If Nicki weren’t standing beside me, I’d probably either hurl or run as far and fast as my legs would carry me. The excited vibe rippling through the stadium as Roman’s fans wait for his appearance has my stomach climbing into my throat. From where we stand, I’m able to see Roman’s mom, sister, and grandmother standing by a gate in the first section. They either haven’t spotted me yet, or they’re going out of their way to avoid eye contact. Either way’s good with me because our little run-in made it clear that Roman and I have more shit to work through than our past.

At least his father didn’t stop by. After everything that happened, I don’t know if I could find the courage to stand up to the son-of-a-bitch.

The lights go out, cloaking us in total darkness. The crowd responds with a loud roar of approval. Random red lights over the stage flicker to the beat of drumsticks licking a cymbal before the band’s name stretches in big bold letters across the screen that stretches the length of the stage. Their fans’ screams intensify, vibrating against my eardrums. With my heart in my throat, I grab Nicki’s wrist on instinct, the way I would with Mel.

My new friend giggles. “Hold on, girl. Your man’s about to rock the shit out of this place.”

Short, blunt chords rip from the speakers in sync with the flash of blinding lights over the crowd. The band's silhouettes stand out in the darkness, enough to see Roman has yet to take his place at the microphone. The crowd explodes with screams behind me, sending a ripple of excitement searing down to my core. The sizzling anticipation of seeing him take the stage is even more extreme than the feeling I'd get just before seeing him after a long year apart. The chords repeat, the hard beat rumbling inside my chest.

Then the lights flash once more and Roman appears, one hand wrapped around the microphone stand and his head arched back. With the sound of the crowd losing their fucking minds, a wide smile stretches over my lips and my eyes water with pride. He really did it.

Soon he’s lowering his head and his beautiful eyes hone in on me, as if I’m the only other person in the stadium. My heart thumps faster than the frantic beats of the drum as he belts out the lyrics over the chaos. The musicians rock along, hard and unapologetic. As the beautiful, tortured boy from camp begins to croon to the sea of intent fans, my heart swells with pride and aches for all the time we missed out on together. The rancid smell from the smoke machines adds to the excitement stirring in my belly.

Then Roman reaches the chorus and my knees shake beneath me.

Upon hearing the song he wrote for me when we were kids, I don’t know whether to hysterically laugh or cry. Although Nicki has only been a friend for less than an hour, she somehow already knows that I need support. She reaches down to squeeze my hand in hers, squeezing as Roman finishes the song that highlights the ups and downs of our relationship.

I stand frozen in shock, wondering how I ended up here when I’ve tried for so long to protect my heart and knowing everything between us could come tumbling down with the truth.

* * *

After their third song into the encore, Roman and the band take a long, drawn-out bow to the roaring applause before he blows a kiss my way and disappears from the stage. Hardly a second later, a burly security guard with a shaved head steps between Nicki and me.

“Come with me, Miss Martin,” he grumbles, setting a hand on my shoulder and guiding me away like the place is on fire.

“Hold on,” I say, looking over my shoulder to tell Nicki goodbye. “I guess I’ll see you—”

“Mr. Stone requested that I immediately escort you to a car waiting out back,” the man cuts me off in a gruff tone. “He made it clear that he wanted you there A-SAP.”

Oh. A delightful little quiver passes between my legs, knowing Roman demanded my presence in such a way that seemed to make this man nervous.

“Enjoy your reunion!” Nicki calls after me with a funny little giggle.

I continue alongside the man without further protest, eager to have time alone with Roman. His lyrics moved me in a way I can’t explain. They were so raw, so uninhibited that it’s easy to see why he’s untouchable on the charts.

The fact that he spilled his heart for thousands of adoring fans to absorb still has me reeling. And I feel exposed knowing those lyrics were written about me. Us.

Once we’ve exited the building, we’re joined by two more security guards who steer me toward a black town car parked among a handful of tour buses. The crisp winter air fills my lungs, invigorating me like a jolt of caffeine.

From out of nowhere, an unsettling thought comes to me. What if I’m merely his muse and he only needs me so he’s inspired to write more heart-wrenching songs? I almost trip into one of the security guard’s arms when I realize that could very well be the sole reason he wants me back. Roman’s only been back in my life for a short time and I’ve let my guard down more than any other time in the past five years. I’m a fucking fool for believing everything he’s said, absorbing every last word like I’m taking Holy Communion.

I have to shut this shit down now before it’s too late. Before I’ve given him the best part of me a second time. This time around there isn’t enough of my soul left to lose without becoming a mere shell.

A tall man in a tailored black suit and wool overcoat opens the back door. Roman sits on the back seat, hand outstretched, lips bent in a dazzling smile. Up close his straw hair’s disheveled and he looks exhausted. Can’t say I blame him after putting on a long show—half of which he was running up and down the catwalk or thrashing around. But in the soft glow of the car’s lighting, he’s beyond beautiful. I’m unable to draw in a proper breath when I accept his hand and fall into the car at his side, made dizzy by the rich aroma of leather and sweat. The door closes and we’re completely alone as privacy glass separates us from the driver.

“God, I missed you,” he tells me with a gorgeous grin, pulling me in against his side.

Before I’m able to form a clear thought, the car lurches forward, slamming my heart against my ribs. Then Roman’s lips brush over mine with a gentle, light kiss. But I feel as if I’ve been struck by lightning. It’s far too intimate, too personal. If I’m going to keep my emotions out of this until I’m certain we’ll survive the second time around, I need to be steely and ruthless. I need to treat him like every other man I’ve slept with since we parted ways in Vegas. The only way I can survive Roman Stone a second time is by giving in to my body’s needs and protecting my heart.

Grabbing a fistful of his damp hair, I shove my tongue into his mouth and scrape my teeth over his bottom lip, devouring his essence. He’s all man in every way imaginable. Heavy breaths fall from his nose as his mouth mirrors my actions, cupping my face in his hands. Crawling into his lap, I reach down to stroke his cock over his jeans, finding him as erect as the denim fabric will allow.

Excitement stirs in my belly—this is finally happening. Time and distance can no longer come between us. But he stops my wandering hand, pulling his lips away.

“We need to take this slow,” he insists. “As badly as I want to fuck you, it’s not happening in the back of this car.”

“At least let me show a little appreciation,” I purr, sliding a hand down his hard body to tug on his zipper. “The crowd loved you. Watching you up on that stage—hearing all those people screaming your name—it made me crazy wet for you. You killed it tonight, baby.”

A hiss pushes through his clenched teeth. “Dammit, Belle. I don’t—”

But I’ve already freed his heavy cock, and his protest is interrupted with a deep moan when I grip his warm shaft in my fist. I try to pretend his size and girth aren’t impressive, or that the sight of his smooth, pink dome doesn’t dampen my thong. But memories from camp come flooding back to me in a blinding flash, and I know without a doubt that he’s grown. Considerably.

Sinking to my knees down in the footwell, I swirl my tongue over the salty tip. He’s growling when I glance up at him through my lashes.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to go down,” he insists, tugging at a handful of hair on the back of my head. But the burning passion behind his eyes tells a different story when he adds, “God, you’re so damn beautiful with my cock in your hand.”

So I continue, taking in as much of him as my gag-reflex will allow. My eyes water when his tip hits the back of my throat. He’s far bigger than any man I’ve been with, but I’ve learned how to make men come hard and fast so I’m not left to suffer for long. Roman pulls my hair by its roots when I hollow my cheeks and suck as furiously as I can, bobbing my head up and down his length.

“Goddamn, Belle,” he cheers on in a tight voice. “Goddamn that feels—oh—you’re so fucking good.”

Soon his hips are thrusting along with my bobbing motions, pushing his tip farther down my throat. Gagging, I pull away and Roman swears under his breath. As I’m catching my breath, his fingers curl around my elbow and he nudges me back up to sit at his side.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he whispers, smoothing my hair away from my watering eyes. “I was choking you like an asshole. It’s just—”

“I’m ‘so fucking good’?” I tease, laughing it off as I look away. “Don’t apologize for being exceptionally large. And don’t ever apologize for getting excited over a good blowjob. Women like that shit.”

He tips my head back with his fingers until I’m forced to meet his unrelenting gaze. “I’m not interested in what women like. I only care about making you feel good.”

My throat thickens, making it impossible to reply. After all this time, how does he still know exactly how to tear down the walls I’ve built and expose my vulnerability?

Nuzzling my neck, he tucks me under his arm for the remainder of the short ride to the hotel. We pull in behind the hotel beside a pair of black SUVs. A security guard opens the door to the car and my entire body tenses. I hadn’t prepared myself for the chaos that will follow us everywhere we go.

Roman grabs my hand, rubbing his thumb across the back. “No one other than the hotel staff knows we’re coming. It’s just a precaution.”

We make it to the penthouse without incident. The hotel manager seems leery before leaving us, like we’re going to trash the place. I don’t know Roman well enough anymore to say whether or not that’s something he’d do, but I’m pretty confident the only thing they need to worry about is the condition of the bed sheets once we’re through.

Roman bends to kiss the top of my head. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to hit the shower.”

Then he grabs a travel kit from his suitcase and slips his t-shirt over his head. My mouth goes dry with the sight of his toned body. As I had suspected, he’s twice as broad as he had been as a teenager, and he’s fucking ripped. Each stomach muscle is toned and well defined from diligent time spent at the gym. A barely visible smattering of blond hair makes a dark line from his bellybutton down into his jeans. Only one tattoo marks his magnificent chest, but it covers one breastbone and extends up his thick shoulder to the base of his neck. It appears to be a whimsical drawing of the Tahoe landscape mixed with words and musical notes. I suck in a sharp breath, wondering exactly what’s mentioned in the beautiful script.

As I’m trying to keep my desire in check, he heads for a set of double doors leading to what looks like a massive bedroom “I’m fucking starving!” he calls over his shoulder. “Go ahead and order whatever you want from room service!”

I stare after him a moment, surprised by the casualness of it all. After our moment in the car, I was sure we’d be stripping each other down the moment we were alone. Standing in the middle of the massive living room, I wrap my arms around myself as the sounds of a faucet drift through the doors.

Roman was raised by a wealthy family, so it’s no surprise he didn’t bat an eye at the luxurious accommodations. The room stretches two stories high, a canvas of white with pops of color from modern furniture and wall decor. A series of ten foot windows stretch along one side of the penthouse, giving a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline. The bedroom is bigger than my apartment. A modern four-poster bed fills the center of the room, appearing larger than a standard king, and several sets of furniture take up three of the four corners. Steam billows out from another set of double doors along with Roman’s deep voice humming the ballad he first sang in their encore. I’m both amused and seriously turned-on by the fact that he’s singing his own song in the shower.

It’s by far the most upscale place I’ve ever stepped foot in, and I feel oddly out of place in my concert attire. Hell, I’m afraid I’m going to dirty the carpet with my boots. Nothing about the room fits Roman’s personality in the slightest, leaving me to wonder if he booked the place or that slime-bag Normie was in charge. When I stop to consider how many obstacles still stand in our way, an uneasy vibe rocks me to my core. Will I ever meld with his lifestyle?

I kick my boots off and carry them along with my things someone in Roman’s camp retrieved from my apartment during the show. I’ve used the same suitcase he gifted me all those years ago for camp. There haven’t been any reasons until now to spend money on something new, and I can’t deny I’ve held on to it because of its sentimental value. But if he recognized it, he didn’t say anything.

Grabbing a menu from the end table, I balk quietly at the prices. Fries are the cheapest thing available at $20, but at least they’re loaded with sour cream, cheese, and bacon bits. I put in an order for a $35 burger with the works for Roman, intending to share the fries. Don’t know that I could eat much anyway the way the nerves in my stomach dance. When I attempt to order a six-pack of beer, the woman on the phone informs me that we have a fully stocked bar.

The food arrives no more than ten minutes later, delivered by a man wearing fucking gloves. I almost laugh in his face. What the hell am I doing here? Why did I think I could live in Roman’s world?

By the time Roman emerges in a white robe with the hotel’s insignia, wet ringlets of his straw hair dripping on his shoulders, I’ve stripped down to my black lace camisole. I wait on the bed, propped upright by the luxurious bedding, finger held between my teeth.

“Took you long enough,” I tease. “Your burger and fries are in the living room.”

“I’m only hungry for one thing.”

His eyes darken as he starts for me, proof of his arousal pushing against the terry cloth material. I brace myself when his weight depresses the mattress and he crawls up by my side. His fingers trace the curve of my legs, up to my waist and along my side, circling around to the length of my arms. I’ve been waiting for this moment since he first stepped into Vinnie’s, although I wasn’t sure it would come to light. But everything about his touch and the way he looks at me feels too personal.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Belle. I always thought you were a knockout, but this…” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Then he bends, drawing his mouth to my ear. “I love you so goddamned much. I always have. I doubt I could stop even if I tried.”

Can’t. Breathe. It’s too much, too fast. I become as solid as marble beneath him, fighting the push and pull between reason and desire that nearly splits me in two.

His soft lips meld with mine in a kiss that’s much bigger than his declarations and my reluctance. The lyrics written for me swirl through my head, possessing me the same as his tongue and soft touches. His skilled fingers release the clasps of the camisole between my breasts and in the blink of an eye he’s palming my sensitive nipples, lighting a blazing fire between my legs.

The care he uses is nothing like what I’ve become accustomed to—rough hands and eager bites on my skin, leaving evidence of my encounters for weeks. Roman’s taking his time, worshipping my body like he promised, showing me how much I’m loved.

“You’ll always be my girl, Belle,” he whispers, breathing heavily against my mouth.

Fuck.

Something deep down snaps.

Although it was ultimately my decision to walk away, I think I’m the one who broke.