste of his skin infiltrated her senses.

  Soaping up a loofah, she brought it between their bodies, proceeding to cover his light skin with even lighter suds, wiping away the very salt her tongue yearned to taste, over every muscle that took her breath away with each touch, parts of his skin that she ached to explore.

  His excitement stood tall and ever present between them, neither of them in a hurry to address it. A silent understanding had been made. They wanted this to last as long as possible, this feeling, one that neither of them could vocalize.

  He watched with a smile as she dragged the soft loofah over every inch of him, turning obediently when she motioned for his back.

  Angie pressed another kiss between his shoulder blades once his back was to her, soaping it up with the same controlled patience she had his front, wrapping her small arms around his waist, holding him as she moved the sponge across his expansive shoulders and down his arms. Her eyes took in his beautiful body greedily, realizing she’d never grow used to holding such a perfect man in her arms.

  She took the sponge slowly down his arms and back up, again, tracing a slow path across his shoulders once more. Her hooded eyes followed the sponge happily.

  When she came to the valley between his shoulders once more, the delicate dip just below his neck, she came to a complete halt.

  There it was. The tattoo.

  She’d never be able to look at it, again, and not be rocketed back to the real world. The investigation. The truth that she wanted so badly to share with him, but knew she couldn’t.

  Closing her eyes, she embraced him, and pressed her lips into his back.

  The truth would kill him. Seeing him in pain would kill her. It was inevitable, the pain, the hurt, the destruction. It all laid in wait, delaying a dark promise destined to be honored, a truth that couldn’t possibly stay hidden.

  Tread lightly in your search for the truth.

  Angie had found the truth, and she wasn’t ready to face it.

  Not today.

  Today she loved him, he loved her back, and that was enough.

  It had to be.

  ***

  Later that night Roman’s bare feet trudged down the steps of his loft and across the concrete floor. He hissed at the chill that started at the beds of his feet and slowly worked its way up his bones, giving him a feeling of being frozen from the inside out.

  In the distance, he could hear Angie snoring softly from his bed, wondering how any normal human being could sleep through the subzero temperatures that were pumping through his apartment at the moment.

  Stopping in front of the thermostat in his kitchen, he elevated the temperature a few dozen degree
s, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt the change in temperature almost instantly.

  Making his way into the kitchen, he went to work preparing a cup of tea to take back upstairs to bed. He pulled a mug from his cabinets, hesitated, and then fingered out one more. Two cups of tea, just in cause the tiny little thing in his bed woke up and decided she wasn’t an Eskimo.

  He couldn’t help the tiny smile that played at his lips as the teakettle heated up, turning to the island and pulling open one of the drawers.

  The purple velvet box came sliding forward, and he caught it between his fingers in mid-slide. Taking it from the drawer, he pushed it open with a swift flick of his thumb. Leaning against he counter next to Angie’s bag, he held the ring box between calm fingers, eyeing the 10ct white gold green amethyst ring that shimmered up at him from under his bright kitchen lights. It was a bit quirky for an engagement ring, perhaps unconventional. But the woman whose finger he hoped would eventually house this ring for life was quirky. She was unconventional. Angelica Colt was truly one of a kind. And a one of a kind woman deserved a one of a kind ring. One that no other woman could never dream of having—or even think to have.

  The ring was simply Angie. He’d known it the moment he saw it.

  He couldn’t wait to ask her to wear it. See it on her finger.

  For the first time, the box trembled under his suddenly nervous hold.

  That was the most terrifying part. The asking.

  It was easily the scariest thing he would have to do in his life.

  Maybe tonight?

  The teakettle behind him screamed to life and, afraid of waking Angie, Roman stood up and turned his body too swiftly, knocking her bag off the counter in the process. From the corner of his eye he saw most of her belongings fall onto the floor, including her precious red Zoey file, as he made a mad dash for the stove.

  “Shit.” He hurried to the stove and removed the screaming pot from the heat. When the room went silent, once more, he listened for the loud snores of the woman he hoped to eventually present with the ring clutched in his hand.

  The woman of his dreams still snored soundly.

  With a chuckle, ring box still clutched in his hand, Roman turned back to the island and fell to his knees on the floor where Angie’s belongings had fallen. Snatching up the bag, which had seen better days, he went to work shoving everything back inside, saving the Zoey file for last.

  The red file sat wide open, with several hundred documents scattered on the floor around it. Right before she’d gone to bed, Angie had mentioned the case was coming along, but she hadn’t had a chance to go through some new information she’d found that night. Recalling this, he did his best to keep the papers in order as he put them back inside.

  Roman swept them all up with ease, somewhat distracted with his need to be back upstairs and back in bed with his love, but something he saw out of the corner of his eyes stopped him.

  It stopped him cold.

  Snatching up the paper from the floor, Roman brought it to eye level, blue eyes expanding in shock.

  His heart stopped beating.

  The ring box tumbled from his hand and hit the floor.

  The diamond ring tumbled out, and clinked across the tile, rolling underneath the stove.

  Roman didn’t even notice.

  He was too taken with the photo he saw before him.

  It immediately made sense of all the bizarre events that had occurred in the last few months, and at the same time, it was the worst sight he was sure he’d ever seen.

  It was the worst sight he was sure he ever would.

  Epilogue

  Roman parked the Bentley and stepped one foot out onto the driveway, holding the open door of the car in his hand.

  His eyes immediately went to the living room window of the Romanovsky family home. Sure enough, just like Val had promised, Bette Romanovsky was peeking through the blinds.

  Searching. Waiting. Hoping.

  The last thing he saw was the blinds shaking closed.

  Angie circled around from the passenger’s side, and took his hand.

  Looking down at her, Roman almost felt guilty for stealing something from her Zoey file without her permission, something she herself had yet to even see, something that was currently burning a hole in his back pocket.

  Then, he realized, she’d been keeping things from him too. After spending the night reading the Zoey File page for page, it explained all of her bizarre behavior. It explained everything. He now understood the real reason Angie had pushed him away, and also why she’d come back. He understood why she couldn’t talk to him about the case she’d been following for ten years--about the ugly turn it had taken, what it had become.

  She was trying to protect him. For that, he loved her more than he already did. He loved her more now than he had yesterday, even a second ago. The love preserved, growing in power with each passing second. He was sure it always would.

  Looking down at her, he couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets lived in her head.

  She looked up at him and smiled.

  “This is good,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  He nodded. He was finally home, ready to see his parents, and Angie seemed primed for celebration.

  Roman, on the other hand, was primed for battle.

  Their gazes broke away just as the front door of the house opened. Bette Romanovsky stepped out onto the entryway and shielded her eyes from the setting sun as Angie and Roman began making their way up the cobblestoned walkway.

  Bette, however, couldn’t wait.

  Her thinning lips fell open, eyes filled with tears. A cry escaped her lips as she raced off of the entryway and down the walkway, picking up an impressive amount of speed for an older woman until she was launching herself in Roman’s arms.

  Roman caught her with one arm, pressing his lips together as she broke into sobs on his shoulder.

  Angie released his other hand. Reluctantly, he let it join the one that was holding his crying mother, enveloping her in both of his arms as he allowed his own tear filled eyes to flutter shut.

  Soon, he felt a second pair of arms go around his body, and he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know it was his father.

  “Roman.” Bette’s body shook with emotion as she repeated his name over and over. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”

  Roman opened his eyes, Bette’s arms still locked around his neck like a vise, and met eyes with his father.

  Tony smiled a tight, unsure smile. “We been missing the hell out of you around here.” The old man’s hesitant smile finally vanished, turning down at the corners. “We love you, Rome. Very much.”

  “I love you.” Roman was surprised when the words barely left his mouth through the knot in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

  Bette finally pulled back and cupped Roman’s cheeks. “Don’t you ever be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I swear on my mother’s grave—I swear it—I’m going to do everything in my power to prove how sorry I am. We are.” She looked to Tony, then back to Roman. “I know we can get passed this, Rome, I just know it.”

  “Me too,” Roman said.

  Bette continued patting his cheeks, his chest, his arms, looking him over for dents and scratches that didn’t exist, like he was still a baby cradled in her arms. Her tear filled eyes rose back to his. “You look good, baby.”

  “You too, Ma.”

  “Thank you for coming home.”

  “I missed you,” Roman whispered, laughing softly when the words sent Bette launching back at him, arms flying around his neck even tighter than before.

  Tony clapped a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Good to see you, Son. It’s damn good to see you. Come on.” Tony nodded towards the house. He waited until Roman and Bette were a few feet away before he moved his eyes to Angie. She stood quietly off to the side, smiling at the sight. “And who’s this stranger over here? I know this can’t be little Angie Colt.”

  “Tony.” Angie nodded.

>   “Long time.”

  “It has been a long time.” Years. In high school, she’d spent many nights at his house, eaten his food, reveled in his kindness as he opened his home to her time and time again. It was a sad moment. Realizing she would never look at Tony Romanovsky the same way, again. “Too long. How are you?”

  Tony shook his head just as Bette and Roman stepped into the house. Roman looked over his shoulder and shared a look with Angie from the doorway.

  Tony caught it, and his smile grew knowing. “I’m better now…” He made his way over to Angie and slung an arm over her shoulder, taking her in a playful chokehold. “Let’s go, stranger.”

  As they made their way to the door, Angie’s eyes moved to the large expanse of bushes that lined the perimeter of the house, and she caught a glimpse of a long, curvy woman kneeling behind the bushes in jogging clothes, snapping pictures of the house.

  A glimpse was all she needed to recognize Jessica Borgia, and Angie’s eyes widened when, from behind the bushes, Jessica met her gaze, brought a finger up to her pursed lips, and smiled.

  Shhhhhh.

  Oblivious, Tony led the way to the front door, arm still around Angie. “Something tells me we’ve got a lot to catch up on, Angie Colt.”

  “Tony,” Angie responded, watching as Jessica knelt below the expanse, and disappeared from sight. “You have no idea.”

  Tony motioned her into the house and followed her inside, closing the door behind him.

  In the distance, Angie could hear Val and Gary’s voices floating into the foyer from the dining room.

  A shitstorm of epic proportions was about to hit the Romanovsky family.

  Tony really didn’t have any idea.

  No idea, at all.

  ***

  The four had barely made it into the kitchen before Roman looked at Val, and asked to speak to him in the next room.