Her Roman's Hand Read online

  A vision of him servicing her pussy popped into her mind. He gave her another killer smile.

  Drop dead sexy.

  Lyla was a sucker for a good-looking guy.

  Then again, that’s what always got her in trouble. The gorgeous ones were full of themselves.

  For once, she wanted a man to care about her needs.

  She glanced at Mark’s sculpted face. An unusual bump on his nose, combined with his high forehead and prominent cheekbones made him appear…noble.

  She didn’t think she knew anyone with a nose like that. She closed her legs to ward off a stirring sensation between her thighs. His damn nose made him look even more desirable.

  Time to leave before I get myself in trouble.

  “It’s a wonderful book store and it’s been nice meeting you.” She turned on her heel.

  “Don’t go.”

  She stopped.

  “That book you were looking at can take you on journeys to parts of yourself, of your mind and body, that you’ve been afraid to explore.”

  She turned around. He ran his index finger along her jaw. She shuddered pleasurably, the unexpected contact making her nipples pebble.

  He dropped his hand, but it seemed as though he did reluctantly.

  “The book is like an addiction.” His voice dipped. “You can’t stop looking at it. I understand. I feel the same way, too, it’s just that—” He shook his head.

  She angled hers. “It’s like sneaking a look at the porn magazines your parents hid under their bed?”

  The bell above the door jangled, signalling more customers.

  He ignored the sound, lifting a brow instead. “Is that what you used to do?”

  “I once found some under my mom and dad’s bed. All their smug righteousness flew right out the window the day I discovered those magazines hidden there.”

  She gave a careless shrug, but inside, her nerves sizzled. The back of her neck prickled, as though something was about to happen. She pushed her crazy thoughts aside, choosing to concentrate on Mark.

  “Where I come from, children don’t have to sneak peeks, it’s all over the place, in plain sight.”

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Porn?”

  “Let’s just call them artistic renderings of a very natural part of life.” He grinned.

  “Where were you raised? In a brothel?”

  “No, nothing as sordid as that.” He seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before answering. “I’ve been living in America for a while. I go back home to visit occasionally.”

  “Where’s home, then?”

  He answered slowly. “Europe.”

  “Europe is a big place.”

  “My father travelled a lot on business, I did too, for a while. My family never stayed in one place too long.”

  Boredom slipped away while interest and curiosity took its place.

  “Ah. Then you’re a gypsy. Fascinating.” She nodded. “Where are you from? Romania?”

  “Well, actually, I’m—”

  “Talk about quick assimilation. You have just a trace of an accent.” She narrowed her eyes. “But then again, you could be pulling my leg.”

  “I never lie.” His dark eyes bore into hers and reminded her of melted chocolate.

  “Then you’re a rare breed. Because most people lie on a constant basis. That’s why they attend my seminars, so they can stop kidding themselves and come to grips with what they want in life.”

  “Aptly put.”

  “Is that why you came to my conference?”

  “I went because your web page said you’re not afraid of challenge. I figured if you changed your life for the better, I could do the same with mine.”

  “Glad I could help.” She was a phony, knowing she pulled her own leg. It was easier to turn someone else’s life around than your own. “So, tell me. What’s the one thing I said that made you do such a turnaround?”

  A thoughtful look graced his handsome visage. “‘Nothing changes if nothing changes’.”

  She batted the air with her hand. “You could’ve got that off my Facebook page.”

  “Well then, how about this…‘No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible’.”

  Her lips curved into a smile. “Very nice. You would have heard that if you came to my last seminar.”

  “I guess I had to stop viewing myself as one little ice crystal and start focusing on the larger outcome.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Why leave that old book out in the open, where everyone can see it? It looks like it’s worth a fortune.” She nodded towards the large tome.

  “Did you pick it up?”

  “Uh, yeah. Why?”

  “Heavy, isn’t it?”

  “Someone strong enough could still carry it out of here.”

  “The security cameras would get them. They’d never make it out the door. There’s a tracker on it.”

  “Oh, really? Where?” She raised a brow and glanced at the book.

  He laughed. “I should tell you so you can thwart my security system?”

  “I guess not.” She returned his grin.

  “It’s my own invention. I patented a LoJack for rare books. All that, courtesy of your ‘Get What You Want Out of Life’ seminar.”

  “Now I think you really are pulling my leg.”

  “It’s a marketing tool. I use it to sell books.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “What is?”

  “That old tome. People are drawn to it. Usually, when a man looks at it, he immediately heads for the section on better lovemaking. He’ll buy several books on the subject.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Now I know you’re really full of crap.” She folded her arms across her breasts. “Like guys care about what women like.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he murmured.

  Her body responded to his deep voice. She was glad she had her arms across her breasts so he wouldn’t see how the honeyed sound made her nipples peak.

  “And what happens when a woman looks at that old tome?”

  “She heads straight for the ‘Romance’ section.” He winked.

  “Sure they do.”

  “You, on the other hand, did the exact opposite. You were in that section when the book caught your eye.”

  “You’ve been watching me all this time, haven’t you?”

  “It’s a small store. I don’t miss a thing.”

  She wanted to explain. Pushing some hair behind one ear, she said, “I enjoy old things. That book looked like an antique.”

  “So it is.”

  “I was drawn to it, just as you said earlier.” She angled her chin, the need to challenge him growing.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “You don’t have to make excuses for your interest. It’s fine. You’re the first person to do the exact opposite of what I expected and that’s refreshing.”

  “But—”

  “Do you always argue?” His smile widened.

  “I didn’t know we were.”

  “It will be interesting to see who wins.”

  “I will.” She raised her chin a fraction, feeling like a petulant child, her need to debate growing.

  “I doubt it, but then again, winning isn’t everything. It’s in the losing, the submission, that makes life exciting.”

  What would it be like to submit to him?

  Lyla kept her jaw at a defiant angle, but inside, her stomach fluttered. It mixed with curiosity, sending a zing of desire to her clit. It throbbed violently.

  He remained where he was, looking at her, his heated gaze making her want to jump his bones. She swiped her damp palms against her thighs.

  The loud jangling of the bell above the door broke the tension between them.

  Mark glanced at the people that walked in.

  “Go help your other customers.” Lyla nodded, making a split-section decision. She didn’t want to leave the bookstore or him.
“I’m not going anywhere.”

  He smiled. Her heart did a strange little flip in her chest.

  “We could grab a meal together later, if you’d like,” Mark stated. “I’d love to tell you what your seminar really did for me.” He angled his head. “We could discuss other things, too.” His voice dropped. It sounded positively wicked. “Like why you enjoy looking at that last picture in the book.”

  “We’ll just see about that meal.”

  Her pulse quickened. What would he really think about her if they ventured into that part of her kinky self?

  Can I trust him?

  “If you did agree to join me for dinner, what would you like to eat?”

  “What did you say?” She bit down on her lower lip.

  He reached out and tapped her nose. “We were discussing dinner. You know, the last meal of the day. Otherwise known as food-you-can-share-with-another-person. Preferably me.”

  “Oh, right. Dinner. Well…” Again she hesitated.

  “If you’d rather not, I understand.”

  She reached out and grabbed his upper arm before he could walk away.

  He looked down on her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, either, Lyla.” Then his eyes slowly travelled upwards, ending on her face. “I’d be crazy to.”

  Damn, if she blew this, she might as well just give up on the opposite sex altogether. He was the smoothest, sexiest man she’d met in a while.

  He was fascinating.

  Oh, crap, just be honest! You want to screw his brains out.

  “Mexican, or maybe Chinese. I like Hunan style,” she told him.

  “Ah, so you like your food hot and spicy. Interesting.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Chinese food is not the most exciting thing in the world.”

  “But you are.”

  She stilled.

  “I’d venture to even say you like your food hot and spicy because it is controlled exposure to low-level discomfort.”

  “Huh?”

  “Its something called ‘benign masochism’. You get an endorphin burst from eating things like Chile peppers.”

  Her stomach rumbled. Lunch had been two hours ago. She imagined eating General Tso’s chicken, and a hot pepper lining her tongue, its spicy goodness heating her throat.

  “Perhaps I’ll take you up on that dinner.”

  “I close the store at six. We could go after that. Where are you staying? I’ll pick you up.”

  “How about I just meet you?”

  “Okay, I’ll see you at Choi’s. Know where it is?”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Good, then I look forward to getting to know you.” He strode towards a customer waiting at the counter, but not before hesitating for just a second.

  Lyla would have sworn that he seemed as if he wanted to stay with her.

  I’m reading too much into this…

  She anticipated what a ‘discussion’ would be like with him during their dinner. They wouldn’t be doing too much talking if she had her way.

  Maybe that’s what she needed—a good, hard fuck from a drop dead, gorgeous guy. Why bother with a relationship?

  Besides, why sit on the beach in the hot sun with a book so she could fantasise about a man like Mark Hardin, when she could have the real thing?

  She gazed at the small table where the antique book lay. One of the gems embedded in the tarnished gold cover glittered in the light overhead. The stone possessed an unusual colour—orange, with deep red tones. Lyla thought its shape resembled an hourglass, wider on top, narrower in the middle, then it expanded again on the bottom.

  She walked back over to the book and lifted it from the table. This time, the old tome didn’t feel quite as cumbersome as before, enabling her to run her fingers across the strange, hourglass-shaped gemstone. She stroked it, her fingers sliding down its smooth, highly polished surface.

  She opened the book and snuck another peek at the picture of the woman being whipped. Mark’s eyes caught hers from across the room. Her moxy surfaced. Lyla pointed to the picture, holding the book up so he could see it. A corner of his sensual mouth lifted in a wry grin.

  Her pussy dripped, soaking her panties.

  Just her luck to find Mister Right on the final day of her vacation.

  She closed the book and clutched it tightly to her chest, enjoying her daydream about Mark when her hands tingled. Lyla tried to put the book down, but it wouldn’t budge.

  It seemed as if it were glued to her hands and chest.

  A sense of urgency filled her body, as though time slipped by…quickly.

  Something made her glance at her watch. It was three in the afternoon. In the next instant, the hands went crazy. They spun counter clockwise on the timepiece’s white face.

  They wouldn’t stop. She tapped the face, thinking something must be wrong with it.

  The hands continued to fly backwards, picking up speed as they raced across the dial.

  Her feet grew numb. She couldn’t feel the floor beneath them while at the same time she succumbed to dizziness. She swayed on her feet, but couldn’t keep her balance.

  The bookstore faded, the shelves melting away before her eyes.

  “Lyla!”

  She heard Mark call her name, but she couldn’t form a response. He seemed so far away, his tall form blending into the fading scenery.

  The room whirled around then a wide hole opened beneath her feet. She fell headfirst down a long, dark abyss, her body sliding towards a pinprick of light that shone in the distance. It grew larger, the closer she came.

  What seemed like seconds later, Lyla could feel the ground under her feet again. When she looked upwards, she expected to see that vortex of spinning darkness but a half dome of concrete met her gaze.

  She moved away, fearful that it might fall on her, yet she noticed that a crowd stood beneath it. People chatted with each other, casually lounging against walls constructed from stone. Those walls appeared to support the dome above their heads. Some people had arms laden with baskets filled with vegetables and rustic looking breads. Others carried earthenware jugs by their sides as they walked.

  “Okay, if this is a joke, you got me,” she said aloud.

  She looked around, hoping to see Mark. In return, she received curious stares from the passersby.

  When she glanced at her watch, both hands were stuck on the number ten.

  Ten at night? She glanced upwards. Light filtered in through the dome.

  It had to be ten o’clock in the morning…

  How could it now be ten o’clock in the morning? Minutes ago, in the bookstore, it had been three in the afternoon.

  When she glanced at her watch again, the hands on the dial moved, but now, they were both on the number twelve.

  It just didn’t make sense.

  She was disoriented, as if a veil covered her mind. She slipped the watch from her wrist and shoved it in her shorts’ pocket. It was no use to her if it couldn’t give her the correct damn time.

  It would be a cold day in hell before she spent a bundle on a designer watch again.

  Hair clung to her cheeks, the hot, humid air making her tresses damp. She still clutched the book to her chest. Unease filled her, making her perspire. Tiny droplets of sweat inched their way down her face.

  “Where am I?” she asked, her voice echoing. Lyla grabbed the arm of a woman walking by. “Pardon me, but could you tell me where I am?”

  The woman looked down at Lyla’s hand then muttered something unintelligible. She walked away, shaking her head.

  Lyla then joined the throng of people gathered by something that looked like a busy shop.

  Maybe, I can get some answers there…

  Inside the store the walls were decorated with beautiful mosaic tiles. Fruits and vegetables lay in baskets that lined the floor. People milled about, gazing at the variety of food, talking amongst themselves. She received more strange looks, but then the people would go about their business.

  She walke
d down the open corridor, where she passed what appeared to be more elaborately decorated stores that sold things like wine, oil, nuts, and cloth. Some shops even looked like a strange version of a ‘take-out’ restaurant, where peopled munched on meats, bread, and cheese as they exited. Most stores were just barrel-vaulted cubicles with a large opening to the street. The shops’ interiors fascinated her, their beautiful mosaics depicting what was sold within.

  What part of Cape Cod is this?

  Above her head, the high domed ceiling that covered the marketplace allowed light to filter in while protecting her from the sun’s brutal rays. She continued to walk, hoping to find the bookstore…and Mark.

  When she did, she’d give him hell! His practical joke didn’t amuse her in the least.

  The longer she walked, the more she was convinced that the Cape seemed a world away.

  Her knuckles whitened from the grip she had on the tome, but each time she attempted to release it, that strange, tingling sensation shot through her fingers. The book seemed as if it were cemented to her hands.

  She walked the long corridor to encounter the market’s end.

  Frustrated, she went outside onto the busy street where she was bumped and jostled along with the crowd. She continued on, her feet hurting, her thin-soled flip-flops no match for the rough stone pavement.

  She didn’t know how long she walked, but the more she continued the thirstier she became. Her throat was dry and scratchy, making her feel as if she gulped sand.

  Fatigue washed over her. The damn book weighed a ton. If she could put it down somewhere, maybe she could rest on a bench or…

  Her dry throat suddenly closed. She struggled to get air into her lungs, gasping for each breath.

  Lyla fought against something clamped over her mouth and nostrils. In the next instant, she was lifted from the pavement and tossed high in the air, her abdomen connecting with a hard, pointy object.

  She heard several male voices. One of them spoke…”Corvus ero commodo.”

  Crude laughter drifted by her ears.

  She viewed the street as it whizzed by, her eyes staring down at sandals attached to large, hairy feet. Lyla grew woozy from her precarious position hanging over what she now knew was someone’s shoulder.

  A hand crept up her shorts.

  Her face heated when a rough pinch clipped the inside of her thigh, but Lyla wouldn’t let him get the best of her. She kicked out her legs and screamed. “Help me! Someone help!”