Page 13 of At His Wife's Behest

Fuuuuck!He whipped his head toward the tank, shooing some of the kids away to get a better look.Great… this is exactly the lesson I wanted to teach today. Animals eating their young.

Kellan slipped into the driver’s seat of his SUV and gripped the steering wheel tight. Knuckles white, he attempted to regain control of his traitorous body. Connor Quaid had been fantasy fodder since Abigail had started there. That first day at Allton Academy, he’d slammed into the man as they’d turned a corner toward the kindergarten rooms and nearly knocked them bothover. Connor had reached out, steadying him, and incidentally pulled him closer.

One look and he hadn’t wanted the man to let go.

When he learned Abigail was in Quaid’s class the following year, it had given him a thrill—it made bringing his kid to school every day a little more enjoyable.

Connor was… gorgeous. And the complete opposite of Kellan, standing well over six feet with a body made for football, not first grade. When he glanced at Kellan with those gorgeous hazel eyes wrapped in long, thick lashes, it caused a stir. Connor’s button-down shirts struggled to wrap around his massive biceps and his sleeves were often rolled up, baring sexy forearms. His hair was almost the same shade as Emma’s, with a hint of a curl to it, especially when it grew a bit longer. He’d envisioned sinking his hands in that hair while guiding those lips to his cock.

Stop! He’s off limits.

It took a moment, but Kellan regained control of himself and turned the engine on—all while knowing that later that night, he’d jerk off to the image of Connor Quaid calling his eyes beautiful, finishing with a vision of him writhing under the man’s body.

3

When Connor had left Texas, it had been four p.m. After a twelve-hour flight to Italy—first class, which his long legs had appreciated—followed by a two-hour train ride to Como from Milan Malpensa Airport, and then a taxi ride through winding hills from the station, Connor was dropped off before a set of skillfully crafted, black iron gates at about 3 p.m. the following day. After adjusting the bag slung over one shoulder, he keyed in the number he’d been sent via email along with his itinerary and plane tickets. The gates swept open, and he dragged himself and his suitcase through.

The three-story villa that appeared around a winding paved drive nearly took his breath away. It was something out of a movie. Off to the side, he viewed terraced gardens leading down toward the lake. Whistling, he scanned the façade. He’d spent time with many wealthy clients over the last few years, but most of those had simply been a date to a charity gala or friend’s wedding. While many of lads and ladies the agency employed were escorts, Connor wasn’t. Not saying he hadn’t spent the night with a client here and there when the chemistry sparked, but it wasn’t his usual MO. He considered himself a companion.He rarely slept over, and definitely not in a luxurious villa in a foreign country.

Something else was new. He was a surprise. All of his previous clients had been the one to request a date. A whisper of worry spun through his mind as he drew closer to the house. What if he wasn’t awelcomesurprise? What did he do then? His return flight wasn’t for another week.

As he approached the entrance, a small, older Italian woman opened the front doors for him.

“Ana Maria?” he asked. His instructions had said one of the caretakers would let him inside.

She nodded. “Connor?” she asked, her accent thick.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, smiling.

“Benvenuto.Come, come,” she said, waving her hand.

He marched up the steps. When she attempted to take his bag at the door, he refused. It was almost as big as she was. “I’ve got these.”

She scoffed, stepping back nonetheless. He rolled his suitcase in and gazed about. The round, two-story foyer was all cream marble. A curving, black wrought-iron banister similar in style to the front gates arched along the stairs. Nooks bearing carved busts were inset in the walls and from the opening in back, the blue of the sky and water beckoned.

“I show you to room,” Ana Maria said. She waved him onward and up the stairs. She took them slowly, gripping the railing in one weathered hand. “I put food in refrigerator and leave clean bedding. Clean towels.”

“Wonderful,” he murmured, examining the home as they traveled. He’d seen how large it was from the outside but was still stunned at all the space. Space left empty by American owners while folks like Ana Maria were left to tend to them. He wondered where it was she lived? “Thank you.”

She glanced over his shoulder, a glimmer of surprise in her eyes—as if she wasn’t accustomed to being thanked. On she marched to the top and then led him down a long, wide hall. Near the end, she opened the door and he gasped.

The view of the lake and nearby mountains was stunning. He smiled, tossing his bag to the bed and crossing to the window. “It’smagnificent.”

“Yes,” Ana Maria said, smiling with pride. She patted his arm. “I leave now.”

“I appreciate your help,signora.”

She grinned, saluting him. “Have a good trip.”

After she departed, he got a good look at the bedroom. It was well appointed with an attached bathroom that was filled with anything he might need. Curious, he explored the rest of the house, first checking out a massive master suite near his room before rushing downstairs. There he found a gym, a movie theater, a ballroom, of sorts, and a dining room. When he found another set of stairs leading down, he realized that was the main floor.

Everythingwas cream marble, not just the foyer, elegantly decorated—andhuge. The décor reminded him of the time he stayed at the Venetian in Las Vegas, justmuchmore elegant and sedate. Although, the kitchen couldn’t be called sedate. It would make a small crew of master chefs happy. The first-floor diningroom sat fifteen. One room filled with books, chairs, and sofas was as big as his entire apartment.

The sitting room near the back of the house was less ostentatious, but then it couldn’t compete with the view. Large floor-to-ceiling windows showed off Lake Como and the terraced gardens—as well as the other stunning homes bordering the lake.

There was also a pool with a waterfall edge next to the gardens. He opened one of the doors and stepped outside. While he’d left a May heatwave back in Texas, it was only in the sixties there. Luckily, he’d done his research before packing—Lake Como was in Northern Italy, near the Swiss border, so it wasn’t the balmy Mediterranean vacation he’d first anticipated.

Moving closer to the pool, he noted steam rising off it. Crouching, he tested the water, smiling when he found it warm.That swimsuit I brought won’t go to waste.He checked his watch. His client wasn’t to arrive for another couple of hours.Might as well take advantage.

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