by Cathryn Fox
“Roman,” the pilot says, his gaze sliding to me. He gives a curt nod. “I hope you enjoyed the flight.”
“It was a great flight, thank you,” I say.
Roman steps up to address the two men and I turn my attention to my belongings. I shove my magazine into my bag, and the ring on my left finger sparkles beneath the overhead lighting. I stand up straight, my heart jumping a little bit as I take a moment to admire the gorgeous diamond and gold band.
How could his ex-fiancée not want to wear something so precious? I can’t blame Roman for being off women after getting his heart broken. Something twists deep inside me. That had to have been a horrible experience for him and I profoundly hate that he’s resigned himself to the idea of spending his life alone. Then again, who am I to judge?
I flinch as Roman slides his big hand around my back, his warm scent filling my senses. Yeah, it’s true. I’m really going to have to work on my reactions and figure out a way to not like his touch so much.
“All set?” he asks, his voice low and groggy...sleepy and sexy.
“I’m ready.” I frown and reach into my purse. “I have the name of a cab company here. I’m supposed to call when we land.”
He snatches his briefcase from the floor. “It’s been taken care of.”
“You arranged a cab?”
With his hand on the small of my back again—jeez, I wish I didn’t really like that so much—he guides me to the door. “Something like that.”
“Well, you either did or you didn’t, Roman.”
“You know, it was so peaceful when you were sleeping.” I open my mouth, ready to tell him where he can shove his peace, but he smirks and adds, “Until you started snoring, of course.”
Hell, who is this man? I’m not sure, but I have to say, I love this unusual playful side of him. Although I’m not about to tell him that.
“I do not snore,” I mumble, hiding a smile, the warm night air falling over me as I begin my descent down the metal staircase. Our luggage is delivered to us from the baggage compartment, and Roman picks up both suitcases. I packed pretty light, assuming I’d pick up a few local dresses and accessories. I want to fit into the community as much as I can.
He leads me inside the airport, which is much bigger than I envisioned but fairly quiet this time of night. We move through customs and less than an hour later, we’re standing on the sidewalk and I’m searching for our cab when a stretch limo pulls up in front of us.
Roman opens the back door as the driver greets us and sets our luggage in the trunk. “Nice car,” I say, as I slide in. “A taxi would have done just fine.”
He takes an exaggerated breath and lets it out slowly as he slides in beside me. “Elias is our driver for the next month,” he explains. “Anywhere you need to go, he’ll take you.”
I blink once, then twice, my sleeping brain taking a minute to understand. “I don’t need a driver, Roman,” I say, and take in his strong profile as he buckles himself into his seat. The driver, or rather, Elias catches my eye in the rearview mirror and gives me a smile before he pulls onto the road. I lean forward to give him the address to the small villa I rented. Roman touches my arm to stop me.
“What?” I ask.
“He knows where we’re going.”
“How could he? I never told him. I never even told you.”
“He knows where we’re going, Peyton.”
My gaze goes from Roman, to Elias, back to Roman. “Wait, what’s going on?”
He settles in his seat and stretches out his long legs. “I’ve made other arrangements for us.”
“You can’t do that.”
“It’s already done.”
I glare at him, but he turns and glances out the window.
“You’re a bully, Roman.”
“Call me whatever you want.” All business, like he’s sitting in a boardroom, assigning orders to his staff, he reaches for a water bottle, uncaps it and hands it to me. “Your brother asked me to look out for you, and that’s what I plan to do. He told me where you booked, and I didn’t like the area, so I found us something more suitable, and it’s closer to your work.”
I take a long pull from the bottle and hand it back. “I can take care of myself.” I lick a bead of water from my bottom lip. “I’m not a child.”
He inhales sharply and tears his gaze away from my mouth. “Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.” He tips the bottle to his lips and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he finishes it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Roman. You said it, so it’s something.”
“Can we just drive to the villa in peace, Peyton? I’m exhausted.”
“No, I want to know what you meant, and I don’t snore, I—”
“We’re on the same page here, Peyton. A team.” His gaze drops to mine, focuses on my mouth again, when he asks, “Do you have to question everything I do?”
“When it comes to you, I—”
Before I realize what’s happening, he cups my chin, drags me closer, and presses his lips to mine. Sweet baby Jesus. My protest dies a sudden death on my tongue, and as much as I hate this man, I sink into his kiss as it stirs a need inside me. His warm lips move over mine, commanding, possessive, unwavering and...antagonistic. Nevertheless, I moan into his mouth, my hand gripping the front of his dress shirt. He breaks the kiss and I just sit there, perfectly still, my mouth still poised open. He inches back and cold air moves in between us, snapping some sense back into me.
I swipe my mouth with the back of my hand, his alluring taste lingering as I glare at him. “Why did you do that?”
“Did you hate it?” My mind doesn’t seem to want to work as his deep voice trickles through me, caressing all the parts he stirred awake with that fierce kiss. “Well, did you?”
He can’t for one minute think I hated it. Not after the way I moaned. “Yes,” I state flatly, and lift my chin a notch.
“Good, then every time you start yelling at me, or argue or give me a hard time, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Like hell you—” He gives me a warning glare and my mouth slams shut. Although, and I hate to admit it, there is a part of me that wants to be defiant, just to push his buttons...just to get him to kiss me again.
Stupid jerk.
“I hate you,” I mumble under my breath, sounding like a ridiculous, petulant child.
“Good.”
Good?
Really?
He wants me to hate him?
“I wasn’t yelling,” I mumble. It’s true, I wasn’t, but I can’t deny that I was beginning to annoy myself with all the questions.
We drive in silence, the heated tension between us enough to fog the window. After a short drive, we pull up in front of a building and I peer out at it. The place is pitch-black, and I can’t see much other than it has two stories and a rooftop.
“This is it?” I ask.
“Yes, let’s get settled. It’s been a long day.”
I had very little sleep on the plane, most of it interrupted with unsolicited dreams of the man beside me, but as I take in the place, a new kind of energy sizzles through me. I doubt I’ll fall asleep tonight, but that’s not unusual. I wrap my arms around my body as I climb from the car, and Elias retrieves our luggage. Roman speaks to him for a moment and we head toward our villa.
“Where exactly are we?” I ask in a low voice, not wanting to wake anyone in the neighborhood.
“We’re in Upper Gardens. It’s a quiet community in St. Julian’s, and very close to all amenities.”
“How far are we from the school?”
“Walking distance,” he says, his voice low, matching mine. He punches in a code to the door and pushes it open.
The night air is warm, but my
body is chilled. It’s always chilled, even more so when I’m in new situations or going on little to no sleep. I remember as a child lying wide-awake in bed for hours on end, my body arctic cold as I waited for the knock on the door to come—it always came—telling me it was time to go to a different foster home. I step closer to Roman and try to absorb his body warmth, but the cold remains.
“If the school is walking distance, why do I need a driver at my disposal?” I ask.
He mumbles something about me talking too much under his breath and I’m about to ask even more questions when he flicks on the lights and my words fall off. I glance around the spacious villa, beautifully decorated in black, chrome and white. The kitchen is sleek and modern, the living area lush and inviting. All the clean lines of its open concept give it an airy feel, and I like it. A lot.
I drop my purse and Roman stands at the door as I enter the place, taking it all in. I check the fridge and cupboards to find them fully stocked. After cataloging the main level, I hurry up the stairs to find two gorgeous bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows giving a clear view of the water, and a lovely contemporary shared bathroom in between the rooms. The place is absolutely breathtaking—and completely out of my budget.
I hurry back downstairs and find Roman locking up behind us. “Not so fast,” I say. “We can’t stay.”
He turns to face me, and his eyes are half-lidded, tired from the long day. “You don’t like it?”
“Of course I like it. What’s not to like?”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I raise a brow and give him a look that suggests he’s dense. “Roman, I’m a teacher. I can’t afford this kind of luxury.” My brother might be a multimillionaire, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pay my own way in life. I pride myself on my financial independence. Cason put me through college but I insisted on working part-time to provide for incidentals, even though he didn’t want me to.
“It’s covered, Peyton,” he says flatly.
“Why would you do this?” He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to answer. A second later he closes his hand over mine. His touch is so soft, so achingly tender, my stomach takes flight. His eyes narrow.
“You’re still cold,” he states.
I pull my hand away. “I’m fine.” He angles his head like he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t give him the chance to say anything. “I can’t believe you rented this place without even asking me, and had it stocked full of supplies.”
“I just wanted you in a safe place, close to your school, and the kitchen is stocked because we need to eat.”
“Roman, I—”
He captures my hand and when he pulls me close, my body meshing with his, I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I was going to say. His head dips and I hold my breath. Is he going to kiss me again?
Do I want that?
Oh God, I do.
“Before you say another word,” he begins, his voice an octave lower, “come with me.”
Giving me little choice in the matter, he ushers me up the stairs. We don’t stop on the bedroom level. Instead we go up another set of stairs and he pushes open a heavy door. It takes me a second to realize we’re now outside.
“Oh my God,” I say when I see the breathtaking view from the rooftop. It’s even better than from the second-floor bedroom. I turn and take in the long stretch of pool and crisp white outdoor furniture, shadowed beneath a pergola. I breathe in as the warm wind blows by, carrying the fresh scent of flowers with it. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I thought you might like the view.”
“You mean you thought it might shut me up,” I say, but I’m losing the will to fight. This is all too much for me, but it was incredibly sweet of him.
“Peyton,” he says, and spins me around until I’m facing him, our bodies flush. He rubs his hands up and down my arms to warm me. Awareness flitters through me, and I can’t seem to ignore it. “Maybe this isn’t about you,” he says. “Maybe it’s about me. Maybe I just wanted to stay somewhere nice, something that suits my needs and lifestyle more.”
He’s selling it, but I’m not buying. I don’t for one second believe this is about him. He might be a man used to luxuries, but everything in me, every ounce of women’s intuition I possess, says he picked this place for me because I’d like it—and that confuses the hell out of me. One minute he’s kissing me and laughing in my face, the next he’s flying me here on his Learjet, putting a gorgeous ring on my finger and swearing he’ll do whatever it takes to help me get this job.
This isn’t about you, Peyton.
It’s about my brother and their bond, and I’d be wise to remember that. Air leaves my lungs in a hiss, much like a leaky balloon deflating. What? Did I want this to be about me? No, I don’t even like this guy.
“It’s not a big deal, okay?” he says, but it’s kind of a big deal for me.
“I don’t want you to pay my way, Roman.” The truth is, while I appreciate him wanting me to live in comfort—because he has some obligation to my brother—I don’t want to rely on anyone. Outside of my brother, I can’t ever let myself get used to someone else caring for me. Self-preservation has taught me to rely only on my small family of two. I just can’t set myself up for that kind of heartache. I don’t think I could survive being chewed up and spit out again—especially not by this man.
His head dips and those dark eyes of his narrow on me. His smile is slow and sincere. My stomach tightens as the hardness in his dark eyes melts, reminding me of a steaming mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s night—the kind of warmth that comes close to thawing the chill in my bones, but never quite succeeds.
“Okay,” he says. “You can pay me back.”
I nod and my tightly strung muscles relax, slightly. “Good.”
“Can we go to bed now?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Roman
PEYTON’S GREEN EYES widen at my slip and I quickly backtrack. “I mean, we should get some sleep. It’s been a long day. Tomorrow will be busy for you. You have to meet the children, the teachers and the school’s principal, and we need to be ready to make a good impression.” Okay, Roman, you can stop rambling any time now, and while you’re at it stop picturing Peyton naked.
“True,” she says, and pushes her hair from her face to expose the pink flush on her cheeks. “Sleep is a good idea. Which room do you want?” she asks as we head inside. She starts down the narrow stairs and I follow behind.
“Why don’t you take the master suite,” I say, the room I normally take when I come to Malta to unwind. If I told her I owned this place, that my family owns many villas on Malta, it might set off another argument, and I’d have to quiet her with a kiss, which can’t happen again. Her brother is my best friend. That doesn’t stop my dick from hardening at the thought of kissing her a second time today. “I’m fine in the smaller room.”
She nods and glances at me over her shoulder, her jaw set, a stubbornness about her. “I do plan to pay you back, Roman.”
I smile, liking that about her. Not her stubborn streak—that’s just plain annoying—but I like that she’s a girl who wants to pay her own way through life, even when she doesn’t have to. She’s always refusing her brother’s financial help, and this is my villa—already bought and paid for.
“I know you do,” I say quietly.
“I just...it might take a while.”
“Or we could find another form of payment,” I say, and when she reaches the landing her gaze flies to mine. No doubt she’s thinking I’m talking sexual favors here. I’m not. I want her to want me regardless of what I do for her. Wait, no, I don’t want her to want me. What am I thinking?
Dammit.
“Such as?”
“You could cook for me.” I rub my stomach as I remember Cason’s amazing seafood pasta. “If you cook anything like your brother, then that’s
all the payment I need.”
“I’m a good cook,” she says, and folds her arms across her body, a small quiver going through her. I make a mental note to adjust the air-conditioning. “I actually enjoy being in the kitchen.”
“I hate it.”
She glances down and a small smile touches her lips, like she’s remembering happier times. “Cason and I did a lot of cooking together.” She chuckles lightly. “I used to wear swimming goggles when I cut up onions. That always cracked him up.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “I was a weirdo. You don’t have to say it.”
“Nah, not a weirdo. That’s genius-level intellect, my friend.”
She chuckles and it curls around me, warms my soul. I like seeing her smile. I’d love to see her do it more often, but the world has not given this sweet girl much to smile about over the years.
She puts her hand on me and gives me a little shove. “You don’t have to be a smart-ass.”
“I’m serious, and you’re the smart-ass, not me.” I join her on the landing and throw an arm around her shoulders, nudging her chin with my fist. “No, I’m the one who’s older and wiser, so you’re going to have to trust me on that.”
Her body tightens beneath my arm, and that’s when I realize just how close I’ve pulled her, just how nicely her body fits with mine.
“I... I don’t really trust too many people, Roman,” she admits, a heaviness overtaking her as her eyes narrow, and I could kick myself. I didn’t mean to dredge up demons from her past.
I give her a comforting squeeze before I pull my arm back. “I know. I don’t either,” I say, not wanting her to feel alone in this. “Not anymore, anyway.”
She shakes her head, a bit of the tightness in her muscles gone. “I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”
“What a pair we make. You’ll cook for me, then?”
She waves one hand around the long hallway. “You’re here in Malta, away from your work, your friends and your beloved New York, helping me get a job. Cooking is the least I could do, don’t you think?”
