Page 86 of Prelude To You

He grinned, happy to battle. “And there she is again, the luminous nymph of ire… I ordered a few dishes so you can have a variety. I also ordered an assortment of French pastries, for obvious reasons. And champagne. I’m almost sure you’ll find something delectable to eat. I didn’t see an allergy ID bracelet, so I assume you’ll be fine.”

I was at a loss, and just breathless. Wasn’t there anything this man could do to make me stop adoring him?Please God.“You really need to stop being so damn wonderful. I mean it.”

It was supposed to be in jest, but he didn’t see it that way. He came closer, and lifted my chin until I met his gaze. “That, my sweet, goes both ways. You and your breathtaking self.”

His eyes landed on the hollow of my throat, and I knew he was watching my pulse flutter. And for one moment the dam wall threatened to burst. No doubt both of us were imagining him very deep inside of me.

“Excuse me for a second,” he said.

Roman waited until he was on the other side of the room, safe from the scorching danger, when he turned at the bathroom doorway. “Isabel. Just so you know, I never bring women here. Actually I’ve never shared this place with anyone when I stayed here. You’re the first.”

I watched as he disappeared into the bathroom and gently closed the double doors behind him. I realized my predicament was that for the rest of my life, I’d wonder what it would have been like with Roman. Here in the penthouse. On that king-sized bed. Or anywhere in this place, for that matter.

And I would never know because if I gave in tonight, my regret tomorrow would overshadow any pleasure or memory I had. If it was only the sex, it might have been fine. But it wasn’t, because somewhere between last night and tonight I might have fallen in love with this stranger. Or was it in lust?

I needed a drink.

There had to be a mini bar somewhere in this fancy place. I opened all the cabinet doors until finally, I opened a door to a fully-stocked bar with a double-door fridge. Open Sesame. But the bottles were nothing like the tiny booze-bottles in ordinary hotels.

These were all normal-sized, with ancient dates on them. My liquid redemption waited in bottles thirty years older than I was. I felt so disrespectful. And I couldn’t imagine what they cost.

I heard the bathroom door open and looked back. Roman was holding the dress I’d carelessly draped over a hook on the bathroom wall. He didn’t realize I was watching him, and as he walked to the closet he put my dress to his face and inhaled my scent. Then he carefully hung it in the closet beside his jacket.

I stopped breathing.

The bar had more doors, and I frantically opened them with trembling fingers. Only to find more bottles with ancient dates.

Then Roman was behind me. “Having trouble choosing something to drink?

“Is there anything here that can be consumed without breaking the bank?” I asked, at my wits’ end.

“Break the bank, Isabel. This night is yours. Let me help you.”

I swung back to see him standing with his hands casually in his pockets, looking the way he always did. And clouding my judgment. The way he always did.

“I don’t want to drink wine that costs more than my rent, just because I can.”

His beautiful mouth was patiently pursed, his voice like velvet. “I ordered champagne with the dinner. We can order anything else you want, Isabel. Would you like me to pour you a drink? I’m going to have a whiskey myself.”

Calm down and be nice.I was making this far more unbearable for myself by being difficult. This man was trying his best. He just breathed in my fucking dress, and it drove me crazy and I wanted to forfeit all thoughts of why none of this was a good idea.

I forced a gracious smile. “Single malt, I take it?”

He laughed softly. “I swear if you school me on whiskey like you just did on bespoke suits, I’m retiring to a monastery in Tibet.”

“The only thing I know about whiskey,” I said, “is that it can be traced back to the medieval Latin phraseaqua vitaewhich meanswater of life. Other than that I know nothing about it. But I could tell you about the pros and cons of retiring to a monastery in Tibet.”

That sparked another chuckle. “You know what, let’s have it; I’m all ears.”

I watched him take his time pouring two glasses of whiskey. As with everything else, it was done with meticulous care. If he could see how Meg threw cocktails together, he might have a mental breakdown.

“I’ll start with the pros,” I said. “Living in a monastery means you’re all about reaching nirvana which is wisdom and enlightenment combined with infinite compassion, all preparing you for your next life, or something like that. The cons come down to leaving your worldly life behind. That means no earthly possessions, no penthouse at the Belmont Hotel, no top-notch whiskey and definitely no sex, ever again.”

Roman’s expression was impenetrable, but the vein in his temple was throbbing. He offered me a glass of whiskey. It wasa small amount, probably the only way to enjoy a very expensive whiskey. He raised his glass to mine and struck it with a gentle ping. “To never living in a monastery in Tibet.”

As he took his first sip of whiskey, a smoldering curiosity lay hidden behind his smile. “So,” he said, “does this mean there’s a chance we’ll meet in the next life, unfettered by all these current limitations?”

The way he said that. Wisps of desire flitted through me, an insatiable need settling where it definitely wasn’t welcome at this point. The only response I could manage was to slam my whiskey back in one gulp. “Oh God no, please. I can’t handle another rejection, even if it is a lifetime away. Why not just tie me to a medieval torture rack and be done with it.”

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