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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Roman came to his feet, then sat on the bed. What the hell? Sex? He'd considered it for a nanosecond, but decided against it. Why? Wasn't like he hadn't been toying with the same idea. Even in the last hour he'd wrestled with the notion, so why didn't he invite her in and get to it? She had left in no particular hurry, a bit resigned, but otherwise seemingly unaffected by his rejection. Sometimes he thought he was the only one in Arcadia who understood her, and the other half of the time he had no fucking clue what was going through her head.
Okay, she was horny. And so was he. Shit. He had to give her credit. It was the most straightforward seduction he'd had. He ran his hand over his face.
What was wrong with him? When had he ever refused to get laid? She was an adult. He was a grown ass man. He had never had any qualms about sleeping with other people, but this was Zoya. It would be different with her; she wasn't like the other girls he brought home from the bar, or anyone for that matter. It wouldn't be a mutual meaningless tryst with her, and he wasn't going to fuck that up.
He shouldn't. It'd be wrong. God, her parents would spin in their graves if their little princess screwed a guy like him. She was upper crust; he, a convicted felon. Didn't matter he'd been cleared. Ex-con would always be a part of his title because he'd done the time.
To hell with it.
He stood and grabbed a pair of boxers from his chest of drawers. Might not be a good idea to go to her room buck naked. Besides, she might have changed her mind. Within three seconds he was at her bedside.
Curled up and facing the wall, she turned upon hearing his approach and looked up at him. "What?"
"Why do you want to have sex with me?" He scrubbed his palm over his face, exasperated and incredulous that this girl - Zoya - would actually want him.
"Because those women you've brought home sounded like you're good at it."
"Sometimes people fake that," he countered, before shoving that idea away. Get to the point. He sat on the edge of the bed. "I wasn't being serious about what I said when I first got here. You don't have to sleep with me to live here. I'm not going to take advantage of you." He murmured, willing her to understand. The fact that may be the case horrified him.
He thought back to the night he was worried she'd call the police on him after his violent nightmare and cringed. They were past that; he hoped. She hadn't held that against him. But he needed to know, to make sure she knew that he didn't expect anything from her.
She frowned, and he found it fucking endearing. "I don't think that at all."
"That's not a good answer at all, Zoya. Sex involves..." he scrubbed an exasperated hand over his face, "... I don't know, feelings and shit. It should involve someone you actually like."
"I like you." She said it so matter-of-the-fact that it really shouldn't have surprised him—that was how she was, but it did. Ruffling the covers, she moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him.
