CHAPTER 19

GIGI FIXATED ON THOSE THREE little words. I need her. Had it meant what her heart wanted it to? Fuck—she hoped so because if not that parting invitation was only going to be more heartache for her. She leaned against the bar, twisting the ring on her right hand as she watched Billy finish pouring the seltzer into her absinthe.

This time the green fairy served a better purpose than making the pain go away—one healthier for her liver. It was a reminder. Roman could see deeper, attribute meaning to things that she never would have considered as he had with this sweet means of intoxication. Absinthe represented a strange kind of hope.

The deep rumble of the barkeep’s gruff words pulled her from her thoughts. “You’re lucky I still have this on hand, darlin’.” He pushed the milky green spirit closer to her. “Ordered just the one bottle special.”

“I guess I am lucky.” She slipped her billfold from her purse. “What do I owe you, Billy?”

“Nothin’ tonight. The liquor is yours anyhow. Roman already paid. It’ll keep anytime you want it.” He raised his hand, gesturing as though tipping an imaginary hat, and moved on down the bar to help the next soul waiting for their dose of firewater.

Since her workday had ended early, only a few regulars populated the quiet dive. Gigi sipped on her drink as The Pretenders played on the jukebox. She hadn’t even had the chance to gauge Roman’s reaction to her not-so-subtle attempt at wardrobe temptation before her father—no, she would not call him that anymore—before John had upended her day.

Something had changed with Roman. She couldn’t put her finger on it since he’d been spouting crazy accusations. He protected her, said he needed her, and given her a ray of hope.

She would not be quick to forgive his easy dismissal of her honesty and faithfulness right out of the gate on their new love. With the appropriate level of groveling—preferably on his knees with that magic tongue—she would jump on the chance to have him back again. If he just admitted he was wrong and told her why, it would be enough.

More than Gigi had ever needed any random hookup, she had been jonesing for his touch. If this was what breakups were all about, she’d avoid that mess in the future. All she wanted was Roman—in her bed, in her life, in any way they could be together. They hadn’t known each other long, but what she knew in just a couple of weeks of everyday interaction and marathon evening conversations was all she needed to know. Add in the way her skin felt like it was electrified everywhere he touched her, as if she was a lightbulb shining just for him, she was hooked. It would be Roman or it would be no one. Please God, let that not be necessary. She’d never make it as a nun.

Finishing her drink, Gigi scooped up her purse and wobbled as she descended from her perch on the barstool. Shit—either absinthe packed a bigger punch than she assumed or she shouldn’t have worn those heels. Shoes—yep—let’s blame that. Not the absinthe. It reminded Roman of her eyes. It was a silly, romantic, thoughtful gesture. Another of his skills. Something no one before him had ever taken the time for. Another reason he was the one. Hadn’t she already been thinking that when she ordered it? Great, now her thoughts were on auto repeat.

She’d waited an hour. Time to walk home. It wasn’t like Roman didn’t know where she lived and where she drank. Maybe he wasn’t coming after all. Tears welled up and her lip quivered just thinking of it. Screw it all—now she was weepy. Yeah, she was way too close to toasted. That is some good booze.

She waved goodbye to Billy, who nodded back, then she pushed the door open and stepped out into the sun. She flung her arm up to shield against the assault on her eyes. Damn that light was bright after the darkness of the bar. The only thing for it was to head home and put herself to bed. Start this clusterfuck of a day over when it wasn’t today. Contemplating the intelligence of mixing her emotional state, hundred proof liquor, and fuck me heels; she started down the block in what she hoped resembled a straight line.

Gigi had nearly made it to the building when a firm grip closed on her arm and spun her around. Her heart leapt up, ready to be happy. He did need her. He didn’t let her down. For one brief second, she’d been almost whole. Then reality came crashing in, stomping on her heart where it lay on the sidewalk as she recognized the sick leer of the last person she wanted to see. For fuck’s sake, this asshole didn’t know when to quit.

“Listen, Chad, I’m really getting sick of telling you, leave me the alone. You’ve jacked up enough of my life.” She jerked her arm—not caring that she’d probably have bruises tomorrow.

His grip tightened, his voice sharp with command. “No—you listen. You belong to me.”

They’d skipped to a new scary level with that one command—one that left her bravado cowering in the churning pit of her stomach. The look in Chad’s eyes reminded her of a feral creature, hard and at the same time wide with crazed fear. It fit him like pickles on PB and J—all kinds of wrong. As an otherwise successful lawyer who would be most women’s pick for most eligible bachelor, he could have just about anyone else. That didn’t stop him from bodily dragging her towards her building. It didn’t faze any onlookers into helping her now. Instead, it gave them every reason to look the other way.

Swallowing back her rising bile, she managed enough voice to shriek, “Stop! I’m not property.” She clawed at his fingers with her free hand as she pulled backwards against his dragging force.

Gigi lost one of her heels as Chad yanked her over the curb, nearly cranking her ankle in the process. His step never faltered. Her now awkward gait made her that much easier for him to control, until he had her up against a wall on her building. He stopped on the carpark side, not visible from the street. Everything about him was rigid and still. A kind of deadly calm that had been present almost from the beginning of his harassment, when he’d reached to grope her under her mother’s dining room table.

Her breathing, on the other hand, came out in ragged pants. The blood pumping though her veins sobered her ass up in a hurry, as if she’d been doing shots of coffee instead of liquor. “Find someone who wants you. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

Chad gripped her chin with his free hand. He squeezed, forcing her mouth open and making it difficult to speak or cry out. “You’re right. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

His mouth moved towards hers. She pressed her eyes closed—dreading the cold fish feeling of his lips on hers. Then nothing. They never touched her.

The slap crack of flesh hitting flesh broke the silence followed by a muffled shout that sounded vaguely like “What the fuck!”

Chad’s hands fell away from her. Without him pressing her against the wall, she stumbled forward and into another set of hands—familiar ones. Only her tipsy hope had confused her before because this touch radiated warmth. The press of soft cotton against her skin as strong arms held her told her all she needed to know. She inhaled the aftershave she hadn’t realized she’d been missing and then opened her eyes to look up into the enraged glare of Roman. There was pain in that look. Only this time it was for her, not because of her.

“I heard her tell you to stop before you crossed the fucking street and I was a block away, asshole. When a lady tells you no, you listen.” The tick in Roman’s clenched jaw matched the tight control in the low gravel of his tone.

Chad rubbed his hand along his jaw, testing it. His once neatly combed hair now fell over one eye like a degenerate pirate; his jacket sleeve looked rumpled and pulled askew. “You don’t know who the fuck you’re messing with, man. You better mind your own business before I call the cops and have you arrested.”

Roman opened his mouth to speak but Gigi beat him to the punch.

“Do it—I’d love to file for a restraining order.” Her voice shook, and only the warmth of Roman’s leather jacket combined with her cheek against his white t-shirt fed her enough strength to push through. “I’ve saved everything, Chad. I bet I can get you disbarred. I don’t think charges of stalking and attempted rape will help you make partner at Daddy’s firm. And if those videos hit the internet…” She let the ugly threat hang there.

The cold smile Roman directed at Chad was sexy—predatory pride. “You better listen to my girl. Damn hard to make that kind of shit go away.”

Roman loved this woman and her sassy mouth. She shook like a leaf in his arms, yet she didn’t hesitate to put her attacker—the douche bag she’d labeled Dick Pic—back in his place. Hearing her threat, the moniker on her contact list made sense, along with her constant need to be on her phone.

When Roman first parked the bike outside of the Red Barron and looked up to see her abandoned shoe, a pink beacon in the middle of the sidewalk, he’d snatched it up and ran. Then he’d heard her ordering the douche to stop. She didn’t beg. Not Roman’s girl. That wasn’t her style, even in a crisis. Seeing that piece of trash touch her, forcing her submission, snapped something inside Roman. That something snapped 48 hours too late, but he could do something about it now.

That punch relieved a coiled tension he had been carrying in his gut since Declan had altered Roman’s perception of Sunday. Having Gigi pressed up against his side while she told off that asshole filled another kind of hole that his ex, Jessica, had left behind. Roman had a lot to make up for with Gigi, but now he knew that could happen. He never should have doubted his girl and he’d spend forever making it up to her if she’d let him.

Roman might be allowed to play hero now, but that didn’t guarantee that everything would work out for them. Even her words at the shop could have been his heart hearing something that wasn’t there.

To find out Roman needed to be rid of this ass-clown so they could talk it out. “Do you have a hearing problem? She said go.”

Chad jumped as if Roman had punched him again, and he wished the little puke would do something just so he could justify lighting up his ass proper.

The pussy-ass lawyer pulled his haughty frat boy mask on, it appeared eerily like the one Gigi’s father had flung at him this morning like a dagger. “You won’t last. She’ll get tired of you too and when she does I’ll be here waiting.”

“You hassle her again—whether she wants me or not—I will come for you.” Roman paused as the smaller man moved forward either to pass or make a move. Idiot.

With Gigi clinging to Roman’s side, he wasn’t willing to risk her safety. Roman turned, giving Chad his unguarded left side. This put Gigi as far away from her attacker as Roman could get her without letting go—and there was no chance in hell he was doing that—but he needed to make this warning stick. Men like Chad didn’t give up unless it was worth their while.

Reaching out he grabbed the smaller man’s tie, pulling him in and up almost on his toes. Roman kept his voice low and menacing. “I promise you—I know people. I will make you hurt. Me and every resource I have will rain down on you like fire until you wish you had never said her name.”

The MMA bad asses Roman sank his ink into at Hard Luck Fight Club would ride or die over something like this. They were a good bunch of guys and would think nothing of backing Roman up in defense of a lady. They were also scary enough to prove a point to a pencil-pushing douche without having to hurt him if it came to that. Roman didn’t think of himself as sadistic, but the thought of watching Chad piss himself when they rolled up might be worth doing anyway.

Chad followed orders and left, giving them a wide berth as he tucked his tail and ran away. Although if Roman had to guess he’d say Gigi’s threat held more weight in making Chad move along than Roman’s had.

Gigi slumped in Roman’s arms, exhaustion heavy in her voice. “I have not had enough coffee for this much drama. Take me upstairs, please.”

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her firm against his hip before moving. She didn’t object to the nearness. The tiny flame of hope burned a little brighter. He should temper it—he knew—she could be too exhausted or afraid to be alone. He might just be convenient.

Roman made short work of getting her up to her door and she had her keys ready. He half expected she would pull away and leave him standing in the hall. She didn’t, but instead gently nudged him the direction she wanted him to go and didn’t stop until they were in her kitchen.

Gigi leaned against the counter and he took the hint, pulling back. At least he did until her hand shot out and gripped the front of his shirt. “Don’t go.” The words were soft, almost as if they were part of her breathing.

“I’m not going if you don’t want me to, beautiful.” Roman gently stroked her jawline where Chad had gripped, replacing that controlling touch with a better one, and directing her gaze up from the floor. “I just want to lock the door in case he’s dumb enough to come back. Can I do that?”

Gigi nodded and released her hold on his white cotton shirt. Backing out of the tiny kitchen, Roman kept his eyes fixed on her, as if he might wake up and discover he’d passed out drunk again lamenting his mistake. He only glanced away to lock the door. Had the room been this small when he brought her home last time? All that colorful art on her walls crowded him until there was no room for air, let alone the feelings constricting his chest. He wanted to be here—wanted this chance to apologize. Rubbing the tightness over his heart, he took a deep breath and returned to his girl—at least he hoped she would be his again.

Turning back to face the writing on the wall and give voice to the emotions squeezing the air from his chest, he found her, still in the kitchen but with her back to him. She slid her cup out from under her Keurig. She turned, giving him a view of her profile. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she brought the steaming cup to her lips. Her shaking hands had the coffee slopping over the side of the mug, making her wince as the scalding liquid hit her fingers. She set it down again without drinking a drop.

Watching her—witnessing her careful control splintering gave him the motivation to speak.

“I meant what I said today. I need you, Gigi, and I’m sorry.”

Gigi held her hand out to hold him off as she doubled over at the waist. A sob broke free. Pain lanced through his chest. He’d done that to her, put her through this. She straightened but leaned against the counter.

“Why.” That one word came out raw, as if every ounce of stress filtered through it.

The ache in his chest told him to say the words that would take away both of their pain. “Because I love you. You’re a mystery that I love to study every moment of the day—reading your moods and the unsaid words hiding in plain sight—so vivid I could paint them.” He stepped into her, riding the spill of words until his chest pressed against her outstretched hand. “Your grace under pressure, and the fissures I see in that strength let me know you’re real and honest—something I was too wrapped up in my own past to see.”

Gigi turned her green eyes up at him; tears shimmered on the edges made them luminous. Her fingers dug into his shirt and she gripped, thumping the side of her fist against his chest. “You let me down. You changed me and then you let me down. You can’t do that to me anymore.”

“I can’t promise you I will never hurt you—beautiful. All I can offer is that I will be a better man. Every day I will try to be a better man than I was before, I will never be those bastards that made you an object. You are not property to me, and I will never confuse your actions for hers ever again.”

He pulled her into the circle of his embrace, leaving her arm smashed between them, still holding his shirt like it was a lifeline. She could take it off his back, tattoo it with her makeup—he didn’t give a damn so long as she forgave him.

Gigi melted into his embrace but continued to stare up at Roman with shining eyes, waiting. He could see the question in her eyes before the words left her lips. “Tell me about her? Whose lipstick stains do I have to erase from your soul.”

“More like claw marks. The day I caught my ex on her knees for somebody else was the day she should’a stopped mattering. I gave her too much power.” It was only because of Gigi that he could see it. He meant it—every word. “But it’s okay now. You tattooed your lipstick right over the top of those scars in your own unique shade of pink. Ink is forever.”

He ran his hands up and down her sides, soothing her and sating his own starvation for contact. She sighed with content. “Roman, I’m sorry too. I should have told you about, Chad. I meant to tell you.”

Leaning back, he tilted her chin up to look at him. “You’re not taking any of this on your shoulders. Do you hear me? I asked you for honesty and then I didn’t trust you enough to give you that chance. This one is all on me.”