Roman sat straight up in bed and couldn't believe what she'd said. Sex affected her in ways he didn't understand. Give her an orgasm, she gives him a company. "Not a good idea, Zoya."

"Why not?"

She looked so wide-eyed and innocent and he wanted her again. It would have to wait because he needed to set her straight. "Weren't you paying attention when I said people will judge you?"

She folded her arms and frowned. "I don't care."

"Well, I do. Besides, think about your dad. He'd never want you to give part of your legacy away. Especially not to me."

"He..."

Roman held up his hand. "Not right now. Now come to bed."

She flopped next to him. "You're so bossy."

He reached for his pants and she groaned. "Stay naked."

He smiled. "I am, but I have something for you." He reached inside his pocket, then settled beside her again. "It isn't much, but it belonged to Charamel, so I hope the sentiment means more than a price tag."

She shook her head. "I'm not a typical rich kid."

He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. "I know. Let's make this official." Roman slipped the ring onto her finger and she held it up in the dim light. Damn thing was so small, it didn't sparkle much, but she stared at it like it was The Great Star of Africa.

"It fits perfectly. Like it should be mine. I love it." A moment later, she graced him with the same euphoric smile that he imagined Aphrodite had worn as she emerged from the sea foam of Cyprus.

He cleared his throat. "Later, I'll buy you something bigger. Say, maybe for our first anniversary."

She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, then poised her hand in midair. "It's beautiful. I don't remember ever seeing Charamel wear this."

"After Lolo died, she put it away. The middle stone is from her original engagement ring. He had it remounted in the circle of diamonds for their twenty-fifth anniversary. It'll have to pull double duty for now, but later, we'll have a custom band done. Whatever you want."

"No," she stared at the band, simple, but perfect. "I love it."

From the corner of his eye, Roman caught a glimpse of the painting on the opposite wall. "Holy shit!"

Zoya jumped at the outburst. "What?"

He pointed. "I thought you said the picture you took in the barn was for your eyes only. Damn, Zoya. You've painted me in living color on—what is that, a five foot canvas?"

"Yeah."

He ran his hand over his face. Something about seeing himself naked and mounted on a wall made him uneasy. He thought the exhibit paintings were bad, but this was pornographic. "Thank God you didn't include this in the gallery."

"You've been to Park Street?"

"It's how I found you. Well, one of the ways."

She clutched her throat. "Tell me. Because if you found me, then Marion can, too."

He wrapped her in his arms. "It's okay. No one can touch you." For the next few minutes, he gave her the details of how he'd come to Austin and fate had intervened. That's all it could have been. He'd had little clues but someone upstairs made sure they'd been enough. Probably Charamel.

Zoya shook her head. "Stella was with the investigator? I can't believe she'd help him."

"I think she's helping you and that's why he gave you a head start and then came back to point me in the right direction."

She turned to face him and narrowed her eyes. "Why would he do that?"

Roman pulled his lips tight against his teeth and sucked air. "From the way he looked at her, I'd say there's something going on between them."

"Oh. I guess that's possible."

"Yeah." He pointed to the painting again. "Now, about that. You've got to get rid of it."

"Why? It's art. I like it. And it helps when I—never mind."

"When you what?"

"Nothing."

Well, well. His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. "You look at it while you get yourself off, don't you?"

She frowned. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Not a sign of embarrassment. He thought about the first time he met her. Naked in the tub. She'd been shameless that night. He didn't think she had either emotion. But he did, and no way in hell he'd take a chance on the world seeing him in full naked technicolor. The shadowed paintings were bad enough, but this one showed everything in living color. Even if it helped her get off. He took a second to imagine that. "I'd like for you to put privacy aside and let me watch."

"Why?"

"Because it'd turn me on."

Her eyes tracked south. "You're already turned on just talking about it."

He brushed his lips over hers. "Just promise you'll let me watch sometime."

She shoved him playfully.

"Okay. Back to the painting. There isn't a single place you can hang that thing without the risk of someone seeing it. Think about it. Would you want Mariana or Lemon or someone to see my junk? I don't." He rose from the bed and moved to the artwork.

Zoya laughed.

He jerked toward her. "What's so funny?"

"You, standing next to it. I did a really good job."

Roman looked down at himself, then the canvas. "Yeah, you did." He went back to bed and spooned her close. "We need to go to sleep. Got a lot of miles tomorrow. We'll get our license, and since there's a three day waiting period, you can use that time to plan the wedding."

She snuggled into him. "I want to go home."

"To Baton Rouge?"

"No. To Arcadia."

He raised her face to his and kissed her. "Do you have any idea how happy you make me?"

"No."

"You saved me, Zoya. For the longest time I didn't care about anybody but myself and Ophelia, and even Flynn a little. Trust, compassion, love—well, those words weren't in my vocabulary. You've given all that back to me."

She trembled in his arms.

He pulled her tighter. "Don't cry. I promise not to say anymore mushy shit."

"I like the mushy shit."

Roman didn't say anything else. Just held her until she drifted to sleep, loving how she felt in his arms. Finally, his world made sense, and he wasn't about to let anyone take that away.

The next morning, Zoya opened her eyes and stared at her husband-to-be. Before she met him, the men in her fantasies had never looked like Roman. They'd been smaller, prettier, sophisticated. But here she was, hopelessly in love with a man who made her quiver at the sight of him. Even with all her quirks, he claimed to love her. And she believed him.

Offering half of the company had been a test, and even now, she wondered what she would have done if he'd accepted. Send him away? No. Not in a million years. She loved him too much. But he was right. Everyone would think he was after her money. Why else would he marry her? Well, she didn't care what people thought.

She slipped out of bed, made a trip to the bathroom, took care of business, then brushed her teeth, and slid in next to him again.

He rolled over to face her and pulled her close. "Haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"About what?"

"Marrying me."

"No. Why would I?"

"Just thought once you slept on it, you might have reconsidered."

"Never. Now, go brush your teeth because I want to have sex."

He chuckled.

"Why is that funny?"

"You're so direct."

"Is that bad? If it is, just tell me how you want me to say it and I will."

"No, baby. I like it, but you can send me the same message without saying anything." He took her hand and moved it south. "Kiss me or touch me right here, and it'll be pretty clear what you want. But the direct approach works too." He pushed away from her. "I need a shower. Come with me."

Roman brushed his teeth while the water warmed, then stepped into the spray, pulling Zoya in with him, wrapped her in arms and kissed her. That's all it took. Everything about her ached with need. Tingled. Tightened. Clenched. Wetted. She ran her fingers over his lips. "Mine."

He took a ragged breath. "Yeah."

Hungry for him, she trailed her mouth across his chest, scraping her teeth over his nipples, then whispered against his wet skin.

This time he moaned his affirmation.

[Mature Themes Ahead]

She clasped her fingers around his erection. "All mine."

"God, yes," he grunted, his voice strangled and wrecked. Then he kissed her hard. Licked her throat. Bit her shoulder. His words echoed in her head. And she got lost—in the heat—in him, because he belonged to her. "Yours."

He slid his hand down her belly. Slipped his fingers between her legs, then inside her, stroking her.

Oh, yes. Don't stop. And he didn't. He knew what to do. Where to go. It was only moments until she came undone.

He didn't give her time to recover. Instead, he spread her legs wider and pushed inside her, and she arched to take all of him. He pulled her hips away from the wall, angled her just right, and pushed deeper.

She loved how he made sure she climaxed every time. And she did.  Sometimes so hard she thought she'd shatter. Oh God. There it was. Like riding a roller coaster. Climb. Climb. Climb, Plunge. Her body jerked, and she went mindless.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck.

[Mature Themes Over]

An hour later, Zoya held Roman's hand as they walked across the courtyard. After what they'd done in the shower, the simple gesture shouldn't be so intimate, but it was. He threaded his fingers in hers without hesitation.

Delphine's eyes widened as she opened the door. "Come in, Chere." Then she zeroed in on Roman and took him in from top to bottom, hesitating at his crotch. She smiled and lifted her gaze to his face. He squirmed uncomfortably, feeling like the canary who had just been snarled by the cat.

"Encore plus délicieux en personne."

Roman looked at Zoya and raised a brow.

"Even more delicious in person." Zoya smiled and translated.

"You speak French?"

"Yes. Roman, this is Delphine Angier."

Roman frowned probably because he knew Delphine had seen his haystack portrait. "Nice to meet you."

He offered his hand, and she latched onto it until Zoya gave her the evil eye. "I came to tell you I'm leaving."

"No! Chere. You must not go."

"I'm sorry, but I have things to take care of. I promise I'll return in a few weeks and go public with my art."

"So you and Roman have reconciled, yes?"

Roman slipped his arm around Zoya's waist. "We have, but I'll make sure she comes back."

"Very well, Chere. If you must. Your rent is paid for two more months. I will expect to see you before then."

When they got back to the apartment, Roman helped Zoya gather her things. With so little to pack, it didn't take long. She couldn't help but laugh when he shoved his portrait under the bed.

"You don't think Delphine will take this to Park Street while you're gone, do you?"

"No, she won't."

She didn't tell him that if Delphine found it, it would be sitting upon a mantle in the front room for anyone to see.

He shook his head. "I hope to hell you're right."

Zoya changed the sheets while he made a call. Stuffing the dirty linens into a trash bag, she tied it. No time to do laundry and she didn't want to leave the place smelling like sex. As he came back inside, she handed him the sack. "Would you put this in the outside trash can, please?"

"Sure. Hey, I came to Austin on my bike, but I rented a car, so we'll drive it home. I can return it in Breaux Bridge, but I'll need to arrange storage for the Harley."

"No need for that. Let's ride it."

"You serious?"

"I've never ridden a motorcycle. It'll be fun."

"Are you sure? It's a long trip."

She was good with that. He wouldn't be able to talk to her and that should give her enough time to figure out a way to convince him to live in Baton Rouge.

Sorry if my French isn't, well, good.

Also, happy birthday to me!

Poor Roman. Who wants to take bets on Delphine hosting a get-together in her house with that nude up above the fireplace?

TEASER: "Do we have to talk about this now?"

Ah, already trouble in paradise, you think?