“Many people have those books,” she said, not ready to give too much insight into her soul.
“That’s what I thought. Then I looked closer. Yours were worn and well read.”
Damn the man. He was still observant and dissected the littlest thing until he came up with the correct conclusion. “So call me shallow. I like picture books.”
“I’d call you a lot of things.” His hand came to rest on her knee, his hot palm searing her flesh through the light cotton spandex pants she wore. “Shallow isn’t one of them. I think you harbor a secret desire to travel.”
“Such a big conclusion from a few books.”
He shook his head. “I’d already assumed as much, but your twenty questions about my travels and the longing in your voice pretty much told me you’d like to visit those places yourself one day.”
She contemplated lying, then decided against it. She’d promised herself to release all inhibitions and enjoy to the fullest, so she’d have no regrets. That meant no lies or omissions. “I suppose a part of me wants to travel,” she admitted.
“The adventurous part you hide?” Humor tinged his voice.
“The shallow part,” she said, no touch of humor in return. Charlotte glanced away from Roman, where she knew the car window would be, but the same blackness awaited her any direction she looked.
“Shallow. There’s that word again.”
She felt the slowing of the engine, the jarring feel of the car being put into park, and the slide of denim against vinyl as Roman turned in his seat.
“I travel. Is that what you think of me?” he asked at last.
In her mind, she could see him, one arm propped over the headrest, as he looked at her. Only she couldn’t. See him, that is. She could only guess what he was doing, what his expression revealed. His voice held the slightest hint of hurt at the possibility that she’d found him lacking. He sounded as if he cared what she thought of him and the notion set her heart beating out a rapid pulse.
Roman was intelligent and caring. He understood both of those traits enough to report the news in a way that drew a reader in. She’d read his work. Shallow wasn’t what she thought of Roman, far from it.
“It’s what I fear I am.” No regrets, she reminded herself, and under the cover and protection of darkness, she admitted her greatest fear. Of all people, she wanted him to know.
“Curiosity about the unknown makes you intelligent, not shallow.”
She often wondered. “What if the need to see those places or do those other things takes you far from home and keeps you there?” she asked. “Far from the people who love you.”
Roman listened to her words and looked for deeper meaning. She could be talking about him, but he had a hunch she was admitting to more personal fears. “You’re talking about your father, aren’t you?”
“That’s a rhetorical question.” She still faced the window, away from him.
He reached over and touched her chin, turning her toward him. “It’s not his desire to live in Los Angeles or even to act that’s caused the problem. It was his unwillingness to live up to his responsibilities and the fact that he seems emotionally disconnected from his family. Those are choices he made. Yours would be different because you’re different.”
She shrugged. “My father, my genes. You never know.”
“You also have your mother’s genes, and she’s a home-body.” More of a recluse, though he didn’t say it. “You’re most likely a combination of both.” The best of both, he thought. “So what’s the other reason you’re so afraid of those hidden desires?”
She didn’t answer.
He had a hunch genetics wasn’t what was really bothering Charlotte. It was a convenient cover. He knew her better than to think she’d turn selfish, or into any kind of replica of her father. She had to know better too. Though to fear doing so was a normal, fleeting notion for anyone who resented a parent, Roman thought. Charlotte was intelligent enough to look inside herself and see the truth. “You’re no more shallow than those books on your table.”
“You’re biased.” Her lips turned upward in a half smile.
“And that’s not an answer. Come on, Charlotte. You lived in New York, you cherish the books about foreign places. You crave travel, but you refuse to acknowledge it might make you happy. Why?”
“What if the reality is a disappointment?”
And she’d had too many of those in her life, he thought. But he was about to change that. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be?”
“Other than here with you?”
He grinned. “Good answer.” On impulse, he leaned over and grazed his mouth against her warm lips. An unmistakable tremor shook her and his body tensed in response. “I guess it’s time I show you where here is. I’m coming around to get you.” He climbed out of the front seat, walked to her side, and helped her out of the car.
A light drizzle fell around them, mist and clouds heavy in the darkness, the weather adding to the almost moody atmosphere of this spot he’d chosen. Only when he had her facing their ultimate destination did he pull the blindfold off. “Take a look.”
As she refocused on her surroundings, Roman watched her. Her jet-black hair, mussed from the scarf and the weather, swirled over her shoulders and around her neck. She brushed the long strands back with one hand, leaving her neck bare and exposed. The urge to nibble the white skin was strong and overwhelming, but he managed to watch and wait instead.
She blinked and squinted, crinkling her nose as she took in her new location. “It looks like a farmhouse.”
“Actually, it’s a renovated dairy barn. It’s pretty secluded, with an incredible view of the Adirondack Mountains. We missed the sunset, but there’s no reason we can’t
