At 8 o’clock sharp, Roman Gallagher burst into Chloe Carmichael’s bedroom and ordered her to take off the most beautiful dress she had ever owned.
Chapter 3
The secure house stood behind iron gates on several wooded acres near the eastern end of Long Island.
By two in the morning, rain had begun tapping against the windows. Chloe sat in a quiet kitchen wearing borrowed sweatpants, a white shirt three sizes too large, and socks someone had found in a drawer. Her emerald dress remained in Manhattan, along with the evening she had thought she was going to have.
Roman stood at the opposite end of the kitchen speaking quietly on the phone.
“No retaliation near civilians,” he said. “I mean it, Declan. I want Harrington found alive if possible. We need to know who he gave information to.”
Chloe studied him.
That last phrase mattered.
Earlier that night, the Roman Gallagher she thought she knew might have ordered men killed simply because he could. But now he was making careful distinctions, controlling the violence rather than surrendering to it.
When he ended the call, he found her watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m trying to decide who you are.”
“That may take some time.”
“Do you know?”
He pulled out the chair across from her.
“Most days.”
“And tonight?”
“No.”
Chloe wrapped both hands around a mug of tea.
Roman’s expression softened. “You should sleep.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Neither do I.”
They sat in silence.
Eventually Chloe said, “My mother used to tell me that danger doesn’t always look dangerous.”
Roman waited.
“She meant men who smiled too quickly, loans with fine print, people who were friendly only when they wanted something.” Chloe looked into the tea. “Oliver looked safe.”
“Safe men can be dangerous.”
“And dangerous men?”
Roman’s mouth curved faintly. “Occasionally they make decent tea.”
She laughed despite herself.
The sound loosened something in the room.
Roman leaned back. “Tell me what you want.”
“Right now?”
“Right now. Tomorrow. After this.”
“I want my life back.”
Pain flickered in his eyes.
Chloe continued before he could misunderstand. “But I don’t think I can have the same life back.”
“No.”
“Your enemies know who I am.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t return to the penthouse and pretend I’m just arranging groceries while armed men guard the elevators.”
“No.”
“I also won’t become a prisoner because you’re afraid.”
Roman’s expression tightened.
“Chloe—”
“No. Listen.”
He did.
“I am not moving from one man’s plan into another man’s plan. Oliver decided I was useful. You decided I needed protecting. Everyone keeps deciding things about me.”
Roman looked down at his hands.
She softened her voice. “If I stay anywhere near you, my choices remain mine.”
He raised his eyes.
“If you tell me to take off a dress again,” she added, “you’d better be asking because there’s a fire.”
For a moment, Roman stared at her.
Then he laughed.
It was deep and unexpected and entirely human.
“All right.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“No secret surveillance of my dates.”
His smile disappeared. “I strongly object to the concept of future dates.”
“Noted.”
“With me.”
“Roman.”
“I am attempting honesty.”
Chloe shook her head.
He leaned forward. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“What?”
“Care about someone without controlling the risks around them.”
The admission carried more weight than any declaration could have.
Chloe studied his face. “Then learn.”
Roman nodded slowly.
“I will.”
She believed him.
Later that morning, Declan arrived with news.
Oliver Harrington had been found.
Alive.
The Callahan crew had abandoned him after their assault failed. He was discovered in a Queens warehouse with enough documents and recorded messages to prove that he had arranged Chloe’s supposed date as part of the plot.
“He thought they’d wipe his debt,” Declan said. “Instead they planned to kill him once they had her.”
Chloe felt sick.
“Does he know I’m alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Roman frowned. “Why?”
“Because I want him to know he failed.”
Roman looked almost proud.
Declan placed a phone on the table.
“There’s more.”
Roman listened to an audio recording of Oliver talking with a Callahan lieutenant.
At first it contained exactly what they expected: information about elevators, security routines, and Chloe’s schedule.
Then Oliver said something that changed the room.
Gallagher will come apart if we take her. Everyone can see it. The maid is the one thing he watches when he thinks nobody’s looking.
Chloe slowly turned toward Roman.
Declan developed an urgent fascination with the floor.
Roman said nothing.
Oliver’s recorded voice continued.
He doesn’t bring women home anymore. Doesn’t go out. She walks into a room and his whole face changes.
Declan coughed.
Roman stopped the recording.
“I think that’s enough.”
Chloe stared at him. “Eight months?”
Roman looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Approximately.”
“You’ve been staring at me for eight months?”
“I prefer observing.”
“That sounds worse.”
Declan stood. “I’m going to leave.”
“Yes,” Roman said.
“Immediately.”
“Yes, Declan.”
The door closed.
Chloe folded her arms.
Roman sighed. “I know how this sounds.”
“Do you?”
“I noticed you.”
“Clearly.”
“You were different.”
“From what?”
“Everyone.”
His answer erased her irritation.
Roman stood and crossed toward the windows. Morning light was beginning to break through the rain.
“My life is filled with people who want something,” he said. “Money. Access. Protection. Fear. You were the first person in years who walked into my study, saw me bleeding from a cut on my hand, and told me I was dripping on the rug.”
Chloe remembered.
“You were dripping on the rug.”
“You brought me a bandage.”
“You were going to stain the upholstery.”
“You see my point.”
She smiled.
Roman turned.
“I don’t want you because you’re soft or curvy or beautiful, though you are all three.” He paused. “I want you because when I’m with you, I remember that there are things in the world that don’t have a price.”
Chloe’s throat tightened.
She rose.
Roman remained still as she approached.
“No orders,” she said.
“No orders.”
“No ownership.”
His jaw moved.
“Roman.”
“No ownership.”
“No hiding me.”
“Never.”
“And if I tell you to stop?”
“I stop.”
Chloe stood close enough to feel his warmth.
“Then kiss me.”
He did.
There was nothing violent about it.
No conquest.
No demand.
Roman touched her as though she were something precious but not fragile, and Chloe kissed him because she wanted to, because after a lifetime of being told to make herself smaller, she had finally met a man who seemed awed by the space she occupied.
When they separated, Roman rested his forehead against hers.
“I have one question,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Do you still like the dress?”
Chloe laughed softly.
“I loved that dress.”
“Then I’ll replace it.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“I’ll replace it,” she said. “With my money.”
Roman looked offended.
Chloe kissed his cheek.
“You’re learning.”
