18

Agood night's rest had done wonders for my frenetic disposition. My emotions still felt a little jittery, but my brain was no longer on fire. I may just be able to get through the day without exploding and blowing up my world. That didn't stop my nerves tensing when a knock sounded at the door around mid-morning.

Roman wouldn't knock and it wouldn't be a friendly visit, since I was still under house arrest. That left Julian Edgar, probably with some version of the Spanish Inquisition about my odd behavior last night.

I considered pretending no one was home, but that wouldn't work. House arrest. So I stiffened my spine and went to open the door.

It wasn't Julian.

My eyes rounded on Jessie. "What are you doing here?"

"That's what I'd like to know." She stomped the dirt from her sneakers and came inside. "The last time I tried to visit you, I was given strict instructions to leave and not return for at least two weeks. Then this morning Roman suggests you'd appreciate a visit from me."

A smile settled my testy nerves as we walked through to the kitchen. Roman was not sweet, not by a long mile, but that was an awfully sweet gesture.

Jessie rounded on me. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

"Whatever that goofy expression is." She flapped her hands at me irritably. "Roman left the message with Harry, else I would have ripped one into him."

That picture was so comical, I couldn't hold in my laugh. The one time she'd met Roman, he'd been totally chilled, and she'd still found him intimidating. "No, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yeah?" She flipped her glossy black curls over one shoulder and lifted her chin high. "Okay, your husband is scary, but seriously? The barrier guard said you were under disciplinary action! What did you do? Burn his precious porridge?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, I don't care." She gave me—or Roman, I presumed—her haughtiest look. "It's not okay. I honestly thought he was above such a petty show of authority."

"Actually, he is."

"And yet here you are." She threw her arms out wide. "Stuck in Parklands and not allowed to receive any visitors."

I gave her a pointed look.

She rolled her eyes. "This doesn't count."

"It counts," I assured her. More than she'd ever know. Jessie was exactly what I needed this morning. "Coffee?"

"No, I don't want coffee!"

I hiked a brow on her. Jessie never said no to coffee.

"Fine, coffee," she conceded with a heavy sigh and dragged a chair out from the table to plop herself on. "But I'm still mad. And you should be, too."

Been there, done that, I thought as I busied myself with prepping the expresso jug with water and beans and putting it on the stove.

"Why aren't you?" she demanded.

"There's a story, Jessie."

"Right," she snorted. "I'd love to hear it."

She was being sarcastic.

She had no idea, and she never would…unless I told her.

I chewed on that, examining my motivations. Was I being emotionally spontaneous? Stupid and reckless? I didn't think so. In the broad light of day, this decision felt solid, and right.

I would not be silenced.

Miriam deserved more than that.

I deserved better than that.

We all did.

I was just one girl, but I had resources. I had the Sisterhood, and they'd know what to do with the explosive information I'd gathered.

But telling Jessie right here, right now, was an altogether other matter.

I turned from the stove to look at her.

Her ebony skin practically glowed with vitality and happiness despite her current outrage on my behalf. Her husband, Harry, was a great guy, and they clearly adored each other.

This story, this truth, wasn't exactly a charmer.

It had the potential to ruin.

Some truths are better left unknown. That was Roman's philosophy, not mine. The truth, however, was a responsibility, and Jessie hadn't asked for it. We'd always shared a natural curiosity, but she wasn't nearly as obsessive as I was.

I hesitated.

Jessie knew me well enough to read the conflict on my face. "What?"

"There's a story." I poured our coffee and brought it to the table, and then I sat down. "I've been outside the walls of Capra. I've been to The Smoke." I leaned in with my elbows on the table and gave a small laugh. "I saw Jenna, and she's okay."

Jessie's mouth softened with surprise, then her jaw sagged in shock.

"I can tell you more," I said. "I can tell you everything. Most of it is dark and ugly. Knowing it doesn't give you anything more or better than what you have right now, it only takes away. Or I can tell you nothing."

Jessie laughed. She sounded a little hysterical.

I winced. "I know, I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have said anything, but I wanted this to be your choice."

"You've been to The Smoke." Her eyes popped. "The Smoke. You saw Jenna. You actually saw her? You spoke to her? Holy crap, Georga, are you serious? That's why you're under disciplinary action?" She shook her head, looking at me like I'd grown two heads. "How are you not in rehab?"

"Yeah, well, that's a major part of the story, and what I actually wanted to tell you about Roman."

"Roman can wait," she declared and insisted I tell her everything, starting with Jenna and The Smoke.

We sat around the table for hours. I started with Jenna and The Smoke, and that's where I ended as well. I'd tell her about Sector Five and the Outerlanders another day, although I did mash up parts of that, leading Jessie to believe I'd stowed away in Roman's truck to get to The Smoke. I trusted Jessie with my life, but I wouldn't expose Roman's participation. That was his story to tell, not mine.

And I found I certainly wasn't ready to shower her with the pain of knowing she'd forever lost her chance to save her own ovarian eggs for herself and Harry. That would come later, too. She was so enthralled with every little detail about The Smoke, and I didn't want to take that joy from her. Not today.

It felt good, so incredibly good, to finally share with Jessie. Not only because we'd walked the same footsteps all our life, and she understood my view of this world in a way Roman never could. But because secrets divided, and now I had a few less secrets standing between me and my best friend.

It was early evening when Jessie finally left, pedaling furiously to beat the darkness home on her bicycle. Time had run away with us, and I was just gathering the ingredients for a quick salad to go with the steaks I'd planned for dinner when Roman arrived.

Beneath his coat, which he shrugged off as walked in, he was dressed in his usual warden black cargo pants and long-sleeved top that shaped his lithe muscles.

He crossed through to the living room and draped his coat over the back of the recliner, then settled a look on me that curled into my toes. "Everything okay?"

A sigh escaped me as I gave him a slow nod and an even slower smile.

I should be accustomed to the toe-curling effect of Roman West by now. I should be. But seriously, it wasn't just that he looked like a fallen angel. When he looked at me like that, he was my darkly wicked angel, and he was falling into my arms. There weren't enough hours in the days of a thousand years for me to ever grow accustomed to this flutter at my pulse and the tingling warmth spreading along my veins.

He released me from the intoxicating spell of his gaze and crossed to the sidebar.

And I remembered why I was feeling especially tenderhearted toward him tonight. "Thank you for sending Jessie to me."

"Have you met Jessie?" He strolled back to me with a bottle of bourbon and two crystal tumblers. "She's not the type to be sent anywhere by anyone."

I rolled my eyes at him, still smiling. "You know what I mean."

"I thought taking you to The Smoke would make things better. For you. But I think I made it worse."

"You didn't make it worse," I assured him.

He shrugged. "Either way, you needed someone to talk to."

"After my spectacular meltdown at Julian's last night, you weren't worried about what I'd say?"

Roman had placed the glasses on the oak table and was in the process of pouring when he paused to look at me. "I don't own your mind and mouth, Georga. I trust you to know what you're doing."

That might just be the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.

The marrow literally swooped out from behind my knees.

He finished pouring and brought our drinks over to where I was leaning with a hip against the counter.

I took the glass he offered, but set it down on the counter. "I did tell her about The Smoke, and Jenna, but I didn't say anything that could incriminate you. She'd never cause trouble for me, or anyone I care about, but still…"

"I just want you to be okay, whatever that takes."

"I am okay." I placed a hand on his arm, and I almost left it at that, but I needed him to hear this, too. "Nothing will ever be the same for me, though, and I can't wind back time and pretend it is. I won't."

He sipped on his bourbon, studying me in a contemplative manner, and I wondered if he regretted his generous trust in me.

Then he threw back the full measure of bourbon in his glass, swallowed, and said, "Maybe it's time some things changed."

I arched a skeptical brow at him. Sure, as if he'd ever really mean that.

But he set his empty glass down and cocked his jaw, and hooked his gaze into mine, and I knew how very wrong I was. Roman never spoke carelessly. He'd never say something just because he thought it's what I wanted to hear.

My heart thundered with complex emotions that I couldn't begin to unravel. So a smile twisted my lips instead. "I think I broke you."

Roman brushed the back of his fingers along my cheekbone, his gaze sinking deeper and deeper into me. "We're all a little broken."

The air grew thicker, warmer, and I swayed toward him, unable to resist his magnetic pull.

I forgot about the salad I was supposed to be tossing. I forgot about everything outside the two of us as Roman took my hands in his. He stepped closer, one slow step, then another, sliding my hands to his hips as he stepped into me.

My hands snaked a little further around him as I tilted my mouth up to him. Static desire charged the breaths between us. His dark hair fell unevenly, grazing near the hollow of his shaded, bristled jaw. He was sculpted in furious beauty, dark and dangerous and devastatingly mine.

He trailed his knuckles along the curve of my jaw, his eyes heavy-lidded, glinting and heated like molten silver. And he took the words right from my mouth when he said huskily, "You are so damn beautiful."

My heart picked up an extra beat and my fingers dug into him as I went up onto my toes.

His mouth swept down with urgency, capturing mine with a deep, unyielding kiss that streamlined straight to my blood. He tasted like bourbon and sin, and I decided then and there it was my favorite combination.

His arms went around me and his hands slipped inside the hem of my shirt, both caressing and pulling me closer. His touch was velvet iron, sending hot shivers to my bones, and I couldn't get enough.

Roman had the same thought, ravaging my mouth with deep, hungry kisses as he walked me backward, passed the oak table and through to the bedroom. When he released me, I instantly, achingly missed his touch. But then he was shrugging out of his shirt, lean muscle rippling, and that ache turned to burning pleasure.

I tugged my top up, over my head, my breaths coming so fast, it felt like they were tripping over each other, and then our bodies were plastered together, hot skin to skin. His fingers speared through my hair and my fists tangled in his silky, raven lengths as he claimed my mouth and senses. His kiss slanted along my jaw, and more hot shivers skittered across my skin as he trailed butterfly kisses to that sensitive spot beneath my earlobe.

A breathless groan fluttered from my lips.

He growled, an intense, almost savage growl that hollowed out my knees as his mouth crushed mine again. His hands slid down to my hips, rocking me against him, and my entire body caught alight.

I was overheated and aching with want long before he gently lowered me backward over the bed, his body covering mine. I arched, stealing kisses on his throat, his jaw, my tongue licking along his collarbone.

He cursed low in his throat, an almost savage curse of pain and pleasure that sent flames of pure desire shooting through me.

My fingers curled into the quilt. "Roman."

I didn't know what I was asking for, but it was a desperate plea.

"I know," he said gruffly, his voice scraping down my throat with a trailing kiss. "I love you," he breathed on my skin, sliding a hand up my arm, along the curve of my shoulder and up my neck until his fingers tangled in my hair.

My breaths were so ragged, my blood hot and my heart pounding wildly, I wasn't sure what I'd heard. We were moving against each other, his lean body rubbing against my softness in all the right places, our hands going everywhere, touching, kissing and devouring.

I was on fire, burning for him. I couldn't get close enough to him. I'd never get enough of him. I needed more, and as always, Roman knew exactly what I needed.

He paused in a heated moment to look at me, just look into my eyes, an elbow planted beside me to take his weight. And the way he looked at me, with such depths of conflicting primal hunger and tender warmth, sent a hot wave rolling through me.

"I love you so damn much," he said, and my heart was still swelling with that wave as he lowered his mouth and spent half the night giving my body, heart and soul everything it craved and so much more.