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LUCIA

R oman doesn’t take me back to the finca.

Instead, taking my hand, he leads me through the castle and into an elevator operated by a valet. We stand with our backs against the wall, staring at the valet’s white-jacketed back, not daring to look at each other as the elevator rises a couple of floors, then opens silently. I step out as Roman tips the man and walk over the flagstone floor. Rustic as the apartment is, with a vast wrought iron candelabra overhead, the wood and glass decor is sophisticated and subtle. The doors are open onto the terrace, which is almost as wide as the one we dined on. Candles burn behind filigree sconces on the wall, casting decorative shadows over the stone. Off to our right, light and chatter spill from the dining room, the sound of background flamenco guitar poignant on the night.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, leaning over the stone balustrade.

“So are you.” I turn to find Roman standing in the doorway, staring at me. He crosses the terrace in a few strides, pulling himself up short a pace from me.

“There’s something I need to say.” His voice is slightly hoarse, his eyes on mine particularly serious, and I feel a faint flutter of anxiety. “It’s about that contract.”

I tense. I can’t read his intention, and I try not to worry about what is coming next.

“I’ve tried to honor that,” I say nervously. “I know it’s been difficult. With Papa and everything else.” I’m stammering.

“No, Lucia.” He shakes his head impatiently. “What I mean is that I don’t want—dammit.” He rubs a hand over his face.

Is he actually uncertain of himself?

The concept is so alien I can’t quite imagine it.

“Wait,” he says curtly. He turns, going into the apartment, and I stand awkwardly on the terrace, wondering what is coming.

Trying not to imagine the worst.

He returns a moment later, holding the contract up in front of him.

“When I gave you this,” he says quietly, twisting the paper into a funnel, “I meant it as security. Money and protection for you. Convenience, I guess, for me.” His mouth twists in something like distaste. “A few weeks ago, I thought that would be enough. But now... well, now it’s different.”

His voice is oddly halting. He takes a deep breath.

“I guess what I’m trying to say—rather badly—is that I don’t want you to be here because of a contract. I want—well, I want it to be your choice.”

He halts abruptly, staring at me. “Say the word, Lucia,” he says roughly, “and I’ll drive you back to the finca tonight and send you to your own bedroom. Nothing will change in relation to the money I’m paying you or your place in my home. Nobody ever needs to know that there was anything between us other than a work contract. You have my word I’ll never breathe a word to your father about it. In fact,” he says, eyeing the offending funnel of paper with rather disgusted eyes, “if it was up to me, I’d burn the damned thing here and now and never speak of it again. But it needs to be your decision.” He holds the papers out to me. “This contract is your security. If you want to keep it, then that is up to you. I just want you to know that whatever you decide, I’ll honor your decision.”

I’m so taken aback that for a moment I don’t say anything at all. The funneled contract hovers in front of my eyes.

Finally I take it.

The papers feel cold and unpleasant in my hand. I flick through them, not really seeing the words on the pages. The signature on them doesn’t seem like mine, or rather, I no longer feel like the person who signed my name. So much has changed since the day I first read the words in that contract that I barely recall how I felt then, even though it was only weeks ago.

Back then, Roman was a stranger. One I wanted, yes, and desired more than I ever have any man. But one who terrified me, too.

And now?

Now I’ve lived in his home. Slept in his bed. Fallen in love with his children, and watched them slowly come out of their shells. Watched Roman himself change. He’s still the hard bastard I met. More so, perhaps, than I’d even guessed. As ruthless as any of the men I was raised with. Fiercely protective of those he loves and, undoubtedly, just as savage when anything of his is threatened.

But I’ve also seen another side to him. The man who knew when it was time to give more of himself to the children in his care. Who made sure Mickey knew he was proud of him, and who found a way to build a bridge to Ofelia’s heart. The man who managed to meet my father in a way that preserved Papa’s dignity and earned his respect.

More than the nights I’ve spent tangled in his sheets, or the way he makes my body melt with little more than just a look, it’s those aspects of Roman that have lowered my defenses. It isn’t the money he’s put in a bank account for me that’s made me feel safe.

It’s him.

Being close to him.

Knowing that I can trust him.

“Say something,” he says roughly, his eyes dark hollows in his face.

I don’t though. Instead, I walk over to one of the sconces on the wall. Holding the papers up to it, I let them catch light. I carry the flaming papers across to the terrace and let the night breeze tear the embers from my hands, watching them float away into the night. When the last paper starts to crumble, I drop it onto the stone terrace, where it curls into ash.

I turn to Roman. “I didn’t sign that contract because of the money,” I say quietly. “I didn’t sign it to keep myself safe, or because I was running from the Orlovs. Maybe, at the time, I told myself that was why I was signing it. I told myself that I’d do anything to keep Papa and me safe. And I told myself I could walk away, at any moment. But that was a lie, Roman. I was lying to myself.”

I step closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I don’t want to run away from you,” I whisper. “I don’t even know that I could anymore.”

His arms snake around my waist, though he still holds me slightly apart.

“I can’t promise you anything,” he says hoarsely, “Other than what I already have. I don’t know how much I can... I won’t make promises I can’t keep, Lucia.”

“I know that.” I hold his eyes with my own. “Neither of us can make too many promises, Roman. Our lives don’t allow for them. But for now, we’re here. Together. And there’s nowhere in this world I’d rather be.”

I press my body gently against his, and he groans softly, his arms tightening around me. I can feel his resolve crumbling, and the knowledge that it’s me doing that to him gives me a fierce, almost heady rush of power.

He wants me. Roman truly wants me.

Somehow, it’s different from before, from all the fiery encounters of power and lust that have carried us here. “I won’t run from you, Roman.” I hold his face in my hands. “Not unless you tell me to go. That’s the one promise I will make.”

Something flashes deep in his eyes, a savage gleam that sends fire through my body. “Good,” he says roughly.

Then he kisses me.

It isn’t like before. Nothing like the fierce need that has had me squirming desperately every time it’s begun. This is slow, deep, and sweet with the promise I’ve made and the world that we’ve begun to create. His lips say all the words his voice can’t. He holds me like I’m as fragile as his father’s earrings, his hands splayed across my bare back, and kisses me on and on, until the sensation blends with the wild flamenco guitar on the night, and I’m lost.

He slips the dress from my shoulders, his lips tracing every place his fingers touch. He walks around my body, trailing his hands over my bare skin, peeling my underwear off me and slipping off my high heels, kissing his way up my leg, from instep to inner thigh, until I’m clutching his shoulders and moaning, my legs parting, craving his touch. The light mountain breeze plays over my bare skin, like tiny fronds stimulating my flesh.

“Take your clothes off,” I whisper, pulling impatiently at his jacket. For once, he doesn’t smirk or give me orders. He lets me pull at the bow tie and throw his jacket aside, to unbutton his shirt and push it impatiently from the broad shoulders I’ve dreamed about touching all week.

“I’ve been watching you.” I kiss his neck, his chest, as I pull at the buckle of his belt. I slip his trousers and shorts down, sliding down his body to remove his shoes and socks with them. He stands like some ancient marble statue, scarred and magnificent, powerful legs slightly parted and his fists clenched, allowing me to savor him. He’s hard and swollen, his cock raging toward me, but I want to be slow. I want to make this last.

“It’s been fucking torture watching you half naked in the pool.” I walk around his body, my fingers roaming all over him, owning the territory I’ve only dared to sample before now. I cup his hard buttocks, pressing my aching breasts against his back, and he turns his head to watch me through half-slitted eyes. Only his clenched fists and taut, corded muscles betray the restraint he’s exerting. “I’ve spent every night aching for you. It’s like you woke my body up, and now...” I press my mouth to the soft place beneath his ear. “Now,” I murmur, lightly touching my tongue to his skin, “I can’t put the fire out, Roman. It’s like you’re inside me. Even when we’re apart, I can feel you. And I want you. I need you, Roman. All the time.”

His arms encircle me, and he captures my mouth with his own. I can feel the barely restrained need in his touch, in the rock-hard length of him throbbing against me. I’m wet and aching, but I also want this, the leisurely exploration of hands and mouth, the languorous pleasure of being entirely unhurried. There’s a sweet torture in forcing my own desire to wait, to submit to his slow, sure kisses, the subtle stroking of his hands along my hips, my waist. He unpins my hair and lets it tumble through his fingers, growling in the back of his throat as he twines handfuls of it and draws my head back to mouth my neck. Moonlight spills across the terrace, turning his body to carved marble and the night to utter magic.

When finally he hitches my legs around him and carries me to the bedroom, my mind is gone, lost in a sensual river of desire. He lays me gently across the vast bed and lowers himself beside me, one muscled leg thrown over mine, locking me down as he catches my breasts with his mouth. I strain against him, moaning softly, and he holds one nipple and then the other in the heat of his mouth, plying them with his tongue until I’m half lost with it. My hands clutch at his hair, the breadth of his shoulders, pressing him to me and myself into him. His cock burns against my hip, and he doesn’t push me away when I reach for him, groaning onto my nipple when I grasp his shaft and start slowly pumping him. He tortures my breasts until I’m writhing beneath his leg and his cock is a throbbing weapon in my hand.

“I don’t want to wait,” I gasp, arching up.

He raises his head and smiles darkly. “I know what you want, Lucia. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

Hooking my leg over his arm, he enters me smoothly, deeply, and so surely it takes my breath away. “You’re so swollen,” he mutters, surging into me. “There’s nothing like this, Lucia. Being inside you. Your heat, your scent...” He plunges deep into me, and I wrap my legs around him, pulling him even deeper. We stay like that for an endless moment, rocking slowly together, inexorably pushing us both toward the pinnacle.

“I can always tell when you’re close,” he murmurs in my hair, pushing up just a fraction so he hits that place inside me that makes me scream aloud. “And that first scream,” he growls. “You don’t know how much I love hearing you fucking scream, Lucia.”

“It’s you,” I gasp, my feet locking at the ankles, trying to pull him even further into me. “It’s like you’re touching every place inside me. You’re so big, Roman. So fucking hard...” He withdraws and thrusts into me, hard, and I scream again.

“That’s it,” he growls in my ear. “You can feel it coming now, can’t you, milaia ? I can feel you, starting to come on my cock...”

I scream again, his words throwing me over the edge. The spasms start deep in the base of my spine, spiraling up exquisitely slowly, and he holds himself deep inside me, rocking slightly, drawing out the ecstasy until it’s almost unbearable. “Fuck, Lucia,” he mutters in my ear. “I’ve never felt anything so tight and hot in my goddamn life.”

“ Argh! ” I’m lost, barely even aware of my own screams as the waves crash over me. Roman is roaring above me as he thrusts deep and holds, his searing heat exploding inside me, pumping with every contraction of my body around him.

The climax is shattering, a mind-blowing, full-body explosion that takes a long time to settle. When finally Roman withdraws from me, I open my eyes to find him staring at me, his face shadowy and oddly grave.

“Sleep, milaia ,” he whispers, kissing my forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Too tired to argue, too happy to want to, and too satiated to do anything but obey, I close my eyes and drift off, safe in the hard circle of Roman’s embrace.