some sort of base creature to use for her own amusement. The thought that he saw her as someone capable of such cruelty...it bothered her.
She ambled towards the marina with the intention of returning and paused, watching as a familiar sailboat moored itself next to her smaller vessel. The name Sofiya was emblazoned across its hull.
Roman jumped down athletically onto the boards of the jetty before striding purposefully in her direction.
She turned away quickly, not quite ready for the confrontation she knew was bound to happen. He was likely furious, and he had every right to be. But she had hoped for more time to compose herself before the inevitable. Even now, the memory of his hands on her bare skin made her short of breath.
She shook off the heated thoughts, walking along the promenade at a brisk pace.
A man was walking towards her—the man from the pastry shop, she realised suddenly. He was walking quite fast and had a slightly odd expression on his face. Olivia paused, feeling suddenly very exposed on the empty promenade. As he neared her he reached into his jacket, his large hand fumbling for something in his breast pocket.
A loud growl erupted from somewhere over her left shoulder. Roman was running past her in a matter of seconds, moving to stand in front of the older man with ferocious agility and strength. His large body manoeuvred the man to the ground and he shouted to Olivia to move away. She could hear the man calling out underneath him—a strange muffled cry of one word, over and over.
Finally Roman moved from his position and the other man managed to gasp. ‘Camera! Camera!’
Olivia spied the small black object that lay shattered near Roman’s left knee. She rushed forward. ‘Roman, it’s just a camera!’ She gasped, tugging at his sleeve for his to remove his body from the man. ‘Roman, please stand up. He’s not dangerous,’ she urged, pulling at his shoulder.
* * *
Roman looked into the blue-green depths of Olivia’s eyes and something inside him shifted. All at once he became aware of the man’s fleshy paunch beside his knee. The roar of the waves hitting the promenade to his left. He could hear Olivia’s panicked tone and his own fiercely ragged breathing.
Khristos, it had happened again.
He stood to his feet, looking away from where his unsuspecting, seemingly innocent victim had stood up and shuffled away. The roaring in his ears was deafening, the hammering in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out.
Without thinking of the lack of logic in his actions, he grabbed Olivia roughly by the wrist, ignoring her protests. Eventually she gave in and allowed him to lead her down to where his sailboat lay in wait. Within moments they were on board, and he closed the door of the spacious interior saloon with a harsh exhalation of breath.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded, watching confusion enter into her eyes.
‘Roman, what on earth—?’
‘Just sit down,’ he repeated harshly, his breath still raw and uneven in his chest as he fought to control the ridiculous racing of his treacherous mind.
Sofiya.
His mind whirled against the onslaught of terrible memories threatening to overcome him as his sister’s face broke through to his consciousness. As if in slow motion he could see the life leave her baby-blue eyes as the bullet tore through her body, silencing her scream.
He shook his head, swallowing past the dryness of fear in his throat.
Olivia moved in front of him, concern in her wide eyes as she placed her hands on his chest.
‘You’re shaking,’ she said softly, in the kind of placating tone one used when trying to soothe a wild animal. ‘Has this happened before?’
Her warm hands on his chest both irritated and calmed him. ‘Don’t push me, Olivia,’ he warned. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, too.’
‘You won’t hurt me, Roman.’
She shook her head just a fraction, her innocent eyes so wide and confused it made him want to growl with frustration and bask in her concern all at once.
‘Let me help you,’ she whispered, moving her hand uncertainly to rest on his face.
The touch of her soft, feminine hands on his skin undid him completely.
He leaned forward, capturing her words roughly with his mouth, showing her just why she needed to run from him.
Her lips were soft against his, trying in vain to offer him comfort even as he plundered and deepened the kiss. He wound one hand around the back of her neck and twisted the fine silk of her hair in his hands. His rough touch anchored her to him while his other hand bunched into a tight fist by his side.
This was wrong, he told himself. He was using her in the aftermath of his own weakness, losing himself in her, and it was so wrong he hated himself. She was innocent to situations like this, he reminded himself, talking himself down from his own madness. She deserved better than this—than him.