More Than A Vow: Vows of Revenge / After Their Vows / Vows Made in Secret

Desire clouded his irises.

A fog of longing smothered her consciousness, making sensible thought slippery and vague. She found herself looking at his mouth. In her dreams those lips plundered hers. She always woke with one question uppermost in her mind: Had it really been that good?

His lips parted as he came closer.

She opened with instinctive welcome.

They made contact and intense relief washed through her as a great thirst was finally slaked. His hand came to the side of her face, open and tender. She tilted into his touch, feeling moved and cherished as he cradled her head and gently but thoroughly devoured her.

She drew on him with greedy abandon, forgetting everything except that he filled a vast need in her. There were no words, just a craving that both ceased and grew as they locked mouths and touched tongues. His body closed in, pressed. He overwhelmed her as he wrapped his arms fully around her.

She moaned, pleasure blooming in her like a supernova. She instantly ached for more intimate contact with him.

His arms tightened, gathering her to draw her with him as he sat back, pulling her into his lap.

The shift was enough of a jolt to make her pull back and realize where they were, how her knees had fallen on either side of his thighs, skirt riding up. She was losing all contact with reality. Again.

Then what?

“This can’t happen,” she gasped.

She pushed off him, throwing herself awkwardly onto the seat opposite and glaring back at him. She felt like a mouse that might have freed herself from the cat’s mouth, but only until he wanted to clamp down on her again.

“Not here, no. Come to my hotel with me,” he said, voice sandpapery and exquisitely inviting.

“For what?” she cried.

“Don’t be dense,” he growled. “We’re an incredible combination. You can feel the power of it as well as I can.”

“You’ve really perfected this technique of yours, haven’t you?” she choked. “Listen, you might sleep with people you loathe, but I don’t. I won’t sleep with a man I hate.”

He snapped his head back.

Her conscience prickled. She didn’t hate him. There was too much empathy and understanding in her for such a heartless emotion.

“Well, that’s that. Isn’t it?” He thrust himself from the car, holding the door open for her.

Icy wind flew in to accost her, scraping her legs and stabbing through her clothes as she rose from the cozy interior to the ferocity of winter, entire body shaking, heart fragile.

“Goodbye, Roman,” she said, feeling as if she was losing something as precious as her mother’s pearls.

“Melodie.”

Not goodbye, she noted, but his tone still sounded final and made her unutterably sad. Clutching the edges of her jacket closed, she walked to the bus stop on heavy feet.

CHAPTER SIX (#u2868e7b7-5d68-5e1c-bf5c-de0ebcfd8b2d)

ROMAN WENT BACK to his house in France where he could live in his own personal exile and ruminate, but despite only being here once, Melodie infused the place.

He never should have gone after her. If it hadn’t been for the possibility of a baby, he wouldn’t have, but there was no way he could have let a child of his grow up the way he had—not just poor and alone, but with a million questions and a million facets of rejection glittering into the furthest corners of its psyche. The one time he’d asked his mother about his father, she’d said, “He was a rich man who said he loved me, but I guess he didn’t because he didn’t come back.”

He was a rich man, one who was very careful not to use those words and provoke false hope. He’d always hated his father for being a liar while secretly fearing he was just like the man: incapable of real love. He wasn’t particularly likable. He knew that. Foster care had taught him to hold back, be cautious, not expect that he was anything but a burden to be tolerated. He came in too late with any sign of caring, long after he’d been written off as stunted. This was why he didn’t pursue serious relationships with women or even have close friendships.

But he didn’t usually provoke people to hatred. It maddened him that Melodie felt that way. He shouldn’t have kissed her, he knew that, but the attraction between them had still been there. She’d responded to his touch.

Yet she reviled him too much to let things progress.

While he could think of nothing but touching her again. Grazing the warmth of her neck with his fingertips had been the height of eroticism. Kissing her again had inflamed him.

The fact that she was driving him insane, mentally and physically, told him it was time to cut ties altogether. It was time to forget her and move on with his life.

* * *

Melodie had always read her horoscope, trusted in karma and hoped fate really did have a plan for her. For the sake of her sanity she clung to the belief that good things happened to good people if they stuck in there long enough. The Gautier men were masters of cynicism, but she was different. And she wouldn’t crumble under the weight of the dark side like her mother had, taking the first path out of life that was offered. She would fight and prevail.

Then Roman Killian had happened.

He’d not only shown her that she couldn’t trust her own instincts and judgment, he’d provoked bitterness and pessimism in her. A depressing attitude lingered in her long after her encounter with him in his limo, an aimless feeling of “what’s the point?”

That wasn’t like her, but she couldn’t seem to shake the mood. Her only hope was that fulfilling her mother’s wish for her remains to float down the Seine would help her find closure and move on. Accomplishing that was the reason she had sold her soul and taken the job campaigning with Trenton Sadler.

And, since fate had a sense of humor, that seemed to demand she face Roman Killian again.

As coincidences went, winding up at a New York gala he was attending was a kick in the teeth from the karmic gods, but what had she done to make the planets align against her so maliciously?

Maybe it was just a fluke. She was traveling in higher circles these days, literally traveling, finally seeing New York if only from a hotel window. Her new employer was actively seeking corporate introductions, happy to be seen hobnobbing with lobbyists and special-interest groups.

He was exactly like her father, and she’d made her deal with Trenton Sadler like a blues guitarist shaking hands with Satan at the crossroads. He didn’t know she was a senator’s daughter. No, he thought she was simply a surprise talent he’d rescued from a temp agency, one who’d dabbled in catering and event planning. But Melodie was pulling out every maneuver she’d ever learned at Daddy’s knee. Trenton loved her for it.

She didn’t care for him at all, hated the work because it had everything to do with political-party advancement and nothing to do with the needs of the people, but she was good at it, and the compensation was more than a livable wage. And Trenton had promised her a bonus if he got the nomination he was after. It would be enough to square up her line of credit and fund her trip to Paris.

That was the only reason she was living out of a suitcase along with the rest of Trenton’s handlers, renting black strapless evening gowns and pressing palms while conjuring a vapid smile. Tonight she’d lost track of whether they were buying or selling, whether this was a fund-raiser or a charity auction or a grand opening. All she knew was that she was in another hotel ballroom. She felt as if she’d come full circle, accomplishing nothing with her life, when she glanced toward the entrance and saw him.

Her heart gave a lurch.

Roman Killian had the uncanny ability to make whatever he wore fall into the background so all she noticed was the magnificence of the man. His head was tilted down to a beautiful blonde by his side, but with a disconcerting suddenness he jerked his head up and scanned the room.

Melodie watched with morbid fascination, thinking she was imagining what she was seeing, but as she watched, Roman cataloged the crowd like a robotic laser shone from his eyes. The blonde continued speaking, but he didn’t seem to notice. His visage slowly rotated toward Melodie, as though he was computing every face in the room until—

He stopped when he spotted her.

She was almost knocked back a step. All of her froze except her pulse, which galloped like a spooked horse, kicking and squealing. His hair was extra rakish tonight, suggesting that the woman’s fingers had ruffled it. His jaw looked hard and polished. His expression was completely unreadable as he kept his gaze fixed on her.

“Who is that?” Trenton asked beside her, rattling her out of her stasis.

“Roman Killian.” Her throat was dry. Her entire being went numb as Roman flicked his gaze to Trenton and came back to her before he turned his attention to the blonde, his expression inscrutable.

“Tech-Sec Industries?” Trenton asked, forcing Melodie to bring her mind back from a limo and a kiss that had been every bit as profound and memorable as the ones in France and twice as much of a letdown afterward. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a connection like that?”