“Do you think . . .” I paused, looking around the pool area. “Do you think she was with someone else?”
His jaw ticked and he avoided my eyes when he said, “I don’t really know.”
We sat in silence, listening to the waterfall trickle into the pool. “My brother works in PR. He thinks I should stay away from you.”
“And he has every right to think that, considering he doesn’t know the real me.”
“I don’t want to believe any of it is true.”
“Then don’t.”
“But how do I know that it’s not? I mean—I really like you, Roland. How do I know that it’s not true?”
Roland looked me in the eye for a moment, then he stood up and walked around the table. Taking me by the hand, he gently tugged on it and brought me to stand. His arm wrapped around my waist, his fingers clasped my chin, and he looked down at me with warm eyes.
“If you feel like you aren’t safe with me, I get it, Samira,” he said. “But I want you to know that I really like you too, and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. I want more with you. But I can understand you not wanting the extra attention or the stress of all of this. But I promise you, I did not do it. I did not kill my wife. I don’t have that kind of evil in me.”
I sighed, unsure what to say.
“I’ve been single since my wife died,” he confessed. “Not because I wanted to be, but because no woman is brave enough to be with me after the accident. Doesn’t matter if I know I’m innocent, the whole world thinks I did something bad to her.” His eyes saddened, glistened, and I really felt for him. I wanted to hug him, comfort him. It had to hurt knowing a large percentage of the population hated him based on assumptions and rumors.
“But you were with me,” he went on, smiling. “For a few weeks, you accepted me even before knowing any of this and . . . I don’t know. I guess I wanted to cling to that feeling. The feeling of being wanted by someone after so long.”
I dropped my eyes to his mouth. “I hate that for you.”
“Mmm.”
“I don’t want to believe any of it is true,” I whispered again.
He tipped my chin higher and dropped his lips on mine. His lips were soft, and the kiss deepened, and I melted into him, moaning.
“Then don’t.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Maybe I was a fool for what I did after my run-in with Roland, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t believe the rumors about him. I ignored all of the articles that ridiculed him. I didn’t believe any of it because I liked being with Roland. I enjoyed my time with him. He treated me so special, and I felt I could talk to him so much more than any guy I’d ever been with.
We laughed at the same jokes, enjoyed the same TV shows and movies. Our sex was off the charts hot, and our relationship was so dynamic and powerful. We could carry on a conversation for hours, never getting bored or tired of each other’s voices. There was no denying he was the man for me—but why did the man for me have to be a former suspect in a fucking homicide?
Life never played fair for me, but if these were the cards life was dealing me, then I’d play them right. And by that, I meant that if I wanted to be with Roland, I had to keep it quiet. We couldn’t be out and about so much anymore. If we wanted our relationship to work and for our bond to be impenetrable, people literally couldn’t know anything else about us. We couldn’t feed paparazzi any more intel about our whereabouts unless we weren’t together, and I damn sure couldn’t have Kell finding out that I was still with Roland.
He was mine and I was his. I didn’t feel any danger or threats while around him. I only felt his kindness and affection, and damn it, I was happy.
“You still job hunting?” Roland asked me one day as I sat on his bed, scrolling through my phone. I was on a job-search website and none of the posted jobs seemed promising.
“Yes. My roommate is pretty much kicking me out so her boyfriend can move in, so I need a job and a place to stay, really soon.”
Roland placed a glass of wine down on the nightstand next to me and sat on the edge of the king-sized bed. As I scrolled, my back pressed against the upholstered headboard, I could feel him looking at me, so I looked up and fought a smile. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, but he was smirking, and when he smirked, he usually had something he really wanted to say.