Page 31 of Poisoned Roses

For some reason, his words leave me cold and I remind myself that Titus Romanov is a business man, and this is just another deal to him. However, it’s a big deal to me, but maybe I should steal a leaf from his book and adjust my perception of what this is.

Scratch away the emotion and deal in facts. I have a problem and he has the answer. He will finally make me a woman and I will understand why it’s so important in life. Yes, a business arrangement could work and strips away emotion from a situation that probably doesn’t need any.

As he parks the car and exits, heading around the car to help me from the passenger seat, I fix my attitude and steel my nerves because tonight I am joining the rest of humanity in discovering what all the fuss is about.

We enterhis penthouse as strangers. At least that’s how it feels and as he loosens his tie, he nods to the array of bottles in the drinks cabinet.

“Fancy a nightcap?”

“Do you?”

“That wasn’t the question.”

He arches his brow and I shrug. “Sure, why not?”

I watch him stroll across to the cabinet and pull a bottle of brandy from the shelf, expertly splashing two shots into the crystal glasses, the dim light catching the amber sparkle of the liquid.

The mood is intense, or is that just my imagination? Titus never appears to be anything else, and I wonder about that.

He prowls toward me like a panther, sleek, elegant and deadly, and I swallow my nerves as I reach for the glass, grateful for the Dutch courage he is offering me.

He stares deep into my eyes as he hands me the glass and as our fingers touch, a bolt of electricity catches me off-guard. My legs are shaking and the desire between my legs is reminding me how long overdue this is.

If I expected him to retreat, I was mistaken because if anything he moves closer and lifts his glass to his lips, while staring into my eyes and as I do the same, you could cut the atmosphere with a butter knife.

His eyes flash as he swallows the shot whole and as I follow his example, the alcohol hits my bloodstream like a defibrillator.

When I finish, he removes the glass from my hand and sets it on the side and wraps his larger hand in mine and says softly, “Do you trust me, Tia?”

I consider that question with a wry smile. Trust him. Hell no. I wouldn’t trust Titus Romanov with my heart, but I trust him with my life. I trust him not to force me into a situation I’m uncomfortable with and so I nod slowly, “Enough.”

He smiles easily. “Good answer.”

He jerks his head in the direction of my room.

“Would you be more comfortable in your own space?”

For some reason, my eyes fill with tears and I don’t know why. “Thank you.”

This situation couldn’t be any more scary if it tried and I appreciate his thoughtfulness.

He tugs me gently toward the door and as we enter my home from home, I whisper, “I never thought it would be like this.”

“Like what?” His voice is smooth with none of the nerves that shake my own and I gulp, “So clinical.”

He says nothing and as we move through the living area toward the bedroom, my pulse begins to race as I sense my life changing. This is something that may change me. It could be the best experience of my life or one of the worst. I don’t know if I’ve made the right decision and I must pull back a little because he stops and then, without warning, takes me into his arms and pulls me close. His arms wrap around my body and as he drops his head to my ear, he whispers, “You’re not ready.”

I’m shocked at the crashing disappointment I feel inside as he opts out of the situation and he whispers, “Sex is not something emotionless, despite what you think of me.”

He pulls back and tips my face to stare into his, and I shiver at the dark desire swirling in his eyes. It’s as if the enigma is revealing his soul and I’m surprised when he says nothing, just crashes his lips onto mine, his tongue edging inside, twisting mine in its hold, plunging deeper and blinding me to anything else.

His hand splays across my back, pulling me in closer, the hard chest against mine unforgiving, a wall of muscle—of strength.

My mind shifts as my body crumbles, a soft moan torn from somewhere deep inside as I react to the attack, my senses sharpened, my body on fire.

I kiss him back with a passion that excites me. It’s as if he has lit a match and it’s sizzling with energy.

My blood is on fire, cracking a trail through my body as it feeds on the oxygen, and I have no other thought but what’s happening now.

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