Lord, I know it’s Roman. What do I do with this information?
Grace barely slept. When she entered the main house the next morning, heavy metal music blasted from the bedroom housing Roman’s exercise equipment. Curious, she went down on her knees and pulled the black sketchbook out from under the couch. Flipping through the pages quickly, she found the last pages covered with demon faces. She shuddered as she put the sketchbook back.
She went to the office, where she did another computer search, printing out articles on the Bird and pictures of his work. Putting all the papers into a file folder, she headed down the hall to talk to Roman.
She froze in the doorway, seeing Roman straddling the weight bench, his biceps and back muscles bulging, his skin glistening. She took a slow breath and tapped on the door. He didn’t hear her over the rock music as he continued repetitions with the metal cable pulley system. He might be the one sweating, but she was beginning to feel the heat. She walked over and shut off his music.
“Hey! You’re early.”
“I’m on time.”
He wiped his face with a towel, wincing when he lifted one leg over the bench and stood. “What’s up?”
His discarded T-shirt lay on the floor. She was afraid to look him in the eye, worried what he’d see. “Can we talk?”
“Can we? I hope so.” He flipped the damp towel around his neck. “We did a lot of that on the road.”
The scent of healthy male sweat only served to make her more nervous. She wasn’t sure where to direct her gaze. Something about him roused dangerous sensations inside her. She should’ve stayed in the office instead of rushing down here to ask if he was the Bird. She should’ve waited until later, after he showered and dressed and went to work in his studio. Did she want to know more about him?
Roman swiped the T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on inside out. “Is this better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
His breathing hadn’t eased. She noticed the pulse in his throat. Was it from his workout, or was he feeling some of what she was? She had to break the tension. “Never mind. It can wait.” She turned and headed for the door.
“How about this evening?”
Confused, she looked back. Was he asking her to stay late?
Roman rubbed the towel over his damp hair. He tilted his head, studying her. How much of what she felt showed right now? She wanted him to touch her, but if he reached out, she’d run. He came closer, holding the two ends of the towel he’d hung around his neck. “Take the day off, Grace. Let’s talk over dinner. Six o’clock. I’ll cook.”
Dinner after work hours? “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
His hands tightened on the towel. “We haven’t really talked since we got back from the road trip.”
They’d talked, but she knew what he meant. They had stopped digging around inside one another. It was an opening she needed. “All right.”
“We can put everything on the table.” His mouth tipped slightly.
“Everything?”
He walked around her. “You can tell me what has you so riled up.” He glanced at the file in her hand. “I’d better get cleaned up.”
Grace didn’t breathe normally until Roman went into his bedroom and closed the door.
What everything had he meant?
ROMAN MADE A GROCERY LIST before driving to Malibu. He wanted to make sure he had everything he needed to impress Grace. He bought fixings for spinach and pear salad and beef Stroganoff. He’d noticed she didn’t drink alcohol, so he opted for a bottle of sparkling grape cider. Susan Masterson said every woman loved chocolate. He picked out a small mousse cake from the bakery. He also picked up a flower arrangement with two candles.
It had been a long time since Roman spent all afternoon in a kitchen preparing a special meal, not since the last Christmas at Masterson Ranch. That had been his way of saying thank you and good-bye at the same time.
The evening was warm. Grace liked the view. The patio table would be the perfect place for an intimate dinner for two. At five, Roman showered and shaved. He pulled on a dark-blue T-shirt, black jeans, and wove a leather belt through the loops. She’d wonder what was wrong with him if he dressed up any more than that. He came out of his bedroom and opened the sliding-glass door to the patio. His pulse picked up speed as he saw Grace making her way toward the house.
She came in holding his contribution to the barbecue—the bottle of champagne in one hand, the Heineken six-pack in the other. The manila folder was tucked under her arm. “I thought I should return these.” She headed for the kitchen.
Roman caught the subtle hint of perfume as she passed. A positive sign. He followed her. “I noticed you and your friends don’t drink.” She looked great in black skinny jeans and her lightweight pink sweater. She put the champagne and beer in his refrigerator and moved around the long counter away from him. Roman met her on the other side, plucked the file folder from her hand, and tossed it on the polished granite surface. “We’re not working tonight.”
“I just need to talk to you about something I saw—”
“Whatever it is, Grace, let it wait.”
She looked back at the kitchen. “Something smells very good.”
“Wondering where the take-out boxes are? There aren’t any. I figured it was about time I fixed you dinner.” He nodded toward the sliding-glass doors. “It’s a nice evening. We’ll eat on the patio.” He watched her take in the table set for two, the wineglasses and bottle chilling in a bucket of ice, the flowers and candles ready to be lit after the sun went down.
Her expression held something akin to fear. “What is this?”
Roman hadn’t expected a grown woman to panic, especially one who had been married. “Take it easy, Grace. I miss having dinner with you. We talked on the trip. We get back here, and we’re back in the rat race. I thought it’d be nice to spend an evening together, reconnect the way we did on the road.” Shut up, you moron. You sound like a used car salesman. He was feeling a bubble of panic himself.
She took a noticeably shaky breath. “Okay. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Everything is ready. Are you hungry? We can eat right now.”
“Yes. Let’s eat.”
She sounded like she wanted it over and done with.
Dinner didn’t go as Roman had planned. Grace barely took a bite. Conversation felt stilted, her mind elsewhere. He forgot to light the candles until dinner was over, and then it was too late. So much for ambience.
They both cleared the dishes. She edged him out of the way, rinsing and putting them in the dishwasher as though working for him again. His emotions flared and frayed. Angry, he tapped the file folder. “Is this what’s been on your mind since you walked in the door?” He wanted to rip it in half without even seeing what was inside.
She closed the dishwasher with a bang. “Yes.” She came around the counter and walked past him. When she got down on her knees and reached under the couch, Roman’s stomach clenched. He knew what she had in her hand before she stood and faced him.
Immediately on the defensive, he clenched his teeth. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve seen you shove this under the couch, and I was curious. And then when I saw the photos online—”
“What photos?”
She didn’t answer. Opening the book, she found what she was looking for and brought it to him. She put the sketchbook flat on the counter in front of him.
Roman glanced down. “The demon faces from my nightmares. What about them?”
Grace opened the folder and pulled out computer printouts of several pictures. He couldn’t read her expression when she looked at him. Disappointment? Fear? Confusion? “Are you the Bird, Roman?”
Roman felt exposed, vulnerable, ashamed. “It’s just something I’ve done over the years to deal with . . . whatever.” He took the file and closed it. “Just forget about it. It’s got nothing to do with you.”