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2
COLLINS
The older woman at the door lifted her chin, staring down her nose at my hand. The look of disdain on her face chilled me to my core. Had I already made the first faux pas of my interview? Embarrassment washed over me. Stephanie Hollis wouldn’t have made this mistake. She would have announced herself, then waited. Not greeted the hired help like they were besties or whatever.
No. I wasn’t Stephanie Hollis, pampered college sorority girl who had a convertible Camaro and more money than I knew what to do with, anymore. I was Collins Attwood, aspiring school teacher and guardian of her brother. We were two down on their luck siblings looking to start over because our parents died from a deadly virus two years ago. “Mr. Daidone will see you now.” She motioned at me. “This way. Follow me.”
I stepped into the home and the soft, safe feeling of warmth engulfed me. Our home at one point felt like this, too. The foyer opened up into a sitting room on the right and a full library-type entertainment room. A few feet down from there was the staircase leading to the second floor. Farther down the hall we passed a country kitchen, the kind my mother said she would’ve loved to have one day when our father retired. The trim, moldings and columns were done in rich hardwoods and stained in a deep, glossy walnut, adding to the comfort surrounding me.
“Wait right here,” the woman said, before tapping on a door I hadn’t noticed attached to the office close to where we stood. The interior of the house was different, but cozy. I’d enjoy working there for sure.
“You may enter now.” Again, she beckoned me.
I swear the moment I stepped over the threshold intohisoffice; I swallowed my tongue. There he stood. Miceli Daidone. Ten years ago, he’d been handsome. Now he took my breath away. His hair was silver, shot through with strands of his naturally black hair. His keen brown gaze captured my grey eyes, holding me prisoner. He had the sleeves of his white button-down shirt rolled up, exposing his many tattoos and sinewy forearms, drawing my attention to the rest of his body. I wondered if he worked out, because even for his age—not that he was old—he still had a killer upper body that gave way to his tapered waist and thighs I was sure could crush me.
Iwantedhim to crush me in the most deviant ways.
My breath hitched. My heart jack-rabbited. I didn’t know if I was going to throw up or pass out, or both. Seeing this wise, hardened man sent a shiver of desire down my spine and settled low in my belly. Lord help me, I shouldn’t be lusting after my would-be boss, but I knew this man. I crushed on himhardas a child, and it appeared, even with ten years separating us, seeing each other again, I still wanted him.
“Ah, you must be my nine o’clock,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Miceli Daidone and you must be Ms. Attwood, I presume?”
Even his voice was like sugar melting on my tongue. He was sex on a stick. I wanted to climb him like a tree. “Yes, hello.” A jolt of electricity shot up my arm when we touched, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. If he felt the same type of connection or charge, he didn’t show it. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Daidone.” My words were breathy, and I mentally cringed at myself. He probably had tons of women panting after him daily.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” He pointed to the chair across from him. His expression was unreadable as he turned his back to me to grab two fresh cups of coffee off the sideboard. “I had Mrs. Petry make these for us. I’m kind of a caffeine freak.” He chuckled softly. The rough, husky sound turned me inside out with excitement. I bit the corner of my lip to keep from moaning out loud like some two-bit hussy.
“It is pretty cold out this morning,” I replied, taking the mug from him. “This is much appreciated.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, but I expected you to show up with your brother, especially after the small email explanation you gave when sending your resume,” Miceli said, surprising me.
Little did he know Kyle was out in the car.
“I wanted to make a good first impression.” I squirmed under his penetrating stare, almost as if he could cut through all the bullshit and see the real me. That should have scared the crap out of me and made me run, but I was rooted to the seat, unable to move.
“Right, well, let’s begin.” His gaze stayed on me as he pulled out the file I assumed he put together about me. “I’m sorry, but I have to say, you remind me of someone I know.”
I gave a small laugh. “Happens. Just this morning, a woman in the WaWa said I looked familiar too. I guess I have that kind of face or whatever.”Good job, me. I blew off the statement like it was normal, hoping he would drop the line of questioning and get on with the interview.
“You’re right.” He licked his bottom lip before sitting back in his chair. The arrogant slouch of his body, as though he owned the world, which he probably did, didn’t dampen the erotic and highly inappropriate images of things I wanted to do to him from flowing through my mind. “Why do you want this job?”
“I’ve always loved working with kids,” I answered, rehearsing this question with Kyle several times over the last few days. “It’s my life’s passion.” Okay, that was a little too cheery. I had to dial it back before he got suspicious.
“So, you want to be in a classroom, then?” He cocked a brow, daring me to lie to him—or maybe that was my paranoia creeping in.Don’t go there. You can torture yourself later, when you’re done with the interview.
“I’m twenty-four, not a schoolmarm,” I answered, then covered my mouth in embarrassment, wondering if the second cup of coffee was the best idea for me at the moment. Why the hell had I said I was twenty-four? I didn’t look twenty-four. I could still pass for sixteen. Trust me, I had the experiences to back the statement up.
Miceli’s muffled chuckle or cough or whatever the sexy sound was, didn’t help calm me. “No, you’re definitely not a schoolmarm.”
“What does that mean?” Oh God, what was wrong with me? I was spiraling. Instead of coming off professionally, I sounded flippant about the position, and like a bitch. My chances of landing this job were slipping through my fingers. “Sorry, never mind the question. What I mean is, I don’t want to limit myself to a brick and mortar schoolhouse. I like the idea of technology leading the way for how students learn. As you know, online schools have tripled their enrollments over the last five years. More states are recognizing them as professional institutes of learning, dedicated to helping young minds explore and succeed.”
“So, you decided right out of the gate after graduating, you’d become a tutor?” he pressed, sitting forward. The collar of his shirt was open, and changing positions as he had, allowed me a glimpse of the tattoos on chest as well. When I spotted the top of an intricate A on his chest, I bit the inside of my cheek to quail the sound building in my chest. The rumors were true then. He was a Royal Anarchist.You’re getting ahead of yourself. Calm down.True, it could be something else. Though, I didn’t believe that for a minute.
His stare bored into me, while I warred with myself about a stupid tattoo. He shifted again in his seat, as if he’d been on edge waiting for my answer. I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders. “Yes? Is there something wrong with that?” I was becoming uncomfortable being in such a confined space with him. As much as I wanted to jump him, because he was hot, duh, I also didn’t like the way he questioned my non-existent, totally faked abilities. Eventually, I’d trip up, and then what?
“No. Not at all.” He relaxed marginally. “I only ask because you haven’t taught any classes yet. No student teaching, no volunteer work. No experience, yet, you’ve waltzed right in here expecting to get a job, from me.” Miceli folded his hands and narrowed his sable-hued eyes, as though he’d backed me into the corner of a trap I didn’t know he’d set.Goodbye cruel world... “Tell me what you’re looking for, really, Ms. Attwood.”
What was I looking for? A job. Duh. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Mr. Daidone. I came in here to be your daughter’s tutor. I realize I’m young and unqualified, but I can do the job.”
He seemed to mull over what I said. The wolfish hunger in those hawkish eyes of his stole my ability to think, let alone function. I was the poor bunny, about to be eaten alive. “What if I told you there were other duties I’d assign to you, besides being a tutor for my daughter? What then?” His features were impassive. His tone, harsh and commanding. Did he know who I really was? Had he figured out this whole thing was a lie?
