“Kennedy?” I blink down at the envelope in Drew’s hand and notice the dusting of sandy hair above his knuckles. Solid, dependable Drew. Boring with the added bonus of minus heartbreak points.
“Oh, right.” My heart gives a vicious twist as I reach to take the envelope from him, pressing my hand over his.
“Come on in. You should give it to him yourself.” Roman’s hand stills on my back, but I just smile, smile despite the prickle of tears.
“No.” Drew shakes his head. He probably thinks I’m crazy, this grinning, tearful woman. “But let me know about dinner,” he adds, taking a step backwards. Then another. “Call me.” His solemn gaze darts to Roman before he turns, and then he’s gone.
I close the door, moving it this time with no resistance. The hallway darkens before the latch catches, but I can’t seem to move my hand from the old-fashioned handle.
“He’s never going to be it for you.”
“Maybe.” I lift my head and watch dust motes dancing in a shaft of the setting sun shining in through the high pane of glass. “But neither are you.”
“You’re like some rare flower.” His fingers brush across my neck, and I shiver. “The kind that snaps closed when it senses attention. Senses being seen.” He presses a fleeting kiss beneath my ear, and I’m so glad I’m still holding the door handle as my knees unlock.
“You’re not much of a gardener, are you?” I muse, trying to turn the tone. Or am I just taunting him, here in this darkened hallway? Torturing us both.
“There are times, little love, when you open for me. When you let me see.”
The answer is in the way my body responds to his lips on my neck. It’s in how I tilt my head to receive them and in the sigh of my agreement. In the way I allow him to turn me, pressing me back against the cool wall.
“I see you,” he whispers, his lips ghosting mine, not quite touching. “I see what you’re doing.” Like that flower chasing the rays of the sun, my body strains to be closer to his. Until his hands land on my shoulders, stilling me. “He’s never going to be what you need.”
“And you can’t be.” I blink, surprised by that truth in the air. By that reminder that I can’t trust myself with him. Lies destroy. In falling for him, I would destroy myself.
Roman’s eyes darken, and his grip tightens. “For a smart woman, you can be really stupid sometimes.”
I open my mouth to respond, only to have that breath stolen from me. But I don’t care—he can have every one of them from here to Kingdom come as his mouth covers mine. His tongue licks into me, stoking this fire. My hands lift from my sides, winding tightly around his neck, my hips tilting, seeking the hard press of him to satisfy this ache deep in my belly. But he just holds me there, pressed against the wall. Captured by his fingers and lips, it takes me a moment to realise there’s something different in his kiss. There’s passion, yes, and possession, too. But there is also promise. This kiss is his promise to me. If I wasn’t so desperate, I might have the sense to be worried.
“Admit it.” Roman breaks my hold on him, bringing my hands to the wall above my head. “Admit what you feel for me frightens you.”
“What good would that do?” I sound like I’ve been running. As his eyes run over me, my body reacting as though stuck by tiny jolts of electricity.
“Admit it’s me you think of in bed.” His hand tightens on my hip as he leans in, pressing his mouth to my ear. “When you’re touching yourself.”
I groan his name at the sudden hot press of him. I strain to be closer, wanting to feel every hard, possessive inch of him, wanting—
“No, little love.” His words brush across my lips, air spilling between us. “I know you want me between your legs, but where I deserve to be is in here.” He presses his fingers on my chest over my heart. I’m too stunned to retort. Not that it matters as he draws away, sending me a look that I can’t quite decipher. He leaves me there, slumped against the wall. Despite his assertions, I know where I feel emptier as I bring my own hands over my heart.
29
Roman
PRESENT
PART-TIME HOOKER
Hi Jacquie,
Don’t stress. I’ll be in LA from the beginning of next—
Fuck it. I hit the backspace on my laptop, deleting the body of my email. I don’t want to leave Mookatill, even if there’s a chance that, in my not being here, Kennedy might realise she has feelings for me. I mean, I’m gonna have to go sometime, aren’t I? Maybe not for filming because that’s not what I want to do anymore. Not that I wanted to in the first place. It was just another one of life’s larks chucked Roman Phillips’s way.