by Cathryn Fox
“It’s a nice break from reality for a while and for the record, none of this is a hardship, Peyton.” Nope, not a hardship at all. But that’s not to say it’s not hard, and when I say hard, I’m talking about my dick, of course.
She laughs. “Funny, Carly said something like that to me yesterday. She also told me I should be exercising my marital rights, pretend marriage or not.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, her eyes widen. “I didn’t mean... I wasn’t suggesting we should do that.” She gives a fast shake of her head. “That was before I even knew it was you, anyway.”
“You mean you considered it before you knew it was me.”
“No,” she blurts out, a little too quickly. With the tip of her finger she pokes my chest and I wish to God she’d stop touching me. “Now that I do know, that’s not happening. Ever.”
“Yeah, we’re not going to do that,” I agree. I’m only going to think about doing it, repeatedly, while using my hand.
She exhales, and that’s when I realize how weary she looks. She pushes her hair from her face. “I don’t even know why I said it.”
“You’re tired,” I say, giving her an out.
“You’re right. So why do you hate cooking?” she asks, redirecting the conversation. “You’re Italian. Aren’t all Italians supposed to be great cooks? Or is that a cliché?”
I laugh. “I grew up with five older sisters, Peyton. I couldn’t get near the kitchen. Not that I wanted to. I was busy with sports anyway.”
She nods, and a small, little-girl-lost smile touches her mouth. “That must have been so nice, Roman. I love my brother, dearly, but I always kind of wanted a sister, too. There was this one place...” Her voice falls off and a deep sadness invades her eyes. My gut twists, and it’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms. She shakes herself out of her reverie and says, “Anyway, all those sisters. It must have been awesome.”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask as she inches toward the bigger bedroom, stopping outside the door. “I had to set my alarm for three in the morning just to get some bathroom time.”
She laughs. A sweet melodic sound that strokes my dick. “That does sound horrible,” she says.
“Don’t even get me started on the makeup and hair products. Everywhere, Peyton. Everywhere. In my cereal, on my soap, on my clothes. Do you have any idea how many girls accused me of cheating on them?”
Her brow arches playfully. “A lot, huh?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say a lot.” I grin. “A few, maybe.”
She lifts herself up to her full height and squares her shoulders. “Well, you’ll be happy to know, I’m not high-maintenance. I promise no hair on your soap, in your cereal or on your clothes.”
What about in my bed?
Nope. Nope. Don’t go there.
Before I can think better of it, I reach out and run a long strand of her silky soft hair through my fingers. My knuckles brush her cheek, and her chest rises with her fast intake of breath. “It’s okay, I’ve gotten used to it over the years.” I laugh as I think about that. “I think you’d really like my sisters.”
“Really?”
I nod. “Yeah, you’re kind of annoying like they are.” Her mouth drops open and she whacks my chest. I snatch her hand before she can pull it back. “Kidding,” I say, and brush my thumb over her wrist.
She shakes her head. “I do talk a lot sometimes, I know,” she says.
“I don’t hate it, Peyton.” My gaze drops to her mouth. Damn, so sweet and succulent, it’s all I can do not to dip my head for another taste while I think about sinking myself inside her. Kissing her in the limo was a bad idea. I have no idea what came over me. Maybe I should get checked for a brain tumor. I swore to God, I was never, ever going to put my mouth on her again. Yeah, I can blame it on her incessant chatter, but I think it had more to do with watching her sleep, hearing her soft breathing sounds and even softer murmurs. The type of noises I’d imagine she’d make between the sheets—while I was on top of her. “Not like you hated that kiss,” I taunt.
Her lips pucker, like she’d just eaten something sour. “Yeah, I really hated that.”
“Do you hate a lot of things?” I tease. “Besides me, I mean?”
“No, I reserve most of it for you,” she jokes in return, a sly little grin on her face.
“I figured.” I let my hand fall. “I guess I should let you get to sleep.” I’m about to leave when her hand on my arm stops me.
“Roman.”
I swallow as the softness in her voice seeps through me and zaps my balls. “Yeah.”
“Your sisters.” She leans against the wall, like she’s not in a hurry to end our banter. “They’re all older?”
I pause, and take in her big green eyes. She knows they are. I told her they were. Just a minute ago, and on the plane when we were going over the logistics of our fake marriage. She blinks up at me, and my gut tightens as realization dawns. She wants to talk, wants to hear more about my big family because she never had one of her own.
“Yeah, they’re all older,” I say quietly. She nods and smiles. “Do you...want a family?” I ask, even though Cason told me his sister was anti-marriage.
Her soft smile falls and she looks at me like I must be an idiot. It’s one of the nicer looks she’s given me tonight. “Hell no. I never plan on getting married, Roman.”
“Another thing we have in common,” I tell her.
“I guess so.” Her eyes narrow and she looks past my shoulders, like her thoughts are a million miles away. “I learned early on that I’m no Cinderella and Prince Charming doesn’t exist,” she says, like all life’s curveballs haven’t bothered her at all. Maybe they haven’t—and maybe I was born yesterday. One thing is for certain, she’s a fighter, a woman who goes after what she wants. That’s damn admirable if you ask me.
“Your sisters,” she says, bringing the conversation back to me.
“You’d really like them, Peyton.”
“I bet I would.”
I wince as I think about that. “Not that you’re ever going to meet them.”
The light in her eyes fades and her smile tumbles. My heart follows suit. Shit, I keep saying the wrong things tonight.
“No, of course not,” she says. “I wasn’t suggesting... I didn’t think.”
“It’s just that—”
“No. I don’t want to meet them,” she says quickly, and I study her face, not sure I believe her. “We’re just here pretending. No need for me to meet them and give them the wrong idea.”
“Peyton, if they got wind of us—”
“Yeah, right, I get it.” She waves her hand. “Anyway, it’s late. We better get some sleep.” She steps into her bedroom, effectively cutting off my explanation. “Oh, wait, my suitcase.”
“I’ll grab it,” I say, my pulse pounding against my throat as I make my way down the stairs. She might be hell-bent on remaining unattached, but if anyone needs a family it’s her. No way can I let my sisters think I’m married, though. I can’t even imagine what they’d do. Yeah, maybe I can imagine. All five of them would invade the villa and all their interfering wouldn’t be good for Peyton or her job. Christ, we’d probably end up married for real, before either of us realized it, and neither one of us wants that.
I double-check the lock on the door, grab our bags and head back upstairs. I rap quietly on her door, and when I hear the water running in the bathroom that adjoins our rooms, I open her bedroom door and set her bag inside. With sleep pulling at me, I head to the other room and stretch out my tight muscles.
I unbutton my shirt and toss it onto a chair. As I walk to the window to take in the view, I tug my zipper down and kick off my pants. The bed calls to me, but a swim on the rooftop pool might be a great way to stretch my tight muscles. The shower shuts off and a few minutes later, footsteps on the floor reach my ears.
Dressed in my boxers that can easily double as a bathing trunk, I quietly leave the room and pad softly to the rooftop. I walk to the deep end of the pool and dive in; the water is cold and refreshing against my hot skin, but does little to snuff the heat deep inside me. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to be around my best friend’s kid sister and keep my hands to myself. Shit, I never should have kissed her. It won’t happen again. Cason’s trust is too important to me. I spend the next fifteen minutes gliding through the pool, working to exhaust my mind so I’ll be able to shut down and get some sleep.
I resurface in the shallow end, wipe my hand over my face and jerk back when I spot a figure standing at the pool’s edge. “Shit,” I say, my gaze lifting higher to see that it’s Peyton.
“Sorry,” she says, and even though I don’t want to—yeah, okay, maybe I do—I let my gaze roam over her, taking pleasure in the tiny pair of sleep shorts that showcase her long sleek legs, and tank top that does little to hide her lush breasts. If she moved just right, I’d get a lovely view of her nipple. Good God, am I fourteen? My dick is sure acting like it as it twitches and urges me to go for it. I sink lower into the water. She folds her arms over her body and hugs herself, cutting off my exploration.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing there,” I say.
“I knocked on your bedroom door and you didn’t answer. I heard a noise up here and figured I’d find you.”
“You found me.”
She scrunches her face up, her body wound tight, and I know her well enough to recognize when she’s unsure about something. She has a lot of tells, much like her brother. Unease worms its way through me as she shifts from one foot to the other.
I narrow my gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“I just...this is going to sound ridiculous.” She backs up a bit and drops her arms, a cascade of auburn hair falling over her breasts as she glances down.
“Hey, what is it?” I ask, and as my arousal morphs into worry, I step from the pool. Water drips from my body and puddles at my feet as her gaze drops to take in my near nakedness.
“Wow,” she says under her breath, and damn, the fact that she likes what she sees isn’t helping my hands-off situation at all. Tonight, however, under the covers, it’s going to be all hand on dick.
“Peyton,” I say, and her head lifts, a dazed look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
She swallows, briefly closes her eyes, and when she opens them again she stares uncomfortably at the majestic view in the distance. “I just wanted to ask you if it was okay if I left the bathroom light on, and the door leading to my bedroom cracked. It’s an adjoining bathroom, so I wanted to make sure you were okay with that.” Her look is almost sheepish when she adds, “It’s a strange place and all, and if I have to get up in the middle of the night...” Her words fall off and my stomach sinks. This isn’t about strange places and needing to go to the bathroom at night. It’s about Peyton not liking the dark. Sweet little Peyton who was tossed around in the system, oftentimes getting separated from her brother, is afraid of the dark, and that’s so sad. My heart squeezes so tight I could damn near sob. Goddamn I hate how cruel the world was to her. I hate how cruel I was to her, but I need her to hate me.
“I don’t mind at all,” I say around a lump in my throat.
“Okay, thanks.”
She stands there for a moment. “You should put a shirt on. You look cold. Pants, too.” I follow her eyes down to see the bulge my boxers are doing a piss-poor job of hiding.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though I’m far from it. “You’re the one who’s always cold.”
She glances around and I stare at her ass when she walks up to a cabinet beneath the pergola and opens it. She goes up on her toes, stretching out her long, sexy legs, and visions of me taking her from behind hit like a punch and nearly knock the wind out of me.
“Jackpot,” she says, and pulls out a big white towel. “At least wrap yourself in this before you freeze to death.”
“I’m not cold,” I say again.
Ignoring me, she shakes it out and our hands touch as she tries to throw it over my shoulders. Warmth, need and lust hit at the same time, and a growl crawls out of my throat as I envision my hands on her body, removing those sexy shorts and burying my mouth between her soft thighs.
“Shit,” I murmur under my breath, and put the towel around her quivering shoulders instead. I tug her to me, offering the warmth of my body and anything else she might like.
Get it together, dude.
“Roman,” she says as she swipes her tongue over her bottom lip. “What...what are you doing?”
My head dips, my lips inches from hers. I want to kiss her. Jesus, there are a lot of things I want to do with her. I breathe her in, let her sweet, flowery aroma feed the hunger building inside me.
“I’m not the one who is cold and wet,” she says with a huff.
Oh God, Roman. Don’t think about her being wet.
“You need to put the towel around you, not me,” she continues.
“Peyton,” I growl as she tries to shrug the towel off.
“What?”
“Leave it.”
“Leave what?”
“Just...stop, okay,” I say, my voice thick with lust.
“Stop what?”
“Stop talking,” I say, the push and pull between us arousing me more. “You know what will happen if you don’t.”
“I am not going to stop—” Her protest dies on her lips and my words slowly register in her brain. Yeah, that’s right, Peyton, you either shut up or I’ll shut you up.
“Roman,” she murmurs, her gaze moving over my face. A beat passes between us, and then a change comes over her. Her body relaxes, her throaty little moan letting me know exactly what she’s thinking—what she wants. Oh, hell no! She steps closer, crowding me. “What if I don’t want to stop?” she challenges.
Jesus Christ, is she really going there? She knows I can’t—won’t. I clench down on my jaw, hard enough to break bone, and work to fight the need racing through my blood. I can’t let her get the upper hand here. If I do, I just might give her what we both want.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” She presses against me and her breath comes out a little quicker when my hard cock rubs against her stomach.
Summoning every ounce of control I have, I grip her shoulders and move her an inch back, welcoming the rush of cooler air falling over me. Her green eyes darken, turn venomous. She gives a humorless laugh and I put more distance between us before she kicks me in the shins.
“Typical Roman.”
I grip my hair and tug. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Always starting something you can’t finish,” she shoots back.
“I can finish.”
“Doesn’t seem to me that you can.” She’s throwing me a challenge and I’ll be damned if I don’t want to pick it up.
Back the hell down, dude.
“If you weren’t Cason’s kid sister—”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“He’s my best friend, which means you’re off-limits.”
She goes quiet, her gaze latched on mine. “Do you know what I like about you, Roman?”
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, and a bark of laughter climbs out of my throat as I stand there staring at her back as she heads toward the stairs, an extra little shake in her sweet ass that teases my dick.
“Good,” I say.
She glances at me over her shoulders. “You like that, though, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I do,” I say, my voice a husky murmur.
“You want me to hate you.”
“I need you to hate me, Peyton. If you didn’t, I’d bend you right over that table and bury myself inside you.” She goes still, deathly
still. I guess I got her attention now. “Would you hate that?” I ask.
A beat of silence, and then another. “Yes, I’d hate that,” she finally says, the big fat lie hovering in the air, taking up space between us.
“Good.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Peyton
I’D BEND YOU right over that table and bury myself inside you.
Okay, I might hate him—or not—but yeah, I seriously want him to follow through with that threat, which is probably why I spent all of last night tossing and turning between the sheets, imagining that dirty scenario playing out in real time.
No man has ever talked to me like that before. Is it shameful that I liked the deliciously filthy description of what he wanted to do to me, that it fueled all my darkest fantasies? Maybe, but I don’t really care about that. Maybe it’s the fresh Mediterranean air stirring a desire in me, or maybe I want to explore our kiss, expand upon it. I really don’t know, but I’m as surprised as Roman that I suddenly want to get dirty with this man, want to be shameless and wide open to experience what I’ve never experienced before.
Go for it, Peyton.
At least now I know what’s going on with him. There’s an insane pull between us but he has some misguided loyalty to my brother where I’m concerned. I’m a grown woman for God’s sake, and who I choose to sleep with is my business. It’s about to become Roman’s business, too. Oh yeah, he’s about to learn firsthand that Cason has no say in my sex life.
The sound of Roman moving in the bathroom reaches my ears, and I kick my blankets off, my mind visualizing him stripping down to jump in the shower, his hard body hot and naked beneath the stream of water. Sweet baby Jesus, last night, the sight of him in the boxer shorts—the soft cotton the only thing separating my mouth from his very generous bulge—well...let’s just say that eyeful awakened every nerve in my body. I’ve seen naked before, but not that kind of naked. He was all hard muscles and testosterone—the view completely hypnotizing—and it was a quick reminder that I haven’t been touched in a long time, and never by anyone like him.
