Moment of Weakness (Embracing Moments Book 1) (26 page)

Roman grabbed my arm, pulling me back down in my seat. “Jesus, woman, what the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for my purse. I need to call Lacey. She’s probably looking for me.” My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and I wasn’t even sure I said what I had thought I said.

“I’ve already called her. Shane is going to take her home.”

I didn’t respond. I just sat and tried to keep the bile from inching its way up my throat. It was only a matter of time before I’d get sick, and I just hoped we’d make it home first. I didn’t want my car smelling like vomit. The car came to a stop, and Roman pulled my door open. Reaching in, he clasped my hands and helped me to my feet.

“Why her?” I asked.

“What?” His face was hard to make out, but he looked confused.

“The girl, back at the club. The one you were dancing with. Why her?” Roman let go of my hands, and at the exact same time, my knees buckled.

And then I was floating.

Okay. Not really, but it sure as heck felt like I was floating. Somehow I was in Roman’s arms, cradled against his chest as he carried me to wherever it was we were going.

“Was it her brown hair or her long legs?” I asked. Roman dipped his chin to look at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. I hardened my expression. “It’s because her breasts are twice the size of mine, isn’t it?”

Roman’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. God, my mouth needed a filter. Tequila and talking were not a good combination for me. But I didn’t shut up. My lips just kept rambling. I tilted my head. “Is it because I’m a virgin?”

Roman’s chest fell with a hard sigh. “No, Julia.”

“Then why, Roman? Why her and not me?”

“Look, I was just mad, okay? I shouldn’t have done that. I should have handled it better. Just know
this
isn’t easy for me.” Roman sat me down on a bed that wasn’t mine and started unlacing my heels.

“What’s not easy for you?”

He ignored me, and when he finished pulling my shoes from my achy feet, he stood up and walked to the dresser in the corner of the room. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. “These are probably the only things I have that will fit you, and I’m sure you’ll still be swimming in them, but they’ll be more comfortable than that dress.”

Roman set the pile of clothing down beside me. I wobbled to my feet and attempted to lift my dress, almost falling over into a lamp. I think it was a lamp. Roman’s hands caught my waist. “Lean against me and lift your arms.” His voice echoed in my ears, and I did what he asked.

Leaning against him, I relished the feel of him. God, I missed him. I missed him, and yet he was standing right behind me. I lifted my arms up and wrapped them around the back of his neck, curling my fingers into his soft hair. Roman’s mouth fell to my shoulder, and his warm breath rivaled the heat that flowed through my thighs as his knuckles brushed against them. Curling his fingers around the hem of my dress, he pulled it up over the curve of my hips, along the length of my chest, and then up over my head.

I turned around to face him, and I watched him pull in a sharp breath. “What’s not easy for you, Roman?”

He ignored me again, reaching for the pile of clothes.

“Would you please answer me? I think you at least owe me that.” I held my arms up so he could pull the shirt down over my head. He was right, I was drowning in it. He turned to walk away from me, but I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and pulled him back. The blood pumping through my veins felt like molten lava, and I didn’t know if it was from the way he stared at me, or the side effects of the alcohol. Roman towered above me, even more so without my heels on, but I pushed up off my toes anyway and pursed my lips. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I closed my eyes and tugged his mouth closer to mine. I waited for the moment our lips would connect, but it never came.

Tequila needs to come with a warning label that says:
May cause liquid courage, otherwise known as a temporary state in which one makes a complete and utter ass out of themselves.

My eyes flew open, and embarrassment punched me in the center of the chest. Our lips didn’t connect because he didn’t want them to. Looking away from me, Roman’s fingers moved to unclasp my arms from his neck. I let them fall to my sides and turned around, trying to hide the hurt and humiliation that had developed on my face. I pulled the covers back on the bed and stood still for a moment, trying to find my balance. The entire room spun and my eyes weren’t even closed.

“
Julia?”

Roman’s hands fell to my shoulders and glided down my arms.

“Please don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve made yourself pretty clear. So please just let—”

“You’re drunk, Julia.” He pulled me back against his chest and buried his face in my hair. I didn’t even remember letting my hair down. The sound of his voice was muffled as he spoke. “Chances are, you will wake up tomorrow and only remember certain things. The rest is going to fade away the moment you close your eyes. And what I want to say to you . . . I don’t want it to be the part that fades away.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head and then helped lower me to the bed. “Just try and sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

I sat down, and the pressure in my stomach was building again. “Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s the bathroom? I feel like I’m gonna—”

I clamped a hand over my mouth, trying to swallow back down the bile that crawled up my throat. Roman swooped me up from the bed, and a few moments later, I was emptying the contents of my stomach into the white porcelain bowl. Sweat dotted my brow, and my body couldn’t decide if it’d rather burn or freeze.

The spinning was constant now, and everything else around me seemed to fade in and out. Roman’s hands gathered my hair from around my face and pulled it back into a ponytail.

Never again. Damn you, tequila.

My body trembled, and when the heaves turned dry, I knew I had expelled every last drop of alcohol from my stomach. Too weak to stand, I lay on the floor and closed my eyes, the cool ceramic tile feeling wonderful against my skin. My head felt like a drum. Every sound—the opening and closing of the cabinet doors, or the sound of water pouring from the faucet—vibrated my skull like the strike of the drumstick. My head throbbed, and I knew come morning, it would be worse.

A warm wet rag swept across my forehead and down my cheeks. My eyes fluttered opened, and I could barely make out the image of Roman leaning over me. One hand moved under my thighs and the other across my back as he lifted me from the floor. Gripping his shirt with my fingers, I curled against him, trying to bury myself in his warmth.

I wasn’t sure what our conversation in the morning would entail, but I wasn’t in a hurry to find out. If it would be anything like our previous ones, then this would be it. Whatever this was between us would be over. It
needed
to be over because we couldn’t keep going back and forth like this. I never thought I could love someone or give myself to someone the way my parents had done to each other. And I was okay with that. I was okay, living within my walls.

It worked for me.

But then out of nowhere, Roman chipped away at them. We went from despising each other to somehow understanding each other. He somehow broke through my walls. And when I had the courage to keep them down—to let him in—he pulled away. That’s when I realized that Roman had his own set of walls. While mine lay shattered on the floor, his were still intact, and I wondered—how can you break through impenetrable walls?

The answer was simple. You can’t.

You don’t. They are impenetrable for a reason, and the only person who has the ability to knock them down, is the person who put them in place. I just refused to see it until now. Refused to accept it. But that was going to change, because whatever his reasons were, I was going to accept them.

Placing me down on the bed, Roman lifted the covers over me, tucking them in around my shoulders. I fought to keep my eyes open, but then Roman smoothed a hand down my face, and his gentle caress pulled me under. The last thing I remembered was the mattress pressing down beside me, Roman’s warm lips against my cheek, and his soft voice whispering in my ear, “Happy Birthday, Julia.”

IF I HAD
to decide between drinking an entire bottle of tequila or being stuck in a pool of sharks, I’d choose the latter. My head was throbbing, and the slightest of sounds had me cringing like nails on a chalkboard would. Removing the pillow from my head, I opened one eye, trying to figure out where I was. Bits and pieces of the evening came together, and I had a good feeling I was lying in Roman’s bed, not the guesthouse bed, but
his
bed. Although the blinds were closed, light filtered through a set of patio doors. The space was clean, simple, and looked as though no one even lived there. Not a single picture hung on the wall, and the only pieces of furniture in the entire room consisted of the bed, a dresser, and a small nightstand.

Moving to sit up, I rested my back against the slatted aluminum headboard and pulled the black sheets and comforter to my waist. Woman’s clothing lay folded at the end of the bed. My dress I wore the previous evening sat next to it, and as I moved closer, I noticed a piece of notebook paper lying on top. Picking it up, I read the note.

Hopefully these fit. I didn’t know your size. Bathroom is down the hall on the right. There is a spare toothbrush in there for you as well as everything you need to shower. I also left a pair of shoes for you next to the bedroom door.–Roman

A sad smile tugged at my lips as I grabbed the pile of clothing. Walking to the bathroom, I wondered if the clothing belonged to someone else, but then I saw the tags still attached and knew they didn’t. The bathroom was just as empty as his bedroom. A bright pink toothbrush rested on the sink next to a tube of toothpaste, and a single towel hung on a hook beside the shower. Not bothering to turn on the lights, I grabbed the toothbrush from the counter and put a glob of toothpaste on its bristles. My head ached like the aftermath of a bad car crash, and I didn’t need the bright lights making it worse. After brushing my teeth, I pulled off Roman’s large shirt and set it on the back of the toilet. When I opened the glass shower door, my heart skipped a beat as my eyes scanned over the familiar bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Even the scent was the exact same kind I used. Allowing the hot water to pelt my skin, I closed my eyes and rested against the gray tiled walls. The longer I kept my eyes closed, the more things I could remember. Everything about the previous night came together. God, why couldn’t I be made of sugar? At least then I wouldn’t have to face Roman. I could just dissolve under the hot water and disappear down the drain. I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, then slipped into the pair of jean shorts and the light blue camisole Roman had left for me.

When I returned to the bedroom, a coffee mug filled to the brim sat on the nightstand and two tiny brown pills rested beside it. I popped the pills in my mouth and lifted the mug to my lips. Caramel macchiato
.

How was I supposed to stand my ground when his simple gestures continued to make me weak? I frowned and set the mug back down, my knee whacking the nightstand in the process. Coffee spilled from the mug, and the top drawer of the stand rattled opened. If I listened to the better part of my conscience, I would have closed the drawer, but instead I pulled it open further and stared at its contents. A silver pistol and two loaded magazines sat upon a stack of pictures. I glanced at the door, making sure I was still the only one in the room, and then pulled the pictures from the drawer.

The first was a picture of a woman and man embracing each other. The man’s angular cheekbones and strong jaw reminded me of Roman’s, and the beautiful green eyes of the woman had captured my attention the same way Roman’s did. Thumbing to the next picture, my breath caught in my throat as I stared at it. It was a picture of a little girl, no older than two or three, her dark brown hair pulled into pigtails at the side of her head as she sucked on a fudge popsicle. Her green eyes were an identical match to Roman’s.

The sound of plates crashing to the floor pulled my attention toward the door. Roman rushed toward me, his face pulled taut as he grabbed the photos from my hand. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone was abrasive.

“I’m sorry . . . I didn’t—”
Shit.
What was I supposed to say? There was no point in lying. “My knee hit the drawer, and it opened. I should have closed it, but when I saw the pictures, I just . . . I’m sorry.”

“Damn right, you should have closed it!” Roman tossed the pictures back in the drawer, and my entire body flinched as he slammed it shut. The coffee mug toppled over and the rest of its contents ran down the side of the nightstand, puddling on the white tile floor. Roman stalked back out the door, and guilt thrashed me like a knife. Rising from the bed, I walked over to the doorway and knelt in front of the shattered mess on the floor, attempting to pick up the broken pieces of glass. A hiccupped sob bubbled out of my mouth, and a salty tear raced down my cheek. What the hell was I thinking? I knew better than anyone what it was like to want to keep your life private, and yet here I was, going through Roman’s as if I had a right to.