“See? You did what it takes to get out of there and your family helped you,” he says.
“Not by myself. And not because of my family. At least, not my blood family. It was the sheriff, my school librarian, the woman who ran the food market. Family, for me, isn’t because of blood. It’s because we decided to be each other’s support system.”
A strange expression crosses his face. “What? Does being a trust fund baby negate the need for family?” I ask.
“Of course not. And I don’t like that phrase. I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of being idle. I’ve worked since I left university. My brothers are the same way. We all have professions,” he says.
I pull back, “Profession? That sounds fancy. What did you do?”
“Nothing as fancy as a big firm lawyer,” he drawls. “I’m an accountant. Or I was,” he says and for some reason it tickles me to death. I laugh.
“You’re an accountant? You look like James Bond, the superhero version. I would never have guessed,” I tease. Kinda.
“Yeah, and I worked for my family’s company for a while. I’m the first Rivers in two generations to do so,” he says with pride.
“But, I think that if I didn’t have the benefit of all that money, it would have been a lot harder.”
I shrug, unimpressed.
“Sure, having to work a second job while going to school full-time meant college wasn’t a barrel of laughs. But, you know what?” I ask him.
“What?” he responds with an indulgent smile.
“I don’t even remember the hard work. I just know it’s paid off. So, yeah, I come from one of the poorest places in the country. But, I can also tell you that the more successful I become, the more terrible the people I meet are,” I say.
“Oh, come on.”
“It’s true. There are five hundred people in my town. They’re all like my family. They say good morning and they mean it,” I say.
“Hmm, sounds nice.”
“It was. That entire town raised me. When I left for school, over a hundred of them drove down to Memphis to hug me at the airport. They couldn’t give me money, but they gave me the work ethic to fuel my ambition just because they love me. Now everyone around me wants something in return.”
“Maybe. But I still think you defied the odds,” he says.
“So did you,” I throw back. “If you have disposable income, good health insurance, and job security, then you’ve defied the odds. Do you know how unattainable that is for so many people? The odds are stacked against most of us,” I tell him.
“Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve never had to think about any of those things,” he muses like he’s never considered the mundane aspects of life.
Lucky him.
“Do you volunteer?” I cock my head at him.
“Like, you mean … my time?” he asks like it’s the most far-fetched thing he’s ever had.
“Yes, your time. You know, in your community? Worked a soup kitchen, repaired a roof, cut grass, read to someone who couldn’t read to themselves?” I ask.
“No … I support those things financially,” he says.
I shrug. “Yeah, that’s great. And we should all do that if we’re able. But if you don’t interact with the people you’re writing those checks to support, you’ll never see them as anything but poor. Which, contrary to popular belief, is not a character flaw.”
He doesn’t respond, and after a full minute of tense silence, I can’t stand it anymore.
“I’m sorry. I’m just passionate about … well, about everything,” I admit.
“Everything?” He laughs and it rumbles around his chest and rolls over me like thunder. I snuggle closer to him.
“Well, yeah—everything I do, anyway. I don’t see the point in doing something if I’m not all in. It’ll take the same amount of time to do it whether I’m enthusiastic or not. And I’ve found my greatest passions that way. What you give is what you get … I acquired lot from my experiences, so I know that means I’ve got to give them my all, too.”
He doesn’t say anything and I start to feel uneasy. Me and my oversharing big mouth. “Did I just scare you off?” I press my forehead to his chest and close my eyes. “I’m a little neurotic,” I say.
“Where did you come from?” He drops his chin onto the top of my head and pulls me close to him. He smells so good.
“Did you fall asleep when I was talking? I just told you. I’m from Arkansas—”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean, I didn’t know people like you existed ...” He pulls back so he can see my face. I flush at the awe in his eyes.
“Oh, come on. I’m a clumsy, country redneck with a law degree and a nice ass,” I quip to hide my embarrassment.
“Yeah, I can only agree with the nice ass part and I guess I believe you’re a lawyer, but I need to see a diploma.” He slides his hands down and cups the cheeks of said ass in his strong hands. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. You’re incredible. I have never met anyone like you, and I’ve never wanted a do-over so badly in my life.” He rushes the words out in a clumsy, halting sentence. I school my smile before I tilt my head up at him. His eyes are so beautiful and they’re fixed on mine in an open, honest, slightly vulnerable way.
“My mother told me that we speak from our brains, but we hear from our hearts,” I say.
“Meaning you know bullshit when you hear it?” he asks with an amused smirk.
“I know bullshit when I hear it,” I confirm. “And that’s the only reason I’m forgiving you. I can tell you’re really sorry. Also, it sucks that you have such shitty people in your life that you’re walking around expecting to be used,” I say honestly. He tenses again.
“I don’t know that they’re all shitty people. My brothers aren’t. My aunt isn’t. But otherwise, in my circle, money is more than just what you use to live. It’s your armor, it’s your power, your weapon—”
“You make life sound like a war,” I say.
“Isn’t it?” he asks.
“I mean, I don’t think so and I’ve had some battles, but no. In general, I’m just trying to do better than the people before me so that the people after me have something worth taking care of, too,” I say.
“That’s all I want, too,” he says and runs an absent hand up and down the small of my back. His hand is heavy and warm, and I start to feel the first call of sleep.
“The lady at the table told us your family is a big deal in Houston. What for?”
He takes a minute, his hands tightening their grip on my body. He hums contemplatively and sighs deeply before he speaks.
“I’m very wealthy. I have been since I was twenty-five. That alone makes me someone whose name people know. My father died when I was fourteen, and I went to live with my aunt.” His lips twitch slightly like he’s in pain.
“Was this in Texas?” I ask him gently.
“No, it was in Positano.” He runs a hand through his thick, curly hair.
“Where’s that?” I ask.
“Italy,” he says.
My fingers drift down his face when I see the flash of pain in his eyes that the memory of it brings.
“That’s a long way from home,” I say.
“It was. And when I got here, I was so angry. At everyone. I didn’t really know my aunt, and I resented having to come and live with her. I behaved like such a jerk. She sent me to a boarding school after I broke a window in her neighbor’s house and refused to apologize,” he laughs.
“She kicked you out?” I ask
“Yeah.” He scratches his chin; the scrape of stubble under his nails vibrates against my ear, and I snuggle closer to him. His body is so hard, but it yields where I need it to, and I’ve never been more comfortable in my whole life. “We were at real odds with each other. She didn’t know what to do with me, and I didn’t know what to do with all of my anger,” he says.
“How was boarding school?” I ask.
“Hell. I didn’t speak Italian well; I was a loner, and the
upperclassmen smelled blood in the water. And almost right away, they tried to make me their grunt. And that wasn’t happening,” he says coldly. I like that rough edge in his voice. I shiver and move closer to him.
“So, what’d you do?” I ask.
“The first one who got close enough to me got a bloody nose for his trouble,” he says with grudging pride.
I nudge him and tighten the hands that I have wrapped around his waist. He’s talking about it like it was no big deal. I can tell that now, it’s not. But I can’t imagine what he must have been feeling then. My heart aches for him. How can someone have so much and yet …
“So, you fought your way through school?” I ask him.
“Didn’t get the chance. I was expelled when I broke the French ambassador’s son’s cheekbone,” he says grimly.
“Holy shit.” I grimace.
He starts to pull his hand back.
I hold his arms in place to stop him. “Please don’t stop touching me; I like it. A lot,” I say quietly.
His arms tighten around me, and I relax again.
“Did you hear about my ex? I’m assuming that gossip has made its way here,” he says.
I nod.
“What did you hear?”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe it,” I tell him.
“Why not? Because I was nice to you tonight?” he asks in a voice that reeks with skepticism.
“Don’t be a jerk,” I say.
“I’m not being a jerk,” he pushes back. “I just know what people say. ‘Guy his size …’”
“Well, my father was five foot, five inches tall, 140 pounds, and he’s the most vicious human being I’ve ever met. He beat my mother until the day he died. His size had nothing to do with it. And it doesn’t have anything to do with my brother who’s the same size and just as brutal. I was bred by a violent man. I lived with violent men. I can smell it. My skin tingles.” I look down at my arms. “The only tingles you give me are the kind that feel really good.”
He nuzzles my hair with his chin.
“But … how did you end up in such a bad place with your ex?” I ask.
He stiffens and then clears his throat.
“I was living in New York after college, away from my family and with my brothers. All four of us in one city. It was … amazing.”
His sigh is full of nostalgia and I can hear the smile the memory has brought to his face. “I feel a but coming on,” I say when he pauses a beat too long.
“But, I was also in a really dark place. I was almost twenty-five. My inheritance was vesting and yet I still couldn’t go home. I’d have the money, but none of the responsibility that made it mine. And I was obsessed with being ready to take the helm. My aunt always takes blame for introducing me to her. But if I’m honest, I thought finding a wife was the most important thing. Combine that with alcohol, youth, and more money than sense … and you’ve got a perfect storm.
“I married the wrong woman. We divorced. She moved on. I moved back to Europe.
“Five years later, her luck ran out and she was trying to get more money out of me. She came to my house one evening and I refused to let her in. She banged on the door for an hour. She only left when I told her I was calling the police.”
“Why didn’t you call them the minute she showed up? This sounds insane,” I ask.
“Because I was, as always, thinking about what that would look like for the family. It ended up being a disaster anyway,” he says.
“So, you’ve been in the position for how long?”
“Since I turned thirty, two months ago. It’s been a total disaster. My uncle and stepmother have spent the last sixteen years making a mess of it. So, first order of business is trying to climb through all the shit they’ve piled on top of us.”
“Ha, just like a turd blossom!” I wiggle my fingers against his ribs.
“I’m not ticklish,” he says dryly.
“How boring.”
“Listen, I like the idea of that nickname, but I can’t see myself calling you anything that has anything to do with shit.”
“Well, I don’t need a nickname. I’m good with you calling me by my name.”
He watches me with pursed lips. His eyes narrow and then he holds his wrist up so the face of it is in my line of sight.
“See those stones? Can you tell if they’re real?”
I drag my finger over the halo of diamonds on his watch’s face.
“I can’t tell. I don’t think I’ve ever seen real diamonds in my life,” I admit and peer at them.
“What’s your first impression?” he asks.
I examine them again. “They’re pretty, but they kinda look just like the stones in a ring I bought myself for Christmas at Macy’s,” I muse.
“I think unless you’re an expert, you probably can’t tell them apart from other clear stones.”
“So why do people pay so much for them?” I ask.
“They’re rarer than most stones, stronger than most, too. So, yeah, there are lots of things that might look like them, but when you test their strength, they’ll show you why they’re worthy of the price tag.”
His voice is roughened by exhaustion, but it’s soothing. Everything about him is; his voice, his hands, his body, the way he touches me—it all feels right.
It’s almost six o’clock in the morning, and we’ve been talking all night. The buttery morning sun peeks through the dark green wooden shutters that are ubiquitous to all of the villas along this stretch of coast. I watch the dust motes dance in the rays that fall on the tangle of white sheets that we’ve cocooned ourselves in. It’s also a reminder that a new day is here and that in a couple of days I’ll be on a plane back to reality.
“That’s how I’d describe you,” he says and my eyes snap back to him. He’s staring at the face of his watch still.
“How?” I ask.
“A diamond. Well, durable, rare, stronger than you look—a treasure.” And when he says those words, I think how right they feel.
“I agree,” I say, and then flush with embarrassment. “I’m not vain,” I say defensively.
He disentangles himself from me, and I land with a small bounce on the soft mattress we’re laying on.
I find myself looking up him. He’s propped his head on his fist, and he’s watching me.
“There’s nothing wrong with vanity, Confidence. I’ve never met a woman more entitled to her vanity than you. I’ll call you … just that, Tesoro.” His fingers trail up my arm.
“That’s what you called me tonight when you were being rude,” I remind him.
“I didn’t mean it then. But it turns out that it was portent.” His fingers skim my shoulder and trip up my neck before they delve into my hair.
“I like that, even though you’re just trying to make up for being such a dick tonight,” I tell him dismissively. But inside I flail, flutter, and swell with pleasure.
“Yeah, I am,” he says slowly.
I laugh at the surprise on his face.
“Is that rare?”
“Yeah, I’m not usually worried about making up for being anything. Most of the time, out of either necessity, obligation, or a combination of both, I’m forced to make hard decisions, to speak harshly to people I respect, to say no to people I love. But, right now, I feel like I can just be myself. And remorse is something I’m glad I can still feel. It reminds me I’m human,” he says a little absently, like he’s thinking out loud. His fingers skim—with no real agenda—up and down my side. “So, this is just because it feels right to say that I’m sorry.” He focuses on me again, and when our eyes connect, we click into place like well-oiled gears and just look at each other. He’s got a mole—tiny and the same color as his skin—on the left side of his mouth. His five o’clock shadow is heavy and rides up his cheeks. The light from the lamp overhead cuts between and lights his face so his lashes make shadows on his cheeks. I trail my fingers along the shadows and say, “Thanks for apologizing.”
/> He sighs.
“I wish I could go to the beginning. When I saw you in the hallway outside my room, I should have dragged you into my room and kissed you,” he says slowly.
“But, I wouldn’t change a thing. I mean, that kiss would have been awesome. But everything that’s happened since was like a prelude to all of this. I’ve gotten the chance to know the man behind those lips,” I say suggestively.
I lean up and kiss the tiny frown that’s marring his lips away.
“And?”
“And now, this kiss is going to be something much better than awesome … it’ll be honest,” I say. I brush my mouth against his and I feel it in my core. Sexual tension inside of me. I’m dying to be with him.
“I like that,” he says, then leans down and kisses me back. His lips are soft and insistent on my mouth, and I open for him. The pads of his long fingers scrape my scalp and his thumbs cup my jaw while we kiss. It is achingly tender, and with each press of our lips, my desire for him blooms even bigger and brighter. Our tongues do an erotic slide and rub that makes my toes curl. I’ve kissed my fair share of men, but this is different. It doesn’t have an agenda. It’s not foreplay. It’s just a kiss for the sake of it. He groans into my mouth and bites my lower lip before he sucks on it. Heat floods my body. My heart rate rises. This kiss is everything. He’s my river. I am drowning in him. And, I don’t want to be rescued.
“Your mouth … it’s so fucking sweet,” he whispers before we’re kissing again. His hand slides from my hair down my back, grips my ass, and works its way back up to grasp the back of my neck and hold me in place while we share a kiss that’s far beyond anything I imagined a kiss could be. Heat is licking at my skin; I feel like I’m on fire. I sink my fingers into his hair and nibble on his lips before I break our lip-lock. I drop kisses on his chin and underneath.
A yawn cracks my jaw and surprises me so much I almost choke on the air I inhale.
“Well, glad to know my kiss bored you to sleep,” he says dryly.
“More like it wore my jaw out,” I say and yawn again.
He yawns, too, then groans and pulls me into a bear hug. “Let’s sleep. I have a call at 9:00 a.m. and then I’ll be working for the rest of the day.”
The Rivals Page 9