Roman paused as the door swung open revealing the slim figure who presumably had been standing behind it. He took a deep breath and held it because she looked so... His thoughts tailed off. He had no word for it or for the reaction her physical presence had on his nervous system.
He settled for elegant, ignoring the voice inside his head that scorned this cop-out. It was true, even drenched to the skin in mud-splattered clothes and with her hair plastered to her skull that first time they’d met, she had still radiated an elegance that was simply innate and no more contrived than being left-handed was. Combined with her earthy sexuality, it was a devastating combination.
He liked things of beauty—who didn’t?—and even if there was more sex than aesthetics involved in the heat that streaked through him, settling in his groin, he knew there was no danger of him mistaking this reaction for anything more significant.
He had moved on.
Which did not mean he could deny the mind-sapping effect her physical presence had on him. He could enjoy the way she moved, though enjoy, he conceded, was perhaps the wrong word for the fascination her most mundane actions exerted and the inevitable gut-punch of raw hunger that followed—but there was absolutely no question of him doing anything about it. And, more importantly, no question of him mistaking what had been excellent, actually exceptional, sex for some sort of deeper bond between them.
They were going to have contact, it was inevitable, so in the meantime he was just going to have to suck it up, until this thing burnt itself out. He had never known it not to, so he was confident that in time this would too.
Cool, casual and controlled, Marisa felt none of the above, but then it had never been an exactly realistic expectation. Maybe there would come a time when she could, if not relax, at least feel less...exposed around Roman, but that day was a long way off yet, so she decided to settle for guarded.
Employing her lashes to conceal the compulsive sweep of her gaze as it moved up his lean body, she noted he had opted for his version of casual today, wearing the black jeans that emphasised the length of his own legs and the power of his muscular thighs, his leather jacket open to reveal a summer-weight fine-wool tailored sweater.
His chiselled jaw was clean-shaven and his dark hair was shorter than it had been the previous day, the sharp, close cut emphasising the stark perfection of his bone structure, the overall effect one of maleness, effortless power and exclusivity.
Fragments of their conversation the previous day had been floating through her head ever since, all unresolved issues, question marks and guilt carried over to today, the weight of it all making it feel as if she were walking around in a heavy overcoat.
The couple of painkillers she had swallowed earlier had done nothing to relieve the headache; like the guilt, it was probably permanent, she decided dully.
Pushing through the negativity, she forced another smile. ‘Hello, you found us.’
‘You are not exactly hidden.’
Before she could follow up with an invitation for him to come in or work out the edge in his words he stepped past her into the hallway. Many first-time visitors stepping over the threshold were charmed by the light interior, commenting on the original flagged floor, the flowers set in the inglenook or the massive age-blackened beam above it.
Roman didn’t look charmed, but then he was a Bardales and his horses probably lived somewhere grander than this.
‘So nice to see you,’ she drawled sardonically as he walked into the middle of the hallway and turned around to face her. Her nervous system was struggling to adjust to his presence—actually, she was just struggling, full stop.
He either ignored the sarcasm or he didn’t notice it. ‘I just drove straight in here.’ Hands held out in front of him, palms facing upwards, he gave an incredulous shrug and waited for her explanation.
Not sure what sort of response he clearly wanted, instead she watched the muscles in his jaw quiver. She had no idea why he was angry...very angry, so she limited her reply to a cautious little—
‘Oh?’
‘Do you actually have any security?’ He reached out and touched the door key, original and solid, seeming to imply her entire attitude to modern security was lacking.
Whatever she had imagined he was so wound up over it was not this—security? Had he expected to pass a guard checkpoint with metal detectors? To see guard dogs patrolling the perimeter of the small estate set in a leafy backwater where the crime figures probably skewed the national statistics?
‘Security as in...?’ His expression made her rush on before he exploded. ‘Well, nothing beyond the basic, but we have a very good alarm system. It’s only five years old.’
‘A ten-year-old could break in here.’
His scorn made her lips tighten. ‘Well, the insurance firm were more than satisfied.’ When they’d given her their quote their only stipulation was that she keep all her jewellery in a bank vault, and that was no problem because Marisa couldn’t imagine herself wearing any of the elaborate, mostly Victorian stuff she’d inherited from Rupert. She’d have given it to a surviving family member had there been one. ‘There isn’t really anything of enormous value here.’ Not since she had lent Rupert’s collection of modern paintings to a grateful gallery. They were not really to her taste and the artwork that had replaced them was an eclectic mix of mostly local artists, and certainly not valuable.
‘How about our son?’
Her eyes widened as the colour seeped with dramatic speed from her face, leaving two bands of angry stain along the curves of her cheekbones.
She was shaking with fury...just... Well, how dared he walk in here and start implying she couldn’t care for her own son? She inhaled sharply, then fixed him with a molten gold glare and folded her arms across her chest as if to
