“Then I quit. I’ll get my things and leave,” I tell him, completely bluffing. I hear something in my voice. Something I don’t want to put a name to. He walks towards me … slowly, stealthily. He reminds me of a mountain lion on the prowl for its prey. The problem is, I’m the prey in the scenario and my legs seem to have become deadweights refusing to move. He stops when he gets right in front of me. He towers over me and I’m having trouble catching my breath.
“Take it off, Ana,” he orders again, but this order isn’t like the other. This order is soft and seductive. His voice is hoarse and needy like a lover’s, and when he says my name, small shivers of awareness run through my body.
“Why?”
“I want to see,” he says, which seems absurd because I was just naked onstage.
“What’s going on?” I ask, confused about why my body feels… excited. There are so many undercurrents between us, it seems surreal. Attracting Roman Anthes’s attention should be the last thing in the world I want, so why am I enjoying it?
“You caught my eye,” he says, as if that explains everything. Maybe it does.
It doesn’t explain my reaction to him, however.
He’s standing right in front of me. His large body overshadows me, making my five-foot-five frame feel small. His shoulders are so broad that even under his expensive suit you can tell he’s solid muscle. His dark hair is so black, the light in the room seems to absorb it so that it casts a glow around him. He’s that commanding. I instantly know he could color everything around him, take any room or situation over. Take me over. I should fear that, and on some level I do. It also excites me. The blood runs through my body and my pulse thrums as if I just ran fifty miles nonstop. His eyes are deep pools of blue, but not just any color of blue; these shine like the sky on a hot cloudless summer day. They warm you, and I do mean that literally. I feel the heat from him. My body feels hot and he’s most definitely the source. So hot that, without thinking, I come close to pulling the collar of my robe away from my body. At the last moment, I stop myself and lamely rub the side of my neck instead, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
“Mr. Anthes,” I start, but my voice is quiet. I can barely hear it over the way my heart is pounding against my chest. Can he hear? I try to concentrate to make my words clearer, louder. “I don’t know what that means,” I tell him, not sure I’m succeeding with the whole “louder” thing. In fact, I’m almost positive I’m hyperventilating. Can you faint from too much … everything? Roman is too much, period, dot, and end of sentence.
His fingers move to my hand and glide slowly up my neck, his thumb brushing the side of my face. The touch isn’t gentle, but it has that quality. I get the feeling Roman doesn’t do gentle. His fingers curve into my hair and, for a split second, I forget to breathe. He studies my face and I’m afraid I’m giving away more than I mean to. I feel his fingers at the pulse point on my neck and I know he can feel how it’s beating out of control. His eyes move over my flushed face, then lower to my breasts. I want to bring my arms up to cover them because my robe is thin, but I can’t because he’s so close. I’m painfully aware of how my nipples are erect against the fabric. I’d like to say it’s because of the coolness of the room, but I can’t. I bite my lip to keep from begging him to do something. I hope it would be demanding he leaves, but in all honesty, that’s doubtful. What is going on with me?
“Are you a virgin, Ana?” he asks, and the bluntness of the question jars me so much that my head jerks back in reaction.
“I can’t believe…”
“Answer the question, Ana.” Again, that commanding tone drips from his tongue and pours over me, and I react in a way that surprises me: I obey him. I’m submissive in the bedroom by nature, but Roman is the first man to ever have the power to make me follow his lead outside of the bedroom, and without effort. It’s madness, and I do my best to pull myself away from the hypnotic effect he has on me.
“No.” I tell him, and I see his eyes flash. It’s like an emotion skitters through them and causes the color to deepen. What would they do when he’s touching a woman? Or when he’s making love to her? It might be best if I don’t think of that. Ever.
“Then why are you so opposed to me seeing you when the entire room outside just saw the same thing?”
“They were strangers,” I whisper inanely. It’s hard to explain how I differentiate myself from the room when I dance and how I can zone everything out except the music and the steps.
“But then, so am I Ana.”
“It’s different,” I defend.
“How?”
“They don’t matter,” I tell him, immediately wanting to kick myself. What happened to the woman who is self-controlled and can handle any situation? She’s gone right now for sure, because that didn’t come out how I meant it to. “I mean, it’s not that you matter either. When I dance, there is distance. I don’t focus on anyone. One-on-one is different. It’s why I don’t do private dances. Taking my clothes off for a man is reserved for someone I’m dating, someone I care about.”
I’m blathering on and the embarrassment infuses deeper into my face, the heat from it coming off of me in waves so that I know it’s there.
I try to pull away because I’ve made a big enough fool out of myself. He doesn’t let me. Instead, his hold increases in strength and he pulls me into him. I fall awkwardly against him. His hand locks against my neck. I look into his eyes, which are just a breath away from mine. “Mr. Anth—”
That’s all I get out before his lips crash against mine. His are firm, but soft at the same time. His tongue slips through my lips and instantly finds mine. For a moment I don’t respond, too shocked to move, but then slowly it all hits me: the feel of his rough hand against my neck and face, the way he towers over me and makes me feel small, the sweet taste of his mouth, the way his tongue is searching mine out, and most importantly, the way his body crushes up against me—solid, determined, warm. I give in with a moan, pushing into him and wanting more. My tongue finds his and they dance, wrapping around each other in their fight for supremacy. I feel one of his hands move to my ass, pushing under the robe and cupping it as if we weren’t in the middle of a club. I should stop him, but his fingers flex into my ass cheek and the feel of that is so good that combined with his kiss, I’m too lost in all that is him to even think of calling a halt.
“You’re a hell of a kisser, Ana Stevens,” he whispers once he pulls away. He moves away slightly and places a gentle peck against my forehead before retreating. My body leans towards his at first, not wanting him to go, but I manage to stop before I make too big of a fool of myself.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” I tell him.
He looks at me for a minute as if searching for something. I have no idea if he finds it. I figure he doesn’t because he turns away from me. I just stand there stupidly as he walks away.
“I don’t date,” he mutters, his back still to me as he opens the door.
I’m sure he doesn’t need to. Women probably throw themselves at his feet. He has that god-like persona. He’s beautiful and commanding. He has more money than I will see in my lifetime. He’s definitely dark and dangerous, and he has that forbidden vibe—especially to me. Women must flock to him. All of that, added into the way he kisses? I fight back the urge to tell him I’ll go with him. For just one more taste of him, I think I’d agree to almost anything. He’s that addicting. I shake my head out of the fog he’s woven around it. This is stupid. I do not fit into Roman’s world; even trying would destroy me. Of that, I’m sure.
“I’ll be out in an hour, Mr. Anthes,” I bluff. I can’t leave because I have to find Allen. My voice is raw but solid, bringing the conversation back to the business at hand.
“There’s no need, Ana. You may remain dancing, at least until I decide what I’m going to do with you.”
What he’s going to do with me? Now that’s something to worry about. I can hear Paul bitch at me now for taking chances. “What do you—”
“I’ll see you soon, pet,” he says over his shoulder before he disappears.
Pet?
I’m left staring after him like a deer caught in the headlights of a fast-moving car. I hope I survive the crash.