My Dark Romeo: The Unputdownable Billionaire Romance

R omeo and I had sex.

Real sex.

In fact, he seemed to almost accept the idea of expanding our family. Not to mention, he saved my life last week at Le Bleu.

The man took a literal bullet for me. Without even hesitating.

On paper, I should’ve been elated.

So, why wasn’t I happy?

For starters, two more petals fell from Vernon’s rose.

My rose.

The more it shed, the sadder the fragile stem appeared. It swam in a pool of withered white, since I refused to discard a single corolla. And somehow, that made it barer. A lonely soldier in a forgone war.

And second, despite all Romeo’s concessions, gestures, and devotion—he still kept me at arm’s length. Still hadn’t taken me on one proper date.

I knew genuine adoration when I saw it. Shep Townsend might be a terrible father, but he loved my mother with everything he had.

Meanwhile, Romeo spared me no real attention. To him, I’d become a fixture. A piece of furniture. A distraction.

The realization gutted me. After all, there was no greater pain than unrequited love.

Unfortunately, I felt foolish explaining this to Hettie. So, instead, we played Connect Four, the television murmuring in the background.

“Wait.” I latched onto her forearm. “Turn up the volume.”

“Dal, you can’t change the rules every time you lose.”

“No. The news.”

“Holy crap.” She snatched the remote, blasting the mini flatscreen in the kitchen.

A cheery reporter folded her hands on a curved anchor desk. “An anonymous source reports that Costa Industries’ demo artillery exploded mid-field test, leaving three staffers hospitalized. Investors are questioning whether the company can successfully fulfill their Pentagon contract, given this massive engineering setback.” An infographic flashed across the screen. “As you can see, shares have nosedived since initial reports of the fiasco.”

This “leak” had my dear ex-fiancé’s paw prints all over it. I’d almost forgotten about Madison. Hadn’t even heard from him since our brunch at Le Bleu, and I preferred to keep it that way.

A cut-out of my husband’s smiling face at a charity event popped up beside the reporter. What I didn’t expect, as she read out his official comment, was for said husband to burst into the kitchen.

The clock read two past noon. Romeo never made it home before six.

Hettie turned to me, slurping on the Vietnamese egg coffee we’d ordered on DoorDash. “I think your husband just walked into the kitchen.”

Shaking my head, I tried hard not to blush. “Nah. Must be the edibles we took earlier. No way would he miss out on all the office fun.”

We never took edibles, but I always liked to keep Romeo on edge, forever guessing. It made him pay me a sliver of attention, and I, the beggar that I was, scrambled for whatever crumbs he threw my way.

“Dallas.” He ignored Hettie’s existence. “We have something to discuss. Follow me.”

My smile evaporated.

Was I in trouble? If so, how come?

I hadn’t spoken to Madison in ages. Plus, what happened today had nothing to do with me.

In the background, news about Costa Industries’ mounting troubles continued rolling.

I feigned a yawn, but my heart galloped. “Whatever you have to say can be said here.”

He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest. His muscles bulged beneath his dress shirt.

I knew he was wrapped up, in stitches and in pain under his sleeve. That made me yearn to kiss every inch of him better.

“This is a private matter.”

Hettie shifted in her seat, clearly wanting to be anywhere else but the position I’d put her in. Beneath the counter, she pinched me.

I pinched her back. “This is private enough. Hettie is family.”

“No, she is not. Even if she were, the latter shan’t be privy to all things passed between a husband and his wife.”

Again, he spoke like a nineteenth-century duke. I couldn’t deny it made me rethink my stance on historical romance.

Still, I refused to be subjected to him while he suffered from a foul mood, which he clearly did.

“I beg to differ.” I straightened my spine. “Whatever you need from me, here and now is good enough.”

He skimmed Hettie, not really paying her any heed, and shrugged. “Very well.”

In two swift steps, Romeo hoisted me up, perched my butt on the kitchen island, and began unbuckling his pants between my legs.

Gasping, I turned to stare at Hettie behind me. “What in the Lord’s name do you think you’re doing?”

He flattened me on the counter. My hair tickled Hettie’s elbow as he flipped my shirt up, exposing my midriff. His tongue trailed upward, toward my breast.

Violent shivers of pleasure circuited my body. In an instant, I dampened between my thighs.

“You said whatever I need from you can happen here. In front of Hettie. I’m having a bad day and need a pick-me-up. Came here to cream pie in my wife’s tight cunt and slap her tits a little. Hettie is welcome to leave at any point.”

His head disappeared inside my shirt, his teeth already nipping at my nipple through my bra.

“And Hettie is leaving right now before she can never look either of you in the eye ever again…” Her chair scraped. In a blonde blur, Hettie dashed out of the kitchen.

Vernon, who was on his way in, did a U-turn, too, muttering, “Goodness gracious.”

“This is unsanitary,” I pointed out as Romeo discarded my shirt and bra. His mouth devoured the side of my neck. “People are supposed to eat here.”

“I do intend to eat here. Your pussy.”

“I thought you were mad at me.” I propped myself on my elbows, watching him, fascinated.

He tugged down my jeans and panties, burying his face between my legs, eating me out with the urgency of a man starved. His hot, wet tongue stroked my insides, his nose massaging my clit.

“Why would I be mad at you?” The words were murmured into my core.

“Because of the stock…Madis—”

“Do not speak his name when my tongue is deep enough in your cunt to reach your uterus.”

The familiar burn of a blush crept up my neck. “I worried you thought I had something to do with it.”

With much reluctance, he tugged his eyes up, understanding words needed to be exchanged between us.

He sighed, kissed the inside of my thigh, and straightened, staring me in the eye. “I know you’re not seeing him anymore.”

“How do you know?”

Somehow, I was sure as the morning sun that he’d stopped having me followed. Romeo kept his word. He always did.

“Because you and I both know that I would exile you from Potomac and file for divorce if you betray me after everything that’s been said between us.” Fire ignited his glacial gray eyes.

Despite the malice inside them, his gaze showered me like sunshine, warming me down to my fingertips.

He now cared enough to get hurt. It wasn’t much—but it was enough to make my head spin with joy.

“Now.” He dipped two fingers into me, curling them as the sound of my juices clinging to him filled the air. “May I kindly eat out my wife, then fuck her, then eat her out again? I canceled all of my meetings for today, just so I can do that.”

He withdrew his fingers and sucked them clean of my desire for him.

I grinned. “You may.”

I  was so satisfied and exhausted, every muscle in my body ached. Romeo stood at the stove, heating milk for my hot cocoa. White drinking chocolate from L.A. Burdick, which he’d specifically instructed Hettie to order for me ahead of winter.

It marked his first time doing anything semi-romantic for me.

It means nothing, Dal.

Still, I couldn’t heed my own warning.

Romeo sifted two scoops of shaved Burdick blend into the pot. “I used to take a cup to class every time the temperature dropped. Even while at MIT where the closest locations are all the way in Harvard Square or across the bridge.”

I pretended to gasp. “You mean, there exists something beyond Brussel sprouts and chicken breasts that you eat?”

My eyes glued to his sinewy forearm as he whisked the mixture. Good Lord.

“You’ll understand when you try it.”

To be honest, it could taste like liquid manure and I’d still demand seconds if only for the first-row seat to his forearm porn as he assembled it.

I feasted on the sight of him. Shirtless, gloriously powerful, and almost mine.

His taut muscles flexed every time he made the lightest move. A thin coat of sweat still clung to his tan body.

I watched him with pleasure from my spot on the chair Hettie had occupied only an hour ago.

“I ordered replicas of your engagement and wedding rings.” Romeo poured the drinking chocolate into my cauldron-shaped mug, littered with Henry Plotkin spells. “They should arrive late next week.”

My stupid heart fluttered in my chest. It was so hard to keep my feelings at bay when all I wanted to do was let them loose. Watch them grow, develop, and evolve.

I feigned boredom. “And what about your ring?”

He sucked his thumb of milk residue, setting the mug in front of me. Fresh whipped cream and peppermint shavings. Just as I liked it.

Had he been paying attention?

Romeo sat across from me. “My wedding band should arrive around the same time.”

I was hearing everything I wanted to hear. Why wasn’t I satisfied?

Was it the rose that was slowly dying before Romeo had time to fall in love with me? Was I just being moody? Hormonal? Homesick?

I spun the teaspoon in my hot chocolate, channeling all my concentration into it.

“Shortbread?”

My eyes snapped up. “Yes?”

He frowned. “Why do you look so glum?”

Because you still feel nothing toward me. You simply accept me as yours. As one accepts a new colleague or neighbor. Someone random who entered your life and was here to stay.

I tried to swallow my frustration, but I couldn’t.

The idea of slipping into bed with him tonight—of sharing my body with him without sharing a single thought—haunted me.

I motioned between us. “Because this isn’t real.”

“Elaborate.”

“This. Us.” I sighed, pushing the cocoa away from me. Things were serious when I wasn’t in the mood for something sweet. “We share so much together, yet nothing at all. You don’t know me. Not really. You haven’t even attempted to learn more about me. You’ve opened up to me, and for that, I am grateful. But you know nothing about me. No enticing bits and pieces that would make me more endearing in your eyes. You don’t know what my favorite color is. My favorite food. What my dreams are—”

“Your favorite color is blue.”

Lord, could he sound any more disinterested?

But he was right.

And I was shocked.

He reclined against the backrest, shrugging it off. “You always wear blue. It complements your tan. And you gravitate toward blue things. From your Henry Plotkin phone case to your favorite Chanel bag—all blue. As for your favorite food, that would be lomo saltado. Extra aji verde.” Even the tiniest smirk from him directed rays of lust straight to my bloodstream. “You order it in three times a week. The delivery guy practically has our gate code. You always switch things up for variety when you order from any other restaurant. Other than Peruvian ones.”

Spot on. Again.

Maybe I was more transparent than I’d thought.

I suppressed a smile, knowing if I unleashed it, he’d see how stupidly in love with him I was.

Oh, no.

I was, wasn’t I? In love with Romeo Costa. The coldest, least sympathetic man on Planet Earth. The God of War.

All moisture fled my mouth. The adrenaline in my body awakened me from my orgasm-induced sleepiness.

“But you don’t know about my dream. My real dream. Not the ones I joke about.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Children?”

I shook my head. “That’s a goal, not a dream.”

“Then, no. I do not. What’s your dream, Dallas Costa?”

To be Dallas Costa because it’s your choice and not a part of your plan.

I had a much older dream, though. “I want a house that is also a library.”

“A library in your house?” he corrected, frowning.

“I said what I said. I want a house gutted from within and turned into a library. Every inch of it. Every room would have shelves, wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling. No matter where you walk. Kitchen. Dining room. Bathroom. Everywhere.”

He studied me like I was an intriguing piece of art he’d just stumbled upon at the museum. Completely new to his eyes.

Slowly, he nodded, unfastened his tin of gum, and placed a square on his tongue. “Now I know.”

Well, that was anticlimactic.

I swallowed hard, feeling stupid and childish.

I changed the subject. “So, you felt bad today and came to see me. Careful. I might suspect you’re developing feelings for me.”

The joke came out all awkward and wrong. More accusing than flirtatious.

“I needed a quick fuck to get rid of the excess pent-up rage.” He reached for his water bottle, taking a sip. “Do yourself a favor and don’t read into it. I’d hate to hurt your feelings, Shortbread. They’re so very precious. So are you, by the way.”

It was the most patronizing, backhanded, terrible compliment I’d ever been paid. And I couldn’t even tell him that, because then he’d know how much he’d hurt me.

“Hey, Romeo?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you noticed you haven’t been chewing on gum excessively in the last few days?”

I had.

I noticed everything about him.

Romeo tilted his head. “That’s right. It’s been a few days.”

“One of these days, you’re going to have to tell me why you like gum and silence so much,” I teased, my foot finding his under the table.

“Why are you so fascinated with it?”

“Because our habits tell us who we are. Your quirks are a piece of you.” I paused. “And I want to piece you together, Romeo Costa. That is, if you’d let me.”

He shot up, taking his bottled water with him. “I’ll be in my office, working. Thanks for the fuck, Shortbread.”