Page 33 of Don't Look Away

With a quirk of his lips, he steps forward and strips down. I watch intently as he pulls his shirt off, exposing his rippling abs, and tense biceps. Then he moves to his jeans and boxers. His cock springs free and I lick my bottom lip. Oh,yum.

If lusting after the devil is a sin, then I should buy a condo in hell, because that’s exactly where I’m headed.

He mounts the bed and prowls toward me, his pale eyes darkening. “You’re trying to distract me,” he says, amusement in his tone.

I sit up, and turn toward him, adjusting the pillows under my arm so they support me. “I’mshockedyou’d think I would do something like that,” I say, feigning innocence. “I’m really not that kind of girl.”

He reaches up and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “You can’t fool me. I knowexactlywhat kind of girl you are. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

I lift a brow. “Justoneof the things?” I ask with a smile. “What are the others? Just out of curiosity.”

He’s half sitting up, and I can’t resist reaching out and touching his rippled abs. I run my fingers over his soft skin, then up, up, up, to the dusting of dark hair sprinkled over his chest.

His gaze flicks over my face. “You’re smart, spicy. Sexy as fuck. What do you want me to tell you?”

I shrug one shoulder, watching my hand as I toy with the hair on his chest. “The truth. Why pick me, Roman? I’ve never really understood it.”

There’s a pause. Thirty seconds of complete silence, which feels like forever. Finally, he says, “I chose you because I needed you. I still do. But Ikeptyou because you’re honest when others are too afraid to tell me the truth. Because you won’t take my shit. Because you’re too smart to fall at my feet. Because you’re too genuine to be deceitful.”

That last one makes me laugh. “So I’m a saint is what you’re saying. You don’t think I can be deceitful?”

“I’m sure you lie when you think it’s the right thing to do, but no, I can’t see you doing it maliciously.”

I shake my head because I’m sure I’ve lied maliciously at some point in my life. I’m not perfect. But, yeah, I don’t make it a habit.

Brushing my fingers over his tight nipple, I pull in a breath. “When I first met you at the Prefrence Ceremony, I swore you hated me. You looked at me with so much contempt. So you can imagine my shock when you chosemethat night.”

He brushes my hair over my shoulder, his eyes fixed on the movement. “I didn’t know you then, but I saw something in you that I needed. I can’t really explain it any more than that.”

I lean back, surprised by that answer. Roman confessing that he needs anything, let aloneme,is huge. Like,reallyhuge. “I guess we both needed each other, on some level,” I admit.

He flashes me that sexy smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I know it’s his brother’s situation that must be weighing on him.

“Tell me what happened today,” I say, delving into the difficult topic that neither one of us wants to confront. But if I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that bottling emotions up is toxic.

God, I’m such a hypocrite. Bottling up my emotions is exactly what I’m doing with Bree’s death. That’s different, though. I have every intention of dealing with the trauma of what’s happened…one day. But first, I have to get Bree a healthy dose of justice.ThenI can cry all the tears, and do all the therapy.

“You know most of what happened already,” he says. “I got the call, then went down to the jail. They wouldn’t let me see him, but the doctor said he’s stable. They’ll let me visit him once he’s released from medical.”

“What happened, though?” Nathan said it was an injury that was self-inflicted, but I play dumb, so I don’t get him in trouble for telling me.

Roman is toying with the hem of the comforter, and his eyes are red like he’s fighting off emotion. “He fashioned a knife out of a piece of metal, and used it to cut himself.”

I swallow and nod, knowing I have to ask the difficult question. “Why do you think he did it?”

He glances away. Everything with Roman is about control and power. But right now, all I can see is the struggle inside him. The vulnerability. When he looks back at me, his eyes are glistening with emotion. “He left a note. He’s struggling mentally, and emotionally. Jail is a harsh place, and he’s just not made for that kind of environment.”

“I mean…I don’t think anyone is made for jail,” I say. “That’s kind of the point.”

“And whatisthe point, exactly? To torture? Or to rehabilitate?” He shakes his head. “They’re just going to throw him back into the general population as soon as he physically recovers. No counseling, nothing.”

Damn.“I’m sorry, Roman.”

He’s looking me straight in the eye, but his tone is calm and non-confrontational, despite his words. “You’ve put a man in jail yourself.”

“My situation is different, and you know that,” I say.

“I just can’t help but wonder how much jail can help a man like that,” he says. “Nine times out of ten, they come out of prison worse. There’s no help inside. No rehabilitation.”

---