Page 85 of Prelude To You

“I— I’m fine,” I stammered. “Thank you… I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Ruthless desperation roiled through me, sparing no peace of mind. I was in the kind of trouble I had no idea how to get out of. It was grueling to even try to figure out what I should do.

Another soft knock. “Isabel?”

“Yes?”

“If you look in the cabinet next to the shower, you’ll find something more comfortable to wear.”

“Okay, thanks.”

The cabinet was next to a glass shower that was bigger than my entire bathroom at home. I was hoping to find something inappropriate or sleazy in the cabinet, something that would shock me and make me hate him enough to leave and never look back.

But when I opened the cabinet, it wasn’t as I’d hoped. Before me, stacked in neat piles, were luxurious towels and everything else one might need when coming to this penthouse unprepared. And on another shelf were cream-colored pajamas in different sizes, with Louis Vuitton labels plastered on the front. They were soft, warm and plush. And would cover me from my neck to my ankles.

Maybe Roman was trying to make the temptation easier to battle. I looked for my size and there it was, neatly folded in a transparent Louis Vuitton bag. I couldn’t help but wonder whatkind of money people had to spend to have all of this at their fingertips for one night away from home.

I changed into a set of pajamas, the luxurious feel just out of this world. I pulled my hair loose from the messy bun and put it up in a high ponytail. Since I wasn’t going for seduction, it made sense to keep it simple.

I found him by the large windows in the living room area, staring out at the view. Pensive, handsome, and once again so in charge of himself.

“A penny for your thoughts,” I said, trying to be perky. “Or in your case a dollar is probably more appropriate.”

He laughed and turned around, his gaze idly drifting over me, longing and torment in equal measure. He resuscitated his cool poise with some effort. “That’s better. Now you look more comfortable."

“I feel pampered, thank you. You still look formal though, in your bespoke shirt and pants.”

He cast me a surprised look and smiled. “Say what now?”

I enjoyed his reaction, and took my time answering. “At a guess you’re all about London’s Savile Row, right? Because your suit is definitely not Italian-made.”

He chuckled, a challenge glinting in his eyes. And after a few moments he said, “Okay, I’ll bite.”

“It’s very simple,” I said. “Italian is craftmanship. Savile Row is sensibility. Your suit is as sensible as you are. Diligently following rules and tradition down to the last snip and stitch, while it still fits like a second skin.”

Roman drew in a sharp breath, as if seduced by those words. “And what would you suggest I do to fix this terrible mistake?”

“It’s not terrible, and it’s not a mistake. But I’ll bet you’d look even more dashing in something slammed together by one of the exceptionally skilled tailors in Florence or Milan.”

He fixed his gaze on me. “How do you know so much about bespoke suits?”

“It’s what happens when you have a French mother who thought it a good idea to prepare me for the day when some faraway prince would sweep me off my feet and take me to his perfect land where pain and suffering do not exist… It’s a French thing. And I’m curious by nature. I’m a fountain of facts, mostly useless until you came along. So I should be thanking you for making my short but intense study of bespoke suits absolutely worthwhile.”

Roman laughed softly. He averted his gaze, as if to take a much-needed break from his captivation with me. He turned back to the view outside, wiping an exasperated hand over his face.

With his back to me, my gaze roamed freely over him. I pined for the secret places on his body where my mouth would linger, my tongue would stray, where his scent would ribbon its way through my nose and permeate my senses.

Tendrils of heat snaked their way into my belly and reached salaciously between my thighs, anticipating the bliss when his fingers would find their way back inside of me. All I had to do was rip his clothes off, and I would have everything I craved.

When I looked up I saw that he’d been watching my reflection in the window. Not an ounce of nuance was lost in our exchange. Judging by the vein throbbing in his temple and the raw desire in his eyes, we shared the same thoughts.

He had the promise holding him back. I had my instinct for self-preservation, which at this point seemed to be dipping into a very dry reserve. The air was muddled with uncertainty. All I could do at this point was beg for Roman to lose it, so I didn’t have to take responsibility for my own downfall.

When he turned back to me, his jaw was set and his expression impartial, as if we’d just discussed next week’sweather. “The food should be here in a bit,” he said with an even smile.

I sighed and set out to see if I could find more buttons to push. “You ordered already? How did you know what I wanted? I mean you don’t even know if I have allergies.”

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