ROMAN (Lane Brothers Book 5) Read online

  That’s not true. I’m brooding and feeling sorry for myself more than anything, and quite relieved to be in a hotel room rather than my apartment.

  Daddy’s having my things packed and held in storage till I get a new place. When the hotel phone rings it takes me a split second to realize it’s nothing sinister, and I answer with a frown, ready to cuss Mama out if she’s calling to check up on me already.

  Everyone around me has been treating me like I’m made of freaking glass, and I’ve gotten some weird looks from Parker.

  “Hello?”

  “Sissy.”

  “Vincent?” I squeak, blinking in confusion at not only the name but the fact that he knows where I am and that he’s calling me.

  I haven’t seen him since the day I’d woken up in the hospital, and I’d quite frankly thought I wouldn’t. Ever again.

  “I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight.”

  “Um, uh… I’m kinda tired,” I aver, staring up at the ceiling.

  Seriously? He wants to have dinner to tell me what? Let’s be friends? That’s not something I can safely do without losing what little dignity I have left.

  God, I’ll probably grab onto his freaking ankle and beg him to take me back.

  “Please.”

  That does it for me, and I find myself agreeing to meet him at his place at six for a light dinner that makes my stomach knot.

  I get there at 5:59 and take the steps with a gulp, nervously straightening my black slacks and loose peasant blouse as I knock and wait.

  “Dove. Come in,” he says when the door finally opens to reveal him in a pair of faded jeans and an old black t-shirt that’s seen better days.

  He looks gorgeous, perfect in his barefoot casual, and I smile tremulously, taking his hand.

  “You’re looking well.”

  Dinner has been…an ordeal of flushed faced stares—from me—and nervous scrapes of my fork over food I can’t work up a decent appetite for. By the time dessert rolls around I’m tense and anxious and my old impatient self.

  “Look, this is great and all, but I’m really uncomfortable sitting here trying not to stare at you like a moon-eyed cow, so could you please just say what you wanted to say so I can get out of here and go cry alone?”

  Vincent laughs and pushes his chair back, shaking his head ruefully as he holds out a hand and pulls me to my feet.

  “I should have known you would come back sooner or later. Took you bloody long enough, though,” he growls, pulling me along behind him to a door leading down to the basement.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just…” He pauses halfway down the well-lit, sturdy steps and looks back at me uncertainly. “I want to show you something, and…I hope it doesn’t upset you, but I need to be honest about everything, and…just don’t hate me.”

  I nod silently and follow him, my nerves strung so tight I know I’m digging my fingernails into his hand. He doesn’t protest though, and I relax when we come to the bottom and meet a door.

  His hand trembles when he pulls away and unlocks it, hovering uncertainly over the door knob.

  “Vincent.”

  “Please, let me explain after you see,” he whispers softly, swinging the door open and standing back, head bent.

  What I see makes my knees weak, and I’m so grateful I hadn’t let out that nervous crack about serial killers and dead bodies in the basement. The room that I step into is climate controlled and pristine, nothing at all like a basement, and—

  “Oh my God.”

  “Dove.”

  The walls are covered in art. All of the pieces from my original series, the first ones that had sold out immediately and prompted Vern to set up another showing. Two from the new show and every single one I’d sent him just days ago in the hope that he’d see them for what they are, an expression of my love.

  This room is a shrine, I realize, turning in a circle to see the extent of Vincent’s true obsession. Me. In that moment I know he loves me, even without him having to say it.

  “Oh God,” I cry, covering my face and shaking as sobs of pure relief course through me.

  He loves me. He really does love me.

  Most women would look at this and run shrieking from the house, because honestly, this is the most stalkerish thing I’ve ever seen. Not me, though. How can I be anything but flattered that he’d wanted me enough to be satisfied with any part of me he could get his hands on?

  “Dove, please don’t cry,” he begs, stepping close enough that I feel his heat but far enough away to give me space.

  “I love you too, Vincent,” I whisper raggedly, lifting my eyes to his so that he can see how badly I mean it. “I’ve always loved you.”

  His breath stutters out in a series of what I can only call gasps, and then I’m in his arms and being kissed so fiercely I taste the salt of my tears and inhale his whispered thanks.

  “I thought you hated me,” he breathes, pulling away to stare into my eyes. “When we got back to the city I had resolved to tell you how I felt, but you blindsided me with the divorce.”

  “Oh, Vincent.”

  He laughs, shaking his head, and looks at me ruefully.

  “I ripped those papers to shreds and started plotting to get you back. I was so determined that you’d be mine again, I never considered for a moment that we’d ever be parted for more than a few weeks,” he admits sheepishly, ducking his head.

  I giggle at his arrogance, recalling the ‘loss’ of the papers and his snarky comments when I’d called him to set up a meeting with his lawyer.

  “Your belongings from Georgia finally arrived the morning we were to meet and I…I saw the painting,” he says heavily, making me gasp in horror that he’d ever seen that terrible example of my bitter rage.

  I should have burned that thing the minute the paint dried, and I say so, caressing his cheek lovingly.

  “You made me seem so cold and dark, and I realized that’s what you thought of me. You showed me in such a ruthless light that I couldn’t stand to look at myself, much less expect you to look at me. To go from the unconditional love I’d had before to that level of hatred.” He stops and swallows heavily. “That’s when I knew that no matter how much I loved you I had to let you go. I couldn’t bear to be the reason that all your happiness, all that color you had once brought to life, was gone.”

  “No, listen—”

  He kisses me once, hard, and pulls me back into his arms, holding me to his rapidly beating heart.

  “I was miserable without you, dove. I only went to that bloody wedding to make you jealous! All of my hopes were answered when you reacted so violently to my being with another woman. God, after we made love, I was euphoric.”

  I cringe a little at his words and duck my head deeper into his chest to recall the appalling way I’d behaved afterward. I’d basically told him he hadn’t been good enough and that I was going to look for a better lay.

  Jesus.

  “I didn’t go anywhere near ‘the Jason’.” I say wretchedly. “I mean, who the hell refers to themselves as ‘the Jason’?” I giggle brokenly, feeling his answering chuckle reverberate beneath my ear. “I just wanted to hurt you back.”

  “I know. You have much better taste in men than that, dove. I was angry that…” I hear him swallow and fill in the blanks, my mouth drooping derisively.

  “I’d rejected you.”

  “Yes. But then I started plotting again. You see, I’m really rather manipulative, and I was so sure I could find a way to get you back. That’s why I called that night. To start laying my plans to have you come over and complete the portrait and the landscapes I’d commissioned. A deal’s a deal, after all, and I’d planned to use your sense of duty against you.”

  I gasp and slap his chest lightly, giving him my most ferocious scowl.

  “You’re so devious.”

  “Yes,” he admits, but I see how unconcerned he is by this.

  “I chased you away.”

&nb
sp; His mouth twists at that, and I bite my lip to stifle a giggle at his scowl.

  “You weren’t well. I thought if I could just get you home under the guise of looking after you, and yes, I was more than willing to play on your fears to do it, maybe you’d realize you wanted to stay. More fool me. I should have known you’re too bloody stubborn to be practical.”

  “Stubborn? This coming from a guy who refused to admit he loved me till I divorced his ass?” I admonish, raising a brow.

  “Well, it’s not as if you didn’t know these things about me, dove,” he points out reasonably, smirking at my frown. “Anyway. I thought it was hopeless then, that we were well and truly over, until I came home and saw those,” he says, smiling brilliantly at the portraits.

  I’d depicted him the way I will always see him, with that special smile he reserves only for me, against the backdrop of a bright blue sky devoid of clouds and a shirt depicting the Sunflowers we both love so much.

  It’s not the most original thing ever created, but it’s my way of telling him that I see him, just him, and not the ruthless tycoon who’d allowed my father to buy me a husband.

  When he goes to speak again, no doubt ready to explain the whole shares thing and the deal that he and Daddy had struck, I cover his lips with mine and pull back, shaking my head once.

  “I don’t care about that anymore. As far as I’m concerned, that did not happen. All I want is to move on from here and start our lives together, the right way this time,” I plead, showing him all of my vulnerability.

  “Marry me, dove?” he begs, kissing me tenderly. “I can’t go another day without knowing that you’ll be mine. Say you’ll give me another chance.”

  I could pretend uncertainty, maybe torture him the way he’d tortured me by walking out of my hospital room and not calling once, but I don’t, not when I see the naked vulnerability reflected in his mint green eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  “That’s the first and absolute bloody last,” Vincent mutters at me, holding my eyes for all of a second before glancing back down in spellbound adoration. “I won’t have you suffering like that again.”

  “Whatever you say, babe,” I laugh tiredly, feeling blissed out and euphoric as I watch my husband cradle our son in his strong arms.

  I’ll remind him of that statement when we have sex again and he’s forced to wear a dastardly condom. A hundred bucks says he throws his morals out the door on that one.

  I’d thought nothing could top the joy I’d felt when Vincent had shown me that room and revealed the endless depths of the love he feels for me. I’d been wrong, I now realize, watching him breathe reverent words of love at Caleb Allan Blake, the son I’d prayed for when I’d found out I was pregnant again.

  I shudder lightly just thinking about that harrowing time of joyful hope and fear as we’d waited for the ultrasound and proof that we could finally be excited, and that the baby was where it should be and was healthy.

  My pregnancy had been trying, thanks to his paranoia and massively controlling ways, but I’m not complaining, not when he’s been so lovingly overbearing, and not now, when I see his worshipful expression.

  Caleb is a mini replica, my very own Vincent doll with all that hair and the definite signs of eyes that will be as green and bright as his father’s.

  I’ve finally done something to be proud of, something that I’ve been working toward since the day I’d fallen in love. I’ve given him exactly what he needs to know that I will always be his.

  A family.

  “He’s so perfect,” he breathes, meeting my eyes unashamedly as tears fill his own.

  “Yeah. He really is,” I say, though I’m not looking at the baby now, but at my perfect, adoring husband. “Exactly what I’ve always dreamed.”

  “I love you, dove.”

  And I know he does. Our life isn’t sunshine and perfection, not by a long shot. Vincent is super controlling about anything he considers harmful to me or in any way upsetting, and doesn’t hesitate to either order me around or lie straight to my face to get his way.

  He’ll never change, something that used to bug me but doesn’t anymore, because who am I kidding? I don’t want him to change. He challenges me at every turn and is always there for me, no matter how much my brattishness pisses him off.

  If he can love me for my neurotic, over-the-top behavior, I can certainly return the favor by loving him just as he is.

  That’s all there is, and know what?

  It’s perfect.

  # #

  TROUBLE

  Chapter One

  “I need the Gillespie reports by this afternoon, and don’t forget to call Margery and reschedule lunch.”

  I take down the monumental list of tasks that I have to get through and watch as my boss, Jordan Farns, fiddles with the stack of messages on his desk.

  I hate my job most days, and not because it’s not a great job or because I can’t do it with ease. No, my boss, since I’ve been promoted to the ninth floor, is a total asshole who wouldn’t know how to read a report if it bit him in the ass.

  So, in reality, I am not only a PA but an executive, too. I just don’t have the title or the money to prove it.

  “And don’t forget to go pick up my dry cleaning, Hannah,” Jordan barks as I open the door to go back to my little office.

  I want to tell him to fetch his own goddamned dry cleaning like a civilized human being, but I hold my tongue and nod, closing the door with a soft click instead of the bang I wish for.

  Lucy, Mr Owens’ PA, is sitting on a corner of my desk as I enter my office, and I grin at her as she waves the middle finger at Jordan’s door.

  “That idiot still getting you to do his job?”

  “What’s new? And I am now responsible for organizing the Gillespie account on top of everything else, too.”

  I don’t really mind doing it. I love hands-on learning and the opportunity to make my chops on such an important account. I just don’t know how I’ll manage it while running Jordan’s life as well.

  “God, I am suddenly really grateful I got Mr Owens and not Farns.”

  I’ll bet.

  “So what brings you all the way up here? May still giving you grief about the office supplies?”

  “No, thank God. Actually, I came up here to dish about the new client, Lucas Ships. You should see this guy, Han! He is fine with a capital F,” she gushes, and I roll my eyes at her.

  Lucy can’t resist a pretty face and the opportunity to flirt. Thank God the woman is in a long-term, committed relationship, or I’d be hearing about office romances.

  “I don’t care if the man is hot or not. Anyway, I’ll probably never meet him. That account is being handled by Jack and his team, isn’t it?”

  I wish I’d pulled Jack as a boss. The man is a machine, but he’s fair, and I bet he does his own work instead of leaving his assistant to do it while he plays golf twice a week.

  “Nope. Jack got the Freefall account. Word from the top is the account is coming to Farns.”

  Shit. That means I’ll have two major accounts on my hands, and I’m barely coping with my workload as it is.

  Just keep things organized. You can do it.

  “Great.”

  “So lunch?”

  “Sorry, Luce. Rain check. I’m so busy today I don’t know if I’ll have the time.”

  I hate missing lunch because I am pedantic about routine and keeping things scheduled to the minute, including my own life, but it’s not like I can’t afford to lose a pound or two.

  “I’ll bring you back a chicken wrap. Don’t work too hard, Han, you need to unwind a little,” she says, jumping to the floor and leaving with a wave.

  By twelve thirty I’ve made inroads into my inbox and I have time for a quick coffee. When I get back to my desk I find a scowling hunk of a man restlessly tapping his foot as he perches on the edge of my desk.

  “Uh, can I help you?”

  As I wait f
or his reply I allow my eyes to take a wandering look from the top of his honey blonde head all the way to the tips of his designer loafers. Goodness, now this is what I call a man.

  When my gaze comes up, it’s to meet a sardonic smile that reveals two shallow dimples and sherry brown eyes that are crinkled, as if he smiles a lot.

  I bet it’s usually at other people’s expense.

  “I’m Gregory Lucas. I have a meeting with Jordan, or at least I had a meeting with Jordan. He doesn’t seem to be around.”

  Gregory Lucas? As in the Gregory Lucas, shipping mogul and number three on the Forbes richest men list? God, now I know why Lucy had been having a meltdown just at the sight of him.

  He really is fine with a major, huge, gigantic F.

  Unfortunately I am now going to be working closely with him, so fine or not, it’s hands off.

  “Are you sure? I don’t remember scheduling anything for today,” I say, setting my cup down to scan today’s appointments. If this man had an appointment I’d know it.

  “Trust me, I have one. We agreed to get together when I ran into him yesterday. He must have forgotten.”

  I see him frown, and cringe inwardly. It makes a terrible impression that Farns has forgotten a meeting with such a huge client, especially if the client has only just signed on.

  “I am so sorry, Mr Lucas. Mr Farns had a last minute meeting to attend. I’m sure he feels terrible about this. How about I reschedule for tomorrow and I’ll have him come to your offices?”

  He considers me silently for endless minutes, and I can almost feel his eyes like a caress as he sweeps the knee length pencil skirt and soft pink shell I’m wearing. I look good, I know, but certainly not good enough to engender such a thorough inspection.

  As pinpricks of desire tingle through every part of me his eyes touch, I know this is going to be a huge problem. I will not get in any way involved with a client or co-worker, and the fact that the man is good looking enough to make me want to, is not good. Not good at all.