ROMAN (Lane Brothers Book 5)

by Kristina Weaver

  “There’s a gem of an Italian place I found a few months back I’d like you to experience. Their spaghetti is to die for.”

  “I love Italian food, although I admit I haven’t eaten anything but pizza on the odd occasion I allow myself takeout.”

  While I’d been married and busy working my ass off to support myself and my lazy husband, I’d eaten so much junk I’d picked up thirty pounds. Now I keep a strict eye on anything I eat. I am toned and lean, and thanks to my new anal retentiveness I really do have a fantastic ass.

  I may enjoy whatever Gregory Lucas has in store for tonight, but I will never let myself go enough to go back to the fat, unhappy loser I was before.

  “That sounds like you only eat what you’ll allow yourself. Can’t be too enjoyable, being food conscious,” he says with a frown.

  “I eat a lot of things I don’t consider healthy, I just don’t enjoy the thirty pounds takeout adds to my ass. Plus, I like cooking, even if it’s only for one,” I aver, not wanting to get into a heavy discussion about my dietary restrictions.

  “Yeah? Maybe you could cook for me sometime. I love home-cooked meals.”

  I raise a brow at the liberty and bite my lip to keep from laughing when he pulls a sad, downtrodden face.

  “Take pity on a poor lonely bachelor.”

  “Oh, Mr Lucas, somehow I doubt you’ve been lonely a day in your life,” I tease, enjoying the banter.

  His face goes hard for a second before it is replaced by what I now associate with the seductive guise I’ve witnessed since meeting him.

  “Gregory,” he says with a scowl. “And you’re probably right, Hannah, but take pity on me anyway.”

  Conversation halts as he pulls into a parking space that must have been sent by the gods — parking in New York is no joke — and comes around to help me out.

  “So chivalrous.”

  “I do aim to please. Now come on, you’re going to love this.”

  The restaurant is tucked away at basement level, something that makes it hard to spot and assures me that the patrons who come here are regulars who guard this secret well.

  It’s a typical little bistro with a romantic ambience and a lovely mix of old and new that keeps me staring as a tiny middle-aged woman leads us to a private table in the back.

  “So good to see you, Gregory,” she says in a slightly accented voice. “And you bring bella signora.”

  I am flattered, even though I’m not too sure my translation is correct, but I suspect she just called me beautiful. I think I like this place, I decide as he seats me and orders a bottle of red wine.

  “I hope you don’t mind my presumption. This specific wine is fantastic and I wanted you to try it.”

  “No, it’s fine. I like anything made from grapes with a vintage stamp on it.”

  See, I can loosen up.

  “So, Hannah Newman,” he muses after the wine is delivered and we order our starters. “Tell me why a beautiful woman like yourself is single.”

  “Because I’m intelligent?”

  A laugh booms out and he tempers it with difficulty, letting me know he enjoys my sharp tongue.

  “Touché. But I think there’s a story here.”

  “If you want a story, Gregory Lucas, you should read more.”

  “Tsk tsk, and here I pegged you for a romantic.”

  Me? I am possibly the most opposite to romantic kind of woman alive today.

  “Nope. Certified realist here. Sorry to disappoint.”

  He sits back, sipping at his wine and watching me as I sip at mine. He’s right, it really is quite lovely. I don’t know much about wine but how to uncork and pour, but I can tell this one is an expensive one.

  “I’m not disappointed, just curious now,” he says, and I think it pleases him that I’m not into happily-ever-afters or declarations of undying love.

  “You know what curiosity did,” I quip, chuckling slightly at his expression.

  The man has big predatory animal down to an art. If I let him, I know Gregory Lucas will eat me up and spit me out.

  “Ah, darlin’, but I’m not a pussy cat, am I?”

  No, this man is more a lion or vicious tiger than the tame tabbies most men today are.

  “No, you’re not. But I’m still not interested in telling you my life story, either,” I say in a hard tone that brooks no argument.

  What has happened in my past is my business and none of his. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, the less we talk the better. I’m not interested in being wooed by a player like him. I want honesty, value honesty, and if he insists on playing this game I’d sooner walk out than keep up the banter.

  His eyes darken before a genuine smile curves his lips, and I stifle a gasp at the pure beauty. Men aren’t supposed to be beautiful, but at this moment he is perhaps the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.

  Trouble. This seductive, testy man is most definitely trouble.

  “That’s fine by me, Hannah darlin’, as long as your future includes me.”

  The food arrives, and by the time the waiter has left it’s too late to correct his assumption that he has any place in my future.

  “Eat up, darlin’, you’re going to need your strength.”

  I dig in, ignoring his belief that we will end up in bed together before the night is over. Oh, I fully intend to get there now that I’ve made up my mind to engage in a brief sexual affair with him. It just won’t be tonight.

  I want him, yes, with a ferocious need that’s blindsided me, but I’m no light skirt, and if he thinks s few seductively phrased lines and a delicious dinner are enough for me to give up the goods, he’s got another thing coming.

  I also won’t allow things to progress on his terms. If Gregory Lucas wants me enough, he’ll play by my rules, or he can get packing.

  Chapter Six

  “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a nightcap?”

  We’ve enjoyed a lovely dinner and some surprisingly good conversation. This surprises me because I’d assumed we wouldn’t have much in common besides the ad campaign. How wrong I was. Gregory Lucas and I share quite a few things in common.

  We both like ‘eighties power ballads, something very few modern heterosexual men will admit to, and we love the ocean and want whalers across the globe to die an unholy painful death.

  I’ve truly enjoyed tonight and want nothing more than for it to keep going to its natural conclusion. I want to invite him up and take him into my small room with its white sheets and see him stretched out naked against them.

  I want a lot of things, but I know that if I bend now he’ll have me exactly where he wants me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for a long-term commitment or a ring, God forbid, I just don’t want to be another easy conquest for the sexy lothario.

  “No. Thank you for the offer though,” I say, going to open my door.

  “Wait,” he growls, stilling my hand. “At least let me kiss you. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

  You and me both.

  Letting go of the door I turn to him, licking my lips for the kiss I’ve anticipated since opening my door. He cups my face and leans in, feathering a light kiss against my closed mouth, once, twice, before settling his mouth fully on mine and peeking his tongue out to lick at me.

  I groan at the contact and allow my lips to open infinitesimally, encouraging him to take it deeper. He does, coaxing my lips open with swift flicks of his tongue that leave me gasping, opening for more.

  He tastes like the coffee we drank instead of dessert, and something indefinable. Soon he’s deepening the kiss to something that has me gasping and leaning closer, searching.

  When I spear my tongue past his lips and lick at his, he pulls me over and onto his lap, my head at his shoulder as he plunders my mouth.

  I am so lost in the sensations bombarding me it takes me a minute to realize he’s worked a hand under my dress and is slipping a finger beneath the waistband of my thong.

  I tense, whi
mpering when his finger skims over my opening and moves higher to my clit. When he touches me I groan, wishing my dress weren’t so tight. I want to spread my legs and invite him in.

  “Oh darlin’, you feel so beautiful,” he groans, pressing his thumb into me in a rhythmic slide that has me tensing as arousal hits me.

  He keeps kissing me, swallowing my cries as he pushes a finger lower and enters me, his thumb stroking me closer to bliss.

  “When you’re ready I’m going to taste this,” he growls, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusting finger.

  My body is all sensation and coiling need as he touches me and keeps going till I explode in a shower of pleasure that leaves me gasping startled cries into his open mouth. When I am sated and wrung out and ready to melt, he pulls his hand from beneath my dress and pushes me back into my seat.

  His trousers are tented, revealing a thick erection I suddenly want more than my next breath. When he opens his mouth and sucks on the arousal clinging there I swear I feel my womb tense.

  He lets out a groan and spears me with a look filled with lust.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, darlin’.”

  Dismissed, I open my door and exit on shaky legs.

  “Hannah?”

  “Yeah?” I breathe, turning back to lean in.

  “Don’t wear any panties tomorrow night,” he commands, and I nod, caught in the thrall of his desire.

  It’s only as I’m letting myself into the apartment that I realize, I am not and never will be, in control when it comes to Gregory Lucas, and that thought scares me more than the thought of losing control.

  A knock sounds at the door just as I’m about undress. I stop and smooth at the dress with shaking hands, fully expecting the person on the other side to be Gregory.

  “I want to know everything,” Chrissie demands as she bursts in holding a bottle of wine and a tub of Double Choc Chip.

  It’s not ideal, but if he’s not returning I am so up for a little distraction. I can go back to my diet tomorrow.

  “God, that man was….phew,” she giggles, fanning herself for emphasis. “And the way he was looking at you! My pants almost caught on fire.”

  I grin at her and excuse myself to change, coming back with her dress thrown over my shoulder as I adjust my shorts and roll my hair into a bun.

  “So, let’s hear it.”

  I accept the wine and offer the dress.

  “Thanks, Chris, that dress was a life saver.”

  “Well, keep it! It was obviously meant for you,” she insists wickedly, and we giggle as we sip wine and dig into the ice cream.

  “Okay, but at least let me pay you for it.”

  “Nope. You can owe me a favor when I’m having a pre-date meltdown sometime. Dish. I want to hear everything.”

  I relax back and close my eyes as the events of my date with Gregory come back to me. God, I am so in trouble if my mind is already on a first name basis with the man.

  “He took me to this little Italian bistro. It’s so hidden away it’s a miracle people can find it, but it was…perfect. It’s romantic and intimate and they serve the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”

  “Yeah?”

  I can hear she’s trying to be patient. Chrissie wants the juicy details, not what we ate.

  “Afterward he brought me home and suggested a nightcap.”

  “Ooooh, a nightcap, nightcap?”

  We giggle as she wiggles her brows, and it takes a few sips of wine before we’re back to being rational adults. I am enjoying myself, talking to her and sharing…something. I’ve never been a girlfriend type of girl, and I find that it’s much more than what I expected it to be.

  “I said no though,” I confess, and I have to restrain a smile when her face falls in disappointment.

  “For real? Why?” she squeals. “God, what I wouldn’t give for a man who looks like that to offer me a nightcap.”

  “Well.”

  How should I explain this without sounding like a freaking idiot?

  “I didn’t want things to move too fast, ya know? We’ve only just met, and he’s something of a player. I don’t want to be a one night wonder and then have to work with him for the next few weeks pretending I haven’t seen his peepee.”

  Chrissie cackles so hard she spews wine all over herself, and we both start giggling again.

  “I see where you’re coming from. You work together?”

  “For the moment. He’s a client. Jordan’s handling the campaign for his cruise line.”

  “Hhhmmm. Okay, so he’s definitely into you. You’re into him, and you have to work together for the foreseeable future. Yeah. That sounds complicated. What are you gonna do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  And it’s true. I know now that keeping Gregory at arm’s length is not going to be as easy as I’d led myself to believe, and as I’ve said, there’s no way I can ever have enough control of the situation to be completely comfortable with what’s happening.

  But, and this is a big one, I know we’re going to sleep together. It’s as inevitable as the sunrise. I just need to decide when I’ll let that happen and how I’ll respond when it’s over.

  Gregory Lucas is not a man to build dreams around, and I know it, I just have to convince the old fashioned idiot in my head that sex for the sake of sex is not wrong and that I don’t want anything more than that.

  Chapter Seven

  I’ve set up the boardroom, arranged lunch and drinks, and practically done Jordan’s entire presentation and practiced it with him by the time twelve o’clock rolls around.

  I am starving and crabby from my restless night, and my idiot boss is still having a conniption about God alone knows what. Some days I wish I could kick his bratty ass to the moon.

  “Where the hell is that file!”

  I sigh and drop my purse back to my desk and walk into his office with as much calm as I am able to present. It’s like being a nanny. I just have to remember that slapping him or giving him a time out isn’t possible.

  I just have to breathe through it and help him through the stress. His big Lucas presentation is in ten minutes, and he’s having a meltdown.

  “I put it in your briefcase. Here,” I say through clenched teeth, pulling the file out.

  “What about the slides?”

  “In the boardroom, along with the individual copies.”

  “Lunch?”

  “Everything is there. I’ve arranged for fresh coffee to be brought in, and Taz is taking notes for Mr Yates, so I have that covered on our end too.”

  He nods distractedly and runs a hand through his floppy brown hair.

  “Here. Just take a deep breath and remember that we’ve considered everything. There’s no way they won’t be impressed.”

  “Really? Because I had a meeting with Yates at the golf course, and I’m a little unsure of my position if this presentation doesn’t go well. I need this account.”

  Well, you should have considered that before you went back to the golf course and left me to do your job, I say silently.

  “It’s going to be fine. Now go in there and wow those people.”

  “Come with me,” he pleads, and I refrain from rolling my eyes.

  “Mr Yates only wants the bigwigs and Taz in there. I can’t sit in without permission. Anyway, its lunchtime, and I still have to go pick up your wife’s dress from the cleaners,” I remind him.

  One day, I will not be a glorified goffer.

  Maybe.

  Hopefully.

  “Yeah, okay,” he sighs, grabbing his stuff and walking to the door. “Thanks, Han, I appreciate all your hard work.”

  When he’s gone I look out the window, just to be sure the sky is still blue and that a huge alien spacecraft isn’t hovering over New York. Jordan saying thank you? Weirdest day ever.

  I meet Lucy in the elevator, and we ride down together, deciding to grab lunch at the deli on the corner. They make a great chicken salad, and the cleaners are just down the st
reet.

  “Know what I don’t understand?” she asks as we pay for the food and grab a table at the window.

  “What?”

  Yummy, the chicken’s a little crispy today, just the way I like it.

  “The Lucas account was with The Bowen Agency. I mean, they’re like the Ali’s and Tyson’s of advertising. Why move your business to another agency, especially such a small one like ours, if you’ve got the crème da la crème in your pocket?”

  That’s a great question, but one I am not equipped to answer. What do I know about what makes Gregory tick? The man is a mystery, kind of like water on Mars. You want to think you know what’s going on, but deep down you know the water could just be weird colored rocks or something.

  He’s like that, the proverbial maybe, and I’m about as capable of guessing his intentions as I am of convincing my boss that golf is not a sport.

  “Maybe he didn’t like them. Who knows? The important thing is that we do have the account, and it could mean bigger and better for the agency. Now eat your lunch, I still have to go get her highness’s dress down the street.”

  “God, I am so glad I got Owens. Have I said that before?”

  “Only like a million times,” I snort. “Stop crowing about it and get a move on. I’m dying to know about the presentation. I hope Jordan doesn’t balls it up.”

  I shouldn’t take it too personally. Jordan’s arrogant and an ass sometimes, and he definitely does not have the finest presentation skills. I know this, so getting huffy because he’s likely to bomb the presentation I put together isn’t smart.

  But it’ll piss me off if my hard work isn’t lauded.

  “You remember what happened with the Rowland thing? I swear to God the entire floor had bets going. I won fifty bucks and Owens had to buy me lunch for a week.”

  Yeah, I remember that too, and it still makes my blood boil. That presentation had been perfect for the kings of peanut butter. Too bad they’d hated Jordan so much they’d pulled the plug and gone elsewhere.

  “You are like the best PA in the company. Even Taz doesn’t run her ship as ruthlessly as you do. I can’t believe you got stuck with Mr Golf.” She sighs.