She flinches and presses herself into the leather seat. “What are you doing?” she asks. But holy Jesus I don’t miss the breathlessness in her voice or the way her skin flushed from my closeness. Yeah, okay, it’s true, the pull between us is insane, like so far off the charts, it’s a nuclear explosion waiting to happen.
But it’s not going to happen.
Cason didn’t just take me under his wing in college. He’s my best friend, the guy who had my back all through college, the guy who took a chance and hired me for a crucial position in his fledgling company and he was there to pick up the pieces when I finally faced the fact that women don’t want me for me, they want to marry into my family. Honesty is important and my ex’s betrayal gutted me.
Hypocrite much?
Okay, yeah, it’s true. I screwed up with Peyton last summer. I can blame it on the romantic atmosphere, the consumption of champagne, and if I try really hard, I can blame it on heartbreak. But the simple truth is this: I wanted Peyton. I wanted her like a drowning man wants a life raft, a thirsty man wants a drink, peanut butter wants jelly.
Yeah. It’s bad.
It’s really bad.
And now? Well, and now I have to spend the next few weeks in Malta pretending to be her husband, and not exercise any of the rights that go with that.
I adjust the overhead vent. “I’m turning the air off. You’re shivering.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Back in my seat, my gaze seeks out hers and I say, “Seems you need to work on not reacting, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You damn near jumped out of your shoes when you thought I was about to touch you, Peyton.”
Her green eyes are stormy, like the warm Mediterranean Sea stirred up during a squall. “You took me by surprise is all,” she says, throwing my words back at me. But we’re both smart enough to know what’s going on here.
I grin. “Yeah, okay.”
“You say that like you don’t believe me,” she shoots back, and weariness fills my bones. I’m done bickering and answering questions. I reach into my pocket and pull out a small velvet box. Her eyes widen and her hand goes to her chest.
“What...what is that?”
I open the box and present a ring. She gasps, her startled gaze flying to mine. “Roman?”
“This is why I was late last night. I was having issues getting this from my safety deposit box. There was some kind of mix-up.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand? If we’re going to pretend we’re married, we have to cover all bases. Presenting you with my grandmother’s ring is the first base.”
Don’t think of first base, Roman.
I’m thinking of first base.
My gaze drops, my mind back on her lush breasts.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” I respond with a grin, wanting to lighten things up a bit. She frowns, and I don’t miss the way she inches back. “What?”
“I don’t want to wear your grandmother’s ring.”
I nod, a measure of disappointment gathering in my gut. For some reason, I thought Peyton might have reacted differently than my ex, that she’d respect and appreciate tradition. “It’s a family custom... I just thought.” She closes her hand over mine just as I’m about to snap the box shut.
“You don’t understand, Roman. It’s weird for me to wear the ring you gave your ex. I don’t feel right about it.”
My throat thickens and I give a humorless laugh. “It wasn’t on her finger very long, Peyton. She said it was old and not her style. She wanted something newer, something shinier.”
Her eyes widen. “Was she out of her mind?”
I actually think I was the one who was out of his mind for getting swept up in the proposal, for allowing my family to make decisions for me. I’ll never allow that to happen again.
I take the ring from the box and hold it out to her. She lets me slip it on her finger, and for the briefest of seconds this feels all too real. I’d be wise to remember it’s not, and she’s completely off-limits.
“I’m committed to this, Peyton. You will be teaching children English,” I say. “The full-time position is as good as yours. I promise, and I never break my promises.”
“No, you just go around breaking hearts,” she mumbles so low under her breath I’m not sure I heard her correctly.
“What?”
She nibbles on her bottom lip and after a few false starts she finally says, “We never did talk about that night, Roman.”
My insides go dark as I push back into my seat. “Nothing to talk about. It was a mistake. I had too much to drink,” I lie. I don’t want to be a prick. I don’t want to hurt her—again. But I can’t tell her I’d lost all control of myself and was sure if I didn’t have a taste of her, right that very second, I’d combust. I don’t want to lead her on or let her think there could be more between us. I never want to let Cason down, and I broke the bro code once. I’m not about to lose my control and do it again. Nothing short of a brain tumor stealing my ability to think with clarity could make me kiss her a second time.
“Now what was that you said last night about us working the kinks out?”
Ah, shit, now why the hell did I say that?
“Details,” she says quickly. “We need to work out the details.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” I ask to cover my slip, because no way, no damn way on the face of this earth am I going to think about Peyton and kink in the same sentence ever again.
Goddammit, I’m thinking about it.
“No,” she says quietly, breathlessly, heat coloring her cheeks. “It’s not what you said.”
“It’s what I meant to say.” I push from my seat. “Now how about that drink?”
Unless, of course, she does want to talk about kink.
CHAPTER THREE
Peyton
I WAKE TO find a set of intense brown eyes watching me carefully. I stiffen and blink, glancing around as memories infiltrate my brain, and that’s when I realize I’m on Roman’s plane and we’ve just landed in Malta. Excitement wells up inside me as I reach for my phone and check the time. It’s nearing midnight local time, six hours later than New York.
“Did you get any sleep?” I ask Roman as he finger-combs his dark hair, not that any of it is out of place. No, Roman Bianchi is always put together, and as I look at him, I wonder what it would take to rattle the man and shatter his hard-earned control.