And promptly forget how to breathe.
Roman stands on my front steps, but not the Roman I know. This Roman is wearing a tailored black suit that fits him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and trim waist. The crisp white shirt beneath is open at the collar, just enough to show a hint of the tattoos that climb up his neck. His hair is neatly combed, his beard trimmed. He looks dangerous and sophisticated and so unbearably handsome that I’m tempted to say the hell with our date and drag him straight upstairs.
“Wow,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathless.
A slow smile spreads across his face, his blue eyes darkening as they travel from my face down to my feet and back up again. “You can say that again, Sunshine. You look absolutely beautiful.”
I step outside, pulling the door closed behind me. “What’s the occasion? You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”
Roman shrugs, drawing my eyes to his broad shoulders nicely outlined by his suit jacket. “No occasion. I just wanted to take you out on a proper date. I can never make up for what happened two years ago, but I thought we might make new memories together.” He offers me his arm. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay,” I say, linking my arm with his, unable to hide how ridiculously touched I am by this gesture. “Although I am amazed that you’re willingly wearing a ‘monkey suit’.” I can’t help gently teasing him.
His laugh is low and warm, sending a shiver down my spine. “For you, Sunshine, I’d do anything.” The way he says it, so simple and direct, makes my heart skip a beat. “Even suffer through formal wear.”
He leads me to his truck and helps me into the passenger seat, his hand warm and steady at my waist.
The restaurant he takes me to is upscale without being pretentious, a renovated historic building with exposed brick walls, soft lighting, and tables spaced far enough apart forprivacy. The host shows us to a secluded corner table, and Roman pulls out my chair before taking his own seat across from me.
“This is… unexpected,” I say as a server pours water into our glasses.
Roman’s eyes meet mine over the flickering candle between us. “Good unexpected, I hope?”
“Very good,” I confirm, trying not to stare too obviously at how the candlelight plays across the angles of his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and the intensity of his gaze.
Throughout dinner, I’m hyper-aware of every movement Roman makes. The flex of his forearms as he cuts his food, the way his lips curve around the rim of his wineglass, how his fingers brush mine when he reaches across the table to make a point in conversation. The tension between us builds with every shared look, every accidental touch, until I feel like I might combust.
It’s not like we haven’t been physically affectionate over these past months. There have been plenty of kisses and embraces, moments of heated touching that always seem to stop just short of the point of no return. Roman has been frustratingly gentlemanly, never pushing, always letting me set the pace. At first, I appreciated his restraint. After everything that happened — the trauma and betrayal — I needed time.
But now? Now, watching the way his suit jacket pulls across his shoulders as he stands and offers me his hand, I’m done with restraint.
“Ready to go?” he asks, his voice a rumble that I feel in my core.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
The drive back to my house is charged with anticipation. Roman keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my knee, his thumb tracing small circles that send electric currentsup my thigh. We don’t talk much, the silence thick with unspoken desire.
By the time we pull into my driveway, I’ve made my decision. No more waiting.
He walks me to the door, standing close as I dig through my clutch for my keys.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” I ask as I unlock the door.
“I’d like that,” he says, following me inside.
Once in, he remains in the entryway, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly gorgeous in the soft light of my hallway.
I turn to face him, my heart pounding. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want a drink.”
Roman’s brow furrows slightly, uncertainty crossing his features. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I step forward, closing the distance between us. “I don’t want you to go.”
Before he can respond, I grab the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down to my level. “If you don’t take me upstairs and make love to me right now, Roman Sullivan, I swear to God I will make you regret it.”
For a heartbeat, he just stares at me, surprise written across his face. Then his eyes darken, and he laughs, a low, hungry sound that makes heat pool low in my belly. His hands find my hips, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp.
“Is that right, Sunshine?” His voice is a rough whisper against my lips. “You’re giving the orders now?”