Roman

Iwas being hunted down like a dog at my brother's own funeral. I ran bent over, weaving through the rows of gray and bone-white gravestones. Praying angels with pitying eyes stared down at me from their tall moss-covered pedestals, their eerie silence making my heavy breath seem like screaming. My polished black leather shoes sank in places. My tailored Armani suit pants were edged with mud.

It would be too easy for him to find me. I was leaving too many tracks.

What did you expect, Roman? I growled internally. That you could sneak into the back of your brother's funeral and no one would notice you? That you could come back here to Verona and not have to face him?

I didn't have a choice but to come back. Even though Jacob and I hadn't spoken in years, he was still my older brother. Flashes of when we were younger entered my mind, causing a touch of softness in my cold heart. He'd protected me from schoolyard bullies, read stories to me at night. He'd been my friend, my protector. That was before we grew up and he morphed into a bully himself. That was before I learned to take care of myself. That was before I ran away.

I thought I could live the rest of my worthless life in my self-inflicted exile in Europe. The plan was perfect. Until my eldest brother got himself killed. Why did you have to die, Jacob?

"Roman," a male voice barked out from somewhere behind me—too close behind me—the irritation clear in his gruff tone. "Don't be so tiresome."

I thought I could sneak into the back of the service without being spotted. I thought I could then sneak out before it ended.

I had been so wrong.

Abel Montero had seen me. My father's "dog".

That's why I had to run. I wanted to swoop in and out of Verona quietly, without a big mess. Shooting Abel, as much as I'd enjoy it, would be a big fucking mess.

I zig-zagged through the gravestones, grateful for the large ornate slabs and crypts the size of small cottages that provided me with some cover. Waverley Cemetery was Verona's oldest, dating back over 300 years, and most prestigious, spanning across almost fifty acres. Large enough for me to lose Abel in. Hopefully.

I skidded around a corner and ducked behind a large mausoleum, pressing against the cold stone, slimy with moss. I heard a soft gasp. I came face to face with a young woman standing meters away in front of one of the gravestones.

I thought I'd been alone in this graveyard on this watery late Saturday afternoon.

I was wrong.

Her almond eyes widened as they locked with mine, two orbs of amber whiskey. My heart began to hammer in my chest. I found myself gripping the mausoleum to keep my balance. I guessed she was about my age. Her long honey-and-wheat hair fell over her slim shoulders and over her round breasts, their shape visible through her fitted white summer dress printed with large sunflowers. It showcased her tiny waist, just wide enough that I could wrap both my hands around it. She had sharp cheekbones and a slim neck, her skin a lovely tanned color. Her red rosebud mouth parted on a gasp. I instantly imagined myself licking those lips before pushing past them to enter her with my tongue. I almost groaned as the image stabbed me like a hot poker in the lower belly.

She was one of the most stunning creatures I'd ever seen in my life. She exuded sexuality but not in a fake, obvious way. She was natural and classy: her full, naked lips; her alert, intelligent stare; the way her hair swooped partly over one eye, as if she were playing peek-a-boo with me. The way her dress dropped past her knees and yet tucked in at all the right places, hinting at the glorious body underneath, slim yet curvy with the perfect hint of muscle on her arms. A lady on the outside, a sexual creature on the inside.

She was lovely. Perfect.

For a second I forgot I was hiding. Hell, I forgot who I was running from. And why.