A Little Taste of Naughty (A Shattered Lives Short) (10 page)

Sabrina’s breath rushed from her lungs as she abruptly collided with what she thought was a warm, solid wall. Taking a moment to stop her spinning head, Sabrina concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly as her equilibrium re-established itself, and her body stopped swaying. Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes, praying desperately that she wouldn’t look up and find herself in some compromising position. When her eyelids lifted and she focused on her surroundings, she gulped audibly as she took in the chiseled and foreboding visage that loomed above her. She clumsily tried to smile as she fought to right herself, but she was pretty certain that all she managed was a sickly grimace.

Roman held the goddess easily, allowing her time to regain her balance on those ridiculously tall stilettos of hers. When she was steady, she gave him a weak, almost chagrined smile and brushed several strands of her dark hair back out of her face. “Thank you,” she breathed, her eyes darting between his and the floor, “I thought I was going to fall.” That funny little twist of a smile made an appearance again, and Roman saw the moment that the realization of just how close she came to injury or worse caught up with her. Her breath hitched in her throat and he felt the fine bones of her hand begin to tremble and grow cool within his grasp. Her hard won balance slipped once again and he was fairly certain that he was about to see her faint. Moving quickly, he swept the beautiful female into his arms and guided the stunning young woman back to his booth and with a flick of his wrist called one of the wait staff standing in attendance over.

“The lady doesn’t feel well,” he told the young man who answered his beckoning, “bring me a glass and a pitcher of ice water with lemon.” As the young man turned to do Roman’s bidding Roman’s hand lashed out and stopped the young man before he could get more than a step away. “After you’ve brought what I’ve ask for, make sure that we are not disturbed. Understood?”

The young man nodded, his eyes wide, but knew better than to stammer out an affirmative; to do so simply wasted precious moments that could be spent making sure the boss was happy. The very moment Roman’s fingers left the young man’s sleeve, he was gone. With a nod of satisfaction, Roman turned his attention back to the object of his fascination. She was sitting quietly, her head back and her eyes closed. He couldn’t see her hands but he imagined that they were fidgeting nervously in her lap; he tended to have that effect upon the females of the human species. That is, until they realized just what a treasure trove of carnal pleasure he could offer and give them and then, nervous fidgeting was the last thing on their minds. Moving slowly, he silently slid into the booth beside the tall brunette and laid his hands over hers; surprisingly, though cool beneath his touch, her fingers were steady. With a practiced eye, he looked her over, studying her for any telltale sign of injury. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t sustained so much as a bruise. So why was her pulse rate so swift and erratic at the base of her throat? Why was her respiration so choppy? He noticed that her full, luscious lips were now pressed into a thin line and her eyes were closed and tension radiated from the fine bones of her frame. “My name is Roman Arceneaux,” he told her leaning close to speak in her ear. “You’re safe now,” he continued, keeping his voice low and soothing. He reached up and gently brushed her cheekbone, frowning when she flinched.

Sabrina gasped as she felt a surge of tingling electricity as his touch brushed against her cheekbone. Was she in shock? She wasn’t quite sure, having never gone into shock herself, or seen anyone go into shock before. And she’d never been the wilting wallflower type of girl to begin with, so no; she wasn’t truly sure why she felt cold, shaky, and nauseous. Cold clammy sweat worked its way down her back and her mind felt somewhat distanced from what was happening around her.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” Roman said quietly, his voice carrying just a hint of command.

And yet, a hint was all it took; the sound of his voice seemed to give her mind something to cling to and there was an odd feeling of not having any conscious control over her body. The very moment her brain registered his words, her eyes opened to gaze up at him. And boy, oh boy was she glad they did; though the man that called himself Roman Arceneaux was the most dangerous looking man she’d ever seen in her life, he was also the sexiest. Dark piercing eyes gazed at her, framed in thick dark lashes, the kind that women spent thousands of dollars to achieve. Dark hair brushed over his forehead, curling errantly over his ears and his shirt collar and Sabrina felt a funny little urge to run her fingers through those curls just to see if they were as soft as she imagined they were; it was an impulse she’d never felt with another man, and it intrigued her. She actually had to clench her hands into fists to keep from running her fingers through those tantalizing waves. Blinking, and taking a steadying breath, she continued her inventory, liking what she found. His nose was long and thin, his jaw squared, and the chiseled fullness of his lips left her thinking all sorts of naughty things that left her feeling flushed. His big body crowded around her, encasing her in heat, and framing her with a strength and virility that left her feeling a little more shaken than her near death experience could account for.

And his smell.

Holy shit, he smelled of spice and clean soap and musk and it teased her, called to her, beguiled her with a promise of sensual delights she couldn’t begin to imagine. He leaned into her, so close that his heat and scent overwhelmed her, and made her feel a little bit reckless. Without conscious thought, she turned into him, her hands rising to lay gently against his chest. “Thank you for helping me,” she whispered, “If it hadn’t been for you, I would have ended up in a hospital bed or maybe the morgue.”

Roman shifted, his body responding instinctually to the sound of her voice in his ear and the feel of her warm breath upon his cheek. That little movement was all it took; they sat so close to one another, their heads bent close in such an intimate fashion that their lips brushed briefly. There was a moment of stunned, suspended silence between them and then without any coaxing on his part, her lips were fully against his, the lush slide of her mouth against his feeling like the most natural thing in the world. He felt her fingers flex against his chest and then slide higher until they cupped around the back of his neck. He held himself still, curious to see how far she would take things. Unfortunately, the young man he’d sent for water, returned before anything interesting could occur.

Sabrina pulled back from the tempting softness of Roman’s lips with clear reluctance. The first, fleeting touch of their mouths had sent a little jolt of electricity flaring through her, much like the shock of static, but much more pleasant. That tiny spark had spread through her, warming her, steadying her, and sending her senses into overdrive. Hard on the heels of that jolt, she’d experienced the dark, sensual taste of him. It had flooded through her like dark chocolate melting on her tongue, and being an inveterate chocoholic, she’d immediately craved more. So intense was her craving for his taste in those spare moments, that when the waiter had returned with the carafe of water Roman had requested, Sabrina had felt an almost feral need to snarl and lash out at the poor young man. Instead, shocked by her impulse, Sabrina slowly sat back against the booth and practiced breathing slowly and evenly in an attempt to get herself back under control. It didn’t help that she could feel Roman’s humor drifting off him in waves; not that she was embarrassed; she’d wasn’t exactly known for her highly developed sense of discretion, much to her family’s chagrin, but she certainly didn’t want him laughing at her…

Roman nodded at the waiter in dismissal and without a word, turned his attention to pouring the goddess beside him a glass of water. As he handed it to her, he leaned close once again and said, “I still don’t know your name.”

Sabrina frowned as she accepted and sipped from the glass, using the action to cover her confusion. She hadn’t told him her name? She frowned, thinking back; it took a few moments, but then she realized with a flush of chagrin that she’d only said about two dozen words to him, and none of those words had been her name. The man had saved her from being trampled, and she’d only managed the barest of thank yous before practically devouring him with a kiss. Still, it was probably better that he didn’t know her name; if he didn’t recognize her by now, then he’d never heard of her and he’d be less likely to go running to the local paparazzi with a juicy bite of gossip concerning Douglas Donahue’s wayward and out of control daughter.

“It’s better that way,” she told him, looking him straight in the eye and daring him to recognize her. She felt a little thrill of happiness when he still appeared ignorant of her identity. “Maybe you could give me a nickname, or something,” she suggested as she began to scoot out the other side of the booth.

Roman’s hand shot out to grasp her arm. When she glanced back at him, a foreboding frown marred his features. “Where are you going, Goddess?”

Oh, she liked the sound of his voice much too much for her own good. It was low, rich, and just husky enough to give his words a rough edge and leave her wondering how her name would sound on his lips in the throes of passion. Shaking her head and, in an attempt to curb the effect of him on her hormones, Sabrina smiled back at him brightly and patted the hand that still held her. “Oh good, you already know my name,” she cooed sweetly, reaching up to pat his cheek, “Now I don’t have to tell you!” Then with one last swift, hard press of her lips against his, she scooted out of the booth and disappeared back into the sweating, gyrating crowd.

And just like that, she was gone, and Roman was left reeling from the way her kiss burned him so good in all the right places.

Sabrina let out
a sigh of relief as she finally reached the front door of Club Nightshade. Glancing around, she found her friends waving to her from beside the exit, and with a smile, flounced over to them.

“Where have you been?” Her friend, Kitsie exclaimed as Sabrina reached her. “One minute you were holding my hand, and the next, you were gone!” She snapped her fingers in Sabrina’s face dramatically. “Poof! Just like that!”

“I got caught in the crowd,” Sabrina explained with a shrug and shake of her head, “That’s all. I got here as fast as I could.” She linked her arm through Kitsie’s, pulling her friend toward the door. “Now, did we decide where we’re going, or am I calling it an early night because you guys are too boring?”

Sabrina led the way through the door onto the sidewalk, her laughter trailing behind her, not noticing that she was watched from the shadows of the lobby.

Roman watched
as a cellphone was raised and a photo was taken of his goddess as she went along her merry way. The hand that held the phone was tanned and long fingered. The body and face that hand was attached to was young, athletic, and certainly handsome. A quick scan of the photographer’s mind, and Roman saw that his new found goddess was about to become another face in this asshole’s spank bank collection. A flood of rage and jealousy rose in Roman’s chest; that someone would gaze upon his goddess while jacking off made him insanely furious. With a growl, he moved swiftly and silently through the crowd as the muted strobe of the camera’s flash briefly lit the out of the way alcove in which the interloper hid. Before the asshole had time to notice that he was no longer alone, Roman had snagged the phone from the guy’s hand and had dropped it to the floor with nothing more than a sub-audible growl of menace. His acute hearing allowed him to hear the satisfying crunch of plastic as he brought his heel down upon the device and ground it into powder.

“What the fu-?”

The would-be sex offender’s words died away, unable to finish his protest as Roman leaned in close, dark eyes blazing with certain death. “Leave,” he said in a quiet voice that only the photographer could hear, “And never return. If you do, you will suffer.” Just to hammer his threat home, Roman smiled. It was cold, it was deadly, and flashed enough fang to cause the photographer to piss himself. Gulping, stammering, the guy nodded in agreement, and beat a hasty retreat, his smashed cellphone forgotten.

Roman smiled grimly as he watched Sabrina and her friend climb into their taxi, unconcerned and laughing, unaware of the micro drama that took place just a few feet behind them…

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Rissa Blakeley is a quirky freelance writer and the author of the Shattered Lives series. She lives a socially awkward life just outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her amazing husband and daughter, four four-legged, furry children, and the many characters poking her brain, looking for more scenes about them in her books. When she isn’t writing, she can be found procrastinating on Facebook.

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