Spiraling Deception (28 page)

The next following two weeks passed in a
blissful cloud of contentment—I’d felt as though I’d finally found
my footing, not only in my personal life but in my professional
career as well. A balanced rhythm slowly formed at school and my
classroom of students were nothing short of amazing: they were
these curious, precocious, intelligent little balls of energy that
seemed to take delight in dually challenging and testing me every
chance they got. I loved every single minute of it.

I’d also gotten to know the other teaching
staff a little better, too, and after the initial awkwardness that
inevitably comes when meeting new people, I found I liked them all
very much.

Julie—the only other first grade teacher at
Whitfield Academy—was the nearest to myself in age and we’d often
spend the majority of our lunch breaks discussing our mutual
students and the teaching curriculum.

Adding to my blissful state of existence was
Roman. The man frequently challenged me with his raw, primal
sensuality and drove me crazy with lust—he was just so damn sexy.
Roman was also thoughtfully attentive and surprisingly considerate,
and with each passing day I increasingly found him more and more
intriguing. When I thought I’d rolled back one layer to Roman
Knight, there was another layer waiting to be discovered. Despite
not being entirely forthcoming with all the personal details of his
life, he was letting me in bit by bit. With his honesty came my
trust and belief that together we might actually be able to build
some kind of a future.

Over the last two weeks, we’d fallen into
our very own contented little bubble of euphoria that I suspected
accompanied all blossoming new relationships—not that I’d had any
valid practical experience being part of a couple before.

And just as I’d suspected when we were
together in Europe, Roman was indeed a workaholic—he spent crazy
hours at his office, which I’d recently discovered was located in
Lower Manhattan. But to my increasing disappointment, I’d yet to
visit in person, although, I had spoken to Roman’s personal
assistant, Maggie, who seemed both professionally polite and
lovely.

I’d called Roman the other day and his phone
was automatically diverted to Maggie. When she answered my call,
Maggie informed me Roman was in a meeting but insisted on putting
me through to him despite my vehement protests. Maggie told me
Roman had given her a standing order to always put my calls
through, regardless of what meeting he was in attendance. At her
words, tiny little flutters swirled in my chest at the sweetness of
his actions and I, Charli Evangeline Gilmore—not one to be known to
swoon—swooned like a love-struck teenager at a One Direction
concert in that moment. I had it bad for the guy.

Regardless of Roman’s hectic work schedule,
we’d somehow made it work between us. Over the past two weeks,
Roman and I had gone out to dinner several times, caught a movie in
Midtown, and visited the Museum of Modern Art last Sunday
afternoon. I’d also found myself spending most nights sleeping at
Roman’s, in his bed at his penthouse. At first, I was reluctant to
sleep over so often—even with my limited experience, I knew that
couples who’d spend too much time in each other’s space so early on
in a relationship could find it stifling and suffocating. And that
was the last thing I wanted to happen with us. Hell, it was the
exact reason I’d used to break it off with a guy in a previous
relationship. Everyone needed their own space from time to time—to
breathe, be themselves without feeling as though they were being
shadowed every day of the week.

However, Roman was adamant we spend at least
four out of the seven nights together and despite my concerns, I
loved going to sleep at night wrapped in his arms and I loved
waking up to him in the mornings.

On those nights that Roman worked and we
didn’t have plans, I would spend time with Sam in our trendy SoHo
apartment. The girl was obsessed with cooking and she was a
culinary genius. So long as I provided a steady supply of wine, Sam
would happily cook dinner for me.

At the end of my second week in New York, I
discovered a great little gymnasium located a couple of blocks over
from our apartment. They offered an extensive range of classes,
including contemporary dance, and Sam joined with me. Together, we
decided to go to the early morning yoga classes a couple times a
week and some evenings I attended the dance sessions alone.

My days were filled with teaching at
Whitfield’s and the nights were either spent with Roman when he
wasn’t working or at the gym or with Sam having dinner and hanging
out. I’d even accompanied Sam to one of the local bars close by in
SoHo, although bars weren’t really my scene. I preferred clubs were
the music was loud, the dance floor was crowded, and I could lose
myself in dancing all night.

Nevertheless, although it wasn’t my scene,
we still managed to have fun and I adamantly refused to become one
of those joined-at-the-hip couples who ditched their friends for
their new boyfriend. Lucky for me, I had plenty of time to do my
own thing with Roman’s crazy work schedule.

He’d call me when he was
leaving the office and I’d meet him at his place and by the second
week of our part-time cohabitation, he’d presented me with a key to
the penthouse. Obviously it caused an argument between us: I felt
we weren’t ready for the key exchange portion of a relationship and
he insisted I take “
the fucking
key
” regardless of my opinion. We ended
the night having toe-curling, mind-blowingly angry sex and I had a
new key on my key-ring.

Reluctantly, I had to admit there was
another bonus to spending nights at Roman’s—besides the obvious, of
course: he had a wonderful housekeeper who provided an endless
supply of clean fluffy towels and freshly ground coffee beans. I
adored her.

Everything for once in my life seemed to be
effortlessly falling into place. After almost a year of searching,
I finally had my dream job and it was everything and more I’d hoped
it would be. I had a great new apartment with a roommate who was
funny and quirky and kind and fast becoming one of my closest
friends on the planet. And lastly, I had Roman—the man who I was
falling deeper and deeper, spiraling head over heels in love with,
each passing day.

The only real quandary I had: the last three
or four days, I’d been experiencing the strangest uncanny sensation
of being watched. Watched wasn’t quite accurate when I considered
it more carefully—it was more like an eerie impression that I was
dually being watched and followed. It was both disquieting and
discombobulating. I hadn’t mentioned it to either Sam or Roman but
this evening when I stopped to buy a pint of ice cream at the small
grocery store a couple of blocks from Roman’s penthouse to take
over for dessert—he’d called me earlier in the day to tell me he
was ordering take-out Italian for dinner—I distinctively felt the
presence of another person shadowing me.

When I glanced around to scrutinize my
surroundings, there didn’t appear to be anything out of the
ordinary. However, when I’d paid the sales clerk and went to leave
the store, I swear I saw a man loitering down the end of the second
aisle who looked eerily similar to the creepy man I’d met briefly
in the first class lounge at the Venice airport when I was flying
home. I pushed open the glass door to the store and stepped out
onto the sidewalk, taking one more look back as I left. But when my
eyes scanned the aisle where I’d seen the man, it was empty.

My grip tightened on the strap of my bag,
and I quickened the pace of my steps and walked to Roman’s building
in record time, telling myself it was probably a figment of my
imagination.

“
This is good, right?” I
asked Roman. My words came out muffled from the large spoonful of
mint chocolate ice cream I’d just stuffed into my mouth.

He didn’t reply but one of his brows rose
and he gave me an unmistakable look that said he thought I was
nuts—adorable, but nuts.

“
Oh, come on—you don’t
like mint chocolate?” I hoisted myself up onto the granite
countertop in Roman’s kitchen and I swung my dangling legs back and
forth.

Roman’s kitchen was enormous, just like the
rest of his five-bed, six-bath, two-living rooms and study
penthouse. The kitchen had glistening granite countertops,
top-of-the-line sparkling stainless-steel appliances, glossy dark
polished herringbone wooden floors, and gleaming Macassar Ebony
cabinetry—basically the room was one giant disco ball of shininess
and a chef’s wet dream.

“
Princess, mint chocolate
isn’t my flavor.” He leaned over from his standing position beside
me and kissed me on the tip of my nose.

I dug my spoon into the tub of ice cream and
scooped out another huge chunk and placed it into my mouth. “So
tell me your favorite flavor and I’ll buy it next time.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth and he
grimaced. “If you insist on eating the ice cream straight from the
tub and not a bowl like a civilized person, then at least wait
until your mouth’s empty before you talk.”

“
Whatever.” I shrugged and
then threw him a wide toothy grin, knowing my teeth would be
covered in mint-colored ice cream and tiny specks of chocolate.
“Now tell me your favorite flavor,” I demanded.

Roman shook his head in disbelief and
snatched the spoon and container from my hands. He tossed them
haphazardly into the sink and then placed the palms of his hands on
either side of my thighs. “My favorite flavor is you, Charlotte.
You’re my favorite dessert.”

His midnight-blue eyes both heated and
darkened simultaneously and I painfully swallowed the dollop of ice
cream I’d been savoring in my mouth. The intense fiery glare in
Roman’s eyes was all it took for me to ignite like a bonfire, and
liquid heat flowed low in my belly and down between my thighs like
molten lava. By now I’d learned what that glare in his eyes
promised and I loved that glare—that glare meant I was in for a
very, very pleasurable few hours ahead.

“
Wait…wait for a second.
Hold that thought.” I held up a pleading finger to Roman and jumped
off the kitchen counter, dashing into the formal living room to
retrieve my purse.

“
What are you doing?”
Roman’s voice trailed behind me. A small amount of exasperation
colored his tone.

Digging around in my purse, I located my
cell phone, pulled it out and typed out a quick text message to
Sam. “I’m just texting Sam to let her know I won’t be at the yoga
class tomorrow morning.”

“
Hmm, because you’ll be
getting a workout with me tonight?” he teased.

Without thinking, I distractedly told him
the truth. “No, because it starts at five thirty in the morning and
after tonight, I don’t feel comfortable catching the subway or
walking around when it’s still dark.”

“
Charlotte.” Roman’s tone
had an ominous ring to it. “What do you mean after tonight? What
happened tonight?” he demanded curtly. My eyes instantly swung to
his. Concern covered his features and he frowned at me.

I pressed Send on the phone, dropped it back
into my bag and not looking directly at Roman, I sighed. “You’ll
probably think I’m crazy, but the last few days I’ve had this weird
sensation that I’m being followed and watched.”

When I finished my confession, I lifted my
gaze to Roman. He stared at me with a…thunderous glare. His lips
were pursed and his jaw was rigid.

My head tilted as I studied him momentarily,
confused by his reaction. He stood a few feet away from me,
silently glaring with his hands fisted on his hips. I couldn’t
understand what on earth I’d possibly said that had made him so
mad. “Roman—”

“
Why in the fuck didn’t
you tell me this earlier,” he barked.

I automatically flinched at his tone.
“Because it was just some dumb feeling I’d had until tonight, and
even tonight could be some figment of my imagination. It’s not like
I have any concrete evidence that someone is—”

He moved toward the dining room table, where
his keys and cell phone were, cutting me off as he reached for the
phone. “I’ve asked you repeatedly to agree to a driver to take you
to and from work but no—you had to be fucking stubborn and insist
on taking the fucking subway everywhere on your own. Well, no
more.” Roman’s tone was terse and accusatory.

I flinched again at his tone and then
blinked three times as I tried to process his words. When they
finally sunk in, I mimicked his earlier pose, fisted my hands on my
hips and let him have it. “What in hell are you talking about,
Roman? What has me refusing to have one of your drivers and cars
chaperoning me around the city at a whim got to do with any of
this? And don’t fucking swear at me—it pisses me off.”

“
Seth,” he barked into the
phone. His eyes remained steadfastly on mine. “I need you up here
now.” Roman disconnected without so much as a
please
,
thank you
or
good-bye
to poor Seth.

“
Roman,” I called again
and watched with apprehension as he stalked toward me with barely
controlled fury in his handsome features.

“
Charlotte,” he said
through gritted teeth when he stopped inches away from my body. “I
own a multi-billion dollar company. A company I’ve personally built
from the ground up and a company that has made me an exceptionally
wealthy man. You don’t get to where I am without making a few
enemies along the way. Enemies who’d like nothing better than to
mess with me or try to tear me down a notch.” He paused; his gaze
softened slightly and his fingers reached out to smooth a lock of
my hair behind my ear. I tried to suppress another flinch at his
touch but failed.