Julianna

Fated was a slinky bar taking up the entire top floor of an inner-city heritage building. The outside was all almond-colored stone and high arches. Inside it looked more like an exclusive party thrown in some billionaire's penthouse than a bar; snow-white walls decorated with large gilded mirrors reflecting the beautiful people in classy gowns draped over plush couches and leather chairs, waiters in coattails carrying flutes of bubbling gold liquid and glasses of honeyed amber whiskey over ice.

I might not feel like I belonged but I at least looked the part. I wore a long silver dress that clung to my hips and fell to my ankles like a waterfall of cut crystal. An intricate silver mask of lace-like metalwork wrapped around the upper half of my face like a frosted winter branch. My honey hair was combed back into a bun. The dress and the mask had been my mother's. I had never worn them before. I had never had a reason to. Until now.

A small thrill rushed through me as I made my way through the glittering masked crowd. I felt eyes slide across me and yet I felt invisible. Anonymous. Free. I was no longer Detective Julianna Capulet. I could be anyone in here. My feet felt light as if I was stepping on lily pads.

I slipped from room to room, searching for those familiar dark eyes. Just as I was giving up hope that he was here, I spotted him. He was standing in a small group, looking regal in his dark suit, matching midnight shirt and tie. He was cloaked in a simple midnight mask. I stood watching, mesmerized as he carried himself like a king presiding over his court, his subjects hanging over his every word, hungry for scraps of his attention.

The music changed. He looked up and his eyes found mine.

Oh my God.

I spun, grabbing a flute of champagne off a passing tray. My sudden movement startled a couple beside me. I gave them a forced smile. "Nice bar, huh?"

They turned back to each other, ignoring me completely.

I gulped down some champagne, wincing when the bubbles fizzled up my nose. It's fine. I'm sure Roman didn't see me. Even if he did, it's not like he would have recognized me. Stupid. Why did I spin around like I had been caught? That action alone could have caused more suspicion than my masked face. I'd just turn back around slowly, casually and…

He wasn't there. Where did he?—?

A strong hand grabbed my arm, wrenching me against a firm chest. Roman glared down at me, his dark eyes flashing like black diamonds from behind his velvet mask, which I could see were now featured like a raven's.

"What," he growled low and full of menace, "are you doing here?"

I sucked in a gasp. "You recognize me?"

His eyes rolled over my body. "I'd recognize you anywhere. Your eyes. You can't change them. You can't hide them." He leaned in close. "I can see the goodness shining out of them." He said goodness like it was an insult.

"I'm not as good as you think I am."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really." I leaned in closer, drawn in by his scent and his pure masculine presence; a thrill of fear mixed with lust shot through my body. I finally admitted to myself, I may be turned on by the danger of being here. Any one of his family might recognize me like he had.

It was the same kind of rush that I sought out by joining the police academy. The same kind of rush I felt when engaging with an assailant. The fear didn't make me freeze like it did some people. It made things sharper, clearer. Just like now, even in the low light of the crystal chandeliers, I could see Roman's pupils dilating, his Adam's apple hitching as I slid a hand onto his arm. He was remembering what it was like to be this close to me, just like I was remembering too. Skin on skin. Wet tongues dancing. Hot flesh colliding.

Heat flooded my panties and turned my core into an aching ball. My heart began to bang against my ribs. His lips parted, a reaction I mirrored. If I leaned in any closer… If I just tilted up my face…

"Roman, bro!" a male's voice called out. I jumped back. Roman played it much cooler, smoothing out the front of his expensive suit jacket and acknowledging the man beside me with a nod of his chin. They spoke briefly in low tones. I noticed Roman subtly shifting his body between me and his acquaintance. Like he was protecting me.

Don't be stupid, Julianna. He's trying to hide you.

The other man wore a dark gray suit which didn't fit him as well as Roman's did. His cheeks carried the first flush of liquor from behind a simple pirate's mask. I didn't think I recognized him. I kept my eyes averted and gulped the rest of my champagne, setting the empty glass on a tray as it went past.

As soon as the other man strode away, Roman grabbed me and closed the gap between us, causing a shiver to run down my spine. He lowered his mouth to my ear. "Get out. Now."

"I know you did something to the security footage at the hotel," I blurted out.

He glared at me, his eyes darting around us before locking onto mine. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I watched it," I said in a low voice. "Somehow the footage of me leaving your hotel room is missing. That's evidence tampering."

He leaned in, his eyes glittering, his voice filled with amusement. "Are you going to turn me in, detective?"

"No," I admitted.

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other about it."

"Except…thank you," I whispered.

He looked taken aback for a second. Then he snorted, his top lip pulling up into a sneer. "Don't think I did it for you. I did what I had to do to protect myself. I just happen to be protecting you at the same time."

He was lying. I could see underneath the bravado he was trying so desperately to cling to.

"Roman!" another male voice called out over the music.

Roman cursed under his breath and I swear I heard my name cursed as well. A group of three men swarmed us, taking up space like they owned the bar. They all had dark hair and dark eyes like Roman's, their faces partly obscured by the same raven mask as Roman had on. I froze. Oh, shit. These men were Tyrell men.

Two of them were flashing wild grins as they scanned the crowd, barely noticing me. The third one, however, was staring at me. I suddenly felt naked. I wrapped an arm across my waist, not that it would stop him from seeing me.

I chanced a glance at him again—still staring. My gaze landed on the familiar scar that came out from under his mask. It was Scarface. Abel Montero. The Tyrell butcher. The man who'd been chasing Roman through the graveyard. The same man who had forced Roman into his father's limo at gunpoint. The one who almost caught me at Roman's apartment. My blood froze. I tore my eyes away from his probing ones. I had to stay calm. Don't react. Don't panic.

I tried to look bored. I tried to look for a waiter with more champagne just for something to do with my hands. Or for my nerves. Of course, there were none to be found when I needed them. I found Roman watching me, then glancing at Abel, a furrow between his brows the only thing betraying his anxiety.

One of the other men clasped Roman on the shoulder. "We got some shit to talk about. Some shipments?—"

"This is not the time, Benvolio," Roman growled. "Talk to me later." He waved at the group of ladies dressed in slinky minidresses standing to one side who were looking our way. "Go keep them company for me." Right. They'd been the ones he had been standing with before he came over to me. That's why they were batting their eyelashes at him and glaring at me like they wanted to murder me.

Benvolio looked over to them, his chin dipping as he gave them an exaggerated once-over. He whistled. "Dayum. If you don't want them, I'll have them."

"Dude," one of his friends said, shoving Benvolio aside. "Plenty to share."

"No way. Dibs on them all."

Roman snorted as the two grinners sauntered across the room. Then he called out after them, "You're just keeping them occupied until I get back."

Roman's words stung, reminding me that I wasn't wanted here. I didn't belong here. I didn't belong with him. I swallowed the hurt down and forced myself not to react.

"You look familiar," Abel said. He hadn't moved. His gaze hadn't left mine.

My skin broke out in a cold rash. I was about to be exposed. And it was all my fault. I didn't dare look at Roman.

Abel took a slow, measured step towards me. I fought the urge to turn and run. "Who are you?" he asked. His fingers twitched as if he was thinking about snatching my mask off.

If he exposed me I would be in serious trouble. I had no weapon with me. I had no backup. He couldn't harm me here. Not in front of all these witnesses. He had to take me somewhere quieter to do that. I couldn't let him take me.

I already knew where the exits were; I had noted them all when I walked in, a force of habit. I readied myself to run.

Roman stepped between us, his wide back like a shield. "Run along, dog, and stop bothering the pretty lady. You're ruining the mood by showing her your face."

Abel snarled at Roman. I tensed as I watched the two of them glare at each other, aggression rolling off both. This was a pressure cooker and it was about to blow. I had to do something. Anything.

I touched his arm. "Roman," I said in a Russian accent. I almost cringed at how fake it sounded. God knows where that came from. "It iz too beautiful a night for fighting. Besidez, blood vill ruin zis dress."

Roman spun slightly to look at me over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at me, the hint of amusement on his lips. "You heard Natassia," he said to Abel.

Natassia? Right, the Russian floozy that I was pretending to be.

"Natassia?" Abel peered at me over Roman's shoulder.

"An old friend from Europe who's in town to visit. Now scram."

Abel studied me, suspicion clouding his eyes. "Sure. Natassia. Enjoy your stay in Verona."

I sniffed and turned my head away from him, a dismissal. I felt his one last searing look before he disappeared into the crowd.

I let out a long breath of relief. Roman's face twisted into a scowl. "Are you happy? You almost got yourself killed." He grabbed me and began to tug me across the room. I pulled against him. "What are you doing?"

"You're dancing with me."

Bossy arrogant brute. "You know, most men would ask a lady if she'd like a dance."

"Last time I checked you liked it when I told you what to do." He yanked me flush against his chest, securing me there with a possessive arm around my back. His fingers felt like they were searing through my dress.

The memory of our night together flashed before my eyes, flooding my body with heat. I shivered as he laced the fingers of his other hand through mine. He began to move to the music, a slow house instrumental with a mix of Caribbean drums and brassy saxophones. I resisted for a second before I gave in to it.

Of course the bastard could dance.

Damn, he smelled good, too good, his familiar dark cedar perfume surrounding me. I resisted the urge to lean my head against his chest, to press closer, to melt against him as we swayed to the music.

"You have some nerve coming here," he hissed in my ear.

"I wanted to talk to you." To see you again. To hear your voice. These things I could not voice. Admitting I wanted to talk to him was enough.

"Talk. You have my full attention." He spun us farther away from the crowd and closer to the far edge of the tiny dance floor.

"Let me help you."

He tensed but he didn't miss a beat. "You want to help me? Leave me alone."

"You say that, but I don't think you mean it. If you really did, why do you keep finding reasons to contact me?"

He let out a short laugh. "Why do you women always read too much into everything?"

I flinched at his insinuation.

"I ask you to come to Paris and you think it's a relationship. I hide you from Abel and you think I'm protecting you. I send you a rose and it means I'm in l—" he broke off.

"You trusted me once. Trust me again."

"Why do you care?" he muttered.

"The same reason you do," I whispered, taking a gamble.

He faltered and missed a step. I stumbled into him. Our eyes locked. For a second, I saw the flash of hope underneath. For a second, I thought I'd gotten through to him. Then the emotionless mask slammed down over his features. A second later he caught up to the music and we were moving again like nothing had happened.

"This is a setup," he said, his voice frosty like ice.

"I wouldn't do that to you."

"Wouldn't you?"

"You know me, Roman."

He snorted. The music changed, growing faster, more aggressive. His movements followed and my dress whipped out around my ankles. "Yes, I know all about you. Newly assigned detective. First major case. You want to get out of your father's shadow. You need so desperately to prove yourself."

I flinched as his words found their mark, the sore spots deep inside me. "How do you know…?" Someone had been talking about me to him.

He dipped me. I felt weightless for a mere second, complete trust in the strong arms holding me up. I gasped as his other hand rested flat against my stomach then ran up between my breasts. My body broke out in a prickly heat. I fought a groan as his hand brushed the bare sensitive skin above my plunging neckline. My nipples tightened and pushed painfully against the material.

His hand gripped around my neck firmly and pulled me up against him, keeping his grip around my neck. The heat in my body turned liquid and trickled between my legs. His eyes burned into me. My gaze dropped to his mouth. Closer. Closer, and…

He sneered. "I always make sure I know exactly who I'm up against."

His words stabbed me in the heart. I shoved him but he wouldn't let me go. All the while he kept twirling us around the dance floor like nothing was wrong. "Is that what you really think? That we're enemies? That we're against each other?"

His grip on my neck tightened. It didn't hurt but it was starting to restrict my breathing. "Tell me I'm wrong, detective. Tell me how it could be any other way."

"Fuck you, Roman." I shoved him again. This time he let my neck go. His other arm stayed around me so I didn't get far enough away from him.

"You did." His eyes glittered with a cruel light. "I heard you liked it."

I inhaled sharply. I only realized my hand had lashed out when the crack of my palm on his skin rang out and his head jerked to one side. He let go of me completely and cold air rushed up between us. The hum of voices dropped over the music that kept playing. Suddenly I could feel the room's eyes on me like hyenas closing in.

Shit. What had I done? I had attacked the Prince of Darkness in his own territory while he was surrounded by his men. I was alone and weaponless. I was an idiot. But he'd made me blind with fury.

"Grab the bitch," someone cried. Roman's men began to push their way through the room toward me from all sides. I was so royally screwed.

"No!" Roman said, his voice cracking out through the room. Everybody stopped in their tracks. He turned his eyes to me. "It barely tickled."

"You can't let her get away with?—"

"That was her free pass. A gift from me to her. Her last one. Because," he sneered, "we all know the weaker sex need all the help they can get."

There was sniggering and nods from around the room. My skin burned from outrage. Was that what he thought of me? Of all women? That we were weaker? I fought against this bullshit as a female cop. I couldn't believe I was hearing it from him.

It's an act, Julianna. He's trying to protect you.

Roman grabbed my arm. "Let me escort you out, Natassia. Make sure you don't get loston the way out." I heard the hidden meaning in his words. If he didn't walk me out, chances were that one or more of his men would attack me in an attempt to gain favor with him.

I let him pull me through the crowd, my body gone numb except for the burning around the skin where he touched me. Even though I had slapped him, he still wanted to make sure I got out of here safely. Or maybe he just wanted to protect his dirty little secret. I didn't know anymore.

I thought he would leave me at the door, but he paused by the bouncers and instructed, "Nobody leaves until I get back." They nodded and shielded the doorway with their bodies.

Until he got back? Roman shoved me into the elevator. On the ground floor, he walked me right out of the building. The night air was crisp and clear. Very few people were strolling around the building, but a short line of cabs waited alongside the grand circular lobby that gave this building an appearance of a luxury hotel.

I tried to snatch my arm back from him but he wouldn't let go. It was like a mouse tugging against a tiger. "I don't need to be escorted to a cab."

"Yes, you do." He let out a grunt of exasperation. "Stop struggling or I will put you over my shoulder." Again.

I flinched and fought a shiver as yet another memory assaulted my senses. Stupid, stupid body. Why wouldn't you stop reacting to this infuriating man? He was frustrating and dangerous and totally off limits. Not to mention gorgeous and powerful, and underneath that gruff exterior I knew there was a caring soul.

The caring soul shoved me into the back of a cab and slammed the door. He leaned through the front window, startling the driver who looked like he'd been midway through a little nap.

"Carlos Pinto," Roman said, tapping the plastic badge stuck against the dashboard. "I know your name, your taxi number. I could get your home address and the names of your family members just like that." He snapped his thick fingers in the driver's face.

"Stop threatening him," I yelled. Roman needed another slap.

He stabbed a thick finger towards me. "Shut up and let me keep you alive."

I slumped back into the cracked leather seat. The inside of the cab smelled like that fake pine smell.

Roman turned back to the driver, who was leaning away, pressing himself into the far window. If his window had been open, I bet he would have crawled out just to get as far away from Roman as possible. "See that girl in the back there?" Roman said. "I need you to get her home safely. Don't go straight there. Circle the block several times, make sure you aren't being followed. If anything happens to her, I'm coming after you."

The driver said nothing. He looked like he was about to pee himself.

Roman pulled out his wallet and held out a small wad of folded bills to the driver. "That should more than cover it."

I sat up. That was way more than the fare would be. There had to be at least four hundred dollars there.

The taxi driver's eyes widened, the promise of money—lots of money—suddenly making him brave. He straightened in his seat and took the bills. He almost looked like he wanted to salute Roman. "Yes, sir."

I wanted to roll my eyes. When did this man ever not get what he wanted?

Roman nodded and pulled his body out of the cab. He stood on the curb, his unreadable eyes staring at me through my open window as the cab driver started the engine.

A lump developed in my throat. "Roman…?" What did I want to say? Thank you? I'm sorry?

He shook his head slightly. Say nothing.

The cab pulled away from the curb. I slumped back in my seat. What the fuck just happened?

He saved my life. He made sure I wouldn't be followed. He does care, despite his protests.

He let you go, a voice inside me said. He only saved me because he wanted to protect himself. He had all those skimpily dressed ladies to "go back to." Face it, Jules, he had you. Now you're not interesting anymore. You're just a pain in his backside.

I twisted in my seat but Roman hadn't moved. I stared out the rear window as he grew smaller, our gazes locked until he disappeared out of sight.