Her breath shuttered. Behind them, the door to the elevator chimed and opened to a dark parking garage, but he didn’t move for a moment longer.
She could see several cars lining the left and right over his shoulder. They were in another private underground area of the convent that wasn’t on the blueprints.
His mouth twitched ever so slightly as he clamped down on his back molars.
“It’s time for you to go.”
“You said that already,” she offered softly. But didn’t move her hand from his chest nor did he take his from her throat.
They stood like that until he finally pulled away, dropping his hands to her waist with a masterful touch that sent mixed signals to her body.
“Or I could stay,” she quietly offered, hoping he would take the bait.
“Do that and you’ll never escape the darkness and you’re too good for that.”
She could feel him withdrawing from her. “Says, who?”
She dropped her hands and brushed the hard ridge of his cock. His eyes flashed down at her, but his hand moved to her lower back, guiding her from the metal box on cables.
He led her to an idling car a few feet from the elevator and reached for the handle to open the door. With a steadying hand on her elbow, he helped her inside. Cool air from the car’s air conditioning kissed her heated skin.
“I’m beginning to think you like to verbally spar with me.”
“Like it, no, but it is entertaining.”
A wicked smile pulled his lips into a grin, dashing away the haunted look that had been there a moment ago. He squeezed her hand one last time.
“Unless one of us is kissing you, that is. Then you seem to agree with everything quite easily.”
He closed the door, effectively cutting off her retort. She scrunched up her nose and hit the button to lower the window. Egotistical smart-ass.
“Seraphina,” again he used that subtle command that lured her gaze to his the second she opened her mouth to tell him off.
Leaning into the car window, he dipped his head, “Sweet dreams. Moya kroshka” Using the deep, sexy voice that made her thoughts turn to long, sensual kisses didn’t seem fair. Of course, she didn’t reveal that tidbit. She offered a quiet smile and leaned into the shadows as her driver slipped into the night.
For the next twenty minutes, Rhia sat in the back of the Bentley in utter and complete shock on the inside as they sped through downtown Chicago. Rain pelted against the glass and metal frame to create a nice barrier of sound between her and creating any kind of conversation with Roman.
She should be furious but all she could summon at this late hour was complete exhaustion, and despite trying to control every inch of her body, nerves caused her hands to tremble.
The busy city streets melted away to reveal the quieter suburbs. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t give you my address,” she began.
Roman waved a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t worry. I already know it, sweetheart. Just sit back and relax a little. I can hear the enamel on your teeth cracking. I’ll get you home safe and sound.”
“Thank you.”
Roman had his hair loose to hang around his face and it gave him a soft look, but she’d be a fool to think of the man as easygoing as he wanted everyone around him to think.
“Your show was beautiful the other night.” And it had been. Tender and gentle, unlike Samuel’s show she’d watched tonight that was raw sex. “I’ve, uh, never watched a woman be taken like that before.”
Was she supposed to comment on that? God, she sucked at small talk. Always had. Before she walked herself into more embarrassing exchanges, she needed to find her bed and face plant. Hard. For about twenty-four hours and then forget what happened at Haven and walk away.
“I’m glad it inspired.” Amusement rose in Roman’s eyes through the rearview mirror.
On the outside she smiled and ducked her head but, on the inside, she was a total maze of emotions with no exit in sight from this crazy twist of a night.
Had she met the mafia kings in some alternate universe and under different circumstances, she pictured tonight playing out as a Cinderella tale. Then again, no matter what world, fairytales were just that…made-up fiction.
Roman rolled to a stop outside her aging apartment building and gave a low whistle. Streetlights were busted and the side of the cement structure hadn’t seen a paint job in what she estimated to be at least her lifetime.