“Mujer hermosa, mi corazón.”
Katie woke gradually, her muddled brain grasping onto the bits and pieces of consciousness that floated by her. She tilted her face slightly and rubbed her cheek against what felt like the roughness of denim. She imagined Roman’s deep, accented voice calling her his beautiful woman and his heart in his native language. Another fantasy to keep her warm and whole during the cruel nights that taunted her with loneliness.
Fingers caressed her cheek and smoothed the strands of hair off her head. She frowned. It didn’t usually take her so long to wake up. In fact, she was an incredibly light sleeper out of necessity in case she needed to make a super fast exit. She forced a moan past stiff lips and urged her body to move. Her fingers twitched and she nearly cried out in distress when her body refused to obey the dictates of her brain.
“Easy, baby.” Roman’s voice came to her in the darkness, frightening and soothing at the same time.
She felt the fingers brush across her lips and down her throat, touching her while she was helpless to resist. Memory began to return. Colin’s apartment. The blood. She whimpered in fear and shivered. This was no fantasy. She was actually here, drugged and laying in Roman’s arms. He meant what he said. He’d killed her ex-husband and he was keeping her for himself.
Finally, after a great internal struggle, Katie was able to force her eyes open and stare up at the man holding her. Accusation shone through clear azure eyes, stabbing him with their sweeping intensity. He stared back, his dark gaze just as intense. They battled in silence, the air around them sizzling with the heat of their attraction. The enthralment that had captured Roman from the first moment this goddess had spoken to him. The same allure that now captured her.
She lay sprawled across a huge bed, her upper body cradled in Roman’s lap, her head on his muscular thigh. He sat hunched over her, watching and waiting, like a big, dark wolf protecting its mate. She knew he wouldn’t let her go now that he finally had her. It was a miracle he’d allowed her the years of separation they’d had. The years that she had run free, away from her stalking predator. He had spent those years honing his ability to track, while she’d practiced her ability to escape. Sadly, she knew she was going to need every skill she possessed, because as much as her body cried out for his, she had things to do and places to be. She couldn’t stay with Roman Valdez here in… wait… where was she?
Katie broke eye contact first to roll her head to the side and glance around the room. She raised an eyebrow in surprise. This place was not Roman’s usual style. He lived in the dark and the shadows. She'd never been invited to his place before, but she followed him once. About five years ago. A sort of curious kitty, revenge thing, for the amount of times she knew he’d stalked her in the shadows, frightening her without saying a word. Just that one time she’d invaded his privacy without his knowing. Because she was good at breaking into places uninvited.
He lived in an abandoned warehouse. Not a scummy place, filled with rats or anything like that. No, he just really liked his privacy. She’d waited until he left and climbed up the fire escape, then slipped down the elevator shaft and into his giant warehouse. It was heartbreakingly empty. He only occupied a small section of it. Very much a bachelor. She was pretty sure he owned the whole building and just chose to live alone there in that small, lonely section. In one of the worst areas of the city with a huge gang problem. His old stomping grounds. Not that it would have mattered. No one would fuck with Roman Valdez or his property. That would be asking for instant death.
She had stared in wide-eyed surprise at his empty existence and wondered what drove the big, dark man. Then she wondered what drove her to finally seek answers from him. Why had she come? She couldn’t have him. He was too frightening. Too much for her. She was too fragile on a good day. On a bad day? She was a kaleidoscope of crazy, out of control, ready to fly off the planet on the wings of depression. Roman was not for her.
She might have stayed in his space all day, or until she heard the clatter of the old elevator labouring its way up. She might have laid on his bed and taken his scent deep into her lungs and stored the fantasies away for later. But she found the books beside his bed. Worn from his big hands flipping repeatedly through the pages. Some of the pages were dog-eared. With shaking hands, she picked one up. It opened automatically, as though it had been opened so many times the page was cracked from use. Her eyes widened as she realized the significance of the books littering his bedside.
Each book was an exact copy of her university text books. The ones that were worn and marked from his hands were art history books with the paintings she liked best. Katie’s eyes lovingly traced the lines of her absolute favourite painting, Picasso’s Woman with Folded Arms. How could Roman possibly know? Katie never told anyone about her affinity with Picasso’s Blue Period. God, why would she? They would think she was crazy. Instead, she buried it like she buried everything else. But somehow her shadowy stalker knew about the depression that hugged her close and never let her truly surface.
She had dropped the book and backed away, unable to handle the meaning of her discovery. It was one thing to believe Roman wanted her for her body. She was tall, thin, blond. Sure, she could see the appeal. She even used her sex appeal to her advantage when she had to. She sold her soul years ago, it didn’t really matter anymore. But this. This was something different. It was like the man saw into the heart of her and loved her for herself.
But that was impossible. Because there was nothing to love. She was a shell. A thing to be used for her body and her skills. Not a person to be loved. Roman deserved so much more than Katie. Roman had avenged Dexter. He was the angel of death. He was perfect. He didn’t want the head case mess that was Katie Pullman.
Yet, now, he was looking at her like he wanted to devour every inch of her. And she was starting to suspect that he had kidnapped her and brought her to some kind of fancy hotel or something. Which he would have done just for her, because she knew he wasn’t into this sort of thing. There was a chandelier over the bed and a gorgeous ensuite peeking around the corner for goodness sake. No, just nope. She was putting a stop to whatever this was. Roman had finally gone too far. She moistened her lips, forced herself to roll away from his thigh and push herself up onto her hands and knees.
She swayed precariously and nearly collapsed back onto the very soft, very inviting bed. She frowned in confusion as the entire room swayed around her. Was that the effects of the drug or… wait… was that a porthole?
“Easy, baby,” Roman said again, his amused eyes devouring her as she swayed on her hands and knees attempting to process what was happening to her.
She swung her face toward him and glared. “Stop saying that,” she snapped, her voice cracking. She moistened her lips again and backed slowly toward the edge of the bed, watching him warily. When he made no move to stop her, she tentatively moved one long leg over the side, careful to keep her coat draped over her thigh so she wouldn’t accidentally flash him. “I’m not your baby. Roman… are… are we on a boat?”
He straightened and pushed himself off the bed, his sharp eyes never leaving her. “It’s a yacht. Friend gave it to me.”
Her mouth fell open as she glanced around, taking in the luxury. She had some good friends. None had given her a yacht. Maybe she needed new friends. “Must be a good friend.”
He shrugged. “Thought you’d like it.”
Her sharp mind read between the lines. Yeah, he thought she might like it, but he also knew she wasn’t going anywhere fast while out on the ocean. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to escape this thing easily,” she said accusingly.
He ignored her and reached for her arm when she slid off the bed and stood up on wobbling legs. She swayed with the gentle rocking of the boat, but tried to jerk away from him when Roman wrapped long, hard fingers around her upper arm. He held her steady, refusing to let her step away from him. She knew she should be grateful. Knew she would fall without his assistance. But right now she didn’t want his touch. It was too confusing. The chemistry that sizzled between their every exchange hung thick in the air. She couldn’t forget that the strong hand holding her up was the hand that had most likely murdered her ex-husband.
She looked down the length of her body and cringed a little. She still wore the knee length double-breasted trench coat. To her relief, it was still tied tightly at the waist. She was barefoot though. A quick glance around didn’t reveal the heels anywhere. Not that she ever wanted to see those symbols of her subjugation again. But a little added height wouldn’t hurt. At 5’8”, Katie wasn’t a short woman. Roman was still eight inches taller than her and outweighed her by a good hundred and thirty or so pounds of solid muscle. Unless she got her hands on a gun, she wasn’t going to be fighting her way off the boat.
“Is there anything else for me to wear?” she asked quietly.
Roman made sure she was steady before removing his hand and walking toward a closet. Opening it, he showed her a walk-in wardrobe with blue LED lighting. It was filled with women’s clothes. Katie walked slowly toward him, careful not to actually touch the big man as she approached. She gasped in appreciation as she neared the closet. All of the clothes were gorgeous and brand label. Roman pulled out drawers filled with make-up and jewelry before stepping away to give her room to inspect her new possessions. She turned awe-filled eyes toward him. Who was this street thug turned big time criminal?
“Meet me topside when you’re dressed,” he said gruffly. “We’ll talk.”
She nodded mutely and watched her captor stride away, terribly afraid she’d been underestimating Roman all along.