by Cathryn Fox
“Roman Bianchi,” the man says, and my breath stalls as my name sticks on his tongue, like he’s trying to figure out where he’d heard it before. Shit, maybe we should have made up a fake last name. “Do you have a sister named Aurora?”
“Actually, yeah, I do,” I say, and reach for Peyton’s hand again when her eyes widen.
“My goodness, I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty,” he says.
I hold my hands up to stop him. “The Bianchis are an old family, but we have no titles to our name. And please, I like to keep a low profile.”
“Yes, I always heard that about you.” His gaze goes from me to Peyton, and he must be remembering my failed engagement.
“We’ve kept things quiet,” I say. “You can imagine why.”
He nods, his blue eyes thoughtful. “Of course. I must tell you, though, your sister and my old college friend Lorenzo Costa are husband and wife.”
Worry cuts like a sharp blade. “You went to college with Lorenzo? What a small world,” I say, hoping to make light of it.
“Small indeed,” he agrees, and my stomach is so damn tight with worry, I give Peyton’s hand another fast squeeze. Shit, this is not good. If word gets out...
“Do you talk with Lorenzo very often?” I ask around the knot in my throat. Christ, I’m here to help Peyton, not screw everything up for her.
“No, it’s been a while. I must give him a call soon. Catch up.”
“Like I mentioned, I do appreciate my privacy.” I roll my eyes playfully. “If you know my sisters, I’d never get a moment’s peace if they knew I was here.”
He laughs like he does indeed know my family. “They are all lovely women and I’m a younger brother in a big family, too, so I fully understand what it’s like to have intrusive sisters.” He claps his hands together and turns to Peyton, and I relax a bit hoping we just dodged a bullet. “How about a tour, and then I’ll take you in to meet the staff before introducing you to your new students?”
“That sounds lovely,” Peyton says, the hitch in her voice noticeable only to me, and only because I know this woman. I give a little nod to let her know I got this, that everything will be okay. Her big eyes scan my face, and she relaxes slightly with my reassurance. Jesus, this girl trusts me, and I better be able to back it up and make sure I don’t mess this up.
We walk through the colorful halls and children’s laughter reaches our ears. “Richard is already here,” he says.
“Richard?” Peyton asks.
He shakes his head. “My apologies. Richard is the other teacher. An American, like you. He, too, is vying for the full-time position. His darling wife is with him. They’ve been here for over an hour.” I glance at my watch. “He’s eager to get started, I guess,” Andrew adds. “I bet you will all hit it off.”
I want to ask why he’s holding a ridiculous competition in the first place. Peyton is clearly the best candidate and I don’t even have to meet Richard, the eager beaver, to know it.
As if reading my mind, Andrew turns to me. “This is a much-coveted position, and while Richard and Peyton were top candidates, it’s important to us to see them in their role.”
I wrap my arm around Peyton. “I’m sure you’ll be extraordinarily impressed. She impresses me every day.”
“How did you two meet?” he asks.
“Roman and my brother are best friends. They met in college, Penn State. Perhaps you know my brother, Cason Harrison. He’s the creator of Hard Wear, quality fashion for men, and Soft Wear, quality fashion for women.”
Andrew’s eyes widen. “I have heard of that app. I believe my wife uses it.”
Peyton turns from us, sneezing into her arm again. “Sorry, allergies,” she explains as she fishes a tissue from her purse. Andrew gives us the grand tour and we end in the teachers’ lounge. He introduces us and everyone greets us with smiles and open arms, until he presents Richard and his wife, Paula, both of whom I instantly dislike. Oh, they’re smiling, but I grew up surrounded by fake, and know it when I see it.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Andrew says and disappears, leaving us with Richard and his wife.
“I’m looking forward to getting to know you both better,” Richard says. “Where are you residing for the month?”
For the month?
Okay, now that shit just pisses me off. He’s acting like he’s already got the job and Peyton might as well not get too settled.
“Not far,” I say, when his gaze lands on me. I work to keep my cool and add, “In this community.”
Paula flashes me a saccharine smile. “Looks like we’re neighbors. We must socialize.” She puts her hand on her husband’s chest. “In the evenings of course. Throughout the day, I’ll be home tending to the house and supporting my husband.” Her eyes turn to me. “And you, Roman? What will you be doing when your wife is at work?”
I move closer to my wife and anchor her body to mine. As the protector in me roars to life, I fight the instinct to stand in between her and these assholes. Peyton is tough on the outside and has the ability to handle this guy and his wife. It’s what’s underneath her bravado that worries me, the flare of some deeper emotion she keeps tucked deep, protected by an impenetrable and unscalable wall.
“I’ll be home supporting my wife, too,” I say, remaining on my best behavior as my fingers curl.
“Like a house husband?” Paula presses manicured nails to her chest and lets out a mocking laugh, stoking the anger in me. “How adorable.”
“So nontraditional,” Richard, and when I say Richard, I mean asshole, pipes in.
“You don’t want to stay home and have a family, Peyton?” Paula asks.
When Peyton’s face pales, a muscle twitches beneath my eye and I open my mouth, not about to let anyone belittle her or question her choices, but she puts her hand on my arm.
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying I’m an independent woman,” Peyton says. “My choices are my own, as are yours, and I hope we’ve come to the point where women have stopped shaming each other for their choices. We can have a family whether we work or stay home. I mean it is the twenty-first century after all.”
Atta girl!
I glare at Paula as she lifts her chin. “Yes, of course,” she says. “I guess I’ll always be that old-fashioned girl. Not that there is anything wrong with what you’re doing,” she says, her voice sweet, but the malicious glare tells a different story. “We just prefer to do things differently. That’s how it is in the Ozarks, where we come from, our values are much like they are here in Malta. Very different from New York, obviously.”
Two elderly ladies step into the lounge and I shake my head as Paula and her husband dismiss us and turn to charm them. I rub the knot from the back of my neck, hardly able to believe people like that still exist in this world. Then again, maybe that’s exactly what they’re looking for in Malta. Old time-y values. Peyton, however, has more values in her pinkie finger than almost anyone and while there is nothing wrong with staying home, no one and I mean no one should shame a woman for wanting a career. Peyton’s choices are hers, and hers alone—and that comes to her sexuality, too. As that epiphany hits me like the slap of a teacher’s ruler, it occurs to me she’s right about a lot of things she said to me, mainly that she can sleep with whoever she wants to sleep with while she’s here—as long as it’s me.
Christ.
I love her brother dearly but all of a sudden I can’t help but think maybe someone ought to tell him Peyton is a grown woman and her decisions are her own.
Andrew steps back into the lounge and claps his hands.
“Before I introduce you to your students, who are ready and excited to meet you, I would like to extend an invitation to you all, a get-to-know-one-another dinner at my home tonight.”
“We’d love to,” Richard says quickly. Peyton, however, casts me a quick gl
ance.
I appreciate the check-in; it’s what most married couples would do. Making decisions together is something I watched my folks and my married siblings do over the years. I can’t help but wonder if her reaction was because she’s playing the part or she doesn’t want to ask too much from me. But I’m here for her. This woman is beautiful and selfless, and became a teacher to give back and make sure every child feels cherished. Whatever she needs from me, she gets.
“Sounds great to me,” I say, and the smile that splits her lips is enough to destroy any man. My heart tumbles a little in my chest, and I give a big swallow.
You’re here to help her, dude, maybe engage in a few marital benefits, and nothing else.
“It’s settled then. Let’s go say hello to your students.”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Wish me luck,” she says.
“You don’t need it. You’ve got this, Peyton.” I bend and press my lips to hers. I brush her mouth lightly, and at first the public display of affection startles her. Within seconds, she warms to my touch, to the show I’m putting on—or at least I’m trying to convince myself it’s all for show and simply for our small audience. Peyton’s mouth lingers beneath mine, like she’s in no hurry to pull away, and I slowly break free and pull myself up to my full height. Paula, clearly one never to be outdone, goes up on her toes and kisses her husband.
I put my mouth close to Peyton’s ear and a quiver goes through her. “I’ll be at home, waiting for you,” I say. She nods, but the surprised yet appreciative look that comes over her face is a fast reminder that outside of her brother, this woman has never been able to count on anyone. I want her to be able to count on me.
Peyton casts a quick glance over her shoulder and I give her a little “you got this” nod as Andrew leads them from the room. It warms my heart and reminds me there really is still a lot of good in this world. Her brother must be so proud of the woman she’s become. He just needs to realize she is a woman and not a small, parentless child he has to protect due to a neglectful grandmother, followed by years in the system.
Speaking of siblings.
My phone pings in my pocket and I don’t have to check it to know it’s my sister, Aurora. I gave them all personalized rings. I toy with the phone and fight down a burst of unease as Peyton and Richard follow the principal out the door. I hope Andrew didn’t excuse himself so he could put a call in to his old college buddy—my sister’s husband. Shit, if word of this gets out, all Peyton’s hard work, hopes and dreams will go down the toilet. I can’t let that happen.
I’m about to leave when Paula lifts her head, her eyes narrow. “I can’t quite figure it out, but you look so familiar. Have we met before?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Peyton
I SIT AT the front of the class and my insides are aflutter as all the little ones pack up their belongings and get ready to head home. My day was amazing. Meeting such wonderful children all eager to learn a new language. I’m in a different country yet deep inside, I feel oddly connected to it, like it’s where I belong. Strange, I know, considering I’ve never belonged anywhere before.
Throughout the day I had to dig deep to recall my years of Italian studies. Maybe I should ask Roman to speak to me in his mother tongue to keep me on top of my game. I pack my briefcase and wave to the children as they file from the classroom. I’m about to follow behind but instead roam around the classroom, a small smile on my face as I take in the artwork we did today.
“All set?” a voice asks from behind and I turn, startled. My wide eyes narrow, and my heart misses a small beat when I find my “husband” standing there, looking so casual and relaxed, so sweet and sexy at the same time, I can’t help but second-guess what I’m getting myself into with him.
“You startled me.”
I quiver under his steely gaze and the air around us vibrates when he says, “Payback for sneaking up on me last night in the pool.”
“First, I wasn’t sneaking up on you,” I say as his eyes visually caress me. “And second, I had no idea you were the vengeful type.”
“I can be vengeful,” he says, and saunters toward me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his khaki pants. His clothes are casual this afternoon, but no less devastating. Breathless—it’s the only way to describe what his presence does to me.
I inhale shallowly as my body buzzes to life. “That polo looks amazing on you,” I say. Heat floods my body as my gaze falls to take in the way he makes the shirt look good, not the other way around. I can only assume he wore a suit this morning to help make a good impression, and I truly appreciate his attention to detail—inside the bedroom and out.
He steps up to me, slides one hand around my body and with no finesse pulls me to him. Our bodies collide, and as he inhales, filling his lungs with my scent, I shiver under his touch. “Is that right?” he asks, splaying the hand on my back, his fingers lightly brushing the swell of my backside. Ripples of sensual pleasure move through me, and my little fluttering breath gives away my arousal. His grin is knowing when he says, “You know what I think would look even better on me?”
His sexy smile rattles me even more. “What?” I ask; the brown in his eyes deepens, a telltale sign of the lust building inside him. “Me?”
He laughs. “You took the word right out of my mouth,” he answers, his voice raspy and fractured. Once again I can’t help but think he’s not as in control as he seems. I’m not sure why but it secretly thrills me when this man becomes unhinged.
I brush my thumb over his bottom lip and press my breasts into his chest. “Well, now that this mouth of yours is empty maybe we can fill it with something else.”
His cock instantly hardens against my leg, and he gives an almost resigned shake of his head. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“You mean you can’t believe I said it before you said it.” I laugh and poke his chest. “You were thinking it. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“Not trying,” he says with a cocky grin. The more time we spend together, the more playful he becomes. Before this trip, he kept that side of himself locked up tight. I guess humiliation in the past—he was dumped just before his wedding—forced him to keep his guard in place, and perhaps he doesn’t feel the need to protect himself with me after we both made it clear where we stood. I get that he’s still worried about his friendship with Cason, but I’m not a girl to kiss and tell. Heck, up until this morning, and the time he ravished my mouth at the wedding, I wasn’t even a girl who kissed, period. Damned if I haven’t been missing out, though. Then again, it’s not like I’d want another man’s lips on mine. No, and right there, that fact alone, could very well lead to a problem.
No regrets, Peyton.
I push that thought from my mind as he glances over his shoulder. His grin is mischievous, playful when he turns back to me, his eyes zeroing in on my mouth. His hips move, pressing against me, conveying all his needs. Desire twists inside me as I ache to lose myself in him a second time.
“Want to shut the door?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper that glides over my flesh and hints at things to come. Intimate things. Dirty things. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited by the prospect.
“No,” I blurt out, and he cocks his head, his brow raised, his tanned skin glistening in the rays of sun streaming in through the big windows. I lean into him, soak in his warmth. The scent of his skin, clean soap infused with testosterone, swirls around me. “Well, yeah, of course I want you to shut the door.” That brings a smile to his face. “But I’m not about to jeopardize this job.”
His demeanor changes and he steps back, putting a measure of distance between us, and I instantly miss the connection. “Right. Sorry about that.” He taps his head and winks at me. “Loss of blood there for a second.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I sidle back up to him, put my hands on his chest, loving his strong heartbeat beneath m
y palm. “I kind of like that I can do this to you.”
“Ah, something you like,” he says, a slow nod of his head. “That’s different.”
I run my finger along his cheek, the bristles on his late-afternoon shadow rough against my flesh. How would it feel between my legs? “Let’s hurry home. I’ll show you what else I like doing to you.”
He frowns. “Don’t we have to go to Andrew’s for dinner?”
I glance at the clock. “If we hurry, we—”
He snatches my hand and ushers me out the classroom door before I can even finish my sentence. Hand in hand, like two lovestruck teenagers, we laugh and hurry outside the school. I sneeze again when we pass by the same purple flowers.
He casts me a quick glance, and beneath the lust I spot genuine concern. “Allergies?” I nod, and he slows his steps when I become a bit breathless. “Tell me about your day,” he says, his brow furrowed, real interest on his face. “Did you enjoy it as much as you thought you would?”
“It was so much fun. The kids are all wonderful.” He grins at me and I talk endlessly, as I sometimes do, as we continue to make our way back home. We reach the villa and I’m winded from my incessant chatter. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?” Roman pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter.
“I talked nonstop and never even asked how your day was.” I frown and his mouth drops to my lips, stoking my need for him as I push past him. “That was thoughtless of me.”
“There’s nothing thoughtless about you, Peyton.” His voice is almost tortured as he says that, like it’s something he can’t quite comprehend, like it scares him a bit. Inside he shuts the door and pushes me against it. “And if you really want to know about my day, let’s just say we’re about to get to the highlight reel.”
