“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.