Page 61 of Falling for Mr. October

“I don’t like that all these people know who you are, and where to find you.”

“That’s the whole point,” I say. We’re still sitting close together, with his arm draped around me, the way we positioned ourselves for the video. The broadcast is over now, but neither of us moves. “They’re supposed to find us.”

“If anyone harasses you, you tell me, Bianca. I mean it.”

I nod, feeling that knot of emotion in my throat again. I’m not used to someone caring this much about my comfort. My mother was mostly hands-off after my parents’ divorce, my grandfather was a strict man, and my grandmother was so busy running interference between him and us that she didn’t do much doting. I don’t know how to handle it, so I say, “You didn’t need to defend me like that. I don’t care if they think I’m ugly. I know it’s just because they want you, and they think I have you.”

“You leave that to me, and if you want to tackle anyone who gets handsy with me, I’ll leave it to you.”

It’s tempting to protest, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for argument.

I nod, my attention torn between his expression and the feeling of his warm body pressed against mine.

“All right,” I finally manage. “Are you going to get changed before we go to the pumpkin patch?”

“You’re coming with me?”

He sounds so surprised and excited that I almost laugh. “Of course I’m coming with you. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves.”

He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t mind so much. I like most people.”

“Some of those people are crazy.” I gesture to the phone. “You saw the comments.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand across his chin. “Does it bother you, seeing them say shit like that about me?”

Yes.

I don’t like other women imagining him naked, dreaming about touching him and running their tongues up and down his abs. I don’t like the thought of them driving across state lines to visit the farm simply so they can feast their eyes on him. But I can’t say any of that, since he’s not really mine.

“A little, I guess,” I finally respond. “Does it bother you?”

His smile is almost sad as he bobs his head slightly. “Janine made it pretty clear that the only thing I had going for me is the way I look, so this sort of feels like more of the same.”

He’s opening up to me, expressing an insecurity that he mustn’t share with the world. He starts to rise, but I place my hand on his thigh, stopping him.

He darts a quizzical look at me. “Bianca?”

“There’s more to you than that.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, but it’s more regretful than happy. “You haven’t really seemed to think so.”

His words pierce me. I know he’s right. I was so prepared to see what everyone saw—the sexy, good-times guy—but like most people he has layers, and he’s already shown me some of them. I’d like to see more.

“What can I say? You’re growing on me. And, yes, I guess you’d better shower. If you show up in gray sweatpants, we’ll have to bring smelling salts. There’ll be a fainting epidemic.”

“Why?” he asks, looking genuinely baffled.

I tap the brim of his hat. “If you truly valued the art of smut, you’d know exactly what gray sweatpants do to a girl.”

His lips curl up into a half smile that make him even more attractive. “I guess I’ll have to do my research.”

I think again of last night. Of pleasuring myself while I stared at his photograph frozen on my screen. Am I any better than all of those other women thirsting after him?

I shake the thought away, swallow dryly, and stand. Giovanni does the same.

“I’d better go warn Fiona,” I tell him.

Fiona’s a middle-aged mother of four. She won’t know what hit her if she shows up to the Free Giovanni sheet and dozens of cars full of admiring women.