Taming Mr. Charming (The Taming Series Book 2) Read online

  “Let me love you,” he whispered.

  I yanked away from his embrace.

  “I can’t.”

  Peyton’s expression did not weaken. “I can.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “I’m patient.”

  I tried tugging free again.

  “I’m too selfish.”

  “I’m very giving,” he held firm.

  I finally confessed my deepest fear.

  “I-I’m not worth it.”

  Peyton gave me a funny look, then leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss to my lips. My eyes involuntarily fluttered shut. Peyton waited until I opened them before piercing me with his heated gaze.

  “You are.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Wait, wait, wait. Say that again.” Melody insisted, sprawled on my bed beside me. She’d come over to help me with the store Saturday afternoon and as per our usual agreement, I fed her Ben & Jerry’s ice cream as compensation. I figured she’d get my confliction when it came to jumping into a relationship with Peyton; after all, she was the queen of that particular leap.

  I groaned, “You heard me woman.” My life was completely upside down because of a completely amazing man who had the completely wrong color. I smothered my face with a big, fluffy pillow and moaned pathetically. Melody yanked my suicide tool and threw it in the air.

  “‘Let me love you’. Now, that’s just about the most romantic thing in the world.”

  “You’re not helping. Come to think of it, you never help with these things.”

  Melody flung a cocoa brown hand in my face. “Talk to the hand, cuz this girl ain’t listening.”

  I pushed her sticky hand away. “What?”

  “You know you’re feeling that man. What’s holding you back? I mean, he didn’t even ask you to return his feelings. He asked for an opportunity to show them.”

  I mulled over her words before responding, “That’s hardly fair to him.”

  “Agape love isn’t fair. If it were most of us wouldn’t earn it. You can’t earn that kind of love and you can’t lose it. It’s just there.”

  “Wow, so romantic, Mel.”

  She cackled, “This is too cute.”

  “Nothing about this situation is cute. Peyton and I are such great friends. Why would he go and have feelings for me? He ruined everything!”

  Melody grew serious, “So you’re saying that you don’t like him like that?”

  I thought back to how special, respected, and safe I felt around him. And then I recalled how my heart raced when he neared me, how much I liked his cologne, and how epically he kissed.

  “I like him back.” I said simply, “But love is a big deal. I’m not sure if I should risk the solid friendship that we have in case things don’t work out.”

  Melody looked me straight in the eyes, her brown irises glued to mine, “Peyton’s willing to take that risk on you? Are you willing too?”

  Taking my best friend’s advice, I decided to go see Peyton on Monday afternoon. Whichever way this relationship went, I never wanted my friendship with Peyton to die. He’d stopped coming around the apartment in order to give me “more space” and honestly, I missed him. I wasn’t ready to say the L-word yet. I hoped that wasn’t what he needed to hear from me, but if he truly offered to love me, then … I’d let him. Geez that sounded so strange. Peyton made me feel like it was an honor to love me, like it was some kind of privilege that I could grant.

  Me.

  The term ‘whore’ was a tame moniker for all the crazy stunts I’d pulled not too long ago. I was the shamed, the flawed. I didn’t deserve to feel honored. I was just learning what it meant to honor myself, my body and The King. But I was selfish enough to take Peyton’s love.

  Lord have mercy

  I was flawed enough to let that good man love me and revel in it, in what it meant about my worth and my value.

  As I stepped into the cool air conditioned atmosphere of Peyton’s office, I could barely breathe. I had no speech prepared and I couldn’t stay long. I’d left Alexi alone in the shop and I needed to get back. But I also needed to see Peyton. Desperately. Smiling nervously at the temp who I’d almost ran over from rage the last time I’d been in here, I docilely went over to her desk and asked if Peyton was available. She eyed me warily, but nodded.

  “Go right in, ma’am.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, and made a beeline for Peyton’s office down the hall. I knocked tentatively on the door in case he was on a phone call like the last time.

  “Come in,” his now familiar timbre called.

  I took a fortifying breath and opened the door. Peyton was sitting at his desk. The sun shining through the window highlighted his hair in a haze of brilliant red glory. I really liked that auburn hair. His broad shoulders strained against a blue Oxford shirt, rolled at the cuffs that matched his eyes. Just the upper half of Peyton’s body attracted me.

  Lord have mercy

  I cleared my throat to gain his attention. Peyton looked up and caught sight of me. My breath hitched as those blue eyes connected with mine. His expression was unreadable. My guy was in work-mode. Or maybe he’d come to his senses and regretted ever saying that he loved me. No, I had to trust. I could trust him.

  “Hey,” I leaned against the door, on the cusps of walking in but hesitant.

  “Hey,” Peyton echoed, his eyes cleared and he smiled. I could feel the welcome in his features from across the room.

  I took one shaky step inside.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  That was lame. That was so lame, Mia.

  “It’s good to see you too, Mia.”

  I walked up to his desk and he stood. I opened my mouth to say something, but choked on the words. My eyes caught on a frame on his desk and I picked it up, covering my embarrassing grunt with a cough.

  “I remember when we took this.” I said. We were having Sunday dinner at the Reyes house a few weeks ago and Melody, Alexi, Eryn, Peyton and I were playing ‘chase’ in the backyard while the more dignified adults looked on. Spencer had begged out of the game and nothing Melody did could convince him. Peyton had just ‘tagged’ me, hugging me from behind when I tried to cheat and run away. Spencer had taken the shot when we were gazing at each other as we playfully argued over my right to be un-tagged. It was a gorgeous picture with the sun highlighting our hair like we were models for a dating site. Our faces were turned slightly away from the camera as he gazed down at me and I craned my neck to look at him. The rest of the frame paled in light of the genuine warmth in our eyes and smiles. That had been a good day.

  “You tried to convince me that I cheated,” amusement danced in his eyes, “you were fighting with me about a game of tag.”

  “We call it chase in this part of the Americas.”

  He crossed from behind the desk and moved to my side, holding the framed photograph with me. He shook his head as he recalled my feistiness,

  “You wanted a do-over. It was the most ridiculous thing. You tried to knee me!” He teased.

  “I take all games very seriously.” I admitted, “And you were so stubborn about that game too. No matter what I did you kept on insisting. You told me…” I trailed off as I recalled his words.

  “I’ll never let go.” He repeated, “I told you that I’ll never let you go.”

  I made the mistake of glancing up into his face and was immediately pulled in by the intense hue of his eyes. His words moved me. This man could so easily make a fool of me if I allowed myself to fall in love with him. Peyton didn’t do anything half-way and neither did I. This could either end up being an epic romance or an epic tragedy.

  “I miss you, Peyton,” I admitted. Silence met my admission. I trailed my gaze back to him. His brows drew down.

  “I don’t want to be your friend, Mia.”

  “I know.”

  He searched my face. “You don’t love me,” he stated at the end of his perusal.

  I looked away, not because he
was wrong but because I did not want to hurt him.

  “Love me, Peyton. Teach me how to do it right. It’s unfair to you and its risky and its probably stupid, but-” The words barely touched the air before Peyton leaned over and captured my lips in an urgent kiss.

  “Mm,” I murmured against his delicious lips. “I’m guessing that’s a yes.”

  He kissed me again, but the touch was brief. “That was definitely a yes.”

  I pulled back, mesmerized by the fact that I was right here in this moment.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked as he held me at the waist.

  I shrugged. “Nothing much. I’m just happy.”

  Peyton got that look in his eyes and leaned forward to kiss me again, but I drew back. I spoke apologetically, “I need to go back to the store.”

  Peyton sighed, “I understand.”

  I lingered in his arms and he continued to hold me for a few moments after that. Aware that I had to leave, I was reluctant to step out of this bubble of contentment. Peyton let me go with a chuckle,

  “Family Feud tonight?”

  I waltzed toward the door, buoyed by the realization that Peyton would be by later. I paused at the door,

  “Bring the fried chicken.”

  I returned to work, but the Peyton-effect had not worn off. I could barely concentrate when customers stepped into the boutique and the few minutes I spent on the designs I’d been working on, basically involved staring at sheets of sketches thinking about Peyton. Finally, I closed up the shop and Estefan walked me to the bus stop. I got on the full bus and tried to find a seat to no avail. The bus was full to the brim with harried, tired people trying to get home. None of the lucky ones with their butts on padded chairs felt generous enough to offer me a seat. Lucky thing I’d be with my best friend and maybe more in a just a few hours. I could handle a couple minutes of standing. The bus dropped me off at the lane and I half-walked, half-jogged to the huge building and up the stairs to my front door. For some strange reason, I wanted to impress Peyton with my dress tonight. I knew I didn’t have to. The man has seen me at my aesthetic worst.

  I decided to dress in a white blouse and light blue jeans shorts. Simple but sophisticated. It was a bit more dressed up for our weekly Family Feud viewings, but things were different now. So different. A part of me was frightened by it.

  What if Peyton and I were a romantic mismatch?

  Before I could get too consumed by such thoughts, Peyton knocked on the door. I squealed silently. I got out all the crazy so that my expression when I opened the door was calm, cool and collected.

  “Hey,”

  “Hey.”

  “You look nice.”

  “So do you.”

  I invited him in, hiding my shaking fists in my jeans pockets.

  “So…”

  “So…”

  I looked away. Looked back at him. Clenched my fingers.

  Peyton shifted awkwardly on his feet and blew out a breath. “Stop that, you’re making me nervous,” Peyton scolded.

  I turned toward the couch and he followed me to the living room.

  “Stop what?”

  “Avoiding my eyes.”

  I darted a look at his face then drew my gaze back at the couch.

  “I am not.”

  In reply, Peyton touched a finger to the bottom lip held involuntarily in my teeth’s grasp. A shiver ran through me at his touch and I closed my eyes from the shock of it. I still wasn’t used to that. Abruptly, Peyton let go and stepped back.

  “You don’t have any idea what you do to me.” He confessed in a hushed voice, his back to me.

  I laughed nervously.

  “I’ll behave tonight. I promise.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. I’d come to associate that movement with stress.

  “You’re not the one I’m worried about.”

  I sat down, “If this is too hard…”

  Peyton walked the room to sit beside me, “Don’t even think about backing out, Johnson. You’re mine. Even if you don’t know it yet.”

  My eyebrow hiked at his cocky admission but the silly grin on his face melted the admonition on my tongue.

  “You da something else bwai.”

  He closed his eyes, “I love it when you talk Creole to me.”

  I punched him in the arm and he rubbed the spot, laughing at my expression.

  “So where’s the fried chicken?”

  I finally noticed Peyton’s two empty hands. He tweaked my nose and settled more comfortably into the chair. Pouting he asked,

  “I thought you liked me for me?”

  I stood and investigated the trail around the couch as I muttered,

  “I do. But you and the fried chicken are a package deal.”

  Peyton laughed, reaching over his head to lock my shoulders in a strong grip and tugging me over the couch back. I tumbled unceremoniously into his lap.

  “You wound me, Mia.”

  I locked my arms around his neck. Peyton touched his forehead to mine, his clear blue eyes hazy with gentle passion. A fraction of a second before his lips made contact, I pulled back and grabbed a pillow of protection, placing the cushion over my mouth as a barrier between us.

  “Mmhm,” I shook my head, “no fried chicken, no deal.”

  Peyton growled as I scrambled off his lap to retreat to the kitchen. He followed behind, giving me puppy dog eyes as he slowly advanced.

  “I didn’t get it because I came straight here from work. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  I stood firm, though his words melted my heart. “Too bad,” I called from behind my small red pillow fortress.

  “And,” Peyton stepped into my space, “as soon as you opened that door and I laid eyes on you, I forgot everything else.”

  Aww… my grip on the pillow loosened completely as Peyton drew me close and leaned down to kiss me. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door. He sighed, his warm breath brushing over my face and tickling my bangs.

  I cocked my head toward the door, curious. “I wonder who that could be.”

  I imagined Mrs. Bethel storming into the apartment and grabbing both Peyton and I by the ear.

  “I know,” Peyton said, walking backward toward the door. He winked at me. “I ordered fried chicken.”

  I grinned. I could definitely fall in love with this man.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Dating your best guy friend is one of the most stress-free recipes for romance when it comes to the awkward first date phase. Peyton already knew the little things like my favorite colors and the big things like my hopes and dreams for the next five years. The first few days into our relationship were a little uncomfortable because I couldn’t figure out how much of our foundation of friendship had to change. To my pleasant surprise, we still hung out at my apartment, watched movies, ate fast food, laughed about everything, and basically kept being ourselves. The only significant difference was how often we hugged or kissed. I was twenty four and Peyton was twenty-seven but for some reason, when it came to making out we were a couple of teenagers. At first, I wasn’t sure what boundaries to enforce and exactly how to set them up when it came to our physical closeness. Though Peyton understood my history and he had an idea of the kind of person that I used to be, I hadn’t shared any details with him about just how deep I’d been in sexual immorality. It was hard for me to recognize when I was crossing a line and sometimes it was Peyton who had to guide me in lessons of self-restraint and control.

  I quickly got the hang of dating the Kingdom way and I really enjoyed being the one that Peyton texted late at night about problems at work or the one he called just to hear my voice. He was mine. And though I found it hard to trust that something this good would last, I knew that Peyton was not functioning on his own. He had convictions, not a religion and I was hoping that that made a difference.

  Sunday morning, I donned a striped black and white sweater with an ankle length tan skirt and made my weekly Sunday morning trek to the Holy Gho
st Gym a few blocks from my house. I usually walked to the gathering if the weather was good. It was a beautiful day. No clouds hid the powerful rays of the sun. Black and white warblers chirped enthusiastically at each other, their striped plumes twitching with the excitement of a new day. I loved my Sunday morning walks and not even Peyton could convince me to catch a ride and miss this show.

  The neighborhood I lived in now was a lot less friendly than the one on Crenshaw Lane. Apart from Ms. Bethel, I did not know many of the other renters in the apartment. The home owners on the length of the lane did not venture out to braid their daughter’s hair or sell bread and bun to the community. The children did not play on the street anymore as the parents in this neighborhood could afford to gift them with phones and tablets and wireless internet. The block’s disconnect dampened my mood a bit. How could I love my neighbors if I didn’t even know them?

  The issue weighed on my mind as I walked into the Holy Ghost Gym, greeting the parishioners who were more like family to me than my own blood relatives.

  “Mia, you look gorgeous!” Mrs. Jones, the plump fifty year old teacher hugged me.

  “Thanks, Ms. J, but you know you always put me to shame.”

  “Gyal, get away!” She teased and then went on to greet Mrs. Leslie who had just come inside. I smiled and hailed everyone I knew and some I didn’t as I trekked down the rows to the one where the “American crew” as we were so lovingly dubbed, sat.

  “Mia!” Mrs. Reyes stood and hugged me, “I haven’t seen you in forever! Please tell me you are coming for Sunday dinner this afternoon,” She paused, training her eyes on me, “unless Charles is taking you out again?”

  I shook my head and answered her unspoken question, “Charles and I have parted ways.” I admitted.

  Mrs. Reyes’ mouth formed a small ‘o’, before her eyes twinkled at me, “I’m sorry to hear that, dear but at least we can have you around for a bit. I hear Peyton’s been taking our share of you.” She winked and returned to the row in front of me before I could stutter with embarrassment. Melody and Spencer, who had been silent through the whole exchange, burst into laughter.