Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  Her jaw falls for a second, her eyes widening. I caught her off guard, but I don’t care. I need to know.

  “It’s complicated,” she says. “A lot of reasons, really. None of which matter right now. We’re having a nice time, can’t we retire this conversation for another time?”

  “No,” I say, stopping beside her. I hook my arm into her elbow and pull her toward a park bench. Her hotel is just up ahead. A few more paces, and our night together will be over. “I need to know.”

  Lowering herself to the bench, she shoves her hands in her coat pockets and stares ahead, blowing a frosty breath past her rosebud lips.

  “You never told me Joey was a girl,” she says, monotone.

  Furrowing my brow, I shake my head. “So?”

  Daphne’s gaze falls to the sidewalk. “When we were driving, every time we’d talk about that wedding you were going to, you’d act really irritated, and you’d mentioned you didn’t want them to get married. You even said you’d stop it if you could. That they were all wrong for each other. I didn’t think anything of it until I looked you up on Facebook.” She rolls her eyes. “And I saw that Joey was a girl, and I realized that you didn’t want her to get married because you had feelings for her.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Why else would a man not want his friend to get married?”

  Leaning back against the bench, I chuckle through my nose and angle my head toward her. “Daphne. If you only knew.”

  “What?”

  “You have it all wrong.”

  “Okay? So, what do I have wrong?”

  “I’m not in love with Joey,” I say. “She was my best friend growing up. We’ve been through a lot together. I’m just protective, that’s all.”

  My chest tightens the way it does when I think about what happened. I don’t tell this story often, if ever, but if Daphne is so convinced I wanted to stop Joey’s wedding because I’m in love with her, then I have to set her straight.

  Pulling in a long, hard breath, I tell her, “A few years ago, Joey and I were driving across the country together. We thought we could make good time if we just drove straight through, no stops besides what was necessary. We were going to sleep in the car, race the sun, that sort of things.”

  She gives me her full attention.

  “Anyway, by the second day, we were getting tired. Energy drinks and coffees were wearing off. We both needed to sleep, but she needed it more, so I told her I’d drive an extra couple hours so she could get some more sleep in the back.” I take a break from the story, let myself get a few good breaths going, and then resume. “Anyway, I passed out behind the wheel. Hit a guard rail. Flipped the car a few times.”

  Biting my lip, I look away. And then I feel her hand on my shoulder.

  “Car landed on the passenger side,” I say. “Crushed Joey.”

  I sit up, resting my elbows on my knees, and hang my head.

  “I was a little disoriented at first, but when I saw her in the back, freaking out, I climbed over the seats and stabilized her neck, talked to her until she calmed down and stopped moving. Heard sirens shortly after that. Someone must’ve seen the accident and called 911.”

  “Cristiano . . .” Daphne rubs my back, inching closer. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Joey never walked again after that,” I say. “For the first twenty-four hours, they thought she wasn’t going to make it. She had a lot of internal bleeding. Lots of broken bones. They couldn’t fix her spine.”

  Daphne covers her mouth with her hand, eyes glassy. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry the two of you had to go through that.”

  Huffing, I roll my eyes. “It was all her. She’s the one who went through hell and back. I was the coward who walked away with hardly a scratch and then kept my distance when it got too hard to look at her. Not because of the wheelchair or anything, but because seeing her so . . . changed . . . it was a constant reminder that I did that to her. I caused that. She said she forgave me, but I still wasn’t able to forgive myself. So I ran. I got as far away as I possibly could. And while I was gone, she met someone.”

  She lets her hand fall down my back. “The guy she married? The one you said was all wrong for her?”

  “Yeah,” I say, hands folded. “Honestly, I don’t know him that well. I know of him. I know things about him, but I don’t know him. All I know is he lived at home until he was thirty. He has zero ambition. He’s a bit of a wet blanket, especially when you compare him to Joey. She’s so full of life. Even now. But she’s on disability with her injury, and when I first heard about Trent, I was certain he was an opportunist. Never once considered that they might actually be in love with each other for reasons beyond the exterior.”

  “You were just being protective of her,” Daphne says. “I see that now. It’s really sweet, actually. She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t mention more about Joey.” I turn to her. “I just figured you’d ask questions, and I didn’t know you that well, and I didn’t want to tell you about the accident…especially when we were road tripping across the country together . . .”

  “It’s fine.” Daphne rises, returning her hands to her coat pockets. “I’m sorry I assumed . . . anyway . . . this explains a lot.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, like why you were so insistent on coming with me. You didn’t want me to go alone. You didn’t know me, and yet you wanted to make sure I made it home safely. Says a lot about you, Amato.” She winks, her pink lips lifting at the sides, and I rise, standing beside her.

  Brushing my hands along her sides, I watch our breath evaporate into clouds as we breathe. I’m standing in one of the most beautiful cities in the entire world, but it’s been relinquished to background noise because I can’t take my eyes off the gorgeous woman standing before me.

  “I was supposed to go catch the train to Amsterdam tomorrow,” I say. “How long will you be in town?”

  “I leave in three days,” she says. “Two more nights.”

  “I’ll cancel my ticket,” I say.

  “Cristiano.”

  “I don’t want to be anywhere but here. With you.”

  Before she has the chance to respond, I crush her full lips with mine. Her lips part, our tongues catching, my hand lifting to the nape of her neck.

  “I want to see you again,” I say, lips grazing hers. I press my forehead against hers for a moment, and then pull myself away.

  Glancing up at me through her lashes, she says, “I’m going to be working the next two days . . .”

  “Then I’ll see you after,” I say. “Even if it’s a half hour, right before bed, I want to see you, Daphne. I’ll take what I can get. So how about tomorrow night? Same time?”

  With a millisecond smirk and lit eyes, she steps away, walking backward and giving me a wave.

  I’ll take that as a yes.

  Chapter 33

  Daphne

  “So about dinner tonight.” Halbrook’s voice creeps up my spine, and I feel his weighty presence in the doorway of the studio where I finish today’s Feather Touch Technique lesson.

  It takes everything I have not to shudder in front of him, and when I spin around on my swivel stool, I’m immediately smacked in the face by the overwhelming scent of his cheap cologne.

  “Yeah,” I say. “About dinner tonight. Forgot to tell you I made plans.”

  He scoffs, arms folded. “You . . . made plans? With whom?”

  “An old friend,” I say. “They’re in town a couple days, so we’re having dinner. I won’t be able to join you tonight.”

  I spin around and stifle the satisfied grin on my face.

  “You’ll have to cancel them,” he says. “I made us reservations at a Michelin star restaurant on the Champs.”

  “You’ll have to cancel the reservations, Halbrook. I’m not ditching my plans tonight.” I drop my charcoal pencils into my carrying case and pull the zipper snug. Placing my drawings carefully i
nto a portfolio, I scan the area for the rest of my things.

  One. More. Day.

  One more day studying under this narcissistic nut job and then I can hop on a plane, head home, and pack my bags for my big move.

  “This is really quite rude, Daphne,” he sputters as he watches me pack up, “to leave me hanging like this.”

  “I’m sorry, I was unaware we had a standing dinner date every single night of the week.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and tuck my supplies under my opposite arm.

  “I don’t understand your hostility,” he says, puffing his chest out. “I’ve been nothing but kind to you since you’ve been here. I didn’t want you to have to spend your evenings alone. I was only trying to keep you company out of the goodness of my heart. And as for last night, I figured you were just . . . hormonal . . . I’m willing to forgive and forget, Daphne, but you need to work with me here.”

  He follows me around the room as I gather the last of my things, though he keeps a careful distance.

  “I could have your job, you know,” he says, sounding every bit like a desperate, lonely, pathetic old man.

  Stopping, I turn to him slowly and say, “Really, Halbrook? You’re blackmailing me into having dinner with you? You want to go there? Because think long and hard about what you’re doing here. Hell, I could have your job.”

  His jaw falls, his jowls shaking as he struggles to form his response. “After everything I’ve done for you, young lady, this is quite the slap in the face.”

  Pushing myself past him, I stop and say, “Halbrook, if you so much as demand I keep you company again or if I so much as catch you looking at my chest or ass one more time, then you’ll have the privilege of knowing what a slap in the face truly feels like.”

  With that, I’m gone.

  “I feel like we’ve come full circle,” I say, perched on the edge of my hotel bed. Cristiano uncorks a bottle of red wine by the dresser, pouring two glasses.

  He brings one to me and takes the spot beside me.

  “A couple weeks ago, we shared a hotel room together for the first time,” I say. “And now we’re here, in some kind of twisted, fated, random coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I say, “Really? After all of this?”

  “I think we’re always somehow exactly where we’re supposed to be.” He takes a sip and leans back, resting on his elbow and staring up at me. I’m not sure if his expression is dreamy or if he’s simply exhausted, but it’s late in the day, and it could very well be the latter.

  “That night you kissed me in the hotel – after I’d come out of the bath,” I confess, breathy. “I’d just made my New Year’s resolution.”

  “Yeah? What was it?”

  “I wanted to fill my life with priceless experiences; the kind money can’t buy.”

  He glances up at the ceiling and then back to me. “Okay, we’re a few weeks into the new year. How’s that going?”

  Fighting a smile, I lift my wine to my lips and say, “So far, so good.”

  Our eyes hold for a moment, and then I catch myself studying his lips, his hands, his shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest. I drag the spiced scent of his cologne into my lungs and silently will him to touch me again because there’s a very vocal part of my ego that wants to feel his body on mine, and it’s refusing to wait a moment longer.

  Cristiano tosses back the rest of his wine, emptying the goblet, and then peels himself off the bed. There’s a cool space that accompanies his vacancy, and I watch him move back to the dresser, pouring himself another glass.

  “What’s this?” he moves toward my portfolio, catching a hint of a drawing I did today and pulling it out.

  My cheeks warm, and I sit up. “That’s you.”

  Turning to face me, he glances at the charcoal drawing and then looks across the room at me. “You did this from memory?”

  I nod, biting my lip.

  “God, you’re so fucking talented.” He shakes his head, studying the portrait once more. “I kept that one you drew of me, from the hotel. Hell, might even get it framed, but that might be weird. Nowhere to put it. Don’t want to hang it on a wall, but it’s too good to be hidden away in some junk drawer.”

  Cristiano pours himself another glass and returns to the bed, the mattress sagging slightly beneath his weight. Reaching toward the nightstand, I place my glass on its wood top and stretch my body across my side of the bed. Rolling to my back a moment later, I massage the back of my neck, rubbing away the aches that accompany sitting on an artist’s stool for eight straight hours.

  Scooting closer, he takes my hand in his, pulling it away, and he gently rolls me onto my side. Brushing my hair from my neckline, he trails his fingers along my shoulders before pressing his thumb into the knotted muscles just past my nape.

  Breathing a sigh, I close my eyes and revel in his careful, kneading touch. A moment later, the warm sensation of his lips against my bare flesh sends a quick jolt through me. Eyes open now, I fight a smile and try to quiet the pounding in my chest. Every nerve ending is wide awake, anxiously anticipating where he’ll go next.

  I listen to him breathe me in, steady and relaxed as he peppers kisses against my flesh. He’s taking his time, savoring each endless second that drips between us. And I am too. I come alive in these seconds, and while his touches may be skin deep, I somehow feel them in my bones. In my soul. In my heart.

  Rolling to my back, I catch his eye, lingering in a gaze that feels like delicious eternity, and I smile.

  Because I like him.

  I like him a lot.

  And I don’t want to think about tomorrow or the next day. I don’t want to think about next week or next month.

  I just want to be here. Now. With him.

  I’ll worry about everything else some other time.

  “I want you, Daphne,” he breathes, grazing his lips over mine. The curtains on my hotel balcony are pulled wide, and the city lights sparkle beneath a star-lit sky.

  “So what are you going to do about it?” I tease.

  His full lips pull up at the sides, and he climbs over me, pinning me beneath him before his mouth crashes onto mine.

  Chapter 34

  Cristiano

  I’m addicted. The sweet taste of her tongue. The soft scent of her skin. The clean fragrance in her hair. The way her body melds to mine. The sound of her heart drumming in her chest and that barely audible sigh she doesn’t know she’s making half the time.

  I want her. And I want all of her.

  Lying over her, her curved body pinned beneath mine and her hands traveling the length of my sides, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt and pulling it over my head. I kiss her harder than I’ve ever kissed anyone before. My cock strains against the inside of my jeans, raging hard, impatiently waiting to feel her warmth. Gripping her waist, I roll to the side and guide her over my lap.

  Her eyes are hungry, flickering with the same desire she finds in mine. She wants me just as much as I want her, though it’s not a competition. This is survival. Two broken, damaged hearts seeking refuge.

  Bending forward, Daphne lunges for my mouth, pressing her lips hard against mine until our tongues meet again. My hand cups her jaw, guiding her, keeping her near. Right now, I need her like the air I breathe, like the blood that courses through my body and keeps me alive.

  Leaning up, Daphne still in my lap, I rip her blouse off her body, my fingers on fire against her cashmere-soft skin. Unhooking her bra, she smiles, dragging her fingers through my hair and tugging on the ends just enough that it hurts so good.

  Cupping her full tits, I lower my mouth, taking a nipple between my teeth and pulling it taut. She sighs, giggling, and tosses her head back, and when she sits up once more, she presses her mouth against mine, exhaling as her hips grind against my hardness. She rocks back and forth, impatient for the inevitable.

  When she sits up, she peers into my eyes, her lust-filled blue gaze searching m
ine, and I cup the underside of her delicate jaw. Raking my thumb across her full lower lip, she smiles, uncharacteristically vulnerable for all of a moment, and then she covers my hand with hers.

  Biting her lower lip, she climbs off me, peeling her leggings off her long stems and tossing them to the floor before returning to bed. Her eyes travel to my lower half, her hand moving toward my belt as she flashes me a smile and an eyebrow raise as if to say it’s my turn.

  The floor to ceiling sliding glass doors to her balcony place us on full display, but judging by the electric heat between us, it’s the last thing on our minds right now.

  Working my belt buckle, her hands brush against my contained hardness, and I slide my wallet from my back pocket, grabbing a condom and tearing the packet between my teeth the moment she unleashes my rock hard cock. Preparing to sheathe myself, I pause when I catch her beautiful stare again, her pale eyes silently pleading for me to touch her.

  Reaching behind, I click off the bedside lamp, wanting to see the way her naked body looks illuminated by the moon and stars and cityscape outside. She’s glowing, radiant, her curves highlighted in warm light, her angles painted in darkness and begging to be explored.

  She crawls toward me, my hands sliding down the outline of her hourglass curves before my thumbs land at the two dimples above her perfect, peach-shaped ass. Daphne’s hips sway, and she lifts herself onto her knees as I grab a cupful of perfection behind her.

  Her mouth curls into a curious grin as she slips a finger between her teeth, and her gaze moves from mine to my throbbing cock. Within seconds, her lips are pressed against the tip and her hand gently pumps my shaft. Grazing her tongue up and down my length, she takes the rest of me, her mouth warm and wet, her strokes hungry and desperate to please.

  “Holy fuck,” I say, exhaling. My hands lift behind my head as I fuck Daphne’s bee stung pout. Those lips . . . they were made for my cock. I fucking knew it. I want this again and again. I could do this all night. Her tongue soft and wet on my cock. Her hand pumping in perfect rhythm. Her lips dragging against my hot flesh with just the right amount of pressure.