She didn’t answer his knock, so he took the stairs down to the registration desk, asking them to ring her room.
“She’s checked out, sir.”
He bit back cursing aloud, his fist so tight on the marble desktop he could have shattered the stone with a single pound. She was probably in a taxi heading to the airport and back to Virginia—
Wait. A woman sat in the lobby restaurant wearing a fitted business suit. She had her shiny brown-gold hair pulled into a clip at her nape. Coffee steamed next to the tablet she had propped before her.
She was going to splash that coffee into his face, he thought, but went straight over anyway.
* * *
Roman threw his disheveled form into the chair opposite her. He’d showered with her, still smelled faintly of hotel soap, but he hadn’t bothered shaving and, Lord, he was sexy with that stubble and hair that had dried uncombed. His shirt was still a deep, open V down his chest, the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. He was every woman’s walking fantasy.
And he wore the most thunderous expression.
“Really?” he demanded. “I got you fired again. Really.”
“It’s like a gift, isn’t it?” she said, thinking she ought to be more furious, but the relief was too profound. “Trenton phoned you to tell you? God, that’s just like him. He waited until I was down here, you know. So he could do it in front of everyone. He didn’t expect me to call him a hypocrite. Nice and loud, too. They all do it. I guarantee you all the other aides were picking up women in the bar while I was working the ballroom with him last night, but just because I’m a woman, I’m a slut. Men are such pigs.”
As Roman turned his face away, his expression falling into weary lines, she found herself feeling sorry for him.
“Present company excluded, of course,” she said.
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. “I didn’t mean to do this.”
“You didn’t,” she said wearily. She was the one who had stayed in the penthouse with him, putting her physical gratification above her job, but she didn’t get a chance to say so. The waitress arrived with her breakfast special.
“I’ll have one of those,” Roman said.
“Take mine,” Melodie replied, snagging the fruit cup off the plate and nodding for the waitress to put the rest in front of Roman. “But he needs his own coffee.”
He nodded agreement to the waitress, then looked at the plate of eggs and hash browns before him as if he couldn’t face it. “You’re giving me your breakfast? After I got you fired?”
“I had a voucher, but this was all I really wanted.” She gently stirred the fresh berries into the yogurt beneath.
“How are you this forgiving? Because I want to slash the guy’s tires. I want to slash my own,” he added with self-disgust.
She shrugged. “I guess because I’d do it again,” she said, hearing the poignant rasp in her voice as she recalled their night together.
“Would you?” He lowered his cutlery as he pinned her with a green stare as brilliant as the heart of a flame.
“I meant...” Wow. This wasn’t going to be easy. He only had to look at her. Focusing on chasing a blueberry with the tip of her spoon, she said, “I mean that, given the chance, I wouldn’t have made a different decision last night. But the decision I made this morning still stands, Roman.”
“Why?” he challenged immediately. “You don’t have a job to go back to.”
“I’m aware,” she said tersely, glancing at the tablet that had gone black, but had conjured a handful of weak prospects a few seconds ago. “Rent is covered for next month, at least,” she muttered. “But everything else is going to be a challenge.”
Paris was out of the question for the foreseeable future.
“Melodie, you have to let me help you.”
She shook her head. “I’ll manage. I’m just bummed about Paris. I feel as if I’m letting Mom down.” When her mother had refused treatment, had declined in such slow pain, the promise of Paris had been the only thing Melodie had been able to offer as comfort.
He reached across to take her wrist, thumb caressing the back of her hand. “Let me take you.”
“Roman...” She turned her hand so she was gripping his fingers. “I can’t.”
“You can. You just don’t want to.” He pulled his hand away, jaw thrust out belligerently. He took up his fork with an air of impatience.
She acknowledged he was right with a jerk of her shoulder, wondering how he’d managed to make her feel guilty.
They ate in silence, breaking it only to thank the waitress when she cleared their plates.