Page 38 of The Sin

In this moment, he was the steel in every breath I took. He was the weakness in my knees. He was the bittersweet taste of freedom that wouldn’t, couldn’t last. He was the melt in my blood. He was the rod stiffening my spine. He was the hollow in my stomach. He was the journey on my road of unanswered questions. He was the sting on my lips of a barely-there kiss.

I didn’t have any more fight left in me for Roman West. It was impossible for him to ever see the world through my eyes. And maybe, just maybe, it was impossible for me to ever see the world through his eyes.

We were products of our circumstances, and right now, those circumstances put me within a breath of my husband’s arms. I wanted him. I’d wanted him for a long, long time, but tonight that want turned to desperation.

Butterflies nested low in my stomach, urging me to do something rash, something brave, something beautiful.

I bit down on my bottom lip, wishing I had the courage. I’d lost my fight, but I hadn’t lost my pride, and every solid time I’d made the first move, Roman had shut me down. When I’d asked him why he found me so easy to resist, he’d said it wasn’t easy, he’d said he didn’t want to want me, which implied he did want me, but he’d still run after that kiss.

When I’d admitted I was attracted to him, he’d told me about another woman in his life.Amelia.

So, no, I didn’t have the courage to rise up onto my toes and take that kiss I so desperately craved.

My gaze went to the wooden spoon I was still holding up between us.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that, please don’t,” Roman said, a hint of humor in his voice. “I’ve had a really long day and I’m not sure I could outrun you.”

I didn’t laugh. “Tell me about Amelia.”

His humor thinned. “I intend to. That’s one of the reasons I brought you to The Smoke. You didn’t want the truth from me, so I had to show you. I need you to understand.”

“I’m listening.”

A bubbling, hissing sound erupted. Crap! The pasta was boiling over in the pan.

Roman grabbed the handle and shunted the pan to the drainer by the sink.

I dug in with the spoon, attempting to stir out the pasta clumps.

“Leave it,” Roman said. “Let’s go out for dinner.”

“Out?” I hiked a brow at him. “The lights go off in less than half an hour.”

“There’s plenty of night life in The Smoke.” A grin tucked up a corner of his mouth. “You just have to know where to find it.”

14

The Velvet Lounge was just within the boundary of The Break. Blackout shutters on the windows ensured the place looked absolutely dead from the street.

When we walked through the door, it was like walking through a portal into a movie. The carpets were lush and the walls were covered in a deep, purple velvet material. Soft music filtered through speakers and the people—mostly couples intimately seated at half-moon velvet booths—conversed in muted tones. If sophisticated elegance had a name, it would be The Velvet Lounge. We weren’t in The Smoke anymore.

The maître d’, a woman dressed in a slinky, sequined gown, met us and Roman handed over his plastic credit card for her to swipe, even though we hadn’t even ordered anything yet.

I glanced around in awe as she led us to a velvet booth. All the booths were cleverly angled to give a certain amount of privacy and still face a wood-slatted floor section. It quickly became clear that I was totally underdressed. Roman was okay. The men seemed to be more casual, but the women favored evening gowns or shiny, sexy tops. I was still wearing the jeans I’d put on this morning. At least I’d exchanged my hoodie for a long-sleeved, soft top and my coat.

When the maître d’ took my coat from me, I quickly slid into the booth self-consciously. It was stupid. There were far more pressing problems in this world, but I was still relieved to hide my denim-clad legs beneath table.

Because of the seating arrangement, Roman and I were sitting side-by-side rather than across a table from each other.

Once he had given our drink order and we were alone, I pulled a face at him. “You could have told me how fancy this place is.”

Roman shifted, planting an elbow on the table and turning toward me. His gaze lingered on me before he replied in a husky voice that sent a warm shiver over my skin, “You look beautiful.”

Heat prickled my cheeks. The way he said it, the way he was looking at me, it didn’t matter whether I looked beautiful or like a bedraggled rag. I felt beautiful.

I was suddenly, instantly aware of just how sinfully beautiful he was, too. I mean, it was always there, an awareness humming beneath the surface, but every now and then, like this very moment, it took me by storm and became impossible to ignore.

The ambience here didn’t help, either. It was designed for lingering, heated looks and sexy thoughts.

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