Interview with the Daredevil

There’d been no awkward mulling over what to say or when to leave or how to extricate herself gracefully from the situation then, for they’d practically been engaged anyway. They’d known each other so long, as family friends first, later as a couple, that sleeping together had been no big deal.

Unlike now.

Roman slid into his hotel bathrobe and belted it, looking as delectably sexy as he did without it.

His hair spiked every which way, he had some serious stubble going on and the faintest dark circles under his eyes indicating he hadn’t slept much.

Snap, neither had she.

She wasn’t complaining.

Trying not to cower under the sheets like the one-night-stand novice she was, she scooted up the bed, semi-sitting as he stalked towards her, aiming for post-coital cool when in fact she probably had bed hair and morning breath.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it, a grand romantic gesture that merely added to the surrealism of their encounter.

‘I have to go. Meeting.’

‘No worries, I’ve got stuff to do too.’

And if she didn’t get him out of here so she could shower and get her head screwed on right she’d make a mess of this.

Roman had been a lovely distraction, an incredible, mind-blowing distraction, but she needed to refocus on getting the rest of her life back on track and the faster they made a clean break, the better.

Gently extricating her hand out of his, she touched his cheek, the stubble rasping deliciously against her fingertips.

‘Last night was …’

What? The most exciting night of her life? The best sex she’d ever had? The most spontaneous, adventurous, outrageous thing she’d ever done?

She wanted to thank him, to explain what last night had meant to her—shedding her old life, welcoming her new—but one glance at his face and she knew she couldn’t say any of those things.

For Roman had reverted to the suave charmer she’d first met last night, the guy whose lips quirked as if he found everything amusing, the guy whose eyes crinkled in the corners from laughing a lot, the guy who lived life on the edge and wouldn’t understand how monumental last night had been to a staid, regular girl like her.

Smiling, he cradled her face in his hands. ‘I think this sums up what last night was.’

His kiss was slow, sensual and steeped in eroticism. A kiss to remind her of what they’d shared; a kiss to ensure she’d never forget.

When their lips eased apart all too soon her fingers convulsed against the sheets to stop from reaching out and hauling him back for more.

‘Thanks, Roman.’

The second the words popped out she felt stupid. Did you thank a guy for sex? For the hottest night of your life? She had no idea of rules in this situation and for a girl who’d followed protocols her entire life she didn’t like this floundering.

‘My pleasure.’

He touched her shoulder once before standing, the few centimetres separating them feeling like an ocean already.

Last night had been about sex.

Last night had been about sizzle.

Then why the crazy, irrational ache in her chest as she watched him stroll towards the door? For a moment she wanted to run after him, grab hold of that robe and rip it off as she had last night.

Biting her bottom lip to stop from saying anything else, she pasted a bright smile on her face as he stopped at the door and turned back.

‘If you have any free time, I’m staying another day.’

Unsure whether he wanted to see her again or was reverting to type with the flirtation, she managed a mute nod and some stupid half-salute as he let himself out.

The minute the door closed, she slumped down the bed and flung her forearm over her eyes.

Maybe that would block out the stupid voice in her head, the one that insisted she had the guts to discover his room number and ring him before he left.

Ludicrous, as one-night stands were just that: one night.

But in the time it took to reject the idea as ridiculous, frivolous and totally unreal, she had envisioned herself having dinner, a midnight swim and possibly a whole lot more with the guy who had rocked her world.

Roman glanced at his watch as he entered the Michelin-starred restaurant on the hotel’s ground floor. He was running late. Not that he cared. The cause of his tardiness had been worth it.

And how.

Even now, forty-five minutes later, he couldn’t get the last image of Ava out of his head. Tousled, wide-eyed, sated, sitting up in bed clutching a sheet to hide what he’d already seen and admired and tasted all night long.

She’d looked so vulnerable, the exact opposite of the wild, passionate woman she’d been in his arms, and it had taken every ounce of will power to walk away from her.

Though what would hanging around have achieved? They’d had a memorable one-night stand. They had separate lives to lead on different continents. They had nothing in common beyond what they’d shared last night.

So why that parting shot about how long he was staying here? The last thing he needed was a newly divorced woman finding her feet in singledom latching onto him.

He mentally winced at that poor judgement call. Nothing Ava had said or done implied she’d be latching onto anyone any time soon. In fact, from what she’d said, she’d spent her life under a microscope and was probably looking for a little freedom.

Being the prime minister’s daughter would’ve sucked. As for her marriage to a politician, he’d schmoozed with enough A-listers around the world to know how these things worked. Family expectations, moving in the right social circles, marrying a partner deemed suitable.

He’d bet his last grappling hook Ava had said all the right things and done all the right things from birth, had probably married some slick politician hand-picked by Daddy. Poor kid.

Then again, her inherent naivety had attracted him right from the beginning. She’d seemed oblivious to their physical proximity when he’d rescued her after their heads collided but he’d been all too aware of her slick body millimetres from his.

She’d been flustered; he’d been aroused.

Then he’d started flirting and while she’d reciprocated there’d been an innocence about her, an inexperience that didn’t gel with a divorcee. In his travels, how many times did he meet a woman who still blushed? Not often.

He dated extensively, from princesses to pop starlets, blondes, brunettes and every shade in between. Not that he was half the playboy the paparazzi made him out to be but he was a well-known, successful, single guy and that status came with perks. Plenty of perks.

So what was it about Ava that shook him up?

Once he’d left her room he should’ve forgotten about her, should’ve focused on this meeting. Instead, he wondered how soon he could wrap up business and maybe ring her, see if she was free for a quick catch-up before they both went their separate ways.

Rattled more than he cared to admit, he tugged on the ends of his shirt sleeves and adjusted his cufflinks, the same steadying ritual he went through before any jump. Though in his sporting career it was usually a buckle or safety knot he was adjusting.