The By Request Collection

The hand resting on her lower back slipped an inch or so lower and her heart skipped a beat. “Look me in the eye and tell me Sutton didn’t put you up to this.”

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look him in the eye and lie, and if she looked away he would have his answer. She didn’t know what to do.

Curse her damned guilty conscience.

The arm around her tightened and Roman’s look went from playful to serious in a heartbeat. “I don’t care, Gracie. It doesn’t matter why we’re here together. Just that we are.”

He’d obviously known all along that she’d had ulterior motives, and the fact that he wasn’t angry, or at least a little upset with her, meant...what? That he wanted her? Well, that was pretty obvious. The question was, what did she want?

The song ended and she pulled away, out of his arms. And thankfully he let her go. If he had resisted, even a tiny bit, or asked her to dance again, she would have been toast.

“I have people I need to speak with,” she said. “But thank you for the dance.”

He didn’t say a word. He just smiled.

And she ran.

Well, her four-inch heels prevented her from actually running, but she did bolt. Right for the bar. Screw her three-drink limit. She needed a strong one right now. She was lusting after a man who only three days ago she’d hated with a passion almost as hot as her desire for him.

One more drink turned into two as she mingled and talked up the wealthiest of the guests in attendance. She ignored Roman, but she could feel his eyes on her. He had her in such a state she found herself at the bar asking for drink number six. And at some point she went back for drink number seven. Which was a very bad idea. By eleven o’clock she was feeling more than a little tipsy. She was fatally attracted to him, and her defenses couldn’t be much lower. What the hell had she been thinking?

In an attempt to dull her senses, she’d only amplified her desire and left herself more vulnerable than ever.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Dizzy and a little disoriented, she made her way to the ladies’ room to freshen up. She sat in the lounge for several minutes to collect herself and guzzled a bottle of water, hoping it might dilute the effects of the alcohol, but when she stood back up she felt more unsteady than ever.

What was she supposed to do now, stumble around the ballroom like a drunken fool?

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

Hating herself for being so careless, she left the ladies’ room as gracefully as she could. Roman was waiting for her a few feet from the door, holding his coat and her wrap.

“I had a feeling you would be ready to leave,” he said and she could have cried she was so relieved.

“Yes, please.”

She braced herself against the wall as he slipped her wrap around her shoulders and put on his coat. He slipped his arm through hers, presumably so that she wouldn’t fall over, and led her to the elevator.

“You know what happens when you have more than three drinks. Were you trying to get hammered?”

Yup, he had been watching her. That he knew her so well should have bothered her, but it didn’t. Other than her wounded pride, there wasn’t much of anything bothering her right now.

“I’m not hammered,” she said, but her mouth couldn’t seem to make the words come out just right.

“Liar.”

Yep, she was lying.

They took the elevator down to the parking level and she leaned against him, his hard body keeping her upright, but as the doors slid open, and she took a step, she stumbled.

“You’re going to break a leg in those heels,” he said.

“Am not,” she argued, stumbling again, clutching his arm for balance. In a flash of movement that left her dizzy and disoriented, he scooped her up into his arms. She let out a startled squeak and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can walk.”

“Barely,” he said, sounding amused. He carried her to the limo and helped her inside. Then he disappeared. She looked around, confused. Was he sending her home alone?

He was back several seconds later carrying her clutch and one of her shoes. She looked down and saw that her left foot was bare.

Huh. She hadn’t even felt the shoe fall off.

He climbed in and sat across from her. “Lose something?”

“Thanks,” she said, as he dropped her things on the seat beside her.

The limo started to move and she closed her eyes.

Bad idea. The interior of the vehicle began to spin around her. She clutched the edge of the seat and opened them again, but it didn’t help much.

Roman regarded her sternly. “You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

She shook her head, which made the spinning worse. “I may be a little drunk.”

“You think?”

The seat shifted underneath her, but then she realized it was her body shifting and righted herself. “No, that’s a lie,” she said, her words slurred. “I’m definitely hammered.”

“Are you sure you’re not going to be sick?”

“I’m not sure of anything right now.” This time, when she closed her eyes, she didn’t open them again.

* * *

After a night of strange, vivid dreams about Roman, Gracie woke slowly the next morning, a drum pounding in her temples, wondering how the heck, and when the heck, she had gotten home. Her throat was dry and her tongue felt thick and as she pried her eyes open and took in her completely unfamiliar surroundings, she realized she wasn’t at home. She was...

Where the hell was she?

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up in bed, the movement sending a shaft of pain through her head. Nothing looked familiar.

She spotted a sheath of apricot silk draped over a chair across the room. It was the dress she’d worn the night before. And then she realized that all she had on were her strapless push-up bra and matching panties.

Oh God, what had she done? And where the hell was she?

She closed her eyes against the raging pain in her skull and groaned, trying to piece together what had happened last night. The last thing she remembered was Roman carrying her to the limo. Everything after that was pretty much a blur.

Had he taken her home with him?

At the foot of the bed lay a pair of pajama bottoms and T-shirt big enough to fit two of her, and on the bedside table sat a glass of water and two pain-reliever tablets. At least, she was guessing that’s what they were. They could have been poison for all she knew, but death right now would be a welcome reprieve from the pain.

She gobbled them down and chugged the entire glass as she glanced around the room. It was decorated in earth tones with splashes of color here and there. The room was neither masculine nor feminine, which told her it was probably a spare. Through an open door she could see the bathroom, and guessed that the closed door next to it was a closet.

She pushed herself to get out of bed and change when what she really wanted to do was lie back down and sleep off the pounding in her head. The T-shirt hung down to her knees and thankfully the pajama bottoms had a drawstring because otherwise they would have been around her ankles. She looked out the window to a very cushy subdivision of midsize homes on decent-size lots. She had no clue where it was geographically. It looked cold and dreary out.

She didn’t doubt that Roman could afford a much bigger home, in a much swankier neighborhood, but he had never been into appearances. He had always been a practical man, and she could see that hadn’t changed.

In the bathroom she found a toothbrush still in the package and an unopened tube of toothpaste. And when she looked in the mirror she cringed. Her hair was a disaster, sticking every which way, and her mascara was smudged around her eyes. She looked like a deranged raccoon.

She found a hairbrush in one of the drawers and did what she could to her tattered blond locks and used the washcloth hanging on the towel rack to fix her face.

Honestly it wasn’t much help. Her excessive behavior was clear in her baggy eyes and pale complexion.

Oh well. Roman had seen her in worse shape than this before.

She brushed her teeth and refilled the water glass two more times, drinking more slowly. She didn’t feel sick, but she didn’t feel great, either. If she hadn’t already barfed—and oh did she hope she hadn’t—it was still a possibility.

With no hope of looking even halfway decent, she opened the bedroom door. The scent of coffee led her down the stairs to an open-concept living and dining room and a functional kitchen.

She found Roman lounging on a leather sectional wearing a long-sleeved camouflage thermal shirt and black running pants, his bare feet propped on a familiar-looking coffee table. He was reading the newspaper and a football game played on the flat-screen television across the room.

“Do I smell coffee?” she said.

He glanced up at her and smiled. “You do. The last time I checked on you, you were stirring so I made a fresh pot.”

He’d checked on her. How sweet was that? Not that she needed to be checked on. She was used to living alone. But still...

“Would you like a cup?”

“Please. A really big one.” She needed the caffeine to shake the blazing headache.

He eyed her questioningly. “Think your stomach can take it?”

“If I don’t have a cup, my head might explode. Unless you have something more direct, like an IV.”

He laughed, the deep baritone strumming across every nerve in her body. Even in her compromised state it made her already-wobbly knees knock a little harder. “Have a seat,” he said, pushing up off the couch. “One black coffee coming right up.”

She took a seat on the other end of the couch from where he’d been sitting, her body sinking into the plush leather, and watched him as he pulled a mug down from the cupboard over the coffeemaker and poured.

“Did you see the pills I left you?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. And the things in the bathroom.”

He carried the cup to her. “Hungry?”

At the thought of food, her stomach turned and she shook her head.

Bad move.

Her temples screamed and she told him, “One thing at a time.”

The superstrong brew burned her tongue, but it tasted amazing. Definitely what she needed. This wasn’t the first time he’d nursed her through a hangover. Not even close. And he still knew just what to do. How to make her feel better. And he still cared after all this time.

“So, what happened last night? Aside from me getting drunk?”

He sat back down, taking up so much space it was ridiculous. When had he gotten so...wide? His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his shirt and his thighs were ridiculously muscular. “What do you remember?”

“After we left the hotel? I vaguely recall the limo ride, and after that, nothing. Why did you bring me here instead of taking me home?” Or maybe she didn’t want to know.

“I did take you home, but without the passcode I couldn’t get you into your apartment. The doorman wasn’t much help.”

She winced a little at the idea of Dale, the night doorman, seeing her that way.

“How did I end up out of my dress?” she asked.

“You don’t remember?”

Cautiously she said, “No.”

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head, a frown cutting deep into his brow. “Sex that wild, I was sure you would remember.”

She gasped, her eyes went wide and her heart stalled in her chest. “We did not!”

“Relax. I’m kidding,” he said with a chuckle. “Nothing happened.”

Was that disappointment she just felt? Nah, it couldn’t be. Besides, if she was going to sleep with him she would like to actually remember it.

If? Oh my God, there was no if. She wasn’t going to sleep with him. Ever.

Yeah, Gracie, you just keep telling yourself that.

“So why did I wake up in my underwear?”

“I helped you out of your dress and into bed. In the dark, so I didn’t see anything.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Really?”

He grinned. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

He was so lying.

“Not that I haven’t seen it all before,” he added.

True, and her body hadn’t changed much in the past seven years. But his sure had, and what she wouldn’t give to see him out of his clothes.

“You did try to jump me on the limo ride home, though,” he said, and then added with a grin, “Still limber as ever.”

Six

“I did not!” Gracie said, looking scandalized. And she was sexy as hell wearing his clothes. She was sexy wearing anything, but seeing her in the oversize shirt stirred up distinct memories. Though he preferred to see her wearing nothing at all.

“Oh yes you did,” he told her. She had climbed into his lap and tried to kiss him, and as much as Roman had wanted to kiss her back, he would never take advantage of any woman in such a compromised state. If she was going to kiss him—and he didn’t doubt that she would—she was going to be sober. And she would come to him. “I practically had to beat you off with a stick.”

She glared at him.

He laughed. “Okay, I’m lying about the stick part, but you did put the moves on me. You were all hot and bothered.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a wince.

Sorry? Last night had been the most fun he’d had in ages. The best part had been watching Gracie watch him dancing with all of those young, beautiful women, knowing she was crawling out of her skin with jealousy.

And the worst part had been watching that Dax character ogling her. That guy had his sights on Gracie, and not just for her philanthropic abilities. Roman had watched him watching her, and could tell the state senator had known as well as Roman that she’d been overdoing it on the drinks. So when Gracie left the ballroom, and Dax followed her, Roman had followed him. He’d never cared much for politicians, and that man had bad news written all over him, so Roman wasn’t surprised to find him hovering around the general vicinity of the ladies’ lounge.

Rather than allowing Gracie to find herself in a compromising position—and he’d had no doubt about the senator’s intentions—he’d collected their coats and headed for the lounge hoping Gracie hadn’t already been caught up in the man’s web. Dax was still standing there looking irritated and impatient, glancing at his watch. When he saw Roman approach he’d flashed a phony smile.

“Roman!” he’d said, as though they were old friends.

As if.

“Seems like a man in your position wouldn’t want to be caught hanging out around the ladies’ room,” Roman had told him.

Dax had laughed, but there was an uncomfortable edge to his voice when he said, “Just taking a breather.”

They both knew that was bullshit. And Roman had never been one to sugarcoat the truth. “This breather wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Gracie is in there, would it? Or that she’s drunk?”

The man’s smile had wavered and he’d puffed out his chest. He’d known he’d been busted. But Dax stood several inches shorter than Roman, and was in what could only be considered average physical shape. Roman could take him out with one solid crack to the jaw. Not that he would hit anyone unprovoked, but damn would it have felt good to knock that smug smile off his face.

“Are you her keeper?” Dax had asked him.

“Try me and find out,” Roman had said, and his words had taken Dax back a step. As Roman had assumed, he was all talk.

He’d held both hands up in defense. “I just wanted to be sure she made it home safely. But clearly she’s in good hands.”

Yeah, the only hands she would have anything to do with that night. And when she’d stumbled out of the lounge a few minutes later Roman had gotten her the hell out of there.

“I never get that drunk,” Gracie said now. “Not off four drinks.”

Is that what she thought she’d had? Damn, she must have been worse off than she realized. “Hate to tell you, sweetheart, but you had more than four.”

She frowned. “I did?”

“I saw you hit the bar at least six times.”

Her eyes went wide again “Six? I did not!”

“Oh yes you did. You were knocking them back like a woman on a mission.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because you’re stubborn as hell and you wouldn’t have listened. Knowing you, it probably would have made you drink more.”

Her pained look said he was right.

“What did you eat yesterday?” he asked her. He couldn’t even count how many times in the past he’d had to remind her to eat, and sometimes go so far as force-feeding her. She’d always been so busy and he doubted that had changed much.

She gave it some thought. “Breakfast. Maybe?”

“Maybe?”

“It was a busy day.”

“You didn’t eat at the fund-raiser?”

She shook her head. “Please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

“No, but that Dax character had his sights set on you. I don’t like him.”

“I worked on his campaign. He’s a decent guy.”

“A decent guy who wants to get in your pants. Or panties. And by the way, you look good in pink lace.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought you said it was dark.”

“It was, but I see really well in the dark.” She had been so out of it, he’d had to carry her into the house and up the stairs. And with the light streaming in from the hallway, it hadn’t left a whole lot to the imagination.

“Would it be too much to ask for a ride home?” she asked. “Or I can take a cab. Honestly I don’t even know where I am.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you get some food in your stomach,” he said.

“I’m not quite there yet. My head is still pounding and my stomach feels iffy.”

“Then sit back and relax. How about a cold compress for your head?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? If you have things to do...”

“It’s Saturday. There’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“I usually work Saturday,” she said. “And Sunday. Mostly on charity stuff.”

Clearly they shared the same work ethic. “Not today. Today you’re going to relax.”

“I guess I could stay for a little while,” she said. “And the compress couldn’t hurt.”

“Lie down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll get it.”

He pushed himself up off the sofa and the effort made his left leg, which was more titanium than bone, ache. He had been in bad shape when he and his men had been rescued. His femur, which had been shattered in one of many beatings, had become infected. Had it been a day or two longer he probably would have lost his entire leg from the hip down. A week and he would have gone septic. The rescue had come just in the nick of time.

After several surgeries and months of rehabilitation he still walked with a limp, and was in near constant pain, but he was alive.

He grabbed a compress from the freezer and carried it back to her. She was stretched out, her hands folded across her chest, eyes closed, snoring softly.

He very gently set the compress across her forehead and she didn’t rouse. If she was anything like him she didn’t get more than five or six hours of sleep a night, so every moment of rest counted and he didn’t wake her. Or climb on the couch beside her—which would have carried the very real risk of getting slapped. Instead he went upstairs to take a shower. And considering the ache in his groin, it would probably be a cold one.

Despite his attraction to her, she was a Winchester, and the running feud between himself and her family would always be there. Gracie was very close to her sisters and parents, who all despised him. He’d seen the expression on Eve’s face last night when she looked over at him. Indignation. Raw and fresh. They would never accept him, and he would never do anything to alter their family dynamic.

But if it was just sex...

The only problem was that with Gracie, it had never been just sex.

Roman shaved, showered and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. Having lived alone for so long, it hadn’t occurred to him that he should have shut the bedroom door. Not until he heard a breathy “Oh my God” and looked up to see Gracie standing in the doorway.

* * *

“You have tattoos,” Gracie said, her eyes so fixed on the ink branding his arms that she barely noticed he was in his underwear.

Okay, yeah, that was a lie. She’d noticed. And though he’d always been in great shape physically, now? He was ridiculously buff.

On his enormous left biceps, spanning from the edge of his shoulder to the crook of his arm, he had a very scary-looking skull and crossbones. The skull wore an army helmet, and the bones were actually military rifles. The right biceps bore a flowing American flag with red barbed wire for stripes.

She wanted to touch them. His biceps and his wide shoulders. And every other inch of his body.

“You like tattoos?” he asked, though the words barely made it through the fog that had settled in her brain. And he didn’t look the least bit scandalized that she was seeing him this way. He’d never been shy about his body.

He had nothing to be shy about.

Transfixed, she nodded. But the real treat was when he said, “There’s more,” and turned.

An American eagle in flight spanned the entire width of his back, the tips of the bird’s wings flirting with the edges of his tattooed arms. In its razor-sharp talons it clutched a banner that said Death Before Dishonor.

She couldn’t stop a very breathy-sounding “wow” from escaping her lips.

Wearing a slightly crooked smile, he looked back over his shoulder at her. “See something you like?”

Did she ever. The bird was so lifelike she imagined she would actually feel the silky softness of the feathers if she touched Roman’s back. Then he was getting closer, but he wasn’t the one moving. Her feet were carrying her across the room to where he stood, then her hands were reaching out.

She felt possessed. And she was—by lust. By a need so intense her breasts ached and her heart pounded. She flattened both hands against his skin at the level of the eagle’s breast and she could swear she felt Roman shiver. She slid her hands upward, across the wings to his shoulders.

“Gracie,” he said, in a voice gravelly and low. “If you keep that up...”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence; she knew exactly what he was going to say, and she was already too far gone. Now that she had touched him she couldn’t stop. The ache pulsed downward and settled between her thighs and she could feel herself getting wet. His skin was hot and smooth against her palms as she slid them upward across the eagle’s wings.

Over his shoulders.

Down his arms.

He moaned softly and uttered her name, and all she could think was mine. She wanted him, and nothing was going to stop her from having him this time.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his wide back, threading her fingers through the thick, crisp hair on his chest, his hard nipples tickling her palms.

His head fell back and he cursed under his breath as she hugged herself close to his body, but it wasn’t close enough. She wanted to crawl inside of him, be a part of his being. A part of his soul.

He had always been a part of hers. Maybe that was why his betrayal had hurt so much.

“Last warning,” he told her. He was still holding back, but he was wasting his time. She dragged her nails down his chest to his stomach, gently, so it was barely more than a tease, then slipped her hands under the waistband of his shorts. He groaned as she wrapped one hand around his erection. He was solid and hot in her hand. She stroked him, gently at first, then she squeezed.

With a throaty growl he spun her around to face her, then wrapped his arms around her and lifted her right off her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, and when their lips met and their tongues tangled in a desperate kiss, it felt just like it had that first time so many years ago.

They fell onto the bed, Roman on top of her. He grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it up over her head. She moaned as he buried his face in her cleavage and tugged the cups of her bra down.