It’s the longest drive of my life.
Once we get to the farm and park, Roman is quick to get out and usher me toward the house. Jesus, he’s acting like we’re being followed. Paranoid much?
He grabs the sleeve of my hoodie like he did at the party, but this time he’s not as gentle with it. He guides me to the door and looks at me expectantly. “Either you unlock it and we act like normal people, or I kick it down and we can continue on with our eventful night.”
I’m two seconds from punching him in the dick, I swear to God.
I relent and grab the key from my jeans pocket. “I don’t think you know how to act like a normal person,” I state plainly as I unlock the door and push past him. Roman grunts and shuts the door behind us, flipping the lock as if we might be expecting visitors. With how he’s acting, I’m starting to think we are.
He moves to the windows and shuts all the blinds in the kitchen and living room. “Sit,” he orders, pointing at the sofa I spent all morning cleaning off.
I’m tired and my head is pounding, so I do as he says and plop down. He stares down at me for a few seconds before he disappears into the kitchen. A handful of minutes later he returns with a wet towel, bandage wrap, and an ice pack.
I put on my best annoyed expression and avoid eye contact as he sits down beside me. He doesn’t speak as he inspects my headwound, and I’m glad for it. If I have to hear him say anything else, I think I might lose my temper again.
Roman gently pats the towel over the cut. I flinch and fist my hands on my legs. Despite my best efforts, a small pained whimper escapes my lips.
He hesitates, lowering his hand out of view enough that our eyes catch. My pulse leaps—I didn’t realize his face was so close to mine. There’s something in the way that he analyzes my features that makes me nervous. I can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad one. I only know that he gives me the same adrenaline rush that his erratic racing did.
Dangerous.
But not in the same way Callum was. No, Roman is a new definition of the word.
“Why did you let me think you were someone else tonight?” he asks coldly, holding eye contact with me and not letting a single thought reflect in his gaze.He should be a fucking FBI agent for his poker face alone.
I break and turn my head away. He’s so intimidating that I can’t look him in the eyes and talk. Roman grabs my chin, not roughly but firmly, and forces me to face him again.
“Why?” he asks slowly.
I swallow my pride. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you threatened me last night and I didn’t want you to literally kill me.” Tears bubble up in my eyes, and I have to furiously blink them away because I’ll be damned if I let him think I’m anything but angry. “I was just trying to get by you, but you thought I was your co-rider or whatever the hell she is. And I have no clue what your little cult is doing illegally, okay? It’s been a shitty forty-eight hours, and I just want to go to bed and never see your face again.”
I firm my trembling lips and shut my eyes. He’s just staring down at me with the emptiest expression, like he has no empathetic bone in his body.
“Cult?” he sounds genuinely perplexed at my label for them.
“That’s right.”
Roman holds on to my chin for a few more seconds before letting go. I let my head lower and gaze at the floor, remaining still as he finishes cleaning and tending to the wound.
“Did you know your uncle?” He doesn’t sound as irritated anymore, more analytical and thoughtful. Curious, even. I dare to look at him and find that he looks more relaxed now. Does that mean he believes me?
God, I hope so.
“I met him a few times. We weren’t close by any means, but he was the only living relative I had left. I’m here because of the estate attorney.” I delicately reach up to touch the bandage work that Roman did.
He grabs my wrist, drawing a gasp from me.
“Leave it. You smacked your head pretty bad, and I think Bensen is right, you have a concussion.” Roman’s brow quirks a bit, with guilt I dare say.
“I’m fine.” I jerk my arm out of his hold and rub his touch from my skin. “You can go now.”
“What was the estate attorney’s name?” he presses me, ignoring the rest.
“Mr. Holland. Again. You canleave.”
Roman flexes his jaw but doesn’t move; he only watches me ever so carefully. “You’re not fine. I’m going to stay here to make sure you don’t sleep for at least a few hours.” He doesn’t sound one bit sorry either.
I narrow my eyes at him and give him a fake smile. “Great. Well, I’m hungry, so I’m going to make something to eat.” I getup and head to the kitchen. There’s not much in here, but I’m so glad I went to the grocery store today.
