Page 51 of Falling for Mr. October

Aaaaaand now I’m thinking about his package.

Oh God, not again.

Watching those videos last night, I kept drifting back to that moment we shared on the rock. I had to “take care” of myself to keep from doing something truly stupid, like knocking on his door dressed in nothing but the Sir Gala-Head sweatshirt.

I won’t lie. I was thinking about him the whole time, imagining he was touching me. For inspiration, I kept an image from one of his Shirtless Chef videos frozen on my laptop screen, the ridges of his chest perfectly sculpted and lickable. I fell so deeply into my fantasy that I even imagined I could hear him on the other side of the wall, his phantom groans pushing my need higher.

Now he’s standing in front of me, panting and sweaty, and it’s hard not to feel overcome.

Giovanni starts to whip his hat off, but I stop him. “No. Wear it inside. Please.”

He’s grinning as he lowers his arm. “You want me to meet your ex-fiancé while I’m a sweaty mess, wearing a ‘Smut Slut’ hat?”

“It’s the ultimate power move,” I insist. “He’s wearing a suit, but you’re showing him you don’t give a shit. His boastful wardrobe means nothing to you.”

He cocks his brow. “Because I’m the one who got the girl?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “And because you’re not intimidated. Everyone likes you. No one who really knows him likes him. His own aunt could see right through him.”

“This guy was bad to you?”

“He was okay,” I say, but the look in his eyes has me walking it back. “Fine. He’s the worst. After I broke up with him, he made sure Evergreens & Apples was taken off the town website. Our business was cut in half.” I quickly explain about the fund Kitty set up and Rhett’s purchase of the retirement home.

Giovanni’s expression hardens. “Want me to beat him up?”

I try to gauge whether he’s serious, but it’s impossible to tell. “I’d feel bad if you got arrested.”

“Good to know you’d care,” he says, again in that strange tone, possibly kidding, possibly not.

“Just be careful. Rhett sees people as pawns on a chessboard, and it’s always his chessboard.”

“He thinks it’s his.” He glances at the house, then back at me. “So what’s his angle for coming here? It obviously has something to do with The Shirtless Chef. Am I going to get pressured into being Sir Gala-Head’s replacement?”

“People might actually want to come here if you were. He’s practical, so I suspect he wants to negotiate some kind of publicity arrangement.”

I hesitate and then decide to be straightforward. He’s pissed at me anyway, so why not ask for what I need?

“Giovanni, if you tell him you’re staying awhile, he might put the farm back⁠—”

“Got it. Glad I could be of use.” His expression hardens, and he walks past me toward the door.

I catch the back of his shirt, and he turns around with an almost feline grace. His eyes boring into me, he says, “So you do want my shirt off?”

What woman wouldn’t?

But he’s baiting me, so I say what I meant to. “What’s our story for the fake relationship? He’ll probably ask how we got together.”

“We’ll tell him it’s none of his fucking business. He lost you, I got you. The best man won, end of story.”

I fight a smile. “We’ll need a story later.”

He tips the bill of his cap. “We reconnected through our mutual love of smut. Emily was helpful.”

“Let’s say I emailed you when I saw your video. I was a fan of your channel, and when I realized I actually knew the great Shirtless Chef, I had to get back in touch.”

One side of his mouth lifts. “Because I’d given you the worst kiss ever. Obviously, you wanted more.”

“No, because you were my first kiss.”