Roman had trouble clearing his mind of Rose’s innocent and yet expectant look, as she asked him how she looked, how she smelled, even as he looked out the window of the car.
He didn’t hesitate to tell her that he might just ravage her at La Duchesse, even though he ached to take her in the car again. He had promised her breakfast, and he was going to honor his promise.
He was then mildly taken aback as she asked him why he called her butterfly.
“Can’t I?” He retorted, a smirk stretching his lips, as he turned to look at her.
“That was not the question,” she pouted at him.
Those plump red lips were inviting him, and making it harder and harder to keep a cool head on his shoulders.
“You’re too smart for your own good,” he chuckled.
“And you’re deflecting, Roman,” she quipped, her lips
