Page 60 of Lease to Love

Warm.

Possessive.

Sexy.

Wait—Record scratch.

I just called Roman Sterling’s voice sexy.

That last thought snapped me right back to reality.

"No, I don't mind."

We smiled as the photo was taken, and somewhere in the room, somebody immediately said we were cute together.

I pretended I didn't hear it.

A few minutes later, I finally turned to Roman. "Hey, I'm ready to go."

He smiled. "No worries, baby."

Baby.

He said it so casually.

So naturally.

Like he'd been calling me that for years.

And the truly alarming part was that I didn't hate it nearly as much as I should have.

Roman shook a few more hands, hugged a couple of people, promised to follow up with two business owners, and then his hand found the small of my back again as we walked out together. It didn’t leave me until I was settled in my seat.

The ride home was quiet in a way that had texture.

The silence on the way to the gala had been charged and awkward, the specific kind of tension that came from two people who weren't entirely sure what they were doing.

This was different.

Stiller.

Thicker.

The Bentley smelled like him—cedar and something dark underneath it—and in the enclosed quiet of the car it was harder to ignore than it had been all evening when there were other things to pay attention to.

We'd spent hours playing boyfriend and girlfriend. Sharing touches. Flirting. Smiling at each other. Moving together so easily it had stopped feeling like choreography… And somewhere during the night, an internal door I'd kept firmly closed had cracked open.

I didn't know what was behind it.

I didn't particularly want to find out.

Because the version of Roman in the driver's seat wasn't the man I'd spent three years fighting with.

This Roman was thoughtful. Funny. Attentive.

He listened. He made people feel seen.

And apparently, he had dimples.