Lie With Me. Cara Summers

      Prologue

      SECOND THOUGHTS ambushed me, stopping me short just as I reached the door to Roman Oliver’s hospital room.

      It was a hell of a time to be having them, but the momentum that had fueled me to race to Saint Jude’s Trauma Center at the crack of dawn was threatening to drain away with the speed of air leaving a pricked balloon.

      I needed that momentum if I was going to convince Roman to make love with me.

      Get a grip, Philly. You’ve made your decision, and once you do that, you never backslide.

      That was certainly true when it came to business. Since I’d graduated from college last year I’d already implemented steps in my plan to open my pet psychic business. In addition to working part-time as a hostess in my family’s restaurant, I also assisted a vet at a local animal hospital, and I’d created my own Web site. But my plan with regard to Roman Oliver was not only more immediate, it was dependent on whether or not he agreed to it.

      Stop dithering. Angelis women know what they want and how to get it. And you want Roman Oliver.

      Through the narrow pane of glass in the door, I could see him sitting in the chair next to his bed gazing out the window. Just looking at Roman was enough to make every molecule in my body yearn.

      Why did I want him? Let me count the ways. The man was incredibly attractive—if you went for a lean, rawboned face, tousled dark hair, a full, firm mouth and the kind of hard-muscled body that ancient sculptors had captured over and over again in bronze and marble.

      And it wasn’t just his looks that attracted me. There was a quiet sense of determination and purpose about him that pulled at me, too.

      Something fluttered right beneath my heart. Roman Oliver, current CEO of Oliver Enterprises and my brother Kit’s best friend since their freshman year in college, had been causing that “heart flutter” response in me ever since I was sixteen and he’d saved my life while we were sailing. That’s when I’d developed my first big crush on him. It had been a classic case of fantasy love, existing totally in my mind and completely one-sided. After all, I was sixteen and he was an older man of twenty-two.

      But in the past year, my response to Roman had changed—drastically. The dryness in my throat, the thickness in the air and the heat that flooded my senses whenever I was in his vicinity signaled clearly to me that I was way beyond the crush stage and well into lust territory where Roman was concerned. Still, I might have been able to ignore my body’s responses if I hadn’t become convinced the attraction I felt was reciprocated. I hadn’t been imagining the heated looks Roman had sent my way when he thought I wasn’t looking. And I certainly hadn’t imagined what had happened in his hospital room two days ago.