Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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It took Roman a few minutes to fully wake and clear his head. Had he hit her? She'd fallen backwards, but he didn't think he'd caused it. At least not by touching her. But what if he had? She'd never believe it was an accident.
All he'd wanted was to come to Arcadia and be left alone. That way when the dreams came there'd be no one to witness the tough ex-con scream like a frightened child and cry like a baby. With plenty of whiskey or sex, he avoided the nightmares, and sometimes he got by without either of those things.
He rubbed his hand across the scar on his belly. He didn't know which dream was worse, the one where he'd been shanked and almost died, or later when he'd killed his attacker.
Roman sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, head buried in his hands, and tried to erase the vision of blood swirling down the shower drain, as his victim bled out. Self-defense, but in prison, that didn't matter.
Terrance's voice screamed inside his head as he ripped the shiv from Roman's fist. Get the hell out of here! He hadn't remembered following the instructions, but must have because Terrance took the fall. Doing life without parole, his cellmate explained that gave him a free pass. One more conviction wouldn't matter.
Roman drew a deep breath. He had to make this right with the girl. She had to understand he meant her no harm, but from her expression, he wasn't sure he could convince her. He rose and padded down the hall to her door.
She was probably terrified, and it left his stomach in knots. He hadn't meant to frighten her, but he did. He didn't want her to think the worst of him—like the monster he knew he was. He didn't think he could stomach her being truly afraid of him.
"Listen, kid... Zoya... I'm sorry if I scared you. I'd never hurt you—intentionally."
He waited, but no response. Okay, she was pissed. He got that, but he couldn't take a chance on her going to the cops without hearing him out first. "Open the door and let's talk about it. I promise to make it up to you. I'll even quit harping about you leaving. Whattaya say?"
Still no answer, he turned the knob, but the door was locked. Shit. She probably just needed time to get over the shock of his actions. "We'll talk in the morning."
He returned to his room, but couldn't sleep, so he dressed and grabbed his truck keys. No need to wait, he'd go into town and get more whiskey.
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