More Than A Vow. Michelle Reid

      She ducked her head. “It still hurts. You didn’t even think I was attractive, Roman. It wasn’t until the second day that you started to act as though you were interested, and that was after you knew who I was.”

      “I told you in Virginia, just because I didn’t let it show doesn’t mean I wasn’t attracted. I’m not interested in serious relationships, Melodie. By that I mean marriage, kids, a lifetime commitment... I’m not cut out for that. You looked like the kind who is. So you’re right, at that first meeting I made sure to keep my interest hidden to avoid going down a dead-end road. Then you smiled for the pictures and...” He frowned, took a sip of scotch and curled his lip in self-deprecation. “The truth is I was captivated. I couldn’t hide how I was reacting when you came back the next day. I stopped trying. You’re very beautiful.”

      She shook her head, not comfortable hearing that ever, but especially from him. Especially now. “Roman, I’m trying to believe you. I need to make sense of all this, but we have to be honest if—”

      “Your mother was in magazines,” he cut in with a baffled look. “You resemble her. How could you not know how pretty you are?”

      Anton. She didn’t say it. She wanted to be completely over him and his ugly criticisms.

      “Mom was always described as unusual or arresting. She was just really emotive in front of a camera, unable to hide what she was feeling.”

      “And you’re the same. Your true self comes through, and that woman is lovely, Melodie. I should have paid attention to that, not the fact that you happen to share the name Gautier,” he added in a mutter aimed at the bottom of his glass.

      She took a few swift footsteps away. He made her feel positively defenseless. She did everything in her power not to react, even though she wanted to flinch, while her pulse tripped in alarm and insecurity attacked her. She had worked so hard to get over all the self-doubts instilled by her upbringing. If there was any benefit to her mother’s hospitalization, it had been the secondhand counseling she’d received. She may not have battled the same physiological depression her mother had fought, but her early years had been exactly the same steady erosion of her self-esteem that her mother had faced.

      Now Roman was saying he could see past all the small shields she’d managed to assemble for herself. It was terrifying. She stood in silence, trying to pretend he held no such power while she waited to see where and how he’d use his power to advantage.

      “I don’t want the ability to hurt you, Melodie,” he said finally. “I’m emotionally detached by conscious decision, but I can’t stay indifferent around you. You,” he said with a significant tone. “No one else gets under my skin this way.”

      She almost found a shred of humor in his vexed tone. She could relate. The truth was she didn’t want the power to hurt him, either.

      “I don’t understand why we’re like this,” she said. “We don’t know each other.”

      “Don’t we?” He set down his drink and pushed his bunched fists into his pockets. His shoulders went back and his profile was a sharp silhouette against the black windows. “Who holds a woman’s ashes hostage so her daughter has to put her grief on display? It’s as bad as stealing a young man’s only hope for a future by threatening to expose his one mistake in the past.”

      Melodie swallowed, acknowledging that he probably did understand her at a very deep level. “Did Anton contribute anything to that software program that built his fortune?”

      “His name.” Roman’s expression lost its warmth, hardening. “He was doing me the favor of attaching himself to it. I was desperate enough to give up fifty percent for that. After a sound beating, I agreed to a hundred.”

      Melodie gasped, feeling his words like a wrecking ball hitting her chest. But she supposed any man who could shake a woman until she begged for mercy could beat a man to a pulp.

      “After Mom’s funeral they were never going to be in my life again. The job with Ingrid was a fresh start, finally a potential career. I couldn’t have traveled for work while Mom was alive. She needed to see me every day. We needed each other,” she corrected, setting down her own glass and purse on a side table to hug herself.

      “Dad always had final say in her care, so he was always this dark presence that kept me on edge. Then, finally, even though it was only her ashes, she was in my care. I saw myself drawing a line under my childhood but...” She shrugged, accosted by vulnerability again, but it wasn’t as hard this time. She was beginning to feel safe making her confession to him. “You were supposed to be the redemption, Roman. You were supposed to prove that not all men are the same. You let me down. You proved that they can still hurt me. That all the brutality and ugliness they put into the world is still able to bounce back and hit me.”

      “Melodie, I didn’t know.”

      “I know,” she acknowledged with a jerky nod. “Anton has a daughter out there from a college girlfriend. I check in on her, send her money sometimes. He doesn’t care. You cared enough to show up and ask if you had a baby on the way. I knew that day in the limo that you weren’t really like them. I just...”

      “Still hate me.”

      “I’m trying to, Roman. If I don’t, then you’ll—”

      “What?” he prompted quickly, demeanor changing.

      He knew. She blushed and had to look away.

      A muted noise sounded, and they both looked to the clutch where she’d set it next to her glass. Her mobile vibrated inside it.

      “Trenton is wondering where I am,” she guessed, then made a face, feeling as though she was with a friend after all, she supposed, because she found herself saying a very uncharitable, “I should text back that I’m being nice to you.”

      The banked sexual awareness between them flared like the catch of a match.

      “That wasn’t—” she hurried to say.

      “I know.” He sounded as though he was laughing at her, making her shoot a scowl his direction. “I’m not going to make another unwelcome pass, Melodie. No matter how much I want to.”

      Which was a pass in itself, she noted drily, but managed to say, “Good.” Even though she was suddenly reluctant to accept that. Her mind was expanding with one ballooning thought. What would it be like now, when they’d set aside the misjudgments and animosity?

      “I should go,” she said briskly. Before she lost her mind.

      “I’ll walk you down.”

      “You don’t have to.” She picked up her clutch and headed toward the door.

      He pocketed his room key off the bar and followed her. “Better if we both reappear without looking flushed and disheveled.”

      “Right.” Flushed. Disheveled. Skin damp and whole body tingling in the aftermath of orgasm. That would be bad. “Yes,” she affirmed. “You’re probably right.”

      “Only probably? Don’t give me an opening, Melodie. I will take it,” he said.

      They stood at the door, his hand on the latch, his white shirt and black jacket filling her vision.

      “An opening for what?” She was playing dumb, not like her at all.

      His mouth lifted at one corner, knowing. “I said I wouldn’t make an unwelcome pass,” he said, then touched her chin, gently forcing her to tilt up her face until she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “If this is not welcome, say so now.”

      His touch was bringing her to life in ways she had thought were manifestations of an overactive imagination.

      “I keep wondering—”

      He covered her mouth and she knew. They were every bit as volatile as before. They stepped into