Page 69 of Lethal Legacy

Shivering at the memory of the dark gleam in his eyes, I wonder if everything I do from now on is going to remind me of Roman.

Slipping through the door, I give a surprised-looking Bryce a quick wave, then go into the children’s apartment. It still smells of sweet caramel, warm and comforting. I pad down the corridor. Masha’s bedroom door is open. She’s sprawled face down like a starfish, a low bedside light casting soft waves across the ceiling. I leave her door open and move down to Ofelia’s. No light shows through the crack in her door. I push it open gently. Her long figure is curled into a tight ball, the covers clutched hard in one fist. Even in sleep, she looks tense. The light from the corridor falls on the blonde strands of hair wrapped around her face. I cross the floor and gently brush them back, touching a kiss to her temple, then draw the door back as I found it.

Mickey has fallen asleep with his laptop open on the bed. I take it, careful not to disturb him, and put it on the desk. Brown curls flop over his face, and in the strange half-light, I can see the hard planes of the man he will become lurking under the boyish softness. Mickey might not know it yet, but he’s going to be every bit as handsome as the picture of his father he has by his bedside.

I find the monitor where I left it, tucked in a cupboard above the stove. On impulse, I pick up the pot of leftover caramel from the stovetop, still liquid in the warm spring night.

I’m not going to sleep anytime soon. I may as well make something.

I tiptoe out of the apartment and close the door softly behind me.

To my left, the elevator dings, the sound echoing off the marble floor. I freeze like a deer caught in the headlights as the doors slide open.

Roman steps out, his head turned away from me as he murmurs to Bryce and the other security guard, clearly checking that the children are down for the night. They hold out the tablet that shows the security feed from inside the apartment.

Not that I’m paying any attention. I can’t look away from Roman’s bared torso, rising like a wall of muscle above a pair of gray sweatpants.

He’s clearly just come from the basement gym.

Correction: from the shower in the basement gym.

Water trails rivulets down the scarred, tattooed breadth of his back, disappearing beneath the band of his sweats. The muscles on his shoulders and the backs of his arms are raised and corded, the skin slightly flushed from what must have been a vigorous workout.

And by the way the sweats are clinging to the taut lines of his ass, he’s butt naked under the sweats.

Desire hits me between the legs with the force of a freight train.

Oh, God.I’m suddenly extremely aware of how naked I am beneath my robe.I need to get back inside my apartment.

Pressing the door code means audible beeps. On the other hand, if I stay where I am, it’s only a matter of time until Roman turns around and sees me.

Roman spins around at the first electronic bleep.

The steel eyes narrow, then darken dangerously. Flicker to where the guards are still looking at the tablet.

His head inclines briefly to the elevator, a silent order I have no thought of refusing. He’s holding the doors open with one massive arm, his body blocking mine from view of the guards.

When the doors slide closed, I’m standing with my back to the side wall, holding the pot of caramel protectively in front of me, the monitor balanced on top.

Roman watches me from the opposite side of the elevator, silent and deadly. From the front, his body is even more devastating.

The cords in his neck are raised from his workout, the veins in his shoulders and biceps visible under skin the same warm gold as rich olive oil. Every muscle is clearly delineated, his abdomen a ripped landscape still glistening with water. The sweatpants hang low on his hips. I watch, mesmerized, as a lone rivulet tracks down the narrow V that leads into the waistband.

The bulge just below the waistband is huge and unmistakable.

I draw a shuddering breath.

“Trouble sleeping, Miss Lopez?” One hand reaches out and plucks the pot from my hands. He frowns at the monitor atop it, but makes no comment, though he does turn it off. The elevator slows, but he doesn’t move. “Perhaps I should have added a clause into our contract regarding dress code.”

With one swift tug, he undoes the sash of my robe and lays my naked body bare.

He inhales sharply, his massive shaft visibly twitching beneath his sweats.

“Nobody,” he says roughly, “sees you like this but me. Do you understand?”

I nod mutely. Even the slightest movement is unbearably erotic. The touch of the air on my body, the friction between my thighs when I shift. I’ve been high on memories since I left his bed last night, but none of them came close to the reality of his raw, sensual power standing half naked within touching distance.

The elevator doors slide open, but neither of us move. I’m not sure that I can.

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