Page 84 of Dark Romeo

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Then what do you want?”

I swallowed. Should I tell him the truth?

He slammed his hand against the wall again, making me jump. “Answer me. And don’t you dare lie. I will know if you lie.”

“You confuse me,” I confessed with a whisper.

He flinched as if that was the last thing he expected to hear me say.

I continued before I lost my nerve. “Everyone tells me they know who Roman Tyrell is. ‘Stay away from him. He’s a bad man. Dangerous. Evil. He was born with a gun in his hand and violence in his heart.’ But…the man I spent the night with was not a killer. The man I spent the night with was good.”

For a mere second, his mask of rage fell, dropping like a curtain. I glimpsed the hopeful, vulnerable man underneath. Then his mask was up again so quickly I almost thought I had imagined it.

“You think I’m good?” He began to laugh, a cruel growling sound, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

He was mocking me. My cheeks burned at his reaction. “Mercutio and Nonna wouldn’t love you if you weren’t,” I blurted out.

His laughter cut off. “Nonna and Mercutio don’t see everything.”

“You wouldn’t love them if you weren’t good.”

Suddenly his hand was wrapped around my throat, his movement so quick it was a blur. He held me against the wall like that, his grip firm enough to remind me that he was in complete control and just tight enough that I could barely breathe.

He leaned in close. I thought for a second that he might kiss me. I should have been terrified. Instead my body vibrated with awareness at his nearness. “Don’t mistake me for an angel, Jules. I’m the shadow you run screaming from.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “You’re dangerous. But not evil. You’re not evil, Roman.”

His lip curled up in a snarl. “I see. You think you can come in and save me. This isn’t some stupid high school fantasy. You can’t save me. I’m not your prince. I am the monster in this story.”

“What if I don’t want the prince…” I dared to say, my voice coming out so soft I could barely hear it.

He flinched as if I’d slapped him. The air between us began to sear. I’d finally admitted that I still wanted him. I lifted a hand to his face. If I could just touch him…

He caught my wrist easily in his free hand and slammed it against the wall, pressing into me further. I could smell his cologne mixed with his male scent and the hint of sweat.

His lips brushed my ear. “Damn you,” he hissed. “You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?”

“I’m not in danger from you,” I whispered back against his neck. “You’d never hurt me.”

He pulled back and glared at me, but the fury seemed forced. “I am Roman Tyrell, son of Giovanni Tyrell. You’d do well to remember that.”

“You don’t scare me,” I lied.

“I should.” He ran the tip of his nose along my cheek, slowly, to my ear. That single touch sent a wave of fire across my skin. My nipples pressed painfully against my shirt. Then his lips were brushing over my earlobe and his breath was down my neck.

He spoke softly, deep and low, like he was trying to seduce me. His words betrayed his real intent. “You’ll stay away from my family and me, detective. If you know what’s good for you.”

He pushed himself away from me and strode out of the boiler room, leaving me shaking and breathless against the wall.

Did that just happen? The erratic thudding of my heart seemed the only evidence of his appearance.

“Stay away from my family and me, detective.”

Well, Mr. Tyrell, I did not respond to threats. The easiest way to make me chase after something is to tell me I should let it go. “Stubborn” or “bullheaded” my father often called me with an affectionate smile on his face.

Underneath the surface of Vinnie Torrito’s gang-related execution was something more complex. Roman Tyrell was the key to unraveling it all.

As I pushed myself off the wall a flash of silver on the floor caught my eye. I bent to pick it up. It was a small card. It appeared to be an invitation.

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