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With a sigh, I look up at him. “I’m sorry your meeting didn’t work out, but this day has been amazing, so thank you… again.” I let out a little self-conscious laugh.
His eyes are dark and serious as he stares down at me. “I’ve told you before, you don’t need to thank me.”
“Yes, I do.” The heat of his skin on mine is making me a little lightheaded. It’s the only explanation for why I angle my head to the side and say, “Has anyone ever told you that your love language is acts of service?”
In response, his brows shoot up.
Heart lurching, I stammer, “I-I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I don’t mean that youloveme. I just mean that you like to do things for the people you care about. Not that you care about me. I’m just your assistant, so you wouldn’t, of course?—”
By the way he frowns, I’m not making it any better, so I snap my mouth shut and focus on the street in front of us.
The car pulls up then, thank god. Roman shakes his head at the driver, signaling that he shouldn’t get out, then opens the door for me and waits while I get in.
Once he’s sitting next to me and we’re headed back to the hotel, I force myself to look at him.
“I’m sorry, that was?—”
He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I knew what you meant, even if I don’t agree with you.”
I frown. “How can you not? Look at everything you’ve done for me. And I’m just your employee. I can only imagine what you’ve done for your family.”
He clenches his jaw and looks away. “I doubt my brothers would agree with you either.”
My stomach sinks at the sudden tension emanating from him. He watches out the window, silent, for the rest of the trip.
All the while, I bite my lip, chastising myself for putting my foot in my mouth. My chest pinches, making it hard to breathe. I want to apologize again, but I honestly don’t know what for. And I don’t want to make things worse.
But when we finally return to the hotel and step out of the car, instead of stalking straight to the elevator, he turns to me. His jaw is still tense, though I don’t think it’s with annoyance.
The way he slowly inspects my features, his expression softening, heats me to the core. “I’m going to have a whiskey at the bar, try to unwind before bed,” he says. “Care to join me?”
I should say no. I should thank him again and retire gracefully to my room. But despite the change in his mood in the car, or maybe because of it, I’m not ready to walk away from him yet. Tomorrow this interlude will be over, and I want a little more time with this version of Roman first.
Talking to him,beingwith him, is far more enjoyable than it should be.
I lift my face to his. “I’d like that.”
The intensity in his eyes has my breath faltering and anticipation igniting in my belly. Too soon, his expression shutters, but the memory of the way he looked at me, the way helethimself look at me for that brief moment, has my body humming.
He nods in the direction of the hotel’s bar. “After you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHLOE
The bar is crowded. But as usual, Roman’s height and presence are enough to quickly clear a space for us, and to summon a bartender. Probably because the bartender is a gorgeous woman whose eyes light up when she spots him.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur. Que désirez-vous boire?”
Roman answers her in French. “Je voudrais un Michel Couvreur, s’il vous plaît.” Then he turns to me. “How about you? Would you like to try that whiskey now?”
Nose scrunched, I hum. “I’m not sure. Will it really make me sleepy, or is that just the excuse people use to drink whiskey before bed?”
He chuckles. “It doesn’t work for me, but I’m sure it does for some.” Mouth curling into a too-sexy smile that sends a shivery little thrill through me, he rubs his chin. “Why don’t you try some of mine, and then you can decide if you want one of your own?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Roman nods at the bartender, who turns around and pulls a bottle from the top shelf. She pours an inch of amber liquid into the glass and slides it across to him.