Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

AURORA

W e drove in silence, the lights of the passing cars and buildings a flashing blur. I tried to control my breathing. My fingernails cut into my palms as I tightly curled my hands into fists to prevent myself from tugging on the short hem of my dress.

Later, when I wasn't sitting a few inches away from him, I would allow my mind to ponder why I felt compelled to keep goading Roman. It was like I had a freaky death wish. I was sure a therapist would say it had something to do with latent daddy issues or some such nonsense. There was no doubt there was a mean daddy element to our relationship. The age difference alone would account for that, but there was also the authoritative way he disciplined me.

I shifted in my seat as a warm tingle spread between my thighs. Just thinking about how he liked to whip off his belt and bend me over the nearest surface whenever I made him mad had my pussy wet. I had half expected him to do just that the moment he caught sight of the dress I was wearing in deliberate defiance of his wishes. I was at least honest enough with myself to say I was a little disappointed he hadn't.

I hazarded a glance at him from under my eyelashes. He was staring straight ahead. I could tell from the way his fingers gripped the leather steering wheel that he was mad as hell.

Why hadn't he punished me?

Why hadn't he ripped off the dress, fucked me senseless, and then told me to go put on the dress he picked out?

Without thinking, in my nervousness, I tugged on the hem.

The slight movement caught Roman's eye. His head turned. He glared at my exposed thighs.

I held my breath.

Was this the moment he turned around? Or would he just pull over to the side of the road and fuck me in the back seat, uncaring of who watched?

Roman inhaled slowly through his nose as he stretched out his fingers and then gripped the steering wheel once more.

It was like he was deliberately trying not to say anything.

Why?

I thought this was part of our game?

I would act like a brat, and he would be the mean sexy daddy who'd punish me for it.

What if I had taken things too far?

What if the knowledge of my applying to university in France on top of my defying him with this dress was a touch too much? I swallowed as I pressed my fingernails harder into my palms to quell my rising panic.

The car slowed as we approached the restaurant valet.

Well, at least we'd be in public for the next few hours.

I'd be safe with people around.

The liveried valet reached for my door handle as Roman exited the car.

"Don't touch her door," he commanded.

The wide-eyed valet raised both palms up in a placating gesture as he backed away from my door.

Or perhaps not.

Taking advantage of Roman walking around the back of the car, I yanked on my hem, pulling it down as far as the delicate fabric would allow. My door opened. Roman held out his hand to assist me. I ignored it, preferring to use my left hand to steady myself on the door while my right held my purse over the top of my thighs, as if the small rectangle of shimmering champagne crystals would somehow make up for the lack of fabric. It was awkward as hell, and I managed to trip over my shoes in the process.

Roman's protective hands wrapped around my hips before I could fall. The heat of his touch seared my skin through the thin silk and lace. I couldn't help but lean into his strong frame, inhaling the spicy scent of his cologne as I did so.

His jaw rubbed against my hair as he whispered, "Careful, little one."

My insides did backflips. I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

Once I was steady on my feet, Roman guided me to the restaurant entrance with a hand on my lower back. I was so caught up in him, I didn't even notice where we were eating, nor did I care. I was sure I wouldn't taste any of the food. I would be too distracted by sitting next to him.

The tuxedoed ma?tre d' greeted us warmly. "Good evening, Mr. Winterbourne. So nice to see you again. Shall I show you and your… guest to your table?"

My eyes widened.

It was just the slightest of pauses, the barest of glances. Any other man on the planet probably wouldn't have noticed, but Roman wasn't like all other men. There was no way the ma?tre d's brief glance at my body went unnoticed.

Roman's hand flexed, then settled on my lower back. "Yes, Pierre."

My legs felt like two wooden sticks as we were led through the dining room. I scanned the room like I was the Terminator, searching for any potential threat.

Please, please, please let no one look at us.

My nerves were teetering on a razor's edge.

It was only when we were shown to a semi-private table in the back of the room that I finally allowed myself to breathe.

The moment they handed us the red leather and gold-embossed menus, I held mine open over my chest like a shield.

Our waiter came over and offered Roman the wine list. He declined.

I frowned. "You know I am allowed to drink."

Although usually our age difference was a bit of a turn-on for me, there were definitely times when it was awkward, like now. I was sure there were people in the room judging us not only for my dress but for my age as well, compared to Roman's mid-thirties. But hell, they were probably judging me as a possible murderess who got away with killing her parents, so there really was no winning.

The waiter paused, waiting to hear Roman's response.

Roman waved him away with a shake of his head. He turned his dark eyes to me. "I prefer not to drink when I'm dining with you."

I was stunned. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. He couldn't possibly know what that small gesture meant to me. My mother and stepfather were at their worst when we dined out. Counting the martinis and glasses of alcohol they copiously consumed over each course had always put me on edge. It was no doubt the reason why I never really enjoyed dining in restaurants. I was always on the alert for their embarrassing, drunken behavior and could never enjoy myself.

Roman looked over the menu. "What looks good to you?"

I forced myself to focus on the delicious entrée options. "I can't decide between the roasted duck breast with smoked fennel and apricot or the fillet of Hereford beef."

Roman smiled. "I was thinking the same. How about you get the duck? I'll get the beef and we can share."

I nodded slowly.

What was happening? This was all sounding far too boyfriend-y. It was almost as if we were on a date, like an actual normal boy-meets-girl date.

When the waiter returned, Roman took my menu from me. I had clasped onto it and initially didn't release it until he raised an eyebrow. Having lost my leather shield, I crossed my arms, trying not to look around the dining room.

"The lady will have the duck, medium, not too rare, please. I will have the fillet. Same temperature. We'll also start with the raw oysters and finish with the cheese and fruit plate."

I waited until the waiter left to say, "I don't like raw oysters."

He took a sip of his water. "Have you ever had raw oysters?"

"Technically, no, but that doesn't mean I don't know I won't like them."

"You'll try the oysters."

"Are you trying to use them as some kind of archaic aphrodisiac to get me into bed, because that's a total myth."

Roman leaned over. Out of the view of the guests, he placed his warm hand on my thigh and slowly caressed it upward until his fingertips were teasing my pussy through my silk panties. He then whispered into my ear, "Baby, I don't need a fucking oyster to get you in my bed."

My eyes closed as I gripped the table. In that moment, I didn't give a damn that we were out in public. I just wanted him to move my panties aside and finger fuck me until I came. To my disappointment, he removed his hand and leaned back in his chair to study me.

Pretending that he hadn't just affected me like a storm in a teacup, I concentrated on straightening my already straight silverware.

After several moments of silence, Roman said, "I owe you an apology."

I was so startled, I knocked over my water glass.

Three servers came rushing over. My cheeks flamed as I watched them scoop up the ice cubes and lay a clean, dry tablecloth over the wet area, then replace the crystal and china dinnerware.

Once they were finished, I turned back to Roman. "What did you just say?"

I absolutely, positively had to have heard him incorrectly.

Roman chuckled as he laid his hand over mine on the top of the table. "I said I owe you an apology."

My mouth dropped open.

He squeezed my hand. "Don't look so incredulous. I am quite capable of apologizing."

"All evidence to the contrary," I mumbled.

Again, I got that arrogant eyebrow raise.

I blushed and stuttered. "Well, it's just that… you're… well, you! You're not exactly known for saying you're sorry to anyone, let alone me. I can think of countless things you've done that you should have said you're sorry for and haven't."

His eyes hardened. His hand tightened on mine. What was once a comforting pressure became slightly painful. "Let's be clear, kitten. I will admit that I may have overreacted to finding out about your plans for France. I should have given you a chance to come to me and ask permission to go."

My stomach tightened.

Ask permission?

He continued before I could object. "But that does not mean I am apologizing for one damn thing that I have done to make you mine. If given a chance, I'd do it all over again."

I tried to pull my hand free. He strengthened his grip until my fingertips turned white.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I fumed through clenched teeth.

"Watch your language!"

"Fuck you. I'll say fuck all I want—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Roman wrapped his hand around my jaw. "Keep saying fuck and I'll bend you over this table, push up that disgustingly short dress you're wearing, and fuck your ass in front of all of these people."

His threat stopped me short. He was rich and powerful enough to do just that, and not a single damn person in this restaurant would stop him. Why on Earth had I thought I was safer out in public with a man like Roman? There was no safe place with him.

Lowering my voice, I whispered harshly, "I know it was you! I know it was your gun Alfred used. You tried to frame me for murder. Did he even embezzle the money from you, or was that all just a sham as well?"

It was like I was possessed. All the questions. All the doubts. All the nagging fears regarding his involvement in my family's demise came bubbling to the surface like hot, destructive lava. My rebellion had started with my short dress and then caught fire.

Roman's eyes narrowed. "I'm warning you, Aurora."

I recklessly continued. "Warning me that you'll what? Ruin my life? Hold me prisoner in your house? Cheat me out of my inheritan?—"

The waiter returned with a massive silver platter filled with ice. Nestled on top were over a dozen raw oysters with bright yellow lemon wedges.

I took advantage of the momentary distraction to pull my hand free from his grasp. "I need the loo."

I rose and scurried around the waiter before Roman objected. Too angry to remember to not draw attention to myself, I stormed past the other dining patrons, ignoring their curious glances, to the back of the restaurant.

Grateful there was no one else in the ladies' room when I entered, I tossed my purse on the black marble counter and took several deep breaths. Running some cold water from the tap, I soaked a linen towel from the small pile nearby and pressed it to my hot cheeks, all while silently chastising myself.

I should not have said those things. Roman was a dangerous man to cross and telling him I suspected he had a role in my being charged with murder had not been smart.

Plus, it had been childish and silly.

Of course, he couldn't have been involved. It was an insane notion. It implied he had somehow been a puppet master, lurking behind the scenes of my life until just the right moment to pounce. The idea was ludicrous. Besides, it wasn't like he'd known I would show up at his office and stupidly fire a gun, getting gunshot residue all over my hands. Or that he had some kind of magical power over the detective investigating the case.

And as for the embezzlement, I had overheard Alfred admit as much to my mother. It was unfair to say that Roman stole my inheritance. It wasn't really mine. Alfred stole from one of Roman's companies. It was perfectly legal for him to seek his own money back by any means necessary. To imply Roman deliberately took the money somehow to make me penniless and vulnerable so that I would have no choice but to rely on his kindness was even crazier than thinking he had somehow manipulated Alfred into pulling the trigger.

I wet the towel a second time and pressed it to my chest. I took several deep breaths.

I had to stop blaming Roman for my own misfortune. He had nothing to do with any of it, not the money or the murder charges.

I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror.

That didn't mean I couldn't blame him for everything else!

He may act like the dream boyfriend by showering me with expensive gifts and being great in bed, but that didn't discount that he was overly possessive and controlling. Imagine implying that I needed to ask his permission to go to the Conservatoire?

Still, he had been trying to apologize. Well, sort of. It was a crap apology, but a man like Roman couldn't be expected to be good at apologizing. Being good meant you got practice at it, and I doubted that man had apologized to more than a handful of people his entire life.

Once again, my mercurial mind spun, unable to decide if I loved or hated the man.

I tossed the wet towel into the bin.

Fuck. What had I done?

Here Roman had planned a special night out and all I had done so far was try to ruin it, starting with wearing this stupid dress purely out of spite.

I violently tugged down on my dress hem. I didn't know what I'd been thinking. It was far too revealing and short. I had been terribly uncomfortable in it from the moment I put it on. And then I had to go and pick a fight when he was trying to apologize .

I leaned over the counter and swept the tips of my fingers under both eyes to get rid of the watery black mascara marks my tears had caused. Grabbing my purse, I swept open the restroom door and exited into the dim, narrow hallway, running straight into the chest of some stranger.

"Hello there, sexy. Looking for a daddy?"