Page 9 of Possessed By Roman

I’ve never wanted anyone enough to take that step.

Until apparently a terrifying former Navy SEAL walks into my dorm room while my entire life is falling apart.

Perfect timing, Cora.

I pump the brakes on my thoughts and try to distract myself. “What exactly do you do with your friends?”

“That’s complicated.”

I frown. “Everything is complicated with you.”

“You’ve known me for two hours.”

“Exactly. And somehow, you’ve managed to make my entire life complicated.”

His lips twitch, and I feel myself staring. Not again…

I shift my gaze and stare out the window, inhaling gently. Despite everything, I can feel myself beginning to calm down. Then Roman suddenly straightens. The change is so subtle that I might have missed it if I hadn’t already been watching him.

“What?”

He checks the rearview mirror. “Stay calm. We’re being followed,” he says as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

My stomach drops. “Oh God.”

I twist in my seat to look behind us, but Roman’s large hand lands on my thigh. “Don’t.”

Every thought leaves my head for one ridiculous second. His palm is warm and heavy against my thigh, and that same unfamiliar awareness sparks through me before common sense catches up. Someone is following us. This is absolutely not the time.

Roman removes his hand. Unfortunately. My cheeks heat and I force myself to focus.

“Keep your eyes ahead,” he says. “I’m going to lose them.”

I grip my thighs. “That sounds reassuring.”

His eyes flick toward me. “Don’t worry, I’m good at it.”

Something about the way he says it makes me believe him. Roman takes the next turn without hesitation, moving through traffic with a calm precision that seems impossible. He checks his mirrors constantly, changing lanes and speed without ever looking rattled. I grip the edge of my seat as he makes another turn, then another, changing lanes, slowing down unexpectedly before speeding up again.

I have absolutely no idea what he’s doing. The car behind us keeps appearing. Then suddenly, it doesn’t. Roman checks his mirrors again, then takes another turn. Still nothing.

“Are they gone?”

“Yes.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and sink back against the seat. My hands are shaking. This is real. Every strange thing Roman told me is real. My father is missing, someone might be after me, and Roman just lost a car that had been following us like this is something he does every day.

I look at him with renewed trust. A man my father trusted. I watch the concentration on his face and the calm way he handles a situation that has my heart trying to escape through my throat, and I finally understand why.

And God help me, I find it unbelievably attractive. I shouldn’t. There is absolutely nothing appropriate about staring at the man who is helping me find my missing father and wondering what his arms would feel like around me.

But I’m only human. And Roman Taylor is very, very hard not to look at. By the time we arrive at the airport, I have managed to stop staring at him every five seconds. Mostly.

He leads me through a private entrance, takes my bag again even though I protest, and walks beside me toward a sleek private jet waiting on the runway. I almost lose my step as I wonder what Roman does for a living that involves having a private jet waiting for him.

I pause. “How?” I’m floored by his preparation and the lengths he’s gone to keep me safe.

“One of my friends is a billionaire.”