Chapter Two

Roman

I scowl at my reflection in the mirror as I blot ointment to my brow. The cream is supposed to get the fucker to stop bleeding, but so far, no luck. My brother, Damon, landed a good one today. Fortunately, it wasn’t bad enough to give me a shiner. Not that it matters much. Injuries like a black eye or split lip always lend a certain amount of cred when I meet with clients.

Damon and I worked out over lunch in the private gym. For the last few weeks, I’ve needed to run, lift and spar just to work off all my pent-up frustration. I don’t much care if I get the wrong end of a punch every so often. Fighting helps keep me focused, and lately I’ve needed all the help I could get.

Thoughts of her slip back into my head. I’m instantly hard. Since I own the building, I have access to all the cameras and I see her come and go. I’m consumed with her every move, every expression on her face, and every moment she moves within my personal space.

The first image I saw was of her in the elevator. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, carried a huge purse slung over one shoulder. Her hair, a sexy mass of chestnut ringlets, was mostly held in a messy bun, but several curls framed her beautiful face. It was the first day and she looked like she might cry.

I was home alone, sitting in my office, when I saw the video of her, and thank fuck for that. That evening I watched her a dozen times. Part of me couldn’t believe that my home security had been breached by a mere girl. I’m supposedly a security expert, and by expert, I mean that heads of state and CEOs of multi-billion dollar companies rely on me for protection. This should never have happened.

Another part of me, specifically my cock, couldn’t get enough. The girl was lush, gorgeous with just a hint of sassy, enough to make me want to bend her over and punish her beautiful round ass with the flat of my hand. I watched her over and over, getting more pissed off but more aroused too. She was perfect. Lovely. A small, delicate, trespassing angel. I ended the evening, finally getting some relief by stroking my cock like some randy teenager watching porn. It wasn’t porn, obviously, but from that moment on, it might as well have been.

I growl at the memory of that night, the beginning of my obsession. I finish dressing, slipping on my jacket, tightening my tie when there’s a knock at the office door.

“What?” My response is a gruff, even for me.

Claire, my younger sister, walks into the office, stopping abruptly when she sees the cut on my face. She holds a folder in one hand and a leash in the other. Her dog, a French Bulldog that cost an obscene amount of money, follows obediently a few paces back.

She eyes the cut on my brow. “Is that why Damon is smirking?”

“He got lucky. That’s all.”

“I’ll never understand you two. Never.”

I shrug and ignore her disdain. Claire’s a lot younger than me and Damon, but she acts like a mother hen. She’s the only one who gets away with giving me a bad time, but I give it right back.

“Next time, we’ll tag along to your Pilates class.”

“For your information, it’s Yogalates.”

“I don’t know how you say that with a straight face.”

Her face lights with a smile. “Don’t be talking smack about my classes. You could do with a little work on your flexibility, both you and Damon. There’s such a thing as getting too muscle-bound, you know?”

Claire considers it her mission to civilize her two older brothers. She never misses a chance. Last year she graduated with a degree in art history, and I promised to pay for a trip to Florence if she worked a year for me. She heads up HR and helps me if I need intel on a certain client or person of interest. She’s brilliant, works hard, but she makes it clear she’d rather be drinking espresso in Tuscany.

She pets her dog and murmurs soft words to him. He looks wide-eyed, and that’s saying something for a little squish-faced dog.

I tilt my head the direction of her dog. “What’s wrong with Louis?”

Claire hands me the file and takes a chair on the other side of the desk. The pup sidles close to her, keeping his worried look fixed on her.

“The cats are teaming up to terrorize him. They lie beside his food and water bowls and give him a good smackdown anytime he tries to eat or drink. I couldn’t figure out why he was so traumatized, so I set up surveillance over the weekend.” She grimaces. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“Louis is getting pushed around by cats? Did he forget he’s a dog?”

She purses her lips. “Don’t say that. He gets his feelings hurt easily.”

“No kidding.” I open the folder and sift through the reports. “D’Angelo still wants security for his niece?”

She nods. “Victor specifically asked for you or Damon to take care of her. It’s for just a few days in January.”

I groan. I don’t do much in the way of personal security details. It’s the reason I have employees. I’ve got over fifty specially trained security personnel to take care of anything a client could need. But Victor was one of my first clients twelve years ago when I started Savage Security. I shadowed him as he closed a deal in Rome. One of his rivals tried to set him up. He sent his goons. I took them out in a brawl, sending three men to the hospital. Victor paid me well, of course, but he’d sweetened the deal by giving me five percent interest in the D’Angelo holdings. His company has holdings across Europe, from vineyards to shipyards.

My part of the D’Angelo assets has made me millions, but Victor sees it as a retainer for my services. Any time he needs security for his family he expects nothing less than personal attention from me or my brother. Fortunately, the requests don’t come too often.

“I’ll discuss it with Damon. What about the recruit, Xander? Did you talk to him? Explain that he better not come to work in camo and leather? That he needed to lose the fatigues and Oakleys? If he looks like Jason effing Bourne, he’s going to stand out like a sore thumb.”

“Damon talked to him.” Claire makes a face. “I thought the guy might start crying.”

“That’s not good. We’ll need to give him light duties and see if he can handle shit. We’re not running a kindergarten here.”

She gives a mock salute. “I already told Phyllis. Nothing in sub-Sahara. Venezuela’s out and so is Tel Aviv.”

“Anything overseas is out for now. Let’s see if the special snowflake can handle the small stuff first. What else?”

“I need to start bringing Louis with me to work.”

“What?”

“The cats are being mean to him. I have to offer asylum.”

Louis gazes at me sadly. He’s twice the size of Claire’s ridiculous cats.

“Your dog is nothing better than a-”

“Don’t say it, Roman. Don’t say the p-word.”

“I wouldn’t say that word in front of you. Aunt Alice would spin in her grave.”

Claire squints at me as if she doesn’t quite believe me.

Aunt Alice didn’t exactly teach us not to swear. It’s more accurate to say she would make our life miserable if we didn’t toe the line. Our elderly aunt took us in when our mom and dad were killed in an accident with a drunk driver. She’d never married, had never been around children and had been raised by a father who was a one-star general. Aunt Alice might as well have been a one-star general herself. We always thought she missed her calling.

Still, for not knowing much about kids, she loved and doted on us.

Claire was so young when our parents died, Aunt Alice was the only parent she ever knew. It was especially hard on her when our aunt passed away the year before last. It’s probably why she had to start consoling herself with fussy pets like Louis. She’s got a couple of hairless cats too. I can hardly even think about them without wincing.

Claire strokes the dog’s head. “Louis needs encouragement. Praise. Positivity.”

“So why are you bringing him around me?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because you owe me. I have some information you want.”

I narrow my eyes. “You work for me. Remember?”

“This isn’t work related.” She speaks quietly, arching a brow. “It’s personal.”

A rush of warmth heats my body. I can tell by her coy act that she’s talking about Contessa. The subject of my little trespasser can spike my temper faster than any other. I’m obsessed. I wait, not very patiently. Usually, Claire folds easily. She’s just twenty-one. I can often intimidate her with stony silence. This time she simply stares back, a resolute look in her eyes.

My patience runs out. “Is she okay? Safe?”

“Of course. I would have told you right away if she were in danger.”

“Is she…” I try to control the anger curling in my gut. “Quitting?”

“Not that I know of.”

Damned straight she’s not quitting. I’ll make her life hell if she quits. I keep that particular thought to myself since my sister has made a few jokes about needing a restraining order to keep me from kidnapping Tessa. I won’t kidnap her. Obviously. But I like the idea. A lot. I lean back in my chair. “She works for Cannon Security, after all?”

Claire shakes her head. “Nope. Lucky for her.”

It is lucky for her. I don’t really think she works for my rival, Ryker Cannon. I’m sure she’s never stepped foot in my home office. Even if she had, she wouldn’t find anything that would help Cannon. Still, you can never be too sure. He’s tried to infiltrate my company and steal clients. Fucker. If she worked for him, I might have to put her over my knee, just before I forced her to quit working for that man. And then I’d kidnap her.

“This is annoying, Claire.” I rub the back of my neck and then turn my attention to my computer. I tap a few keys. Footage plays, a stream of images from the foyer of the apartment building. With a few keystrokes I make the footage speed up until I reach a moment or two before nine that morning. And there she is…

Contessa Victoria Hughes. Height: five foot two. Eyes: Olive. Age: 20. Education: Degree in Culinary Arts. Criminal Record: None (yet – unless I press charges – I won’t, but the threat makes me happy. I could so hold this over her). Debt: Sixty dollars at the public library for overdue cookbooks. (who amasses that many fines? On a pile of books?) Fines (paid off yesterday by an anonymous benefactor -that would be me.)

The footage rolls and I can feel my mouth curve into a smile. She crosses the marble foyer and presses her key to the keypad of the private elevator. “Hello, Contessa...”

I’ve already seen this morning’s footage. Several times, if I’m being honest with myself, and yet I feel a jolt of primitive satisfaction. Contessa doesn’t know that I know, and she doesn’t know that I can smell her scent on my pillows, or that I know she’s stretched out on my bed. Why she did that, I’m not sure. Maybe to take a nap. All I know is that her scent on my pillow gave me very dirty dreams. I blame her and like to think about coming home early one day to show her a few filthy things that played out in my mind.

Why did she lie down on my bed? I picture her holding the pillow and imagining me in the bed. Is it because she’s as obsessed with me as I am with her? I knew there had been a stranger in my home the first day she worked there. I didn’t say a word. Not after I saw the footage. Right away I wanted her there. But in the last two and a half weeks my feelings have gone from mere curiosity to something much more urgent. A dangerous primitive need.

Last week, I noticed the new doorman giving her a lingering look. It was the second time he’d done that. The second time was one too many. I had him fired immediately. Even now, the thought sends a slow burn of fury through my body. I clench my fist and shake my head, trying to tamp down the remnants of anger.

I watch Contessa step into the elevator as she talks on the phone. “I know I shouldn’t spy on her, but she shouldn’t have snuck into my home. She’s paying for her crimes and misdemeanors.”

Claire sighs. “Beyond creepy. Is this some sort of mid-life crisis thing?”

Scowling at her, I shake my head and then return my attention to the footage. “I’m only thirty-one. I’m a little young for a mid-life crisis.”

She lowers her voice and speaks in a softened tone. “You’ve been acting differently for a while now.” Her phone buzzes with a message and she gives me an apologetic look as she takes the call.

I ignore her. I don’t need to explain. Of course, I’ve been acting differently. I don’t expect her to understand. When I saw Contessa for the first time, it felt like getting hit by one of Damon’s right hooks. I was stunned. Suddenly everything fell into place. It was her. She was the one I wanted. I keep thinking it will pass. I need to shield Contessa from my intense hunger for her.

I’m not into relationships. Sex, definitely. I like sex a lot. Or I used to like it a lot. I haven’t had any since Contessa. Before she stole into my life, I liked sex casual and without strings. I’ve never even dated a woman much less thought about keeping one, but the first moment I saw Contessa, I wanted to go flat-out Viking, throw her over my shoulder, carry her to bed and fuck her there till she’s had my baby inside her. I’ve never been so consumed with primitive instincts.

Claire ends her call and gives me a pointed look. “Sorry, that was the groomer.”

I push away my dirty thoughts of Contessa and try to act casual. “That’s okay, I’m just checking the video feed.” I fast forward to watch her leave at three, but as the time signature scrolls past three o’clock, my girl doesn’t reappear. “Interesting. She’s still there. Maybe she wants to be found out.”

“Pretty sure the last thing she wants is to be interrogated by you. Besides, we made a deal.”

I turn off my screen, my mind filled with images of her. When I asked Claire to find out what she could about Contessa, my sister immediately rushed to her defense. It upset Claire when she found out that Contessa spent her life in the foster system.

The thing that really got to Claire was that Contessa volunteers at the Community Center. When she found that out, she made me agree not to wait around the penthouse one morning to confront the little trespasser. Tessa’s so young and hasn’t gotten much of a break. I was taken by surprise by the hardship Contessa has endured. Without thinking I gave in to Claire.

Contessa was young, probably fragile. I’m consumed with primitive desire. Not a good mix.

I regret making the deal. I regret it more every day, because what started out as a fascination has quickly become an obsession. A wave of irritation comes over me.

“Let’s get back to the subject. Please. I have work to do. You want to bring Louis to work, that’s fine by me. Now tell me about your little secret. It had better be worth putting up with your farting dog.”

“Contessa called the police the night before last.”

Without realizing it, I’ve gotten to my feet. In about three strides I circle the desk. The dog cowers. Claire gives me a chastising look.

“Out with it.” My jaw clenches. “You should have told me this right away.”

“I asked around and it’s being filed as a domestic incident. The roomie has a new boyfriend. He got drunk and belligerent. The roommate didn’t want to press charges, so the cop gave the boyfriend a ride home to let him cool off. Brendon something.”

A firestorm burns inside my chest. If I’d known there was a guy hanging around the house, I would have found out everything about him. Everything. This is my mistake. In an effort to get some distance between me and Contessa, I put Claire in charge of incoming intel. I shouldn’t have entrusted her with anything about Contessa. She doesn’t understand how important this is to me and now Contessa’s in danger. The new details change the entire situation. There’s an aggressive male around Contessa and that’s not acceptable. Actually, I don’t want any male around Contessa, but that’s another subject.

“The deal’s off, Claire. If she’s in trouble, I’m not keeping away.”

“Fine. I mean, of course.” She waves her hands, probably seeing the murderous gleam in my eyes. “But don’t pounce on her, like some sort of caveman, Roman. Don’t confront her at the penthouse. She’d feel trapped. I know this changes things, but you’ll just scare the hell out her if you have this conversation in your home. It should be someplace that’s neutral. You and Damon scare the hell out of everyone. And…”

“And what?”

“You seem a little over-the-top protective about a girl you’ve never even spoken to.”

The penthouse, no, I won’t go there. I’ll catch her somewhere else and I won’t let her go until I can be certain she’s got a safe place to live. I’d thought of that dozens of times before but didn’t pursue the idea. Brandon, or Brendon, or whatever the fuck his name is, raised the stakes. This is a new game.

“I have some good news, though,” Claire offers. “I found out where she’ll be this evening.”