by Regina Hart
“I’m glad.”
“I’m not. With both of my parents on the committee, I’ve just made this project more difficult. I’m sorry.”
“Just make it clear to them that we don’t have time for personal conflicts on the committee.”
“I wish it was that easy.”
Peyton searched his features as though she could read his mind. “What’s really bothering you about your parents working on the fund-raiser?”
Darius wanted to ignore Peyton’s question, but her gaze insisted on a response. “They’ve never volunteered for anything. They don’t have any fund-raising experience.”
“That’s my role.”
“Their antagonism toward each other will disrupt our meetings.”
“We won’t let it.” She was boxing him in, dismissing his reasons as though they weren’t perfectly rational arguments.
“You don’t understand. Some people like to read. My parents’ hobby is arguing, especially with each other.” He tried to say it as a joke. It didn’t come out that way. Darius shot off of Peyton’s sofa and strode to her toy tree. “I’m not my parents.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to be compared to them.” Darius glared at the decorations.
“No one’s doing that.”
“I’ve seen it. Every time my parents argue, people look at them and then me. They’re thinking the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Darius touched one of the fake red apples hanging from a plastic branch.
“You’re nothing like your parents, Darius.”
“Aren’t I?” Darius shoved his fists into the front pockets of his black Dockers.
“Everyone has a complex about their parents. We’re afraid we’re like them. We’re afraid we’re nothing like them. We have to realize we’re our own people.”
Darius sensed there was something more in her words. “You sound like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“You think you’re the only one with difficult parents?” Peyton shifted on the sofa to face him.
Darius took in Peyton’s abundance of brown curls, serious caramel eyes, full red lips and stubborn honey-and-chocolate chin. “Are you afraid you’re like your parents or that you’re not?”
“Neither of the above.” Peyton’s shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath. “I used to be afraid I wasn’t good enough.”
Darius frowned. “Good enough for what?”
“Not what.” Peyton shrugged. “I didn’t think I was good enough for them.”
“That’s crazy.” Darius returned to sit beside her on the sofa. He raised his right hand to cup her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm against his palm. Her scent, talcum powder and lily of the valley, reached out to him. It stirred memories of being locked in the archives with her, of her Catwoman costume—of her.
“What’s crazy?” Peyton’s voice was hushed. Her eyes mesmerized him.
“You’re more than good enough for anyone.” An invisible force drew him nearer to her. Just a taste.
Darius touched his mouth to Peyton’s. His muscles went lax at the feel of her soft, moist lips. Peyton sighed, parting her lips and letting him in. Darius’s muscles shook at the sensation. Warm, wet, sweet. His tongue swept inside, seeking her secrets. Her tongue reached out to meet his in a suggestive dance. She stroked him. He caressed her. She teased and tasted him. He embraced her.
Peyton’s arms rose, caressing the muscles of his torso through his bronze sweater. Darius’s heartbeat was heavy beneath her eager touch. His hands slid up her back. He pressed her warm, soft curves into his body, heating the chilled spaces.
Darius drew his hand up the side of Peyton’s torso until his palm tested the weight of her breast through her blue sweatshirt. Peyton gasped and groaned deep in her throat. He drank in the sound. It affected him like alcohol in his blood. The pressure in his groin grew heavier, his caresses more urgent. But it was more than a physical reaction to the woman in his arms. It was emotional. This time he felt more than he’d ever felt before. He ached and burned. He needed and wanted.
Darius slipped his hand under Peyton’s sweatshirt. His breath caught in his throat. The little professor wasn’t wearing a bra.
Peyton gasped, breaking their kiss. Her nipple beaded, branding his palm. She arched her back, pressing her breast deeper into his hand. Darius bore the weight gladly. He kneaded her. Traced her curves with the back of his hand. Pinched her nipple with his fingertips.
“Your skin. So smooth. Soft. Hot.” He spoke against her neck. Peyton shivered against him.
Darius wanted her closer. He lifted her onto his lap. Peyton straddled him, pressing her knees against his hips. Her movements were as urgent as his as she rocked her body against him. He licked his way up her neck, trailing his tongue against her skin. He kissed her jawline, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
“So sweet.” He husked the words into her ear, loving the way she shivered against him.
Peyton groaned. “You’re driving me crazy.” She leaned forward and sunk her teeth against his shoulder through his knit sweater.
Darius’s hips lifted between her thighs. “You’re making me lose my mind.”
Peyton chuckled into the curve of Darius’s neck. She sat back on his lap. Reaching beneath his sweater, Peyton shoved the garment up and over his head, tossing it behind her. She leaned in, tracing her tongue in the groove between his pectorals.
“I’ve never felt this way before.” She breathed against his damp skin.
His passion swelled. Darius gritted his teeth. “Neither have I.”
Peyton sat up and stripped off her sweatshirt. Darius swallowed. Hard. He leaned forward and took her breast into his mouth. Peyton moaned.
He cupped her hips and stood. “Bedroom.”
Peyton jerked her head over her shoulder and wrapped her legs around his waist. Darius followed her nonverbal direction. He carried her across the living room, down a short hallway to her bedroom.
This large, square space was more in keeping with the Peyton he was beginning to know—warm, colorful, and welcoming. Most importantly, there was a neatly made king-sized bed in the center of the room.
“Condom?” Peyton’s voice was a breathless plea.
Darius released her beside him at the foot of the bed. He reached into the front pocket of his slacks and pulled out his wallet. He took a condom from a side compartment and laid it on the bed. “I didn’t plan this.”
“I’m not complaining.” Peyton smiled.
They made quick work of the rest of their clothing. Slacks, yoga pants, underwear, socks, and shoes were strewn across the floor.
Darius drank in Peyton’s nudity. Her figure was petite but powerful: narrow shoulders and full, firm breasts. Tiny waist, trim hips, and long, well-shaped legs. “You are so beautiful.”
Peyton’s body hummed. Already her senses were more heightened than they’d ever been in the act of lovemaking. She was damp and throbbing. Her skin was sensitive. With Darius, she felt like she was the only thing on his mind, the only woman in the world. Special and significant. The hunger in his midnight eyes filled her with confidence and a sense of power she’d never felt before.
She stepped forward, trailing her index finger from his chest to his hips. “Your body is art.”
And it was. He was a flesh-and-blood Adonis. His broad, sculpted shoulders; six-pack abdominals; lean hips; long legs with powerful muscles. She must be dreaming. Her palms itched to touch him all over. She laid them flat on his chest, then dragged her hands down his body. She sank to her knees, drawing her hands to his thighs.
“Peyton.” Darius choked on her name.
“Let me.” She licked the length of his erection, then drew it deep into her mouth.
Darius cupped her shoulders. His fingers shook on her skin as he tried to lift her away from him. His voice was rough. “I want to come inside of you.”
She wanted that as well. Peyton stood, walking into Darius’s embrace. He lowered his head
and kissed her hard. His mouth was demanding, making her even more anxious to feel him inside her. The ground shifted beneath her feet. When Peyton opened her eyes, she was lying on top of Darius, who was lying on her bed.
His heated gaze burned her. “Ride me.”
Oh my.
Peyton had never been on top before. She was suddenly self-conscious. He’d be able to watch her. But then she could see him, too. And she would be in control. The idea had appeal. She found the condom he’d dropped onto the quilt.
She sat up, straddling Darius’s lean hips. She scooted down to his thighs. Peyton opened the packet, then rolled the protection down the length of his erection. She loved the way he responded to her touch. “Are you ready for me?”
Darius’s voice was husky. “Very.”
She smiled into his heated gaze. “Just making sure.”
She crawled back up his body, allowing her breasts to rub against his torso. Peyton rose up on her knees and positioned Darius at the opening to her core. She lowered herself onto his erection as Darius lifted his hips to slide inside her. He stretched and pressed her until her whole body was awash in pleasure. Her nipples tightened. Her core flooded with desire.
“So good.” Darius pressed his head into her mattress.
“Mercy. You too.” She leaned forward to kiss him.
Darius caught her breasts in his hands. He stroked and caressed them, rubbing the nipples until she groaned. Moisture pooled in her. Her body heated. Her pulse raced. She sat back, riding Darius faster, squeezing him inside her harder. She arched her back, bracing her hands behind her on the mattress.
“Take what you want.” His voice was a spell on her. Darius touched her spot, rubbing, pinching, patting her until her body quaked. “There?”
“Yes. Yes.” The muscles in Peyton’s thighs trembled. Her lower abdomen tightened. She rocked her hips against his finger even as his erection pushed deeper inside her. The pleasure was as sharp as pain. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her blood roared in her ears. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Darius grabbed her hips, pressing her against him and rising higher in her. “Let go. Just let go. I’m here. I’ll catch you.”
Peyton threw back her head as her body exploded. Wave after wave of pleasure rode over her, tossing her body in Darius’s arms. And then she felt him coming. His hips lifted from the mattress. His fingers tightened on her thighs. They were suspended in time and space for seconds. Then they came crashing down.
Much later, Darius kissed Peyton’s forehead before rolling onto his back. A chilled breeze came between them.
“Stay.” Peyton turned toward him. Her voice was a whisper in the dark, half command, half plea.
Darius fought the urge to give in. “I don’t have a change of clothes. I didn’t plan this.”
Peyton gave a throaty laugh. “Impulsiveness is sexy only to a point.” She shifted, snuggling closer to his side.
Darius’s body stirred. “I don’t want people whispering about us. I don’t want the matchmakers to know they were right.”
“Were they?”
Darius waited for the fear to creep in. It didn’t. He turned to face her. “What do you think?”
“I think you’d be more persuasive if you’d remembered to bring a change of clothing.”
Darius laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He climbed from the bed and swiped his clothes from her floor.
“You didn’t disappoint me.” Her words were husky, filling his body with heat.
Darius had to leave before his good intentions went up in flames and he climbed back into her bed. He made quick work of dressing, though he was distracted when Peyton slipped out of bed and wrapped her sexy little figure into a pink cotton robe. Once they were clothed, Peyton led him to her front door. Darius stopped to get his sweater.
She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Sleep well.”
He touched his mouth gently to her kiss-swollen lips, then held her gaze. “You too.”
Darius walked into the cold night. He waited for Peyton to lock her door. His body protested each step that carried him closer to his car and farther from Peyton’s bed.
So this is what it was like to feel. He wasn’t sure he enjoyed it.
Peyton followed the music rising from the front of the Trinity Falls University auditorium Tuesday morning. Her footsteps whispered against the red cement floor. But Vaughn probably wouldn’t have heard a stampede of cattle charging the room. His piano bench was mere yards from her, but he seemed so far away.
She settled onto one of the second-row seats to enjoy his private performance. The haunting melody Vaughn lifted from the piano keys mesmerized her. The piece was sad and hopeful at the same time, heartbreaking and defiant. His mastery of the music was captivating. He should be giving concerts for millions. Why was he hidden in this small university auditorium, gifting his music to an audience of one?
The music ended. Peyton sighed, then stood to give her unwitting entertainer a standing ovation. “Encore! Encore!”
Vaughn looked as stunned as if he’d found himself naked in front of a classroom. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long.” Peyton stepped out of the audience and approached the band director. “I couldn’t imagine who was playing the piano at seven in the morning.”
“I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Vaughn checked his watch.
“You’re a very talented pianist. And it’s a beautiful piece. What’s it called?” Peyton leaned against the piano, facing Vaughn.
“‘Untitled Opus Number Five.’” Vaughn closed the piano and stood.
“You wrote it?” Peyton’s eyes widened.
Vaughn grinned down at her. “I do have a doctorate in music.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just . . . it’s beautiful.” Peyton stammered her way through a lame apology.
“You didn’t offend me. And thank you.” Vaughn escorted her away from the piano and back up the auditorium’s aisle.
Although Peyton’s office was down the hall, she hadn’t had many occasions to enter the auditorium, perhaps only twice, including the university’s convocation at the beginning of the school year. It was a large room. Roughly six hundred mahogany chairs were separated into three sections and bolted to the red cement floor. Long, narrow Gothic windows were carved into the walls just below the ceiling. In the front of the room, a concert pit stretched between the groupings of folding chairs and the mahogany stage.
“You’ve written five pieces?” Peyton walked with Vaughn, grateful that he’d adjusted the strides of his much longer legs so she wouldn’t have to run beside him.
“I’ve written more than that, but I’ve come up with names for most of them.” Vaughn pushed his hands into the front pockets of his coffee-brown pants.
He had more pieces like those? “Does your concert band perform them?”
“No, people want to hear popular songs.”
“You’re wrong. People would love your work.”
“Thank you.” Vaughn’s face darkened with a blush.
“What do you do with your music if your bands don’t perform them?”
Vaughn smiled. “You ask almost as many questions as Darius.”
“I’m sorry.” Peyton’s face heated with embarrassment, but she still wanted an answer to her question. She stared Vaughn down.
“I’m working on something.” His words were barely audible.
“What is it?”
Vaughn stopped just inside the doors to the auditorium and faced her. “It’s a musical. But not many people know and I’d rather not talk about it.”
Peyton smiled. “I’m glad you’re working on the musical. Thank you for telling me. I can’t wait to attend your opening.”
Vaughn rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if there’ll be an opening.”
“Make it happen. You’re too talented for those songs to sit in a drawer.”
“Thanks.” Vaughn looked
away again.
Peyton didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. He’d been so kind to her since her arrival at the university. She changed the subject. “I’m glad I found you. I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to serve on the fund-raising committee for the community center.”
“I’d be honored. Thank you.” Vaughn seemed relieved at the new topic. “Who else is on the committee?”
“I’m going to ask Olivia Stark.” Peyton named the university’s biology professor. “Darius’s parents have volunteered. We’re also going to ask Stan Crockett and CeCe Roben.”
“Both of his parents?” Vaughn’s brows rose toward his shaved head. “That should be interesting. I’m glad Darius is cochairing the committee with you.”
Had she imagined the smugness in the music professor’s response? “Vaughn, is Darius right about a matchmaking group?”
“Maybe you and Darius shouldn’t spend so much time together.” Vaughn started walking toward her office. “You’re starting to sound as paranoid as he is.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re wrong.” Peyton fell into step beside him. “Are you a part of this group?”
Vaughn glanced down at her. “First, tell me if you’re enjoying his company.”
“I am.” She enjoyed talking, debating, confiding in him. And last night’s lovemaking had been a revelation.
“Isn’t that all that matters?” This time, there was no mistaking the smugness in Vaughn’s tone.
“You have a point.” But what will she do when the town’s most eligible bachelor loses interest in her?
Darius bounced his pencil’s eraser on his desk as he waited for Peyton to answer her office phone. It was just after ten o’clock Tuesday morning. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since he’d woken up. He was still second-guessing his decision to leave her last night. Darius stared blankly at the document on his computer screen, too distracted to review the story notes.
“This is Dr. Harris. May I help you?”
Darius relaxed at the sound of her voice. It was strange and wonderful the effect she had on him. He pictured her sitting at the overly organized desk in her office. Was her hair pinned up? “Dr. Harris, this is Darius Knight. Are you free for lunch?”