Page 40 of Sinful Promises

“Don’t go.” He smiled up at me and it was as sexy as it was dangerous. “Come on. Stay with me.” Roman wriggled over on the bed and patted the sheet beside him. “Please?”

Oh, God. My mind was saying don’t do it. But my body was a naughty girl.

I kicked off my shoes and crawled in beside him. At first, I was as stiff as a surfboard, but when he rolled toward me, I melted into his warmth. I curled to my side so my back was to his chest, spooning us together.

The stupid boning in my damn bra threatened to poke my eyeballs out. So, figuring Roman was so out of it he wouldn’t notice, I eased up on my elbow, reached around, and undid the clip. Then, doing the contortionist move I’d done a thousand times over, I wrestled my bra straps over my shoulders and yanked the bloody thing through the armhole of my shirt before flinging it to the floor.

Free at last, I lay down again, easing backward until our bodies were aligned. Like the sun and the moon.

Roman’s arm inched over my side and rested beneath my boobs. I could hardly breathe. My heart thundered in my chest, belting out an excited beat. This was the most perfect moment of my life. It was better than watching a dazzling sunrise over ancient ruins, or drinking exquisite wine in an ancient winery. This, me curled up in bed with Roman, was what dreams were made of.

I’d officially slipped into heaven.

Roman nuzzled into me and my flesh tingled at his hot breath on my neck. “I love you.”

My heart stopped. My eyes shot open, and as I stared at the tiny indicator light on the smoke alarm, I replayed his words in my head. Did he really say that? Or was it my stupid imagination?

I had to know.

I rubbed my hand over his arm. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you.” He didn’t hesitate.

A warm glow flooded me. I’d waited my whole life for this moment. I wriggled my back closer to him, and as I glided my hand over his arm, I said the words that had been burning in my soul for weeks. “I love you too, Roman.”

Chapter Eight

“Daisy!” Roman bellowed.

Jerking upright, I squinted at the blazing sun streaming in through the open curtain and turned to him.

He was sitting up in bed beside me, his hands fisted in his hair. His eyes were wide. Horrified. “Daisy! What the hell?”

I shoved off the bed, clutching my shirt over my boobs and stumbling to my feet.

When he spied my bra on the floor, his jaw dropped. “Oh, God, we didn’t?—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to. Roman was sickened by the thought of us having sex. His bulging eyes and clamped jaw confirmed how disgusted he was.

I wanted to die.

My heart, which had swelled to perfection hours ago, shattered into a million pieces.

I snatched my bra from the floor. “No, Roman. We didn’t have fucking sex.” I grabbed my shoes and socks and stormed from his room.

I could barely breathe. I could barely think.

Forcing my feet to move, I chose the stairs over the elevator. I scrambled down them. My vision blurred. My brain a fucking mess.

In my room, I dove onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow as I howled in utter agony.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

I repeated the mantra over and over, sucking in huge, shaky breaths and trying to force the scream down my throat.

A bang on the door made me jump.

“Daisy.”

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