When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1)

by Natalie Gayle

  I burst out laughing at her choice of words…blot

  “What?” she demands.

  “Blot, it cracked me up. I haven’t heard it before.”

  “I guess it’s a term some Aussies use. Maybe a little politer than arse.”

  Arse…it sounded so sexy coming from her mouth.

  “Right there, babe. Say arse for me again. That’s so hot!”

  She glares at me but says it again, and it’s just as effective at making my dick jump in interest. What is it about this woman?

  Her stomach growls, and I realize we’ve been talking for ages and my mind is spinning at all we went through.

  “Feel like some breakfast?”

  “Sure,” she agrees.

  “Room service, hotel buffet, or something outside?”

  “Let’s go for a walk and get something. I hate being so inactive.”

  “Actually, I thought we were pretty active last night,” I correct.

  She gives me a withering look. “You were active. At least I didn’t freak out worse than some teenage virgin, like the first time. That was so embarrassing.”

  I shift forward and press my lips to hers in a brief kiss. It’s a kiss that says more than words would right now. It feels as if we are now on the same page and maybe even operating at the same speed since she opened up about her life.

  “You’re allowed to freak out and question, Oz. All that’s okay, as long as you still try things. The real tragedy is not being prepared to give things a chance. If you don’t try something, how will you ever know? Don’t be embarrassed about that. It’s just something you hadn’t experienced. Now you have…a few times, and can make an informed decision.”

  She looks at me long and hard—assessing. Then gives me another of her slightly sarcastic, slightly cynical laughs. “I’m about to do something I hope I don’t regret.”

  “Oh? Do tell?” I’m excited for the prospect of Carlene, a little wild.

  “I’m going to give you free rein.”

  “Okay…” I trail off, wanting more to go on than just a few ambiguous words. There’s a trust building between us, and I won’t ever do anything to jeopardize it.

  “It means, I want you to show me and share with me as much as we can. Clearly, you know a whole lot more about lots of stuff than I do…” Color is rising in her cheeks, and I can see she’s starting to struggle with embarrassment and inexperience again.

  “I can do that.” I rub my hands together in glee. “We’re going to have some fun together.”

  “I sure hope so.” Then she tilts her head and looks at me a little cautiously. “I’m not going to regret it, am I?”

  “Nope. I promise you’ll love every second, and if you don’t, just tell me to stop, and I will. This is all about you, Oz. And I’ve got what’s left of our time together to show you just how amazing life can be when you’re prepared to live it to the fullest. Now go get ready to head out.”

  She backs off the bed a little, and her head drops before rising to look at me again. “Thank you, Rome, for understanding. That wasn’t easy to tell. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve ever told any of that to.”

  The last hour has been huge for her.

  “I’m humbled, you chose me to tell your story to. I’m always here if you want to talk, and I’ll try and offer an objective opinion, for what it’s worth.”

  “You have no idea what that means to me, Rome. Our time together so far has been more than I ever expected.”

  And isn’t that a sad and sorry state? One I’m certainly going to do my best to change. Carlene deserves a chance to spread her wings, and I’m going to make sure she has the air under them to do so.

  Chapter 10

  Carlene

  Our impromptu talk shifted a weight from my shoulders. Somehow, sharing my guilt and questions with Rome eases the burden of not knowing whether I’m responsible. I’m not sure I will ever really be over it, but it’s the first time since the accident that I feel I’ve made any significant progress forward. Surely, that counts for something?

  I can’t change the past. I can’t change what Phillip did. The future is a different story—that’s up to me to decide.

  I’ve been living in the past for fear of, and guilt at, moving on—moving to a future of my choosing.

  Now I have a new goal. I realized something very, very important while lying talking to Rome.

  The realization is simple—I’ll never know the answer to my questions about Phillip. And even if I did, it won’t change the outcome or where I am today. Deep down, I’ve known this but being brave enough or ready enough to accept it and be okay with this, has been another thing.

  Even if he hadn’t died, we still would have had to let the gas drillers in or we would have been bankrupt. Either way, Colanara would be gone or parts of it, out of our direct control. I have to believe that truth. Actually, it’s more than believe it—I know it categorically. There had been no turning around from the road Phillip and me were on.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  There were no more maybes for me now.

  They added no value to my life anymore.

  I’m on a mission.

  One to find out just who I am.

  What I want to do with my life.

  I’m not the only person to have faced challenges. Rome had at one stage of his life, and he seems to be doing just fine. In fact, it’s a little embarrassing how much of a meal I’ve made of it to date. He politely said I was “decompressing.”

  Bullshit.

  I’d been hiding and licking my wounds, and we both know it. Too guilty to go on.

  I’m here, and Phillip isn’t. Whether that’s his choice or an act of God doesn’t matter. These are the facts I’m dealing with, or rather, have been avoiding.

  No longer.

  The property doesn’t matter to him anymore. Nor does the money Colanara’s availed me and our children with. What matters now is what I do with it. That’s my responsibility and challenge, now.

  It’s up to me, and only me, to decide what the future holds.

  After a couple of days in Center Valley, we headed back to the coast for the run up to San Francisco. Maybe it was a taste of my prior life or the faming scenery? Certainly talking to Rome played a massive part. Regardless, I feel like a weight has lifted from me.

  We’re at yet another great little seaside bar having a late lunch and a drink. There seems to be no end of these places as we make our way up the west coast.

  “You’re quiet.” Rome breaks the silence and drags me back from the swirl of thoughts running around and around in my head.

  “Just thinking on things,” I say honestly. My mind just won’t shut off.

  He looks at me, no, he studies me. “You know, you don’t need to figure everything out today. What we talked about was not about getting you to make rash decisions. It was more about helping you see just what you could accomplish if you wanted to. It was about helping you make the decisions you needed to move forward.”

  He runs his hand up my arm. My first reaction is to pull away even though it feels good. It’s all part of my previous conditioning. We don’t need comfort from where I came from. We toughed it out. Held our problems in as we ploughed on.

  Comforting, close, familiar, safe. That’s how he feels to me. Am I going soft?

  Be tough. We don’t need affection. That had been the unspoken mantra of the bush.

  We just needed to keep working and pushing through.

  Then something occurs to me.

  It doesn’t matter anymore. That life is behind me.

  “You know what’s really ironic here, Rome?”

  A hint of an amusement curls up the corner of his lush lips. Is it wrong to think about a man’s lips like that? I don’t know, but I certainly know they’re lush, and I also know I love them on mine and every other part of my body he’s touched with them so far.

  “Nope. I have no idea what’s ironic here, Oz. Why don’t you enlighten me
?”

  I lift the margarita to my lips. It’s just another thing I haven’t experienced until the last few days. “I used to always be so good at solving problems and making decisions about the property, the kids, all that sort of stuff. I realized now, I’ve been avoiding making any for a good while.”

  Rome tips his head and sips from his bottled beer. “Ever think that you might have made too many and needed a break from the burden?”

  I laugh. He’s always looking for the way that doesn’t cast blame on me—cuts me slack, gives me the benefit of the doubt. That’s the problem; I’ve so much slack in the rope, I’m never going to get the knots tied, let alone find the end.

  “You’re too easy, my friend. I have a feeling you’d let me get away with murder and give me a great excuse as to why it wasn’t my fault.”

  He chuckles and gives me a long look that turns from “normal” to something totally different, something scorching hot. Then he grabs my hand, gently pulling me from the tall stool I sit on, overlooking the ocean.

  “Where are we going?” I ask confused as I hurriedly drain the last of my glass. I’m not letting a drop of that goodness go to waste! Particularly now I’m acquainted with everything margarita.

  His arm comes around me, and he whispers in my ear, “You’ve been thinking for hours. I’ve indulged you long enough. It’s time to stop, and I know just the way to make that happen, because sight-seeing and cruising around sure doesn’t seem to be working so far.”

  It should sound arrogant and pompous. He makes it sound as if it’s all his fault I’ve been stewing in my own mind. Instead of any of that, a shiver darts down my spine at the feel of his tickling breath against my ear and throat. Being with Rome is so decadent and forbidden.

  Incredibly tempting and tantalizing. I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact, me being with Rome is okay. I am allowed to do this. It’s okay to be with another man. I’m not committing any sin.

  It just feels that way at times.

  There’s a disconnect between reality and my conscience.

  His hand slips from around my waist and gives a firm squeeze to my butt.

  A surprised gasp springs forth from my throat.

  Surely, he didn’t mean?

  He looks into my eyes, and I wonder if he’s reading my mind.

  “Yes, Oz. That’s exactly what I mean. I’m going to take you back to the hotel, and I’m going to do all sorts of debaucherously and deliciously sinful things to you, and you’re going to enjoy every single one of them. Sweetheart, I’m not going to stop until all you can think about is me and where and how I’m going to pleasure you next. You’ve thought more than enough today.”

  He pays the server, and all the while, I stand there trying to process what he’s just dropped on me, and then he’s bustling me out the door.

  “But, it’s still daylight,” I protest stupidly.

  His stride falters for a fraction of a second before he powers on, half dragging me with him, albeit willingly.

  “I’m well aware of the time of day, Oz. The bit I’m struggling with is what that has to do with anything?”

  Now I’m truly feeling a little foolish. “Well, you know, it’s not something I’d normally do during daylight. You don’t waste the light.” It’s a lame answer and a definite throwback to my days on the station. We were never inside before nightfall unless it was to do something related to the property.

  “Exactly, you don’t waste the light. I want to see every single inch of you in daylight, and now’s the perfect time to do that.”

  “It just seems…so…”

  “Stop thinking, Oz. Spending an afternoon in bed is absolutely necessary. And if it’s something you’ve never done, then it’s a good thing you found me when you did! You’re well overdue!”

  What can I say to that? Only the truth.

  “I’ve been thinking so much because I’ve avoided it for too long. Besides, if I’m thinking, then it sort of takes the edge off me wanting you to…”

  I started the confession without thinking it through to the end. Then embarrassment overcomes me. I’m a forty-year-old woman. I shouldn’t be panting over a man, should I?

  “Wanting me to what, Oz?” There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. The bugger knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he’s reveling in it!

  “Say it, Oz. Own it. I dare you!”

  We’re at the door to the suite. Did he really just dare me?

  I can do this, right?

  Why shouldn’t I spend the afternoon in bed with a man?

  You don’t have to report to anyone and you’re not breaking any rules, Carlene.

  I can do this.

  “Take me inside and…” I struggle with the courage.

  There’s a pause.

  The word I need almost chokes me.

  Rome guides me through the door into the suite and then backs me up against it, when closed. His hand snakes under my chin and raises it gently until our eyes lock.

  “The word you’re looking for is…fuck. Carlene. Repeat after me. ’Take me inside and fuck me, Rome.’”

  I’m a willing prisoner of his gaze. I’m powerless to do anything but repeat the words he said to me.

  “Take me inside and fuck me, Rome.” They come out clearer and more confident than I ever imagined possible.

  He growls low in his throat. “You have no idea how hot that sounded, Oz. You make me so crazy for you, babe.” His hips lock me to the closed door at my back, and there’s no mistaking the hard length of him against my belly.

  “Kiss me, Oz, show me with your lips and tongue what you want me to do to your pussy.”

  I don’t have time to put another thought together.

  His lips crash into mine, and just as he promised, every last thought is dislodged from my brain. All I can think about, no, think is the wrong word. I all I can feel is him. His body is hard against mine, engulfing me in every way.

  His lips teasing and taunting mine. And then there is his tongue…

  He pulls back slightly.

  “Show me, Carlene. Demand it from me.”

  The blatant challenge in his words kicks my need for him up to a whole new level. I grab the back of his head and press our lips together, silencing those audacious demands. My mouth slants one way then the other on his, trying to get deeper. Trying to own him and this moment.

  God, it’s heady!

  He’s mine to do with as I please. What’s more, he’s demanding it of me.

  “That’s it, babe. Let go. Be a little wild for me. Never apologize for wanting or needing me,” he encourages.

  My tongue plunges into his mouth, and he meets me stroke for stroke, not the least bit perturbed by my aggression. In fact, it seems to be having exactly the opposite effect on him.

  His hands are in my hair and gone is the kind and considerate lover. This is Rome, in a much rawer form. He tugs at my hair, pulling my head back as he trails little bites, sucks, and licks all down the super sensitized skin of my neck.

  “You want me to fuck you, Oz?”

  Surely, that’s blatantly obvious and understood?

  “Words…give me the words,” he demands of me, nipping my lower lip.

  “Yes, God yes, Rome.”

  He pulls back slightly and catches my knee, hauling it up around his hip as he thrusts hard against me, not trying to hide the aroused maleness of him at all.

  His lips are back against mine momentarily before he drives his hips hard against me again. “So far, it’s all been about you. Awakening you to the possibilities of what it can be like with a giving lover. This time, I’m going to fuck you so long and deep, you’re going to forget your own name and every other problem that’s running around behind those gorgeous eyes.”

  I feel his words through every single fiber of my body. I’m on fire for him, and I want it all—now.

  The pain is real.

  The need is real.

  And the man crushing me to the door is real
.

  It’s a need like nothing I can remember. Never have I felt so overwhelmingly out of control, and I love it.

  “Shirt off now, Oz,” Rome growls between kisses, dragging my shirt up and over my head.

  It’s too much and not enough all at once.

  I need his bare skin against me just as much as he seems to need mine.

  My hands clutch at the hem of his shirt, and he pulls away long enough to help me rid him of the shirt that’s preventing me from having what I want against me.

  “So much better,” I breathe and mean every word of it.

  His skin is warm and silky to my touch. I love the texture against my hands and the rest of me. He’s soft and hard, masculine and beautiful all at the same time.

  I’m so attracted and turned on by him, I’ve lost all control.

  Then I realize I don’t want control. I just want whatever Rome is offering and demanding of me. I want him to take me from my mind, from it all. I want him to set me free.

  My need for him is so great, actions have morphed into feelings and I’m gloriously drowning in it all.

  He pushes me firmly against the door once again and steps back—enough to penetrate the spell I’ve fallen under.

  “Strip for me, Carlene. I need to see you strip. I need to see you come to me, wanting me.” His breathing is ragged, and his hair is a crazy mess from my hands. He’s never looked sexier or more on edge in the short time I’ve known him.

  My eyes are fascinated watching the heavy rise and fall of his highly defined abs. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d just finished a heavy workout session, but surely, we’ve just begun?

  Then my eyes find his again, and I know something to be true. No man has ever looked at me with that sort of lust I’m feeling coming from him.

  I flick open the button of my shorts and pull down the zipper. His heated eyes give me the courage I need to continue. I don’t know the first thing about being sexy, but I do know how to follow an instruction, and he told me to strip.

  Rome steps forward and drags the fabric down my hips. I wriggle once, then twice, and this is all it takes for the shorts to be nothing more than a pool of fabric at my feet.