Page 5 of Roman

The vehicle started forward. “Stop!” I commanded.

The SUV came to a jarring halt. “Boss?”

“Pull over.”

Ralph did as I asked. I had no idea why I did so. I climbed from the SUV, telling him and my security guy, Carlo, to stay in the vehicle. Carlo wasn’t too happy about that, but he didn’t argue.

I opened the door of the small restaurant, inhaling the fragrance of fresh-baked bread. Savory and rich. Yeasty and warm. My stomach growled, and I decided to get something to eat.

I approached the counter where a woman was filling a basket. She looked up as I cleared my throat. She was young—maybe eighteen, with blond hair. Pretty.

Was this the sister?

“May I help you?” she asked.

I scanned the menu. “Toasted bagel, light cream cheese, no butter.”

“What kind?”

“Whole wheat.”

“Boring,” she mumbled. “Anything else?”

“Black coffee.”

She turned and grabbed a bagel, cutting it and popping it into the toaster efficiently. She peered into a container, then stuck her head in the doorway. “Effie! I need more light cream cheese!”

For some reason, I tensed.

Nothing prepared me for the woman who walked out the kitchen door.

Tiny. Curvy. Maybe twenty-five. Her hair was so dark it resembled a raven’s wing and hung down her back in a thick braid. She had a heart-shaped face with rounded cheeks and full lips that begged to be kissed. And her eyes. I had never seen eyes like them.

Wide, under arched eyebrows and long, dark lashes were a pair of the most unique blue-violet eyes. Her irises were rimmed in black, the combination so stunning, it caught me off guard. So did her expression. Her mouth curved naturally, a sweet smile gracing her face.

Innocence dripped from every tiny, delicate inch of her body. She was incredibly beautiful. Even in a simple apron and jeans, she was stunning.

And unknowingly sexy.

And her sister wanted to sell her for a night. Or forever.

“Effie?” I questioned without thinking, rage beginning to build in me at the thought of the callousness shown by her sibling.

She looked startled, meeting my intense gaze. “Yes. How may I help you?”

“You’re Effie Warner?” I repeated, thinking how the name suited her. It was soft and fluid, much the way she appeared. The urge to reach out and touch her cheek was so powerful, I had to clench my hands into fists. The sensation was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I met your sister.”

A shadow crossed her face, and her pretty lips frowned. “Well, I’m sure that was pleasurable for both of you. I’ll repeat my question. How may I help you?”

“Has she been here? Today?”

“No.” She crossed her arms. “Look, Mister⁠—”

“Roman,” I interrupted her.