Page 51 of Roman

“And you think that makes you weak?”

I blinked at her question.

She kept talking. “I think it makes you compassionate.”

“Stop making me out to be a good man, Effie. I am anything but that.”

“You can be powerful, scary, and intimidating and still be compassionate, Roman. It doesn’t make you less.”

“It does in my world.”

“Then you need to change your world.”

I stared at her. The light behind her highlighted her curves through the thin material of her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and I could see her nipples under the fabric. Her hair was loose and hung down her back in waves of ebony. Her eyes were staring at me. Through me. The idea she saw me, the part of me that I kept hidden from the world, hit me, and I grasped the back of my chair, forcing myself to stay where I was. Not to cross the space between us and feel her against me. Take my anger out on her. Aldo was right. I wouldn’t forgive myself for that.

“Go to bed, Effie.”

She shook her head. “No, I want to keep talking to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Get out of my sight.”

“Why?”

“I am barely holding on. Get out of my sight before I do something we both regret.”

She lifted her chin. “You don’t scare me.”

I pushed off the chair. Walked toward her. She never wavered. She met my gaze, steady and sure. “You’re mad at yourself, not me,” she said.

“Pretty sure it’s you irritating me.”

“What have I done that is so irritating?”

I leaned close, laying it on the line. “I can’t get your voice out of my head, Effie. I can’t stay away from you. You are all I think about. Worry over. Your opinion matters to me. I don’t usually give a fuck what anyone thinks, but your thoughts somehow have become a priority. You have gotten under my skin, and I’ll be damned if I know how to get you out.”

“And you hate that?”

“Yes.”

She drew in a deep breath. “You hate me?”

I let my shoulders drop. “No.”

“I don’t hate you either.”

I had her in my arms before I could think. As soon as she was close, the anger, the anxiety I was feeling drained away. I felt calmer. Focused.

“Fuck, Effie, what are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me either. A month ago, I would have shot that boy without a thought.”

“Why does what I think make a difference?”

I tilted my head and studied her. I cupped her face, stroking the skin gently. “I don’t know. Perhaps to win your favor. Make you see me as something other than someone to fear.”

“I don’t fear you.”