Page 54 of Saved By the Billionaire

“No. Kate, I’m not—I just—it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault. But if I’m not going to be there to look after you, I’d feel better knowing that you were at least looking after yourself.”

“Why do you care?” she demanded, sitting up straighter, wondering if it was a stupid thing to ask then deciding she didn’t much care. “Why does it matter?”

“Because,” he responded.

“Why?” she challenged and then despite his over-the-top ministrations, she pushed out of bed and stalked towards him. His jaw set into a perfect square even as she walked and by the time she reached him, his hands had lifted to brace her, to at least offer support if not to carry her back to bed. “Why?” she repeated. “You’re the one who told me this wouldn’t be complicated, so why are you acting as though your whole life depends on my safety?”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. She lifted her fingers up to touch it without thinking and her eyes shifted to his. Wonderment flooded her body; her lips parted in surprise.

“Why can’t both things be true?” he growled. Literally growled. The words were so deep and raspy they seemed to puncture their way right into Kate’s heart.

She blinked quickly to clear the thought.

“I care about your safety.” And now he captured her face in his, holding her steady. “I care. I want to know you’re okay. But nothing will change my mind about us. When this ends; it’s over. That’s about as uncomplicated as it gets.”

Is it? A part of her wanted to scream. But she was muddle-headed and her thoughts were all jumbled, so the argument slipped away from her like soap in the bathtub. In fact, talking was suddenly seeming really, really overrated. “You know what’s not complicated?” And if he’d growled, then she purred, a low, soft, throaty invitation in every syllable.

“Take me to bed, Roman.”

His eyes flared, heat moving immediately from him to her and back again.

“Take me to bed,” she repeated.

“Kate.” It was a whip. A snap of control. A sign of his power, even in the midst of this oppressive fog of need.

“Roman,” she repeated in kind, but the husky tones of her voice lessened the effect somewhat.

“That’s not going to happen.”

She stared up at him. “What?”

“Not right now.”

Her fingers trailed lower, to his shirt, the buttons, the belt of his trousers.

“Why not?”Another purr.

“Because,” he said, dropping his head and sucking her lower lip into his mouth. She whimpered at his touch. “You’ve had three glasses of champagne by my count.”

“Not quite,” she pointed out, reasonably confident a few sips remained in her third glass.

“In under an hour.”

She lifted one shoulder. “And?”

“And I’m not interested in taking any woman to bed when she’s potentially too drunk to remember what happened.”

Kate gasped. “You’re calling me drunk?”

“Three glasses,” he said, lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smile. “In under an hour.”

“I don’t care. It’s all relative. I’m fiiiine.”

“Kate, you’re most definitely not fine, and that’s fine. We have time.” He lifted his lips to her forehead and pressed a kiss there. “It’s not happening now.”

“I bet I can change your mind,” she murmured, holding his gaze.

“Hmm, I bet you could, too.”