Page 25 of Heartfelt Pain
He shrugs, rubbing his hands together. There’s a glint in his eyes, a calculating scheming expression on his face.
“Roma, what are you doing?” I take another step back.
He nods at a car pulling up. “The cab’s here.”
“I’m not sharing a cab with you.”
“You planning on walking home in those shoes?” I hate how I flush when he stares down at the stilettos. Nothing’s on display and yet everything is on display.
Hating a person is strange. Because earlier I thought I’d lovingly picked out this dress. I never pictured myself buying fancy dresses and going to places made out of gilded gold.
But I didn’t wear this dress because I felt pride and excitement. I wore it because Roman Zimin broke my heart five years ago and I wanted to get back at him. I wanted to prove that I am no longer beholden to this man who nearly ruined my life.
“Go away, Roma.” My voice is hard as I open the cab door. “Whatever you think this little stunt is, it’s over.”
I will not be trapped again.
The door shuts, Roma’s thigh bumping into mine.
I bite down hard on my lip, fighting my frustration.
“Excuse me,” I say when the cab driver takes off. I don’t have to stay in this car just because he thinks he’s being clever.
“Ren.” Roma places a hand on my thigh.
“No.” He immediately removes his hand but opens his mouth. “No,” I repeat. He frowns before his lips part again. “Shut up.”
His confusion mirrors mine. I don’t think I’ve even heard myself use this voice before.
But what can I say? Bitter Ren sounds like a hard ass.
“You ruined my fucking night,” I say after giving the driver my address.
Roma shifts in the seat beside me. I scoot over, gaining a sliver of space between our thighs. He drops his head back, sighing.
“What?” I ask. There’s no way he’s the one acting sad right now.
“Hellcat,” he whispers.
I go cold.
“Don’t call me that.”
His dark eyes are sad. And it pisses me the fuck off.
My knees angle toward him so I can better face him. The jacket slides off my shoulders. His gaze dips to my chest before dragging back up to my eyes. He dares to move hair out of my face, a finger skimming over my skin.
The electric jolt has my brow wrinkling.
“You don’t get to touch me.”
Roma’s finger runs over my cheek and down the bodice of my chest making my blood boil.
“You ruined my night,” I tell him.
I decide right then and there, he doesn’t get to ruin any more of my nights.
I grab his hand and watch his face. He expects me to slap him away, to shirk his touch.
