Love Found Me (A City Love Novel, Book 1) (19 page)

The antique desk was similarly ornate, century year old wood very much like the desk in Roman's apartment, except this version garnished a teak-mahogany blend that was formally masculine. Danielle paused alongside of the quaint desk, as she swept her fingers across its smooth surface.

But then suddenly, it wasn't just the desk that seemed awfully familiar. There it was staring her straight in the face, a folder emblazoned, "Confidential" --the same markedly red stamping, folder style and insignia crested on the front. Explicitly the same likeness as addressed to her that she'd read during her late night at her former office.

She'd flipped it open, and she was stunned by what she saw. Words couldn't begin to describe the alarming facts that supported her theories in question.

Danielle jumped on her footing when she'd heard a slight thump all of a sudden. The folder poured onto the already jumbled collage of papers highlighting a barrage of secrets only an expert forensic accountant could make any sense of.

There was a trail of reports scattered across the desk as if someone's sneaky idling had been hastily interrupted. She could only assume by the lower desk drawers flung open and the chair sloppily poised backward facing at the desk, that the perpetrator could be back any minute.

Danielle folded a couple papers that told her all she needed to know. A ripple of concern crossed her face all of a sudden. Realizing she had no purse, she'd nearly gotten hysterical, but she knew that was minor compared to her life hanging on by a thread out in the middle of god knows where.

Barely a second later, she'd stuffed the folded papers neatly into the back pockets of her jeans, and fixed the desk papers back as if untouched.

Her eyes widened on the wall of french doors flanking the veranda doorway.
Thank god... finally another way out.
Tiptoeing across the office, Danielle stood in the patch of moonlight as she'd turned the handle to a french door.

And there she was, straddling the doorstep with one heel pressed onto the deck floor of an open-air patio, when she'd suddenly paused-- her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her surroundings. She heard precious little other than the waves that slapped buoys and pilings under the pier, rowing vessels rocked at their moorings, and pounded boulders lining the shore.  But then she was startled by something else-- Something seemingly recognizable.

Danielle barely held back a sigh of agony, as she leaned against the french door, peeping her head gently around its framing. Her eyes suddenly widened like saucers when she heard what appeared to be a familiar voice.

There she stood under a panoramic sunroof that transformed the entire side of the upper deck into a cozy indoor-outdoor living space. As she stood in awe of the huge space with the night breeze caressing her skin, she turned and looked up through the gaping opening with her eyes wide and mouth open, and what appeared to be surreptitiously suspicious behavior happening right in front of her.

What she saw or thought she saw could only be the beginning of more pain her heart wasn't ready for and couldn't bear any more suffering.

Looking up through its massive opening, she caught a straight shot of the rooftop helipad. The awe in her expression instantly swept her face, as she'd stopped cold in her tracks.

Unfortunately, the edge of the sunroof sliced her view of three men fusing the black sky overhead. The line of a broad shouldered torso and ripped jeans was all she could see with patchy streams of light feeding the deck. Alongside two other men standing roughly shoulder-to-shoulder dressed in head-to-toe black.

But then, she heard the laugh that would have the look on her face turning crimson. From where she stood, the ominous lure of suspicion shed light on the truth.

Maybe it was the moonlight in her eyes.  Her eyes were glassy, and getting a bit tearier by the second. His voice strewn a tantalizing masculinity, when suddenly, a bout of curiosity crept into her voice.

One word poured from her mouth at almost a wail the moment she'd said, "Roman?"

Chapter Seventeen

Her eyes were suddenly calculating.
I couldn't have heard right
.

It couldn't be Roman. Could it?

Taking a deep breath, she started toward him-- styling a pose in his ripped jeans. He was angling his torso against a deck railing with his shoelaces cocked against his ankle as if he was waiting for something or someone. She had barely neared the staircase for the helipad, when she'd shied back all of a sudden. The muted illume of the inner deck threatened to expose her presence.

She made a move towards a generous seating area that flanked the deck a few yards away from the french doors. At this point, she could barely stop herself from thinking Roman had been involved, but she knew she had to get a closer look before drawing any uncertain conclusions. As she treaded softly, she was careful of every step, meandering the obstacle course laden in cozy patio furniture.

Staying out of sight as much as she could, she tiptoed around cushy sofas pillowed in geometric accents and plush ottomans seated next to pricey elliptical-style cocktail tables.

Hugging a chaise lounge, she ducked beneath its arched arm when she'd thought she heard the sound of pattering footsteps. A slight mist had begun to tingle her nose against the faintly moist cushion. A moment later, she resumed her pace once the coast was clear. She could have moved a few feet toward the innermost part of the deck for a better view, but she'd risk being noticed under the sunroof.

The panoramic sunroof was huge. From her vantage point, the glass roof was fully opened, showcasing a night of star-filled opulence and sea breeze wafting through the open-air space. Tonight, the darkness masked illume from the deck lighting rocking against the yacht every other second, as she straddled the deck perimeter below them like a shadow in the night.

Her imagination had to be running away with her all over again.

When suddenly, she'd heard his laugh for a second time, prompting her to look up. She lifted an eyebrow high when her gaze locked this time on a full and high heavy frame that looked very much like Roman's. His tall, lanky profile fused a hazy silhouette against sifting clouds. She shook her head, and then dropped her gaze to the deck floor, trying not to face the facts that instinct forewarned.

But then, her gaze lifted to face the reality playing out right in front of her. If it was Roman, she could no longer deny what he had evaded telling her. She would have to discover the truth on her own.

Her senses raced into high gear as her eyes widened open in shock the moment she saw his towering physique met two men in long overcoats flapping against the misty breeze. These men weren't dressed in head-to-toe black, but rather distinguished looking, as they dwarfed alongside his monumental stature in what appeared to be casual conversation.

Danielle stared into the panoramic sunroof, her hands on her hips, swallowing nervously from the familiarity of Roman's charisma. Folding his arms, tucking his hands in and out of his pockets, Danielle could tell he'd seemed rather comfortable and familiar no matter how many times she'd caught him running his hands through his hair almost instinctively.

As his towering torso shifted and turned around, beaded glimpses of light had her warily peeking through to his eyes. His strong arms and dominant power-- the way he moved lit a sparkle in her eye that was intent on fuming about the mess she'd gotten all mixed up in with him.

And then there it was. She would've noticed Roman's swagger anywhere-- the stride no other man could emulate. And his warm voice-- The same warmth that had her body heating up by the second.

Danielle gave a blank stare straight at him, as her hand clutched a cushy chair arm. Her eyes could've burned into his from the distance. The longer she'd faced him, the deeper her nails dug into the arm pillow. Even still, she closed her eyes for a moment, in disbelief of what she'd just seen-- the man she'd trusted with her life was ally to the enemy side.

Danielle just couldn't believe it. Or maybe she did or didn't want to face the fact that she knew exactly from that instant-- it could not have been anyone but Roman Jules--on a yacht in the middle of nowhere--all the way on another continent--near London.

As Roman's masculinity trailed down to where she stood-- just everything about him was starting to thread all through her at once. But of course, she was more than a little in denial about it. She didn't even want to consider the fact that the sexy, husky sound of his voice was at the point of smoldering a new level of intense within her.

She couldn't let it skew her focus-- especially now that she'd seen for herself he was not the man she'd thought he was.

She could only presume a blend of venal, scoundrel, and whatever else would cause a man to betray her for a price and a pawn in his game.

But, from where she stood, she still couldn't see the men Roman was talking to. She didn't have to. She could tell the evil commandeering cadence in his voice-- that it was Barton's. And the other of a professionally amicable tone had to be Trumball.

Clutching a pillow to her arm, she'd closed her eyes again as Barton's gravelly voice was starting to rattle her insides. Piercing her nails into the cushion, she'd instantly snapped her eyes back open and looked down at the trail of little dimples she'd left behind on the geometric.

Suddenly, the pillow poured out of her arm, when she almost fell back on the chair watching Roman chatting it up in a familiar carousing with Barton, Trumball, and god knows whom else in a late-night banter.

Danielle stared into the sunroof again-- she thought that maybe she was hallucinating.  That it was all just a nightmare, and all she had to do was wake up.

But, that wasn't the case.

Looking up at the shadowy images, there was something off-kilter about the rendezvous. Although it was difficult to tell with the black sky as backdrop, exactly what their meeting was about. Perhaps it was a trap. Or maybe she'd been the victim of an all out battle between ruthless crooks.

But, despite it all, there was something about Roman's open stance silhouetting a wad of rolled bills he'd suddenly jammed out of his pocket. The last she'd seen of him, his trousers hadn't sprung anything but excuses. 

Danielle was still selectively suspicious. She had to be.

Only a fool would fall in love with a scoundrel. But, if he was a scoundrel, he was a debonairly handsome one.

Nautical silhouettes hugged the pier as a dinghy motored in open water with its lights off. Above deck, the conversation went on in hushed tones, muted by discreet fear.

Donning his black leather jacket, Danielle noticed Roman had accepted a second wad of money. All she saw was Barton's attaché case appearing out of nowhere and suddenly snapping shut, as Trumball stood with his arms folded-- his stare scanning well across the vicinity. She'd barely gotten a far off glimpse of what Barton had been hiding in that metal briefcase that had never left his sight until now.

Suddenly, the three men parted no sooner than the moment after Roman shifted his hand away from his lapel as his jacket fanned shut.

Despite the optic white swathing a sharp contrast to night, Roman's profile drifted out of sight like a jaguar to its prey. Shadows were long, mingling the gap between clouds and a star-crazed sky bursting luminous pixels of stardust.

As it reached midnight, Roman had long vanished from the helipad in stride. Though the vessel had been loaded with contraband and a fortune in cash, there was still another matter to take care of. The engine trouble stalled the covert operation into the next morning, impeding their tight schedule.

The mist over the harbor had thinned some, and the visibility improved, but what had been gained was quickly consumed by time. Ensuing light threatened to expose a maze of brazen infiltration in a few hours time.

Something had been in the air for weeks, ever since Finch had promoted her to partner. Danielle had a feeling a quake was on the rise. That maybe her promotion had something-- or perhaps added a lot to the equation-- the scapegoat solution. And whom better than the new partner, familiar with Finch Young's supposed official business and ironclad reputation to take the wrap.

Apparently, Oliver Trumball had been sighted amongst the premises during and immediately prior to the time of her promotion, roaming around the office. Confidential paperwork-- everything was off-limits to him, as far as he was concerned.

That was until Oliver Trumball played the "consultant" card. No questions asked. Employees thought nothing of it. The backdoor was always open. Especially for Oliver and his buddies that represented an immense conflict of interest, particularly with Strayhan and Macgregor-- whom each held millions of managed assets under Finch Young's direction.

Apparently Finch hadn't blacklisted Trumball since his convenient retirement-- as Finch often called it-- during one of the most lucrative times in the history of the firm's multi-billion dollar accounts/asset management.

Danielle was absolutely livid and found the matter strange. Although she'd worked her butt off for the promotion, she wasn't about to pass it up based upon pure speculation.

With increased focus, Danielle left the vicinity of the veranda and headed for more answers. There was still the question concerning Roman's involvement and exactly what he was up to.

Danielle meandered the labyrinth of decks in spite of the truth ripping her heart in two. Just like career, she was used to putting everything else above her feelings. Which this time, it was no different. Danielle knew she'd had a job to do, and she was hell bent on finishing it to the end.

Carrying on her pursuit, she paused at a tea and coffee station near a cozy dining space, before spiraling her way again past the galley and upper salon areas of the yacht.

"Oh. My. God." Three words said it all when she'd stumbled across one of the most opulent rooms aboard the entire yacht. Danielle froze wide-eyed with her mouth open. Fabric walls lined an impressive art collection; fine custom furnishings and vast ceilings illuminated another area of retreat. It was absolute and pristine luxury. High-class and undoubtedly expensive.

At that moment she knew only Roman would have acquired such fine taste, except as her body reminded,
"How could a man that could kiss so good... how could a man that took my breath away be... be so ahh--"

And then, all of a sudden, there he was again. Danielle caught sight of Roman near the helipad again, as she straddled the upper deck. She let herself look at him for a long moment, the way he stood in the moonlight took her breath away all over again.

It would have been easier to forget the generosity of a man who'd protected her--who'd been there for her. A man who'd never left her side. It would have been simpler to forget the man she'd desperately wanted just the previous afternoon.

But how could she just forget everything they'd shared in the last seventy-two hours? Somewhere in between knowing he'd seemed just what he appeared, and then the doubts that kept creeping to the surface that said,
tread with caution
-- made the corruption scheme seem less complicated than their relationship.

She just couldn't seem to come to terms with any other opinion but the latter--
tread with caution
.

Danielle pressed up against the window surrounded in opulence, as her eyes shot toward a glittering string of light illuminating his profile. Much of the mist had vaporized into thin air that she'd caught a better view from the angle she now stood.

She watched Roman move closer toward the helipad landing strip, as she wrung her hands, cupping them back and forth in one another with a nervous grip. She was barely aware of his involvement and surmised him as the mastermind.

With all of his mysterious behavior, he couldn't have been anything but just that--
involved
. She'd just assumed he'd been involved from the very beginning-- from the ordeal in the garage-- even before, from the moment she'd read the letter emblazoned "Confidential."

She was starting to realize the mystery behind the man and his Lamborghini was reason enough that he'd guarded his secrets, shielding himself from their intensely romantic moments. She'd just assumed he never really wanted to get close to her-- for the reasons she thought.

But Danielle was one of them this night, the victim of time. Looking down at her watch, she hadn't noticed it was essentially morning. Despite the softly lit bulkhead streaking the interior walls in an illume glow-- it was pitch-black outside, as the storm gray gaze haloed a mirage across the sky.

Danielle left the art infused room in search of the sundeck. For some strange reason, her gut instinct was leading her there.

Taking a deep breath, she started toward the area her mental compass was directing her every step. Her eyes lit when she saw another spacious patio area. This one was unlike where she'd been; hosting a large 'L' shaped seating area. "How many sofas are aboard this thing?" she murmured.

Meandering beyond the spacious patio, she'd moved toward a flight of steps with caution. Scanning the surroundings proved a challenge now that she'd known Roman, Barton and Trumball had split up. Let alone the brutes roaming around the hull and who knows where else aboard the massive floating castle.

She didn't even want to give it a second thought.