I nod, feeling relieved that he came back for me. Tears run down my face, but I don’t want him to see. The damsel in distress mode is never something I want Roman Voss to witness. But I can’t help it as the tears run down my face faster.
“Hey, hey, are you crying?” he asks against the crown of my head. I just nod against his sweater.
I feel another kiss on my forehead. “It’s okay. Look at me.”
“Hell freaking no.” My voice is muffled.
“Are you hurt?” He asks as he rubs my back and arms.
“No, I am just cold.”
“Okay, princess. Let me go so I can make us a fire.” He chuckles when my arms don’t move.
I didn’t want to let him go because my mind may have made him up. Did Roman Voss just call me “princess”?
Roman’s hand slips under my chin and lifts my head. I meet his green gaze.
“You had me so worried, princess.” He pauses. “I am sorry about this morning. My attitude was uncalled for.”
I pout, and my bottom lip trembles. “I am sorry too.”
He bends and kisses my lips, and his tongue begins to search my mouth, and I moan.
Roman pulls away. “Let me light this fire, and we can talk.”
“Can’t we leave now?” I ask, looking over his shoulder. I can’t see anything but white outside.
“No, we are in for a blizzard. So let me warm this place up, and then we can talk.”
“Okay,” I reply, stepping away and sitting on the edge of the bed. Relief settles like a warm blanket over me. He came lookingfor me. Through a storm, he came looking for me. I watch as he bends and strikes the match. Whatever qualm I had with Roman is gone. Despite everything, Roman always has my best interest at heart.
He shrugs out of his jacket and passes it to me. “Put this on.”
“I am fine, Roman, really,” I lie.
“I wasn’t asking,” he replies. He drops the jacket, so I have to catch it.
I put the jacket on over my shoulders and pull it closer to my nose. I inhale Roman’s scent. It’s rich, clean, woody. In other words, sexy as hell.
Unlike me, Roman strikes the match, and minutes later, a fire starts.
He stands and closes the grate in the fireplace.
Roman’s presence in the room makes everything feel small. The bed creaks as he sits next to me.
Silence settles over us, but a tension is brewing, or my brain may be dramatic. When his head turns and his green stare meets mine, I know I am not being dramatic.
“Who is Nicholas?” he asks between clenched teeth.
I squint. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because…I need to know. Who is he?” Roman stares into the fire.
I choose to remain silent for a while, enjoying the snap and crackle of the fire.
“Princess,” he warns.
“He is my baby brother,” I whisper.
