I don’t know how I’ll survive his forced proximity. This could go on for days, weeks, or God forbid, months.
Even though I know it’s useless, I try one last time. “Please don’t do this.”
He shakes his head. “It’s already done, princess.”
Chapter Sixteen
Roman enters the house first, disarming the new, improved alarm system and silently checking every room to make sure they’re clear.
I think his precautionary measures are ridiculous. The image of someone hiding in a closet or under the bed while waiting for an opportunity to ambush me is so absurd that I have to suppress a snort.
It’s been a week since the incident at school, and there haven’t been any other attacks. I have no idea what’s going on with the Russians other than the issue hasn’t been resolved, which means there’s still the potential for retaliation. Quite frankly, I’m not interested in the nitty-gritty details.
I just want my life back.
I can’t pretend it’s business as usual with Roman shadowing my every move. There’s never a time when I’m not aware of him, which is frustrating in and of itself.
Roman meets me at the school each afternoon. He parks a few rows over from my car and follows me home. He enters the house with me, checks every nook and cranny to make sure everything’s fine, and heads back to his car to sit for the rest of the night. As promised, he stays out of my way as much as possible.
Every so often, I peek out the window and see him sitting in the darkness, watching the street. If any of my neighbors think it’s suspicious that a strange man is parked outside my house, no one’s commented on it. Which is for the best, because I don’t know what I’d tell them. I keep trying to concoct a story in my head, but none of them sound plausible.
I’ve had the same nightmare every night since the incident. Almost as if it’s playing on a loop in my subconscious, I dream of Victor Dmitriyev hovering over me with a knife in hand, whispering that he’s glad there was a next time.
I wake covered in a thin film of sweat, a hoarse scream trapped in my lungs and my heart thumping wildly. It takes a moment for me to calm down. I creep to the living room window and draw back the curtain to make sure Roman is still there. Seeing him awake and alert in his car always settles my frayed nerves. With a sense of reassurance, I climb back into bed and fall into a restless sleep.
At half past six in the morning, he knocks on the front door to make sure everything is as it should be before following me to work in his nondescript sedan. Once I’m safely inside the building, Roman goes home to sleep. He returns at three in the afternoon, and the routine starts all over again.
My father suggested another guard sit in the school parking lot during the day, but I nixed that idea. Roman, surprisingly, backed me up. Lincoln High has its own security guards at the front entrance, and all other exits are locked and set with alarms. I’m surrounded by people throughout the day, so I’m safe. I don’t leave the building unless I decide to grab lunch off-campus.
After the fifth night, I took pity on Roman and told him he would be more comfortable sleeping in the guest bedroom. He initially chafed at the offer but eventually caved. Instead of a nightmare waking me up that first night, I barely slept knowing he was twenty feet down the hall from me.
The last two nights have been better.
Uneventful.
The nightmares have abated.
I hope the situation with the Russians will be resolved soon, so both of us can get back to our lives and away from each other. I’m not sure how much longer I can go on with Roman underfoot.
Chapter Seventeen
As we leave the school parking lot the following Thursday, I text Roman to let him know that I need to stop at the market and pick up a few ingredients for dinner.
I usually don’t cook during the week, but there’s something enjoyable about preparing a meal that will be eaten with another person instead of scarfing down a bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter or in front of the TV.
Roman silently walks beside me in the store as I pick up chicken breasts, a wedge of fresh parmigiana, noodles, and sauce since I don’t have time to make my own. My mother would keel over if she found out I’m eating, let alone serving, jarred sauce.
The way Roman stands next to me while I pull boxes and cans from the shelves feels ridiculously domestic, like we’re an ordinary couple shopping for groceries. Once I realize what I’m doing, I shove the fantasy aside. Imagining a romantic relationship between us is laughable. Intellectually, I understand this. But my heart isn’t ready to accept the inevitable. All this forced proximity isn’t helping matters either.
Once we get to my house, I dredge the pounded chicken cutlets in egg and then a flour mixture seasoned with Italian herbs and grated parmigiana. I pan-fry the meat, cover it with sauce and mozzarella, and stick it in the oven. Mama used to make chicken parmigiana once a week when we were growing up because it was a family favorite.
Now that I’m on my own, I rarely make it because it’s too much work for one person.
When the chicken is baked and the noodles are boiled, I call Roman to the kitchen, and we sit down to eat. Again, my mother would have a coronary if she knew I was serving boxed noodles at my dinner table. She makes all her pasta fresh from scratch. I often came home from school and found racks of drying pasta all over the kitchen.
The meal itself is a quiet affair. Roman says nothing if I don’t make an effort to pull conversation from him. He just shovels food into his mouth, which—I’m not going to lie—is satisfying after the effort I made. Oddly enough, the silence hanging over us isn’t uncomfortable.
But there’s only so much I can take. Halfway through the meal, I blurt, “What’s your problem with me?”
It’s almost comical the way Roman’s fork stalls in midair. His gaze locks on mine from across the table as he sets the utensil on his plate. “What makes you think I have a problem?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
My brows skyrocket toward my hairline.
Is that a serious question?
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.
“In the three years we’ve known each other, you’ve never said one kind word to me. In fact, it’s been the exact opposite.”
He glares, a hunted expression flashing across his face.
If Roman thinks he can intimidate me into dropping or changing the subject, he’s sadly mistaken. His behavior has bothered me from day one. And I deserve an answer.
“Just be honest,” I say. “You’re not going to hurt my feelings any more than you already have. I’m immune to your personality.” That last part is a lie, but this is my opportunity to finally get an explanation, and I’m taking it.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You shouldn’t be consorting with your father’s men.”
That’s not an answer, and we both know it.
“I don’t think exchanging simple pleasantries can necessarily be called consorting,” I scoff.
He picks up his water and guzzles half the glass.
He’s stalling.
Forgetting about the unfinished chicken on my plate, I push it aside and rest my elbows on the table, leaning toward him. “What did I ever do to piss you off? Right from the start, you had a problem with me.”
Roman’s jaw clenches again as he looks everywhere but at me. “You didn’t do anything,” he mutters. “It was never like that.”
I shake my head, more confused than ever. Does he have a reason for hating me or is he just a jackass? I’m favoring the jackass theory right now. “Then what was it like? Explain it to me,” I demand angrily, “because I’ve seen you be nice to my mother as well as my sister. You’re fine with my brothers. And even Grace.”
The hunted look is back in full force. It’s the weirdest thing. I’m not sure what to make of it.
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s my issue. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, okay?”
Nothing to d
o with me?
“No,” I snap. “It’s not okay. There must be something about me that rubs you the wrong way. You’ve never given me a chance to prove that your initial impression was wrong.”
I know he doesn’t want to discuss this topic. But I’m done with walking on eggshells and avoiding him. And I refuse to feel like I’ve done something wrong. We’re going to clear the air right here and now.
Roman folds his arms across his chest, his biceps popping with the movement. “I’m not getting into this with you,” he says testily. “It’s just better for both of us if I keep my distance. I work for your father. There’s nothing more to our relationship than that.” He pushes away from the table and stands. “I’ll be outside. Lock the door behind me.”
Disappointment swirls through me. As ordered, I lock the door and pick up the plates, dumping our unfinished meal into the garbage.
Not only have we both lost our appetites, but I’m no closer to understanding his behavior than I was before.
Chapter Eighteen
My eyelids snap open as a shrill, earsplitting sound fills the air.
The house alarm has been triggered, I realize.
Roman bursts through my bedroom door wearing only a pair of unbuttoned jeans and clutching a gun. He grabs me by the elbow with his free hand and hauls me out of bed.
He freezes when the sheet slides off of my body to reveal I’m not wearing pajamas, his fingers continuing to bite into my flesh. When I wince, he comes alive and drags me to the bathroom.
“Stay in here until I return,” he orders gruffly.
“What’s going on? Did someone break into the house?” My mind conjures up an image of Victor Dmitriyev, knife in hand, coming for me just like he promised. A sliver of fear scampers down my spine.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure as fuck going to find out. Don’t open the door for anyone.” His gaze turns stern. “You got it?”
I nod and move further into the bathroom. Even though his eyes never deviate from mine, I’m uncomfortably aware of my nudity.
“And find something to cover yourself up with,” he snaps, slamming the door in my face.
I went to bed in a tank top and underwear up until tonight. But I was restless and uncomfortable. Once Roman began staying in the guest room, I decided to sleep as I normally did—in the buff.
I’d considered calling my father to ask him to call off his guard dog after Roman stalked away from the dinner table because everything had been quiet for almost two weeks.
As far as I was concerned, Roman’s presence in my house—in my life—was unnecessary.
Thank goodness, I hadn’t done that. Or I would be here alone, facing whoever’s out there by myself.
Locking the bathroom door, I snatch my robe off the hook and wrap it around my body. It’s short and silky and doesn’t leave much to the imagination. But then again, it wasn’t designed to.
I sit on the closed toilet seat and fold my arms across my chest. Every little noise sends me into a full-fledged panic. Roman is the best there is, but I still expect Victor—or another man like him—to come crashing through the door. I shudder while recalling how he held the knife against my throat, the way he squeezed my breast, and how he licked the side of my face.
I jump off the toilet seat when the door handle rattles. My eyes dart to the small window, and I wonder if I can squeeze through it if necessary.
Doubtful.
There’s nowhere for me to go. I’m trapped.
“Open the door, Sofia,” Roman says.
Exhaling in relief, I lunge for the door and turn the handle with shaky fingers. Our eyes meet for a moment, but then mine drop to his bare chest. And then lower to the unfastened fly of his jeans, where I follow the trail of dark hair until it disappears under the denim. Roman clears his throat, and my eyes snap back to his.
“I didn’t find any signs that the windows or doors had been tampered with. I’m not sure what happened.” He shrugs. “Maybe it was a false alarm.”
I study his closed-off expression. “But you don’t think so?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Has your alarm ever gone off for no apparent reason?”
Point taken.
“No,” I admit.
This is a new alarm. It could be sensitive. But since nothing has been settled with Victor Dmitriyev, I doubt this is a coincidence. The most likely explanation is that the Russians’ impatience with the missing shipment is showing.
“I’ll take a closer look at the security footage in the morning and see if anything pops up. If someone was out there, they’re long gone by now. I checked the neighboring yards. They’ll be expecting reinforcements to show up. Nothing more is going to happen tonight.”
“Okay.” I tighten my robe around myself. “I guess it’s safe to go back to bed then.”
Roman doesn’t move from the doorway, so I slip past him, my body brushing against his half-naked one. Desire slides through me and pools at my core. Even though I’d been scared out of my mind moments ago, my body still responds to him.
“You might want to consider sleeping in pajamas from now on,” he grates out.
I glance over my shoulder. My mouth dries when our eyes lock, and I see the hunger in his gaze. I may have told myself that I was moving on, but I haven’t. For reasons I don’t understand, this is the man I want.
I nod. “Okay.”
Roman takes a cautious step toward me. “Do you always sleep in the nude?”
I shrug. “I like the feel of the sheets against my skin.” Ever since I bought my own house, I’ve foregone any clothing at night. It feels… freeing. And it’s my house, so I can do whatever I want.
He curses under his breath and shoves the gun into his waistband. Then he gives me a slow once-over.
The air between us electrifies as we stare at each other.
Not giving any thought to the repercussions, I release the edges of the fabric and allow the robe to part. The luxurious material clings to the tips of my breasts, giving Roman a full view of my body.
His jaw locks, the tightly held muscles ticking under his skin as his eyes drop to the valley between my breasts, the smooth skin of my belly, and then my thighs. His gaze lingers on the V between my legs, sending another wave of desire cascading over me.
Drawn to him, I close the distance between us.
He backs away toward the door leading to the hallway, eyeing me warily. “What are you doing?” he rasps.
I have no idea.
But it feels amazing.
His typical cold detachment is gone. Roman looks anything but indifferent. The way he watches me with rapt interest makes me want to push his buttons.
I take a deep breath and shrug out of the robe, letting the material puddle around my feet.
Roman’s dark eyes widen, the pupils dilating, and roam over my body. “Sofia…” he chokes out.
Standing naked in front of him feels freeing. Like I’m finally taking control of the situation. If he won’t give me the answers I seek, I’ll push until I figure them out for myself.
“I’m going to bed,” I say casually, fighting off the urge to smile. “It’s late, and I have to be up early for work in the morning.”
“Aren’t you going to put something on?” he asks, his voice sounding raw.
For the first time, I feel like I’ve managed to wrestle control away from him. I love it.
Meeting his gaze, I shrug. “Why should I?”
His teeth snap together at my blasé answer.
“You said nothing more would happen tonight.” Throwing his own words back at him makes me feel giddy and light. “If anyone was out there, they’re long gone, right?” I blink innocently. “But if you’re concerned, you could always join me in here.”
Fire burns in his eyes.
The proverbial devil sitting on my shoulder spurs me to add, “Think about how much safer I would be with you next to me in bed.”
; “No!” Roman roars, his face beet red. He looks like he’s about to explode.
Which is… interesting.
And oh-so-very satisfying.
He glowers at me, his hands fisted at his sides.
I turn toward the bed, giving him a view of my naked backside. “All right then. Good night.”
Still, he doesn’t budge.
Excitement dances in the pit of my belly. And lower. Much lower. Unable to stop myself, I toss a sultry look over my shoulder…
And catch him staring at my ass.
He looks torn.
“Sure you don’t want to join me?” I ask huskily.
His startled gaze snaps to mine. He scowls and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
I wince as the door rattles on its hinges and release a pent-up breath.
He stomps down the short hallway and bangs his bedroom door shut as well.
I’ve never seen Roman fly off the handle. Not like this. His restraint is one of the qualities that make him such an asset to my father and the organization. He’s unflappable.
But his control slipped tonight, which is confirmation that I really do affect him.
Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him to his breaking point, but I’m glad I did. He doesn’t want to give me answers, and that’s fine.
I’ll get them a different way.
Chapter Nineteen
When the alarm goes off the next morning, I throw off the covers and get dressed.
The aroma of coffee hits me full force as I leave my bedroom. I head to the kitchen, stumbling to a halt when I find Roman sitting at the table with a steaming cup in his hands.
I thought for sure he’d make himself scarce and avoid me like the plague after my brazen behavior last night.
My cheeks heat as snippets flash through my mind. I’m still not sorry for pushing his buttons.
His reaction had been worth it.
I take a fortifying breath to steady my nerves and smile at him. “Morning.”
Claiming What's Mine Page 10
