Page 131 of Lethal Legacy

The concept is so alien I can’t quite imagine it.

“Wait,” he says curtly. He turns, going into the apartment, and I stand awkwardly on the terrace, wondering what is coming.

Trying not to imagine the worst.

He returns a moment later, holding the contract up in front of him.

“When I gave you this,” he says quietly, twisting the paper into a funnel, “I meant it as security. Money and protection for you. Convenience, I guess, for me.” His mouth twists in something like distaste. “A few weeks ago, I thought that would be enough. But now... well, now it’s different.”

His voice is oddly halting. He takes a deep breath.

“I guess what I’m trying to say—rather badly—is that I don’t want you to be here because of a contract. I want—well, I want it to be your choice.”

He halts abruptly, staring at me. “Say the word, Lucia,” he says roughly, “and I’ll drive you back to the finca tonight and send you to your own bedroom. Nothing will change in relation to the money I’m paying you or your place in my home. Nobody ever needs to know that there was anything between us other than a work contract. You have my word I’ll never breathe a word to your father about it. In fact,” he says, eyeing the offending funnel of paper with rather disgusted eyes, “if it was up to me, I’d burn the damned thing here and now and never speak of it again. But it needs to be your decision.” He holds the papers out to me. “This contract is your security. If you want to keep it, then that is up to you. I just want you to know that whatever you decide, I’ll honor your decision.”

I’m so taken aback that for a moment I don’t say anything at all. The funneled contract hovers in front of my eyes.

Finally I take it.

The papers feel cold and unpleasant in my hand. I flick through them, not really seeing the words on the pages. The signature on them doesn’t seem like mine, or rather, I no longer feel like the person who signed my name. So much has changed since the day I first read the words in that contract that I barely recall how I felt then, even though it was only weeks ago.

Back then, Roman was a stranger. One I wanted, yes, and desired more than I ever have any man. But one who terrified me, too.

And now?

Now I’ve lived in his home. Slept in his bed. Fallen in love with his children, and watched them slowly come out of their shells. Watched Roman himself change. He’s still the hard bastard I met. More so, perhaps, than I’d even guessed. As ruthless as any of the men I was raised with. Fiercely protective of those he loves and, undoubtedly, just as savage when anything of his is threatened.

But I’ve also seen another side to him. The man who knew when it was time to give more of himself to the children in his care. Who made sure Mickey knew he was proud of him, and who found a way to build a bridge to Ofelia’s heart. The man who managed to meet my father in a way that preserved Papa’s dignity and earned his respect.

More than the nights I’ve spent tangled in his sheets, or the way he makes my body melt with little more than just a look, it’s those aspects of Roman that have lowered my defenses. It isn’t the money he’s put in a bank account for me that’s made me feel safe.

It’s him.

Being close to him.

Knowing that I can trust him.

“Say something,” he says roughly, his eyes dark hollows in his face.

I don’t though. Instead, I walk over to one of the sconces on the wall. Holding the papers up to it, I let them catch light. I carry the flaming papers across to the terrace and let the night breeze tear the embers from my hands, watching them float away into the night. When the last paper starts to crumble, I drop it onto the stone terrace, where it curls into ash.

I turn to Roman. “I didn’t sign that contract because of the money,” I say quietly. “I didn’t sign it to keep myself safe, or because I was running from the Orlovs. Maybe, at the time, I told myself that was why I was signing it. I told myself that I’d do anything to keep Papa and me safe. And I told myself I could walk away, at any moment. But that was a lie, Roman. I was lying to myself.”

I step closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I don’t want to run away from you,” I whisper. “I don’t even know that I could anymore.”

His arms snake around my waist, though he still holds me slightly apart.

“I can’t promise you anything,” he says hoarsely, “Other than what I already have. I don’t know how much I can... I won’t make promises I can’t keep, Lucia.”

“I know that.” I hold his eyes with my own. “Neither of us can make too many promises, Roman. Our lives don’t allow for them. But for now, we’re here. Together. And there’s nowhere in this world I’d rather be.”

I press my body gently against his, and he groans softly, his arms tightening around me. I can feel his resolve crumbling, and the knowledge that it’s me doing that to him gives me a fierce, almost heady rush of power.

He wants me. Roman truly wantsme.

Somehow, it’s different from before, from all the fiery encounters of power and lust that have carried us here. “I won’t run from you, Roman.” I hold his face in my hands. “Not unless you tell me to go. That’s the one promise I will make.”

Something flashes deep in his eyes, a savage gleam that sends fire through my body. “Good,” he says roughly.

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