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There was no making it right. Roman turned his back on the pathetic man, addressing the room. “Is this true? No one knows the doctor belongs to me? Do I have any other oblivious, idiotic people working for me?” Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. “Let me be clear: Angela is mine. My woman. She is mine to protect. Mine to worship. And mine to fuck. Nobody touches her. Ever. Do I make myself clear?” He received silent, emphatic nods before he turned back to the man curled up on his side. “Now get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Twenty minutes later, Roman dismissed his crew, save for a couple who volunteered to take Lenny’s mutilated remains down to the incinerator. He’d had the huge burner installed when the building was first built. It was in the basement, with direct elevator access from the penthouse.
“I’m going to see Angel,” Roman said, stalking to the door. He was still riled, so when Abel got in his way, he snarled at him. “Move!”
“I have no issue with you going to check on Angel, Roman. But maybe wash the blood off first, huh?” Abel suggested mildly, familiar with Roman’s moods.
Roman looked down at his bruised knuckles and the blood splattered on his pale blue shirt. His capo had a point.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Roman? What are you doing here?” Angel greeted him when she opened her front door. “Is it Claire? Does she need—”
He placed a stilling hand on Angela’s shoulder when she started to walk around him. “She’s fine, as far as I’m aware. She’s a guest until she chooses not to be. That’s not why I’m here. Are you okay?”
Angela looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, looking him over for the first time. Her mouth parted, and he heard her breath catch. “What are you wearing?”
Roman looked down at the old jeans and the gray long-sleeved Henley he was wearing. He shrugged, unsure why her reaction seemed almost... explicit. He did his best to use The Force on his dick, willing it to stay down. This wasn’t about him. It was about Angel. “They’re called jeans. And I’m here because of Lenny.”
“Who is Lenny?” she asked, practically staring a hole through the denim at his crotch. “And since when do you wear jeans?”
“Lenny is the man who had the poor sense to put his hands on you,” Roman told her. “And I wear jeans all the time. Just not when I have business dealings—which is most days during business hours.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and crowding her a little. “But if I’d known a bit of denim would put that look on your face, I would have bought stock in Levi’s weeks ago.”
Her apple-green eyes flashed to his, and she licked her lips. He moved closer again, the tips of her breasts now brushing against his chest. Unfortunately, she snapped herself out of whatever daze she was in. “No,” she said, her palm flattening against his chest. “We’re not doing this.”
“Not doing what?” he asked lowly.
“We’re not having sex again,” Angela replied, taking a single step back.
“We could,” Roman pointed out. She had created some space between them. But not much.
Angela shook her head, taking another step back. “We’re not.”
Roman shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching for her. “Ever heard of friends with benefits?”
“I don’t do friends with benefits,” Angel replied quickly.
“Why not?” he couldn’t help asking. He wanted to know how she ticked.
“Because I don’t have any friends.” The words came out in a rush. She groaned in apparent embarrassment, covering her face. “Forget I said that.”
The words hit him in the center of his chest, his lust backing off a bit. He reached out, toying with one of the thick waves of her hair, which was loose. It was rarely out. “You do have friends, Angel.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your criminal family. Great.”
He dropped his hand with a frown. “They are great,” Roman stated quietly.
* * *
Angela was all kinds of frazzled from Roman’s unexpected visit. And he was looking so damn good in his casual wear. She had never seen him in jeans before. It was probably a good thing because she may have cracked and agreed to more orgasms before now if she had. But being sexually bamboozled was hardly a good excuse for being rude. And the censure in Roman’s eyes made her feel ashamed.
“Yes. They really are. I’m sorry.” She was quick to apologize.
He sighed, moving further into the room and placing his wallet and keys on her kitchen island. “Have you considered that it’s about time to embrace who you really are?”
The comment brought her up short. “What do you mean?”
“Each time you react like that and make those snarky, insulting little comments, you bury your true self deeper. Because they’re not you. Not a true reflection of you, anyway,” he declared. “You’re not a cruel person. In fact, you could just be one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
