Page 50 of Dark Romeo

“It’s a rare thing to find, indeed,” Roman said.

“And does this special friend have?—”

“Where did you go after you left her?” I interrupted Espo. I wasn’t ready for Roman to spill our dirty little secret. I could feel Espo glaring at me for interrupting him. We never did that in interviews. It was one of our rules to maintain a singular front. No disrespecting the other person. No arguing. No interruptions. Unless, of course, we were trying for an interrogation play.

Roman looked over to me, folding his large masculine hands in front of him, hands that fit perfectly around my neck as he fucked me from behind. Wetness pooled in between my legs as the memory flashed through me.

“I went to meet my father,” Roman’s voice cut through my thoughts. “For dinner.”

“Where did you have dinner?” Espo asked.

A restaurant with wait staff could corroborate his story. Roman could be innocent of this horrendous crime after all.

“We had dinner at his house. You can ask my father, his staff…”

His father’s house, where only the people his father paid were alibis.

Espo pursed his lips, and I knew this was what he was thinking too. “What was for dinner?”

“Rib-eye steak with steamed green beans and roasted potatoes. I had mine medium rare, my father had his rare. Did you want to hear what we had for dessert as well? Perhaps the wine list?”

He was mocking us. He recited the menu as if it were a list he’d memorized. I was sure Giovanni would tell us the exact same thing. The Tyrells were too smart. If they had planned their alibis, we wouldn’t find a hole in them. This was why Giovanni Tyrell had managed to evade justice for so damn long.

“When did you leave your father’s?” Espo asked, giving up that line of questioning.

“I stayed until about ten thirty p.m., after which he dropped me off at Copan Bar. Mercutio can vouch for me again.”

“A good friend, is he?” I asked.

Roman’s eyes flicked to mine. He hesitated for a second. Then said, “Yes, a good friend.” I realized Mercutio was a weak spot for him.

“Good enough that he would lie for you?” I asked.

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “I’m insulted at your question.”

I leaned forward on my elbows. “You still haven’t answered it.”

Roman leaned in too, matching my posture. “Mercutio doesn’t need to lie for me, detective.”

We were practically breathing the same air. Our faces only inches apart. We were so close that I could see his irises dilate so that his chocolate eyes now looked as black as night. Was he angry or…turned on? His eyes dropped to my lips. Oh God. He was turned on.

Fuck, so was I. Heat pooled in the base of my belly as my gaze drew to his mouth. I could remember how soft yet firm his lips were when he kissed me, claiming me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth.

Our lips were so close. If I leaned in further I could?—

Espo cleared his throat. I threw myself back into my chair. What the fuck was I doing? I was about to kiss the prime suspect in the interrogation room. Espo gave me a strange look which I ignored while I tried to calm my racing heart.

“How long did you stay?” I continued like nothing had happened.

Cool as anything, Roman leaned back in his chair and adjusted his jacket. “Not long. I left at elevenish.”

“Alone?” Espo asked.

“With a girl,” Roman said.

“This mysterious special friend again?”

Roman flinched. My stomach hardened. He glanced at me, hesitation clear in his eyes.

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