Page 57 of Prelude To You

I bit a smile and ignored his request.

“We don’t have to go to a wine bar, Roman. Bottled water will be fine. I don’t want to make you late for your auction.”

“It’s a silent auction, the later the better. We have more than enough time for a drink. So, please indulge me. What did you say to me in French?”

“Right now? You want me to tell you right this second.”

He stopped and faced me. “Yes, right now.”

My eyes lifted to his and waves of unrelenting desire invaded the air between us, twisting and turning and filling gaps. His eyes dipped to my parted lips and then to the hollow in my throat where my pulse flickered shamelessly. He put his thumb over it, feeling my rapid heartbeat against his skin.

When our gazes met again I saw a man, who, like me, didn’t know what to make of this inexplicable fascination we shared with one another.

“It was in the moment,” I murmured. “It meant nothing.”

Roman insisted, his mouth pursed, his eyes glued to mine. “I’d like to judge for myself as to how much it meant, especially considering the breathtaking circumstances under which it was said. A simple translation would be fine.”

Like his fingers, his words triggered the most delicious sensations, and a thrilling shiver scaled my back. I didn’t knowwhat to do with some of the conflicting feelings simmering inside of me.

Roman was difficult to figure out. He was so utterly charming and incredibly selective when it came to revealing details about himself. On the other hand, it was a little late for me to start acting coy.

“J’ai envie de toi,” I said. “It means I want you.”

“Is that something you say to people often…in the moment?” he asked casually. Even if his indifference was totally compromised by the vein throbbing in his temple.

“No,” I said, softly. “I’ve only said it to you.” The words left my lips before I had a chance to think how they might sound to someone like him.

But his reaction surprised me. He looked at me in amazement, grappling for the right words to reflect how this made him feel. His gaze bore into mine as he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. “I’m honored. And let me say this, if it’s not crystal clear yet. I want you too, my sweet. You can’t imagine how much.”

I had a question of my own, one that spilled out of me before I could stop it. “How many other people do you callmy sweet, Roman?”

He anchored me with a look so severe I almost regretted asking him. But then his fingers traced my jawline and his gaze softened with resignation. “You’re the only one I’ve ever used an endearment with. ‘My sweet’ was meant to convince the little troll in the bookshop of our love affair. As it turns out,my sweetis exactly what you are to me.”

It was a simple statement. But it left me breathless. I reached up and touched the vein in his temple, feeling his pulse the way he’d felt mine in the hollow of my throat. “This vein of yours is very telling. And thus far has told me more about you than you have.”

“Is that so?” Roman said playfully. “And what is it saying now, this talking vein?”

“It tells me you’re a little worried about something. And that you’re also very eager to continue where we left off in the hallway.”

Roman took my hand and put it to his mouth, kissing my fingers. “Bad vein. Revealing all my secrets.”

“What worries you, Roman?” I asked. “It’s not Porter Van Buren, is it?”

His expression remained poised, his gaze never leaving mine. Like he was mulling over how much he should tell me. “Oh God no,” he said. “Porter doesn’t deserve any space in my head. You, however, do. Let’s go and get you something to drink before you faint of thirst.”

Those long fingers folded around my hand as we strolled toward the wine bar. On the far side of the foyer, Porter and Celeste Van Buren were chatting with another couple. Celeste appeared to be waging a perpetual battle with boredom.

Our gazes met across the room and for a wild, unguarded moment raw envy spilled from her eyes. It appeared that “provincial” as I seemed to her, she’d do anything to change places with me. But like my mom used to say,c’est la vie. Celeste had made her bed of thorns, and it was hers to lie in.

“Maybe we’re just being cynical, you know,” I said to Roman. “Who’s to say the Van Burens aren’t ecstatically happy.”

Roman chuckled at my mocking tone, and squeezed my hand. “You might be right… Happiness is different things to different people.”

I dipped my toe in uncharted waters. “What makes you happy, Roman?”

He leaned into me as we walked. “Careful now. We’ve known each other what, five minutes. I don’t think we’re quite at the part where we spill our innermost secrets to each other.”

I rolled my eyes, slightly annoyed. “It’s not like I want to know your innermost secrets, for God’s sake. I simply asked what makes you happy. But fine, be like that. You do you.”

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