I slammed the door behind Roman and slumped against it. What the hell had just happened?
Roman Tyrell, mobster prince, possible murderer, definite criminal, propositioned me for sex. That’s what happened.
And I said no.
Damn right, I said no. Roman and I could never have just sex. We were too intense, too much fire and lightning, too much under each other’s skin. He was daring me to come out of the shelter and dance to the beat of our thunder. I wasn’t sure I’d live through it.
Even if we did admit that we wanted to be together, our circumstances, our families, this city would never let us. Our attraction was hopeless. Pointless. That’s why I said no. To give in was futile. We could never be anything real. No matter how much I wanted it.
My heart ached in my chest. Despite the logical arguments against us, hope still fluttered in my soul. I wanted to go after him, to tell him I made a mistake in kicking him out. But my feet were concrete, weighed down by the bog of how we could ever conceive to be together.
Yes. No.
Right. Wrong.
God, I was a mess.
A knock on my door jolted me out of my thoughts. Oh God. He was back. The arrogant man.
I swung open the door, gun pointed. “What do you?—?”
It wasn’t Roman. It was Nora standing there. She looked at me, my gun, then raised an eyebrow. “You going to let me in, honey? Or are we going to talk about that sexy young man who was just in your apartment out here for all the neighbors to listen in on?”
I let her in, locking the door behind us. When I turned around Nora was watching me with those light brown eyes of hers. Age may have wrinkled her face and shrunk her body, but her eyes were still young and full of life. They didn’t miss a damn thing.
“You shouldn’t have let him into your apartment,” I said, my voice a little hard. Nora followed me into the kitchen. I slid the gun onto my counter and started the kettle. It was a well-worn habit with the two of us. She always said she liked her coffee like she liked her men: strong, rich and black.
Nora settled on one of my bar stools on the other side of my kitchen bench. “Roman said he was a friend of yours.”
I wasn’t about to let Nora know the details of who Roman was. I didn’t want to scare her.
Maybe she needed to be scared a little bit. What if it had been someone worse than Roman who she’d let into her apartment? “Just because someone says they’re my friend doesn’t mean it’s true. You know, ‘stranger danger’ and all that?”
Nora snorted. “I’ve been around long enough to know who’s dangerous and who isn’t.”
My eyes almost bugged out of my head. Was she for real? She didn’t think Roman Tyrell was dangerous?
Nora tilted her head at me. “By the way you were waving that gun around I take it you two didn’t kiss and make up.”
“No.” He was an asshole. There was no apology for that.
“Are you telling me that you and he aren’t…” Nora wiggled her perfectly-groomed silver eyebrows.
My mind went back to the few minutes that Roman had me against the door. My cheeks flamed. “No.”
The smile widened on her face. Her eyes took on that sparkle of glee whenever she ferreted out a new piece of gossip. “But you want to. You,” she wiggled a manicured finger at me, “like him.”
“I do not.”
“Oh, please. I can see the way you two look at each other. As if you’re already tearing each other’s clothes off in your heads. It’s downright indecent.” She fanned herself. “And hot as hell.”
“He’s dangerous, Nora. Don’t ever let him in again.”
She grinned. “The hot ones usually are.”
I let out a growl of exasperation. There was no convincing her otherwise when she had her head set on something.
Her eyes widened, a look of realization coming over her features. “Smack me down. He was the one who asked you to go to Paris with him!”