Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  But Mr. Ranger seemed amused more than anything else.

  “Pride and Prejudice?” he supplied with a wry grin. “There’s a re-make of it out right now in the theaters, I thought you said you saw it.”

  I flushed again. I had, but being caught in the spotlight threw me off. I tried to act casual, winking, laughing lightly like nothing was wrong.

  “Oh yeah, I saw the movie, it was really good,” I rushed. “I felt really bad, the main character was from a poor family and needed to marry rich. Isn’t it just so awful that women had to do that back then? I’m so glad those days are gone.”

  Mr. Ranger looked at me amused.

  “Well our heroine ended up with the right guy, I guess that counts for something,” he said wryly. “But you knew that, right Daisy? Because you read the book, right?”

  I nodded fervently.

  “Absolutely, I absolutely finished the book, it was really good,” I babbled. “I was just wondering …”

  My voice trailed off. How to get that pen? How to mix Pride and Prejudice with that damned pen? My mind worked furiously, reaching in all directions.

  And Mr. Ranger drawled again.

  “Wondering what?” he rumbled, this time not bothering to hide his wandering gaze. It trailed up and down my curves but all I felt was grossed out, my skin curdling. How could anyone think that an overdeveloped gorilla was hot? Sure Mr. Ranger was tall and muscular, with frosted hair and a flashing smile, but that was the problem. The spiky highlights were too obvious, the white smile too white. I wasn’t attracted at all.

  But still, I was desperate to fit in, and my mind seized on anything to keep the conversation going.

  “My guardian is interested in donating money to the English department,” I blurted, “Tristan Marks, my guardian, is interested in making a contribution. Could you come over and talk with him, explain to him how he could help Central Prep?” I rushed.

  I almost smacked my forehead. WTF was I thinking? My guardian was a cold, domineering, hard-assed man, remote and out of reach. And I’d acted such a dumbass, volunteering Tristan’s time and money to benefit my high school. There was nothing Mr. Marks would be less interested in. My mind spun furiously, trying to think of ways to backtrack, to make up for my boo-boo.

  But it was too late because Mr. Ranger nodded.

  “Sure, I’d love to chat with him,” he said with a wry grin. “How about tonight?” he said casually.

  I stood stock still, stunned.

  “Tonight?” I parroted faintly. “That’s a little soon.”

  But Mr. Ranger wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  “Next week then,” he said swiftly. “And I’ll help you prepare for the upcoming quiz too,” he threw in. “Given that you didn’t know the name of the book we’re reading, you could really use it,” he added with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrows. God, did this guy frost his eyebrows too? They looked suspiciously golden and shiny, liked they’d been dipped in Vaseline.

  So I smiled back faintly.

  “Um, okay, let me check with Tristan first, he’s really busy,” I mumbled, fidgeting a little, “but it sounds okay for now.” This was like a runaway train taking off, I was way in over my head, but my mouth kept talking like it was disconnected from my brain. “Should we meet in your classroom or in the library?” I asked, babbling still. “Maybe if Tristan sees the facilities, he’ll have some ideas of what’s needed at the school.”

  But Mr. Ranger shook his head.

  “Naw, your place is good,” he drawled with a wink. “Besides I’ve always wanted to get a look at the Marks Estate.”

  And I stopped short. Oh shit, I’d forgotten that everyone knew who my guardian was, he was a billionaire constantly in the papers for some business deal or other, sometimes photographers even camped outside our property, ready to snap a pic of the man getting into and out of his car. I was in deep ka-ka for sure, he’d never welcome this invasion to his privacy.

  But the snowball just kept on rolling, becoming a full-on avalanche.

  “Alright, next week at your place,” Mr. Ranger chortled with a grin before walking off, swinging side to side, almost bow-legged he was so overbuilt. What the hell? What had I gotten myself into? My jaw was slack, body drained of energy, and I could only manage a small “bye” that no one heard before the gaggle of girls swarmed me, voices cacophonous, ringing painfully in my ears.

  “Oh my god, he was soo hot!” squealed Mandy.

  “Did you get the pen?” asked Carly, “I thought I saw you reach for it in his pocket.”

  Trina cut them off.

  “She didn’t get it, I was watching,” the blonde said authoritatively. “But,” she added with a sly grin, “Daisy’s got a date with Mr. Ranger now. Better work it girl, work it!” she whooped.

  And the other ladies began tittering too, letting out little squeals and gasps of anticipation.

  “Oh my god, a date with the hottest teacher here!” giggled Carly. “Get his pen then. Get it? Get his pen,” she said meaningfully, making googly eyes at her friends. And the entire crew collapsed into giggles, high-pitched and grating to my ears.

  So I had to at least try to put a stop to it.

  “It’s, um, it’s more of a business meeting,” I said hesitantly. “Mr. Ranger’s coming over to talk with my guardian about a possible donation to the school.”

  “Oh please Daisy,” said Trina authoritatively, rolling her eyes. “It was all a set-up. Don’t tell me your guardian’s actually going to be home. What is this guardian thing anyways?” she said dismissively. “Just get Mr. Ranger to come over when no one’s over and then feel him all over for that pen,” she said lasciviously, making disgusting popping noises with her mouth.

  The crew was practically a group of shrieking hyenas at this point, the innuendos out of control, each one taking things to the next level.

  “Hey,” I began futilely. But my protests were drowned out by the escalating noise.

  “Daisy and Mr. Ranger, sitting in a tree,” Carly chanted. “P-E-N-N-I-N-G!”

  WTF? This made no sense whatsoever, what the hell was penning? But it didn’t matter because the clique was expecting results now.

  “Let us know how it goes!” sang Trina, swinging her designer purse over her shoulder. “Let us know or go back to where you came from!” she said forcefully, throwing that platinum hair over her shoulder in a cascade. And majestically, she strode off, the other girls trailing in her wake.

  “Let us know!” repeated Mandy, trilling the words like a woodpecker. “Let us know, let us know, let us know!”

  Oh shit, if I was in trouble before, then I was in even bigger trouble now. Because my English teacher was no match for my guardian, my crush, my secret love … Tristan Marks, billionaire alpha.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tristan

  How the girl came to live with me is an odd story. Daisy’s mom was my best friend from childhood and when she’d gotten pregnant by some loser at eighteen, we’d all been shocked. Carolyn was hardly a slut, hardly someone to spread her legs for just anyone, but chalk it up to being young and naïve. The loser had been handsome, charming, and a sack of shit, leaving her with a big belly and no money.

  “Tristan,” Carolyn had said slowly, rubbing her round belly. “I’m on my own now, do you think you could help?”

  Back then I was just getting my company off the ground, obsessed with marketing plans, product development and countless investor meetings. I didn’t have time to help my pregnant friend and besides, had no idea what to do with a baby.

  But Carolyn and I have been best friends since we were kids, so I nodded absentmindedly.

  “Sure, I’ll get some lawyers on it, help you track down that dude. What’s the father’s name again? JJ? Or was it BJ? Just tell my lawyers,” I muttered, already turning back to my laptop.

  And Carolyn nodded again, softly stroking her bump. But things took a left turn because we never found the father, and when Carolyn passed away a coup
le months later, it turned out she’d left me as her daughter’s guardian. Can you fucking believe it? She left me, Tristan Marks, twenty-something entrepreneur, as her daughter Daisy’s main person in life, the only person the baby had in fact.

  I’d been completely floored, at a loss with no idea what to do. So I sprang into action, doing the only thing that made sense. I moved the baby into my home and hired full-time nannies for her. By then, my company was doing gang-busters, so luckily I was able to afford everything the kid needed and then some. Two full-time nannies, plus a chef and a maid just to run the house.

  And for better or worse, the help took over from there. I didn’t see much of the little girl as she was growing, and when Daisy entered third grade, I put her into boarding school. Heartless? Maybe, but I’m a single dude, busy at the controls of a multinational company, with no time to spare. Plus, was it really appropriate for an alpha male to be watching over a young girl, someone impressionable and sweet? Hell no. So I plunked her in a boarding school thousands of miles away.

  And it worked out at first. From ages eight to sixteen my ward was fine, I’d get glowing reports of Daisy’s progress and didn’t think more of it, shoving the letters into my desk. After all, I was paying a shitload for her education, including gems like needlepoint and flower arranging, which were a waste in my opinion. But whatever, as long as they kept her out of my hair.

  But at sixteen, Daisy was asked to leave. There was no reason given other than “this place isn’t a fit” and “Daisy needs to find her own path.” WTF? After some inquiries through back channels, it became apparent that the Aga Khan had requested to place his daughter at the last minute, and Daisy had been booted to make space. Fuck my life. Was my money not good enough? I was incensed and about to call the Aga Khan himself, that motherfucker owed me some favors.

  But then the bomb dropped. Turns out the prince’s daughter was disabled. My ward had been booted to make place for a disabled child, and suddenly, whatever conscience I had took root at that moment. Because what kind of mofo was I, fucking over a needy child? So I decided to let it slide, and gave up Daisy’s spot. We’d survive, the horseback riding lessons and ballroom dancing was pointless shit in my opinion anyways. So my ward, a teenage girl whom I barely remembered, was shipped back to live with me in my mansion in New Jersey.

  It wasn’t bad at first because I didn’t notice any change. Literally, there was no trace of Daisy because I was barely ever home, busy flying around in my company jet, visiting clients, customers, our different work sites. If you think a CEO just sits at home twiddling his thumbs, you’re wrong. The job is all-consuming, all-encompassing and I’d drunk the Kool-Aid long ago. The corporation was my baby and I wasn’t giving her up.

  Except slowly, the girl began to creep into my life. At first it was just a sweater hanging on the back of a chair, or a bowl on the table, empty except for a spoon. Then there was the whiff of perfume in the halls, and soon I was noticing the brunette in the living room reading a book, or laughing softly at a sitcom.

  Because the girl had turned out gorgeous. Curvy, with deep brown eyes and sweet smile, I’m not sure how I missed it at first, but now I was living with a veritable vixen under my roof, my body growing ever more aware of the teen, her every move, her every mood.

  And at eighteen, she’s not technically my ward anymore, Daisy’s an adult now in the eyes of the State. Which makes it just as well because we’ve been watching each other … and I can tell the beauty’s got something up her sleeve.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tristan

  I wasn’t wrong when I said Daisy had plans. It all came out at dinner one night, over some medium rare steak. Chef had done well, the beef juicy and red, so tasty it melted in your mouth. And I could feel Daisy watching my every move, those brown eyes warm and luscious.

  But I ate like nothing was wrong.

  “How was school?” I asked casually through a forkful of the good stuff, chewing thoughtfully. “Something wrong with your food?” I remarked, looking at her untouched steak.

  The girl bit her lip slightly, those lips pillowy and soft. How I’d love to take them between mine, taste the fleshiness, run my tongue along the seam before thrusting inside, sampling the hot heat within. But I shook myself. How fucked-up was that? I was twenty years her senior, it was so damn wrong.

  Daisy’s shake of her head was silent, her eyes nervous.

  “No, the food’s good,” she said softly, looking down at her folded hands. “How was work today?” she asked.

  I kept eating.

  “Fine, I got out early and decided to come home instead of heading out to a client dinner. You can’t eat every meal out, it’ll kill you,” I said smoothly, forking up some mashed potatoes. It was rare that I indulged in any type of carbs, it’s not great for maintaining muscle mass, but hey, every guy’s gotta have weaknesses, right? And the brunette smiled.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’ve been showing Mrs. Potter how to cook healthy, even those mashed potatoes you’re eating are better for you than you think,” she said with a playful smile. “They’re not made with butter, they’re made with extra virgin olive oil instead, it cuts out a lot of the saturated fat. Can you tell?”

  And I groaned, closing my eyes for an instant. I hate health crazes, I hate cutting out butter, sugar, all the good stuff. Everything in moderation is my motto, and there’s no need to go wacko eliminating out this and that entirely, it’s so fucking extreme. Can’t a man just enjoy a hearty meal?

  So I shot Daisy a sharp look.

  “You fucked with my mashed potatoes?”

  But Daisy wasn’t intimidated at all.

  “I did,” she laughed, “And you couldn’t tell either, you wouldn’t have known unless I mentioned it. Besides, the EVOO is imported from a special place in Italy known for the creaminess of its olives, that’s why the potatoes taste exactly the same. It cost a pretty penny, but I know you can afford it,” she added cheekily.

  And I let out a big breath. Seeing that dessert was a decadent flourless chocolate cake, I was almost dreading hearing what it was made with, how Daisy and Mrs. Potter had tampered with the recipe. So I changed the subject abruptly. Better than having my taste buds shrivel off from despair.

  “Tell me about school,” I commanded.

  Daisy looked up at me surprised. I don’t think I’d ever expressed interest in her studies or any part of her life for that matter. But since she’d come onto my radar, I’d found myself drawn to her, thinking about what she was up to, what she did with her time, and who she hung out with, although I’d never voiced any of it.

  So Daisy began slowly.

  “Well, I’m taking a couple great classes,” she said tentatively. “English, Algebra, Biology, and History, among others,” she said, licking her lips nervously.

  My attention was distracted by the flicker of that pink tongue but I forced myself to focus.

  “And which is your favorite?” I said calmly, turning back to my steak.

  Here, the girl flushed again, still not touching her plate.

  “It’s English,” she murmured, looking down. That was certainly an odd reaction to being asked your best subject in school. Most times I’d expect a person to go crazy, babbling on and on about themselves, using the invitation to spew. But Daisy was different, quiet and contained.

  So I pressed forward, intrigued.

  “And why is English your favorite?” I asked casually, leaning back in my chair although my body was tense, watching her every move.

  “Well,” she said slowly, “we have a really great teacher.”

  I relaxed momentarily. An instructor can make a difference, it’s true. I’ve had more than a few mentors in my career and they’ve been life-changing, helping me see things from a different perspective, reassess difficult business decisions.

  “And who is this teacher?” I asked smoothly, expecting a woman. I dunno, I guess I’m backwards or something, I always think of teaching as a w
omen’s profession, many of my favorite teachers have been Misses this or that. But evidently it’s a modern world now and Daisy’s teacher was a dude.

  “Mr. Ranger’s my English teacher,” said Daisy softly. “Mr. Ranger’s new to the district, he’s a vet, did some time in the military before taking up teaching. But it’s fine because we’re reading Victorian literature and he knows his stuff.”

  I sat back. What the hell? An ex-military dude was teaching my little girl about books? Who the fuck was this asshole? But I didn’t let it get away from me, face impassive.

  “Mr. Ranger?” I inquired. Even his name was a fucking joke, like a GI Joe. “Tell me more.”

  “He’s really great,” said the brunette quickly. “We’re talking about Pride and Prejudice in class and he’s so knowledgeable, reminds me of Mr. Darcy, a character in the book, except not stuck up at all.”

  And I searched my memory banks. Wasn’t Mr. Darcy the hero of the book, the tall, dark and handsome guy? Why the fuck was Daisy was comparing her high school teacher to Mr. Stud? My hackles raised, bristling even, the threat of another alpha male making me growl subtly. But it’d do no good to give it away so soon, so I schooled my face into impassiveness.

  “I see,” I said casually. “This guy seems pretty well-educated, he something special to you?”

  And Daisy blushed again, her rack rising and falling with excitement.

  “Oh no,” she rushed, waving her hand, “Mr. Ranger’s just a teacher at school. But…” she said tentatively.

  “But what?” I asked.

  “But he’s coming over next week and said he’d like to meet you, maybe talk about a donation for Central Prep,” she rushed out, looking at me with embarrassed eyes. “Would you mind meeting him, maybe just for five minutes to chat a little?” she asked in a small voice.

  I almost laughed internally. Because sure, I’d love to meet this dude, love to beat the daylights out of him if he was indeed a hot stud, scare the bejesus out of him. But I played it like I’d need a favor in return.