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I go for my phone again. “I need to call Cason. There must be a mix-up.” I shake my head. “Why would he ask you?”
“Because I’m one of his best friends and he’s completely overprotective of you,” he says, something warm and personal in his voice as he speaks about my brother. “Trust doesn’t come easily to Cason and he knows I’d never mess with his kid sister.”
His words are combustible, like a spark to tinder, and it fuels the anger in my blood. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need my brother coddling me, and for God’s sake I can mess with whoever I want.”
“Are you saying you want to sleep with me, Peyton?”
“No,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly, judging by the smirk on his face. “I don’t even like you.”
“Good, because I don’t want to sleep with you, either.” He scrubs his face, and I catch the flash of anguish in his eyes before he blinks it away. “In fact, I’m done with women,” he mumbles under his breath. “Another reason Cason trusts me with you.”
My body stiffens, and for one split second, my heart goes out to him, the hate inside me momentarily evaporating, making room for sorrow to fill the void. I might not like him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have compassion or care about his well-being. Two years ago, his fiancée up and left weeks before the wedding. My heart squeezes. I can’t imagine how awful, how excruciatingly painful, that was for him.
He kissed you, laughed and walked away, Peyton.
Anger flares bright at that brutal reminder, and I turn my focus to my phone. I’m about to punch in Cason’s number when Roman’s big hand closes over mine to stop me, his touch sending sparks of sensation through my body.
“He asked me to do this, so I’m doing it.” He pauses, and I almost flinch at the seriousness in his face when he adds, “I’m not about to let him down.”
No, I’m the only Harrison you don’t mind letting down.
“We’re doing this, Peyton,” he says, his voice firm, businesslike.
I hate the tension in my body, the way it comes alive the second he’s in the vicinity. My nipples tighten in betrayal, revealing my arousal, and I pray to God he can’t see what he’s doing to me.
“No, you obviously don’t want to do this,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll get someone else.” His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, a gentle sweep that I’m not sure he’s aware he’s doing. Heated memories of the hungry kiss we shared come back in a sensual rush. As illicit images dance in my mind’s eye, the visual caress teases and torments the needy spot between my legs.
“Whether I want to or not is not the point,” he responds bluntly.
“I’ll call Cason,” I say, and squeeze my thighs together in an effort to subdue the heat in my body, but I’d have more luck stopping a runaway train with my pinkie finger. “We’ll find someone else through the app. I’m sure there are plenty of other guys willing to help in exchange for cash.”
“Maybe so, but Cason won’t allow them.” His head dips, and while his breath is soft against my face, it’s like a tangible caress to my needy cleft. “You know I’m right. I’m all you got, Peyton, and we’re doing this.”
Anger and desire war with each other as I stare up at the man I hate. My traitorous body remains hot and achy from the way his hand is still holding mine, but I know there’s one thing I’ll never have to worry about with Roman Bianchi.
Him falling for me.
“Fine then.” I
snatch my purse from the hallway table. “Let’s go to dinner and work out the kinks.”
“Kinks?”
His brow arches and I give a fast shake of my head. “Details. I meant to say details.”
Fuck my life.
CHAPTER TWO
Roman
“WE COULD HAVE taken Cason’s plane,” Peyton says, her lips turned down at the corners, a pouty little frown that shouldn’t arouse me, yet somehow does. Christ, how she makes that petulant look sexy is beyond me, and don’t even get me started on her yoga pants and T-shirt with Save the Bees emblazoned across the front. She always was an activist for any kind of wildlife at risk. “It was all fueled up, ready and waiting for us this morning.”
“Now why would I tie up Cason’s plane when I have a perfectly good plane of my own?” I ask as she drops into the light tan leather bucket seat beside me and crosses her arms in a defensive move. She’s either being very protective of herself, or she’s trying to hide the way her lovely, lush nipples are poking against her thin, summery T-shirt, compliments of the cold air flowing in from the overhead vent. Or maybe they’re hard for a different reason. I’m not sure, but either way my tongue would love to spend some serious time on her body, trying to find out.
Don’t go there, Roman.
Jesus, the last thing I should be thinking about is Peyton’s gorgeous curves, or how everything about her kept me wide-awake last night, my cock hard and needy as visions of her in my bed—my mouth and hands on her delicate skin, devouring every delectable inch of her—filled my thoughts.
