He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’ll call if you need me? If you even think you need me?”
She met his gaze. “Oh, I need you, Roman. I just won’t be calling for that kind of need.”
* * *
Roman rose to sunshine covering his childhood room and bathing his body in heat. He’d left Charlotte’s apartment, but she’d remained with him all night long, in dreams that were hot and compelling, yet strangely unfulfilled.
He shut his eyes and leaned back into his pillows, conjuring everything he’d learned last night in her apartment. While she and his brothers had discussed the latest break-ins, Roman had used his talents for listening to one thing while taking in something else—and he’d discovered the glossy oversized books and magazines laid out on the table in front of him. The covers detailed distant places and glamorous locales. Some were domestic, others foreign, like castles in Scotland, or exotic, like the South Pacific. Nothing unusual for conversation pieces, Roman thought.
Many people bought similar oversized books for decorative appeal. But few people read them until they were well worn and even fewer left those dog-eared copies out for show. Charlotte had.
So as he’d glanced around, he’d been able to put a picture together in his mind, one of contradictions and enticements. Charlotte was feminine and sexy. Predictably, she liked flowers. Yet she was hesitant, uncertain of her appeal, and any bold moves didn’t come easily—which made her choice of business rather unpredictable, he thought. As were the undergarments she handmade. They exposed more than they hid—baring not just the skin beneath the crocheted panties, but Charlotte and her inner self.
The books revealed much more. Although she liked hearth and home in Yorkshire Falls, there was a part of her that was intrigued by foreign locales and exotic places. The notion brought a rush of adrenaline through his veins. She was more perfect for him than she was ready to admit.
Charlotte, he thought. She enthralled him in a way no story, no woman, ever had. He needed to win her over, to convince her that they were so intricately entwined, they had no choice but to make a life together work. Only then could he fulfill his obligation to his family and satisfy his mother’s desire for a grandchild. Only then could he return to life on the road, go where the stories took him, and continue to bring public awareness to important issues. And maybe one day, she’d want to travel with him.
“Oh, my God. Roman, wake up.” His mother’s voice traveled toward him.
There was something to be said for living alone, and when his mother barged into his room without knocking, he remembered what it was. Privacy.
He sat up in bed and yanked the covers over himself. “Morning, Mom.”
Her eyes glittered with knowledge and a touch of amusement that absolutely alarmed him. “Read this.” She shoved the Gazette into his personal space, waving it in front of his face.
He grabbed the paper. “‘PILFERED PANTIES,’” he read aloud.
“Nice alliteration,” she said. “Chase always did well in English.”
He glanced up at his mother and saw laugh lines creasing her cheeks. “Aren’t you concerned about the thefts?” he asked her.
“Rick’s got things under control. So does Chief Ellis. Besides, no one’s been hurt. Read the last line, Roman.”
Before he could comply, she whisked the paper out of his hands and read to him. “As of yet the police have no suspects, but Jack Whitehall chased a male, Caucasian, into his backyard before he disappeared into the woods behind the house. Although the police have yet to name a suspect, Jack Whitehall fingered Roman Chandler’s return as coinciding with the first theft one week ago. According to Mr. Whitehall, Roman Chandler was behind a childhood prank involving stolen underwear. No charges were filed in the incident, which took place over a decade ago, and the police believe the incidents to be unrelated.”
“Nice piece of reporting,” he muttered.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Mom, I was in high school.” What did she expect him to say?
But as for his brother, Roman was pissed. Even if the quote was attributed to Whitehall and denied by the cops, Roman couldn’t believe Chase would report such bullshit. “You’d think Chase would have more sense than to—”
“Chase reports the facts, young man. Don’t go blaming your brother for things coming back to haunt you.”
Roman hadn’t heard his mother take that no-nonsense tone with one of her sons in years. Given the soft-spoken voice she’d developed since her illness, her tone surprised him now. But she’d never put up with one brother being angry at another, and that wouldn’t change just because she wasn’t feeling well. She believed her boys should be a unit. Stick together no matter what.
Most times Roman agreed. Now wasn’t one of them. But he didn’t like her pacing or worrying because he was annoyed with Chase. “Sit down. Getting upset isn’t good for your heart.” He patted the bed.
She looked startled, then lowered herself slowly to the foot of the bed. “You’re right. I just thought you ought to be prepared. You’ve been fingered as a panty pirate.”
Roman could do nothing in return but scowl and fold his arms across his chest.
“The one thing I can’t figure is what the women’s reaction will be.”
He braced himself. “What do you mean?”
His mother shrugged. “I’m not sure if they’re going to throw themselves at you or run the other way. For your sake, you’d better hope it’s a turn-on. I hope it’s a turn-on, or those grandchildren I want are an even longer ways off.”
Roman muttered a curse. “How about you pick on Rick or Chase?”
Raina tapped her foot against the hardwood floor, narrowly missing the braided rug she’d bought him years ago. “Unfortunately, your brothers aren’t here right now.” She picked up the article and seemed to skim it once more. “You know, the more I
