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He looks at me expectantly.
"Um, my interview isn't in Berkeley."
Confusion sweeps through his expression, crinkling his brows.
"It's with the Triton Agency."
"A literary agency, right," he says like he doesn't get what the big deal is, and he probably doesn't. Not yet.
"Right. They're, um…well, they're actually based in Los Angeles."
He freezes as soon as I say Los Angeles, his body becoming completely rigid beneath mine. The loofah in his hands hangs limply. A parade of emotions flickers across his face, and none of them are good.
"Fuck no," he growls, pinning me in place with those piercing hazel eyes. They're so hard, so pissed, the heat scorches me.
"But?"
"I said no," he snaps at me, glaring.
I want to argue with him. I want to fight him on this like I do on practically everything, just because I like to rile him up and piss him off, but I can already tell from his expression that I won't win this one. He doesn't want me in LA with him. Rationally, I know it's because of his job. But the heart isn't rational, and mine is bleeding right now because five days ago, he asked me if I was all in, and I said yes.
Right now, it feels like I was the only one who meant it.
"Okay," I whisper, fighting the urge to cry.
"There's no fucking way you're moving to LA," he says, still pissed.
I don't tell him that I'll probably be moving to Los Angeles regardless of whether we're together or not. It seems pointless to have that argument right now. Instead, I focus on washing the soap from my skin, using it as an excuse to slide off his lap.
As soon as I do, he stands in one powerful motion. Water sluices off him in a flood. He looks like a Pagan god again, glaring down at me like he's ready to fling fireballs or lightning bolts at me. He's sexy and intimidating at the same time, scary-hot. He's honestly gorgeous with olive skin, hazel eyes, and muscles stacked on muscles.
"You aren't fucking moving to Los Angeles," he snaps at me, and then he yanks a towel down from the rack and storms out of the bathroom, breathing hard.
I don't try to stop him. As much as I want to be confident and secure in his feelings for me, the harshness of his rejection guts me anyway. Just like I feared, he has power over me that Damien never had. He has the ability to break me, and I'm suddenly terrified that destruction is exactly where this thing between us is going to end.
As soon as he's over the threshold and disappearing from my sight, tears well in my eyes. Huddled in the bathtub, which suddenly feels far too big for me, I let them fall.
Chapter Fourteen
Roman
I see the sadness on her face as I stare down at her, my heart clenched in a vise, and I so badly want to jerk her into my arms and soothe the hurt I know I'm causing, but I can't. I can't fucking breathe through the emotion suddenly gripping me. It's anger at her for keeping this from me and pure fucking terror for her.
She doesn't belong in my world. She's too sweet, too innocent, too fucking pure to live on the same continent with people like Jose Guerrero, let alone in the same city. The thought of something happening to her because of me rips me apart. The feeling is savage as it blasts through me, rocking me to my core. My heart thunders in my chest so hard I feel every painful beat. My throat feels like it's going to close up.
I've been in some really fucking grim situations before. When I saw that motherfucker with his gun pointed at Brady's two-year-old son's head, I was afraid I wouldn't be quick enough to save his life. I was terrified I was going to be too slow and that I was going to have to watch him die. He's just a baby, and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to save his life. That moment still fucks me up when I think about it. I think it always will. But nothing, fucking nothing, comes anywhere close to what I feel thinking about something happening to Mila because of me.
It's the same terror I feel when I think about something happening to Tahani because of me.
I want Mila in Los Angeles with me so badly I can taste it, and that fucks me up too.
I grab a towel off the rack and storm out of the bathroom, away from her. Away from temptation.
I quickly run the towel through my hair and down my body, drying off as quickly as possible. Once done, I grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and throw them on, not even bothering with underwear. I'm shoving my feet into my shoes when I hear her crying.
The soft sound wrecks me. I want to go back to her and tell her I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm on the verge of losing control completely, and I don't know what I'm going to do when it happens. I would never hurt her; I know that much. But the emotion clawing through me is vicious, and I don't know where the fuck it leads. I haven't felt anything like it since the day I found out about Tahani.
Christ. I have to get the fuck out of here.
