Chapter 1

Chapter One

Roman

Home at last. I open my door and kill the alarm. The last thing I want to do is have to answer questions from the police because my stupid ass didn't kill the alarm. Normally I would just do it on my freakin' phone, but I swear I don't have it in me to pull it out of my pocket. I'm beat. Broken-down-tired.

I plan on dropping my bag at the door, getting naked, and hitting my bed as quickly as possible. I've been in hotels and on the fucking plane for the last two weeks and I am exhausted, utterly and completely. I think I might have been home a total of forty-eight hours in the past month and quite frankly, it's starting to piss me off. Why the hell even have the fucking penthouse if I'm never here to enjoy it?

As soon as I'm through the door, the scent of flowers and… sugar hit me full in the face. Or maybe it's fruit, something akin to cherries. If that is Pearl's new perfume, I'm not mad about her leaving it here when she went to stay with Spade.

I run my hand over my face. I must be tired if I'm thinking about spraying fucking perfume all around the fucking penthouse just because I like how it smells. I make my way up the stairs and down the hallway to my room without turning a light on. Sweet, sweet slumber only a couple of steps away as I unknot my tie and work open the buttons of my dress shirt. I am so ready for something that doesn't require two hands to put on - a nice tee or jersey, anything that goes on over my fucking head and doesn't require me to focus on a bunch of goddamned buttons.

I open the door to my room… and come up short.

There's someone in my bed.

I step out to check Pearl's room which is predictably, empty, then return to my own. The lump in the middle of my black sheets is still there, unmoved. Not Pearl or her friend Whatshername, who Pearl said was going to stay in her room here for a while. So, who the fuck is in my bed?

I'm so delirious with exhaustion I laugh at the Three Bears reference and how I'm one of the bears. This would all be hilarious as fuck if what happened with Pearl's friend hadn't happened. Some fucked up stalker tried to hurt her but thankfully she had Roan, a police officer on my hockey team, to keep her safe and stop the guy.

But it did happen and I'm not sure if the person in my bed is Goldilocks or someone who means to hurt someone close to me. I step closer and catch a glimpse of strawberry-blonde hair spread out across my pillow. Could it be my sister? Am I going fucking crazy?

Upon closer inspection, I realize the hair is a little too red and less blonde to be my sister. The floor creaks under my weight and I wonder why it sounds so god damned loud, like it's amplified? Before I can touch the bundle in my bed, the sheet is flipped back, and I'm greeted by bright green eyes, the color of emeralds, and a soft angelic face that is definitely not my sister's.

Thank God, because I was starting to think about naughty things I haven't thought about in, well… for damned ever. Neither one of us says a word for what feels like forever and then… all hell breaks loose.

"What the hell?" The little intruder jumps up and starts to shout.

"Who are you?"

"Who am I? Who the hell are you? Get the fuck out of here! Go!"

"What?" Did this little thing just tell me to get out of my own house? What the hell is going on? And why do I have an annoying urge to do whatever she asks of me?

"Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

Okay, this has gone on for far too long. No one tells me to leave my own damned home. I open my mouth to say as much when she throws the bedside lamp at my head. I barely duck in time. The leash on my temper, already frayed from lack of sleep and having to deal with idiots in the business world, snaps.

"That's it! Last chance, little girl. What the…?"

Something else flies by my head before I can finish my interrogation. But I fail to dodge a book thick enough to give a person a concussion and it hits me square in the bare chest and falls to the floor at my feet. I barely step out of the way of a glass half full of water aimed right at my head.

How many things does she have on my fucking nightstand? "Stop throwing shit!"

She interprets my words in a completely wrong way because instead of halting, she ends up launching herself at me taking both of us to the ground and upping the urgency to clear some shit up… before we both wind up hurt.