The return to the Thorne estate was quieter than the departure. Adam, sugar-crashed and tuckered out from his "adventure," was already nodding off in the back of the SUV, his blue-stained lips parted in a soft snore.
Violet, however, was a live wire. Her mind was a chaotic loop of Ryder Vane's bold arrogance and Adam's unfiltered honesty. He looks at you like a cookie. The phrase haunted her, settling in her stomach with a warmth she didn't want to acknowledge.
Once inside, she carried a drowsy Adam up the grand staircase. The house felt heavy today, the shadows long and expectant. She tucked him into his bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin. The boy mumbled something incoherent about dragons and sprinkles before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Violet stood for a moment, watching him, her heart aching with a tenderness that terrified her. She turned to leave, but as she reached the threshold, she stopped short.
Roman was there.
He was leaning against the doorframe, his massive frame silhouetted by the bright amber light of the hallway behind him. He hadn't changed out of his suit, but he'd discarded his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing the hollow of his throat. He looked like a statue carved from shadow and granite.
"How was the fountain?" he asked, his voice a low, vibrating hum in the quiet room.
"It was wet. The lions were indifferent," Violet whispered, her heart beginning to drum against her ribs. She moved to exit, but Roman didn't budge. He stayed anchored in the doorway, forcing her to navigate the narrow space beside him.
As she sidestepped him, she couldn't help it- the sage-green fabric of her dress brushed against his trousers, and her shoulder grazed his chest. The contact was fleeting, a mere spark, but it felt like a jolt of pure electricity. She could smell him- the sandalwood, the expensive tobacco, and that underlying scent of raw, masculine power.
She made it into the hallway, but she didn't keep walking. She stopped and turned, the silence of the corridor wrapping around them. She wrestled with herself. Part of her- the part that valued her secrets and her autonomy,, wanted to go to her room and lock the door. But the other part, the part that had seen the predatory glint in Ryder Vane's eyes when he looked at Adam, knew she couldn't stay silent.
"We ran into him," she said abruptly.
Roman's posture shifted instantly. He didn't move a muscle, yet he somehow became more imposing. "Vane?"
"In the ice cream shop," Violet said, wrapping her arms around herself. "He tried to charm me. Again. But this time... he involved Adam. He assumed Adam was my son. He offered to 'set him up for life' if I came with him. He didn't care who the father was."
The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees. Roman's eyes, already a piercing, icy blue, turned into something glacial. His jaw set with a lethal click. The aggressive, possessive energy she had seen at the club was back, but it was refined now- sharper, more dangerous.
"He spoke to my son?" Roman's voice was a terrifyingly calm hiss. "He tried to use a child as a bargaining chip?"
"Adam handled it," Violet said, trying to de-escalate the situation. "In his own way. But Roman, you need to know- Ryder is curious now. He's figured out that whoever I'm 'with' isn't just a regular guy. He's going to start digging. He's going to find out it's you."
"Let him," Roman growled, taking a step toward her. "Let him find out. I want him to know exactly whose territory he's trespassing on. I'll ruin him. I'll strip Vane Shipping until there's nothing left but rusted hulls and debt."
"Roman, stop," Violet said, placing a hand on his chest to keep him back. "Don't do anything irrational. That's exactly what he wants- s reaction. He's a bored playboy looking for a fight. Don't give him the satisfaction of a corporate war over a nanny."
Roman didn't stop. He ignored her hand on his chest, or rather, he used it as an anchor. He moved into her space, his presence overwhelming, until she was backed against the mahogany paneling of the hallway.
He reached out, his hand sliding around her waist. His palm was broad and hot, the heat of it seeping through the thin sage-green fabric. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulled her flush against his body.
Violet let out a soft, hitching breath. She was pressed against the hard planes of his chest, her thighs brushing his. The sheer, raw dominance of the move should have made her pull away, but instead, her body betrayed her. A wave of heat flooded her, a deep, liquid ache that made her knees feel weak.
Roman leaned down, his face inches from hers, his breath faning over her lips. "Listen to me, Violet," he murmured, his voice a dark, possessive vow. "Vane can offer you the world. He can offer trustfunds and penthouses and 'exclusive' cages. But we may have a contract right now, and you may have your 'technicalities'..."
His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her even closer, if that were possible. "But let me be very clear. You are mine. Not because of a paper, and not because of a paycheck. You are mine because I am the only one who sees you. The only one who will burn this city to the ground to keep you safe."
Violet felt her head swim. The arousal was a physical weight now, thick and intoxicating. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and dark with a desire she couldn't mask. But she was VioletNoir; she wouldn't go down without a fight.
"You're very dramatic for a man who hasn't had his nap," she whispered, her voice breathy despite her best efforts at sass. "And for the record, Mr. Thorne, your 'possessive dragon' act is a bit heavy-handed. I'm not a hoard of gold, and I'm definitely not 'yours' just because you can hold me against a wall."
She tried to push against his shoulders, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Her heart was screaming at her- reminding her that she was technically a married woman, that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this magnetic, primal pull toward a man who wasn't her husband. But the husband was a ghost, and Roman was a fire
"Is that so?" Roman asked, a dark, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He leaned in even closer, his nose brushing hers. "Then why is your heart racing, Violet? Why are you trembling in my arms?"
"It's the espresso," she lied, her silver tongue finally catching up. "I had a double shot at the parlor. You're just... standing in my light. Move, you big brute."
Roman let out a low, rumbling chuckle- a sound of pure, masculine triumph. He didn't move, but the crushing tension softened just enough for her to breathe. He looked at her with an intensity that made her feel like she was the only woman in existence.
"I'll move," he said, his voice softening into something almost tender. "But don't think for a second that this conversation is over. And don't worry about Vane. He's a scavenger. I'm a predator. Scavengers don't last long in my woods."
He slowly released his grip on her waist, his hand lingering for a heartbeat before dropping to his side. He stepped back, giving her space, but the air between them was still thick with the scent of them both.
Violet smoothed her dress, her hands still shaking. She caught her breath, looking at him with a mixture of defiance and a new, dangerous understanding.
"I'm going to go check on the lemon in my fridge," she said, her sass returning with a vengeance. "Since apparently, I'm a 'cookie' and you're 'hungry.'"
Roman raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Adam has a big mouth."
"He has his father's eyes for detail," Violet countered. She started walking down the hallway, her hips swaying just a little more than usual.
"Goodnight, Roman. Try not to dream about corporate takeovers."
"Goodnight, Violet," Roman called out, watching her go.
She didn't look back, but she was smiling. As she reached for the door, she looked down at the blue pipe-cleaner ring on her finger. She was technically married to a mystery, but the only name on her lips was Thorne.