Spiraling Deception (18 page)

“
Seth’s settled the bill.”
He returned his gaze back to mine. His lips had a curve of
satisfaction about them. Rising, he held his hand out toward me.
“Come on, let’s go.”

“
Have I told you today how
arrogant and annoyingly bossy you are?” I snapped. I hiked my purse
over my shoulder, ignored his outstretched hand and started to walk
away.

Within two steps he caught up to me,
wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me into his side. “Not
today.” He chuckled, completely unaffected by my bad mood.

Surprisingly, Roman patiently followed me
around as I shopped for small gifts to buy for Courtney, Jake,
Uncle Mike, and several members of the troupe. Finally I settled on
a beautifully hand-painted Venetian mask for Courtney and the
obligatory touristy-themed t-shirts for the guys just as Roman’s
patience was wearing thin.

As he caught my hand, he tugged me to him
and clipped impatiently, “Are you done?” Apparently he wasn’t into
strolling the little shops and open-air market-stalls for hours
like I was.

I turned to fully face him and I smiled
sweetly. “I think I might be.”

He narrowed those inky blue eyes at me and
growled. “You’re done, Princess.” Then, before I could blink, Roman
grabbed me by the arm and hauled me along as he strode down the
constricted winding alleyways.

I smiled all the way back
to the yacht.
He-he.

By the time we arrived back to the yacht, it
was close to five in the evening. Roman excused himself to attend
to some emails with an assurance he wouldn’t be more than a couple
of hours and I headed back to our cabin to put all my purchases
away. I showered, dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a light pink
sweater—delighted to find all my clothes had been laundered—and
headed up to the deck to wander around for a bit. Captain Tom was
perched in the bridge and jovially ushered me over to the seat
beside him. The view of the emerald lagoon was stunning from the
bridge and before long, I was in fits of laughter from the
captain’s humorous tales of his adventures over the last forty plus
years as a nautical captain on the high seas. He had a very diverse
and interesting career with numerous stories to share, and he’d
also been married three times and had four children who were all
grown up and married with families of their own.

A couple of hours later and still no sign
from Roman, who had absconded to some place on the yacht to work, I
decided to entertain myself by watching one of the many DVDs the
media room had to offer. As I selected a movie, one of the crew
came in to ask whether I would like something to eat. Still full
from the late lunch we had, I settled for a sandwich and a soda,
curling up on one of the oversized plush armchairs in the media
room to eat my food when it was delivered and watch the movie.

“
Wake up,
baby.”

I blinked open my eyes to a softly beckoning
and familiar deep voice.

Roman was bent over me; his fingers glided
tenderly down the side of my temple before he carefully tucked a
strand of hair behind my ear.

“
Hey.” My voice was croaky
from sleep. “What time is it?”

“
It’s late. Just past
midnight.” His whispered voice was apologetic.

“
Oh.” I shifted, sitting
up and coming more awake. “You’ve been working all this
time?”

“
Yeah. I stopped for a
while to grab some dinner, found you in here fast asleep, left you
to rest for a bit while I finished up some work. And that brings us
to now.”

“
Oh.” I ribbed my eyes and
stated the obvious. “I fell asleep watching the movie.”

“
Yeah, you did, Princess.”
His answering smile was dazzling. “You hungry?” His dark eyes
roamed my face in concern.

“
No, I had a sandwich
earlier.”

He brushed his lips against mine; his tongue
darted out and traced the swell of my bottom lip. “Okay,” he
whispered, pulling back an inch.

His proximity, the scent of his musky
aftershave, those fathomless midnight-blue eyes staring back at me,
and the taste from his tongue on my lips made me abruptly hungry
but not for food—I was hungry for something else entirely.

As if sensing my abrupt mood shift, Roman
hauled me up, turned me around, and then sat in the chair I’d just
vacated. Wordlessly, he pulled me back down so I straddled his lap,
my knees pressed firmly on either side of his thighs.

Now we were talking.

Grateful I’d changed clothes earlier in the
evening in favor of my cute blue and lemon-striped cotton pajama
shorts with matching camisole, I snuggled my face into the crook of
his neck and inhaled deeply his unique masculine scent.

“
I think I like you on
top.”

His chest felt so warm, so safe and
comfortable, the thought of never leaving his embrace flashed
disconcertingly across my mind.

“
I bet you do,” I teased.
I slid my arms around his neck and wriggled my ass against his
groin in an effort to clear my mind.

“
You want to play a little
rough, Princess?” His seductive yet gruff question took me by
surprise, as did his hands that rounded my ass as his fingers dug
deliciously into my skin.

In response, I drew back to grasp the hem of
his t-shirt, pulled it up and over his head and exposed the taut,
rippling muscles of his abs. Roman’s breath hissed as I bent
forward, ran my tongue across one of his nipples before I lavished
the other while my hands freely roamed every square inch of his
torso. On a growl, he lifted my camisole up and off; his mouth
instantly latched onto one of my breasts, sucking the nipple into
the heat of his mouth, while tweaking the other until I whimpered
in pleasure.

“
Roman,” I moaned. My
fingers ran through his dark hair. His mouth left my breast,
capturing my moan in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered
ruthlessly for dominance until I couldn’t breathe, having to tear
away and gasp for air.

Our eyes locked; my features reflected the
carnality in his indigo irises, and then it happened—we both
simultaneously tore at the remainder of each other’s clothing with
fevered urgency. I fumbled franticly to undo the fly of his jeans
as Roman violently wrenched the pajama bottoms from my hips, each
of our limbs tussling together in our haste. Lifting me up
effortlessly by the waist as if I weighed nothing, he slammed me
down over his shaft and impaled me until I completely sheathed his
cock to the hilt.

“
Roman,” I screamed in
ecstasy. My nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. Then he was
everywhere: his lips on my mouth, his hand in my hair, tugging
almost painfully to the side so he could deepen our kiss. His other
hand fondled my breast but I couldn’t handle all the pleasurable
sensations bombarding me at once—it was too much. He needed to move
and he needed to do it now!

Tearing my lips from his, I begged, “You
have to move. Please move, Roman.” I rocked my hips back and forth
but his firm grip on my hips stayed me.

“
You may be on top, baby,”
he growled between gritted teeth. “But I will always be in
control.”

“
Whatever,” I huffed. My
pelvis squirmed from lust. “Just move already!”

His answering smirk was devilish. “That…I
can do, Princess.”

With that, he moved, I moved, the chair
moved, most likely the yacht moved and the way he felt deep inside
me, I was pretty damn positive the whole freaking world moved.

“
Does this have a special
meaning?” My head rested on Roman’s shoulder; my cheek pressed
against his sternum and my fingers lightly traced the outline of
Roman’s tattoo.

It was the most beautifully detailed and
vibrant tattoo I’d ever seen. Half of the tattoo was of a ferocious
lion, his head in profile and his mouth opened wide in mid-roar.
His fiercely sharp-pointed teeth were on full display and blood
dripped down the side of his jaw. The lion was inked in shades of
grays and blacks, which mildly blunted the animal’s fearsome
illustration.

The second half of the tattoo was inked in
colorful stark contrast to that of the lion. It was of a stunningly
magnificent phoenix. The proud creature’s wings were spanned to
their full width. The bird’s eyes blazed with what could only be
described as defiant fortitude and his chin was held aloft in a
rebellious pose. Myriad vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds brushed
the bird, cloaking it in gorgeous colors of vitality and bringing
the image to life. The phoenix, true to its mythical legend, rose
in triumph out of the symbolic ashes. However, in Roman’s tattoo,
it was the lion’s mouth that the phoenix rose from—the blood that
dripped down the lion’s mouth was that of the phoenix. Overall, the
entire tattoo covered Roman’s left pectoral and had to be at least
three inches in diameter. Who’d ever had drawn it was an extremely
skilled artist.

Roman cleared his throat and his hand came
up to rub briefly against the surface of his tattoo. “Yes. We had
it done sometime during our second year of college. You know…one of
those stupid things you do during a drunken weekend binge.”

I frowned—his answer
didn’t align with the intricate artwork of the tattoo. A design
this elaborate would’ve had to take hours to complete, if not
several sessions over a period of time. Not some impulsive act over
the course of a drunken weekend as he’d said. And who was
we
?

“
We?”

“
Hmm…” His hand glided up
along my arm and he played with a lock of my hair and rubbed it
through his fingers. “There were five…four of us. It was our first
year in college when we all met and formed a friendship. I guess we
all had a common goal. Anyway, Alex liked to refer to us as the
Phoenix Alumni.” He snickered, as if he remembered something
derisive. “It was Noah’s idea to get the tattoo—he was always into
his ink.”

“
You all got tattoos? At
the same time?” I asked, incredulous.

Nodding, he said wryly, “Uh-uh. We each got
the exact tattoo.”

Wow—there are four other men on the planet,
all walking around with this incredibly detailed work of art
permanently etched on their bodies—intriguing.

Even more intriguing—this was the first time
since we’d met Roman had talked so openly and freely about his
life. So far, he’d discussed his company, the places he’d travel
to, what foods he liked, and opinions on general current affairs.
But he hadn’t really shared much in the way of his personal
relationships until now. And now that Roman had started, I didn’t
want him to stop. When he didn’t say anything more, I prompted,
“And there were five of you all together in this…Phoenix Alumni
club?”

“
No, four. There were four
of us.” His tone sounded both hesitant and guarded.

“
So what else did you
crazy guys get up to? And what was it you all had in
common?”

“
Ah…that, Princess, is a
story for another time.” He stretched his arms over his head,
brought his hands down to my waist and stood up from the chair,
lifting me with him. “Now it’s bedtime.”

I felt a stab of disappointment—I really
wanted to hear more. In fact, I found myself wanting, wishing to
know a great deal more about Roman, his life, what interested
him.

But as soon as his feet reached the floor,
he lifted my naked body up; immediately my legs wrapped around his
naked hips. His face burrowed into the crook of my neck, where he
kissed, licked, and nibbled his way down my throat.

Every single thought I had promptly fled my
head.

Chapter Twelve

For our last day in Italy before flying back
to the US the following morning, we toured the charming city of
Verona—home to Shakespeare’s fabled Romeo and Juliet, as well as
the setting of another two of his plays.

The city was relatively smaller than I
expected it to be; nonetheless, it was immensely charming, with a
mix between ancient and modern elements. This time, Roman didn’t
hire a private tour guide; rather, we both elected to wander
leisurely around the walled historical center of the city to take
in its many monuments, museums, churches, and gardens we
encountered along the way. In the heart of the city, a number of
open-aired stalls sold more tourist trinkets and crafts, surrounded
by an assortment of bars, taverns, and restaurants, where a
constant stream of both tourists and locals enjoyed the heat of the
day.

While Roman was preoccupied with yet another
phone call, I decided to buy some gelato in deliciously homemade
waffle cones; not knowing Roman and Seth’s preferences for ice
cream, I chose chocolate for both of them and chose a combination
of pistachio and cherry for myself. I swear the first taste alone
brought on a mini food orgasm—it was just that good. With actual
plump ripe cherries mixed through the creamy gelato, the creation
was heavenly.

Handing the ever-loitering Seth—who had
accompanied us on the day trip—his ice cream, I was gifted with a
bemused smile before he took the frozen treat from my outstretched
hand. It was strange to be silently followed, our every step
safeguarded by the imposing sentinel, but I guess it was a part of
Roman’s everyday reality.

With both the remaining cones balanced in
one hand, I reached out, snatched Roman’s cell from his hand,
pressed the disconnect button and slid the offending device into my
purse before I thrust his chocolate gelato in front of his
horrified features.

“
Here, taste this,” I
demanded. Roman’s glare moved briefly to the cone before it came
back to me.