He didn’t f**k me.
Well — not in the way anyone might assume.
Roman Wolfe led me inside that glass palace of his and stopped short of doing the one thing I was sure would happen. There was fire in every glance, in every brush of his fingers, but he only kissed me again. Harder this time. A hand gripping my thigh, the other wrapped tight in my hair.
And then he let go.
“I want you,” he said against my lips, “but not like this.”
“Like what?” I whispered, breathless.
“Like a distraction.”
He pulled away like it didn’t cost him anything, like walking away from me with swollen lips and fire in his eyes wasn’t the hardest thing either of us had done all night.
“Goodnight, Stacy.”
The door shut behind me with a quiet click. I stood in the hallway of his penthouse building, stunned, turne
