Yours Suddenly

Chapter 3

Alexandra

I'm led away from the softly lit restaurant hall to the elevators.

I don't know what it is, but being led by a man anywhere just does something to me. He's so big. Literally over a foot taller than my five-foot-four frame. His shoulders are wide and move attractively as he pulls us past the doors.

He studies me unflinchingly in the reflection before us, eyes rolling over my body. But it's not in a lecherous way like most men do when they take in my curves. He does it as if he is looking at something he's never seen before. Not something he wants to conquer or possess.

Silence and tension wrap tightly around us. He's all shadow and danger and I’m wearing a flowy pale jade dress. We make a sexy couple. I shake my head.

“What are you thinking?” he says as the doors open.

Words can’t come out of my throat. I'm nervous and turned on at the same time.

“Talk to me, baby,” he says, his voice caressing over me.

My skin is on fire. “I don't know, I just — I have no idea what's happening and where you're taking me.”

He nods and then leads me into the most breathtaking room I've ever been in.

It's as wide as a hallway. At first, I think it's some kind of suite, but it's just a lavishly decorated space with expensive furniture and a single table with two chairs. Food has been set on it for two.

This feels really, really intimate, like a honeymoon thing, only I don't know this man at all, I've just met him, and he gives off dangerous vibes, murderous vibes.

Panicking, I turn away and head to the elevator. I press the downward arrow button, the doors opening, and when I step past them, they close with a cool, reassuring slide.

Dammit. My core aches, wanting to be filled, and only by a certain thing belonging to a certain man.

My finger hovers over the button that'll take me to the first floor. Seconds pass by. Just press the button. Leave, and be safe , be away from this black hole of a man.

But my body won't cooperate. The heat he left on my skin still sears me. His scent is still wrapped around me…

I open the elevator doors, and he's right outside them. Hands in his pockets, that expressionless look on his face. He studies me carefully as I realize he would've come after me had I walked away.

Again, he holds out his hand. “Come.”

Again, my hand finds his and I know I'm truly never going to escape him.

He leads us towards the table and pulls back my chair for me. I sit while he settles down opposite me.

“This room,” he says in response to my wandering eyes, “is usually a dining hall. There were guests eating in here earlier, but I had them moved and had the other tables cleared out so we could have privacy.”

“Wait,” I say. “You planned all this?”

He nods. “I saw you as soon as you walked in.” He nods again at the food before me. “Start eating the lobster, it's getting cold.”

I pick my fork up, my mind racing.

So does that mean he’d been watching me, stalking me? He planned all this as soon as he first saw me. If that was even the first time.

“Don't worry,” he says. “I haven't been stalking you. Not until tonight, of course.”

“Is what a stalker would say,” I say.

Amusement, slight and fleeting, comes across his features. “Eat,” he says.

I push a forked piece of lobster past my lips.

He says, “From now on, if you need anything to eat, I will ensure it is the most expensive one available. None of that cheap risotto shit you were about to eat down there. ”

“Okay,” I squeak. How does he know about the food I ordered downstairs?

He digs into his own food like he just didn't say something husband-worthy. And stalkerish.

“So, does that mean we're dating now?” I say, trying to make the atmosphere less tense.

He smiles again. Each time he does, he seems a little surprised. It's like he doesn't want to smile, like it’s something that comes to him rarely, but with me, he just can't help it.

It makes something soar inside me, like I'm proud of an achievement.

“It means I'm already thinking about making you my wife.”

“We just met,” I blurt out after a few seconds of utter silence. “Like… it hasn't even been twenty minutes.”

“It’s been an hour for me,” he says.

“Oh, right, I forgot. You were stalking me.”

He smirks again, shaking his head, running a hand over his mouth.

“What's your name?” I say.

He looks up at me, amusement still in his eyes. “Roman.”

Of course, it’s Roman . As dangerous-sounding a name as he looks. His lips, his eyes, his hair, his hands scream Roman .

“I feel like I've heard it before. Roman Trent?” I say.

He raises one eyebrow. “It looks like I'm not the only one with a stalker.”

“No, no,” I say with a laugh. “Don't lump me in it with your weird hobbies.” I gulp down some lobster, alarmed at how comfortable I already feel. “I know you from, like, business and stuff. You're one of New York's top businessmen.”

He pauses. “Correct. I take back my previous statement. It doesn't count as stalking if I'm well-known, does it?”

I smile. “No, it doesn't.”

I study him. A lot of the businessmen in New York are dangerous. They kill each other to compete. Roman Trent is in real estate. Lately, people have been playing dirty to get land where lucrative buildings can be erected. It's not something I've been following closely, but I hear customers, usually CEO and old money types, discussing this at the cafe where I work.

“Your accent,” he says. “You grew up in Wisconsin?”

My eyebrows rise. “Yes?”

“You sound like a character from Yours Suddenly, Sawyer .” He takes a sip of his wine, eyes on my lips once more, making me shiver.

“Which is my favorite movie of all time,” I say. A film from the nineties set in 1978 Milwaukee about the forbidden and dangerous love between two restaurant heirs. Very bittersweet ending.

He smiles. “We have a lot in common. Alexandra.”

And it turns out we do. The night slips away as we chat. We’re both Leos. We both like the same genre of music, which I do not believe because he does not look like he listens to moody rock.

“It used to help me sleep at night,” he says.

“That… is so valid, actually,” I say.

Honestly, I’m surprised. I did not expect somebody who looked like him, with his brooding manner, to be so open. I mean, it's not like he gets rid of the lazy growl, the expressionless face. But there's a lot more life to him than what appears.

Throughout the night, I keep looking at his mouth. Full and so sensual. And he keeps running his hand over it when he’s amused. He says he has a younger sister my age (he’s twenty- five), and his dad died years ago. I tell him about my own family, and a hush comes over his features. Concern and care in his eyes.

“You will be happy one day. You will have a family again.”

His words are comforting. “There's nothing I want more,” I tell him.

He asks more questions. What school I went to, the kind of books I read, my favorite color — with an obsessive attentiveness that makes me melt. His eyes linger on my lips as I speak, darting back to my eyes frequently and, like he was doing downstairs, to my hair, to my arms, and my hands.

“You're tired,” he says at some point.

I could go on speaking to this man, getting to know him. “Yes, but I don't want to go home.”

“You need to rest,” he says. In contrast, he doesn't look tired at all, his eyes still sharp, still taking me in, like he can't get enough. “I'll take you home.”

“I take it you know where it is?” I tease.

He laughs then, something deep and boiling rumbling in his chest. I want to hear it over and over again. “You mentioned where it is, so yes, I do know.”

“I have no recollection of that,” I continue to tease, even though I did tell him.

We leave the hotel, which I now realize is his.

“I had a feeling,” I say. “The whole kicking people out thing.”

He says, “I don't usually do that. The reviews and complaints are going to be a nightmare.” His eyes land on me seriously, making my heart skip. “Only someone like you could make me do that.”

In the parking garage, he leads me to a sleek black sports car and opens the door for me. I slip in, his scent embracing me. We drive to my place, a block of apartments in Stapleton, the night around us alive. He parks in front of the rather derelict building and exits the car to open the door for me.

“Thank you,” I say, taking his hand and standing up.

We are the closest we’ve been to each other tonight. His scent is so good and I want to sink and swim in it. In his body, in his mouth, which is not far from my own.

We hold each other's gaze until I look away first. Wordlessly, he leads me to the entrance of the apartment building, stopping by the bottom of the short stairs and lets me take the lead this time. I climb the steps and I want to drag him with me, but he remains where he is. As I climb one, two, three, four steps, his hand slips from mine and I turn to face him.

He's looking up at me with such a tender expression on his features, and the words that come out of his mouth softly in his low, rich voice make my breath catch.

“Marry me.”

My breaths quicken through my nose as the wind whips through my hair and ruffles his. He looks up at me expectantly, confidently, his hands in his pocket. The seconds slip by as something blooms in my chest.

I turn away and rush into the building. I lean against the wall next to the doors, my heart racing, my legs threatening to melt into a puddle on the tiles.

Already I feel a loss, as if I've stepped away from a fire and walked outside into cold weather.

The hallway I stand in is chilly, dark, damp. But outside, there's something warm and more hopeful.

I step back outside, and he's still at the bottom of the stairs, his hands still buried in his pocket, still looking up at me. A small smile plays on his lips, and my heart has never been more sure.