Page 145 of Burning Daylight
He flashes a boyish grin and moves beside me before jumping on top of the barrier and swinging one of his legs over until he’s straddling the concrete.
“Be careful!” I snap, my arms flying out like he’s about to fall.
He chuckles. “Funny, coming from someone who was lying upside down on a rock that hovered over open air when we first met.”
“That was different.” I cross my arms but realize that maybe I’m overreacting.
“I’m sure it was.” He watches me, a question in his gaze. “What were you doing then, anyway?”
Sighing, I lean against the pillar and look out over the scenery. I wouldn’t call it pretty, but it’s peaceful in an odd way.
I ignore his question, looking at all the buildings. “Is this a ghost town?”
He shakes his head. “Just industrial. Not much pedestrian traffic.”
I chew on my bottom lip while he waits for me to answer his first question.
“I was looking for Lance when we met,” I finally say. “He wasn’t there, obviously, but leaving meant I had to go back home, that I had to be…”
“The girl who plays piano and speaks four different languages?” he finishes smoothly.
I stare at the ground. “Yeah, something like that.”
He pats the space next to him. I look at it and then back to him, my chest cramping, but I move forward and climb up the ledge to sit anyway. A small hit of adrenaline flows through me, and I break into a grin. “This is kind of fun. I feel like a kid.”
He smiles and leans against the concrete wall at his back, one knee bent, his forearm resting over it like this is just any other conversation. I can practically see the tension rolling off him like steam, coiled under his skin.
And he’s watching me like he wants to save me from something.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap, crossing my arms.
His brows rise. “Like what?”
“Like you’re judging me for how I do what my family wants, even if they do terrible things.”
He sighs, his head hitting the concrete wall at his back. “I’m not judging you. It just kills me.”
That makes my facade of anger fall away. “Killsyou?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Watching you pretend to be what they want. Being on the sidelines and not able to doanythingwhile youtuck yourself into a world where you’re silent and on the arm of some fucking prick named Preston.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My heart thuds loudly in my chest. “That’s not fair,” I finally say.
He chuckles, dark and deep.
“You think I don’t get it?” he whispers. “I sold my dignity, my name, my freedom, all for a sister who hates me for the choice.”
“Roman…”
He leans forward, his hand palming my cheek until he’s pulling my face to his. Our foreheads brush, and his voice is so low I can barely hear him.
“I wake upeveryday and try to remind myself you’re off-limits. That you’re a Calloway, and I’m a Montgomery, and it’s not possible for me to touch you, or want you, or imagine how good it would feel to wake up next to you.”
My eyes burn and my fists clench at my sides. “So why say it, then? It just makes everything harder.”
He exhales slowly. “Because I’m tired of pretending like I don’t feel you in everything I do.”
The words are soft, but they land like thunder, and a chill creeps up my spine, although I can’t explain why. Maybe it’s from how his face hardens like he’s trying to steel himself against something.
