by Jane Henry
“It’s lovely here, Gran,” she says, then she leans into me and whispers, “She told me to call her Gran.” Katie’s eyes glow. She’s lapping this up.
“Thank you,” Gran says. “Darius, why don’t you take Katie for a stroll around the property while I finish getting dinner ready?” She gives me a big wink.
I stifle a groan but take Katie’s hand and lead her out the back door. Clean laundry flaps on a clothesline, and Gran has large tomato plants growing just outside her door, the ripe cherry tomatoes hanging low, ready to be picked. Katie leans down and breathes them in. “It smells so green.”
“Have you ever eaten one? Straight from the vine?”
She shakes her head in wonder. “I grew up in the city. Never.”
I pluck a cherry tomato and wipe it on my shirt. “Try it.”
She opens her mouth, her eyes on me seductive and coy. I slide it between her lips, my cock hardening. Who knew a garden tomato could be arousing?
She bites down, and her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh my God, that’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I tug a lock of her hair. I’ve tried hard to remain detached from her, but her love of life, her innocent joy and expressions, the unpretentious way about her, melts me.
We amble toward the fields, the sun beating down hot and relentless, but Katie doesn’t seem to mind it anymore. She squeals at the roughly hewn fence and field of wildflowers. “Oh, it’s a picture,” she says. “Isn’t it a picture, Darius? How could you ever leave such a place?”
My body tightens, and I look away, not answering at first. I can’t sum it all up in a sentence… the poverty I grew up with, the betrayal from Tiffany, the loss of my parents and younger brother.
“I didn’t grow up here,” I say simply. “Remember, I bought this for Gran later.”
“Oh, right,” she says, oblivious to whatever torment from my past might be written on my features. She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. “Is that a barn?”
Her childlike enthusiasm is adorable. “Yeah, baby. You want to go see?”
She’s already running up ahead of me. I have to trot to keep up with her.
“Are there any animals here?” she says, looking around the barn.
“Just a few chickens these days. Back in the day there were horses, though.”
She sighs. “I love horses. I love barns!”
Noted.
“You know what I like about barns?” I say, prowling closer to her.
She must catch the tone of my voice, because she looks over her shoulder at me and gives me a grin. “They’re far away from your Gran’s insistence on sleeping in separate beds?”
“How’d you know?”
“Always thinking of sex,” she teases, but the next moment, she takes off at a run. “But you’ll have to catch me first!”
I groan, and she sprints. I let her think she’s got a lead on me. She must’ve forgotten I played football back in the day. She squeals when I give her chase, easily catching up to her. She ducks behind a bale of hay, then scrambles up onto the loft. Ha. There’s no way down.
“Ah, Katie Kats like lofts, don’t they?” I say, pacing below when she scrambles for a way down, but the only way down is right in front of me.
“Uh oh,” she mutters.
“Uh oh is right. Stuck up in a tree, little Katie Kat?”
She groans.
I chuckle as I make my way up the ladder.
“Such a naughty little girl running from her daddy, isn’t she?”
She doesn’t reply. I wonder what she’s up to. The ladder’s tall, and by the time I’m at the top, she’s nowhere to be found. What the hell? I know there’s no way down from here.
I turn to the left when I hear her squeal and she tackles me to the ground. I quickly turn to grab her, and in one swift motion, maneuver her beneath me.
“Naughty little kitten,” I say, tsking at her. “Daddy will have to punish you for that.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, and it’s all the encouragement I need to drape her over my knee and smack her full, pertinent little ass.
“Someone will hear!”
“Good. Let them.”
I bring my palm down hard.
“Darius!”
“That’s daddy to you, young lady.”
I spank her again.
“Okay, okay,” she’s panting. “I want to be able to sit for dinner tonight!”
But she’s giggling, and her cheeks are flushed pink. I push her off my knee onto the grass and take off my t-shirt. I open it out and lay it across the hay. I arrange her on top.
“You’ll sit just fine,” I tell her, sliding her leggings off and reaching for her panties. “You’ll just remember who your daddy is when you do.”
She fumbles at my waist and unfastens my jeans, draws my cock out, and guides me down between her legs. I shift my weight and cage her beneath me as I slide between her folds and groan when her pussy hugs my cock.
“Be quiet,” I whisper in her ear. “We don’t want anyone to hear us, now, do we?”
Her eyes widen and her cheeks heat. She bites her lip and shakes her head, then her eyes roll back when I thrust hard in her. I cover her mouth with my hand while I fuck her hard, with swift, savage strokes. She keens with pleasure and stifles her whimpers.
“Katie likes it when I take her rough,” I whisper in her ear, before I take her earlobe and bite down. “Katie likes to be fucked hard.”
She moans and writhes but nods her head. I capture her wrists and pin them to her sides while I continue to thrust in and out without stopping, not holding myself back, but claiming her right here. Her head falls back and her mouth parts. I know the way her breathing hitches just before she comes, the way her pulse races against my fingers. I lean down and whisper in her ear, “Come for daddy. But not a sound or I’ll punish you.”
She clamps her lips and holds herself back with difficulty. My own release ravages me as her pussy tightens and I come hard inside her. I milk her climax and mine, slowing to languid strokes as the aftershocks of her climax make her whimper.
I want to hold her close to me and ask her to be mine for real. To make that ring on her finger more than a fucking hoax. To marry her, here on this property that she’s so quickly fallen in love with.
I want to tell her that I love her.
But I can’t do that. I can’t add further confusion to this mess we’ve made with the contract, with the fake engagement. It’s only an arrangement—this... this lightness I feel when I’m with her, this happiness... it’s not my real life.
No matter how much I wish it was.
We quickly dress and make it back to the house, unseen by anyone else. I brush hay from her hair just before we enter the back door. Gran gives me a long look, then laughs and shakes her head.
“It’s nice to see you smiling, Darius,” she finally says.
Smiling? Am I? Sometimes you don’t miss something good and natural until you have it back again.
“So nice to see you smiling,” a cool voice comes from the corner, but I don’t care that Tiffany’s here. Nothing can dim the warmth of Katie’s smile, the feel of her hand in mine, or the memory of her parted lips and silent screams when I made her come.
“Now, Tiffany, why don’t you and Rawley set the table for dinner.” Gran points her spoon to a drawer by the dining room entrance. “Cloth napkins and silverware are in that drawer, thank you.”
Tiffany glares at Gran’s back.
“Oh, I can help,” Katie says, which only makes Tiffany even angrier.
“I can handle it,” she snaps.
Katie’s eyes flash to mine, but I only tug her onto my knee.
“Sit with me, Katie Kat,” I tell her. “It’ll be good for Tiffany to do a little work now and again.”
“Yes, you sit, Katie. You two are the guests of honor this weekend.” Gran gives me a wink and lowers her voice. “And it’ll do that girl some good to do some actual work f
or once.”
I grin back. “Agreed. So who’s coming to this party?”
She rattles off a list of guests as long as my arm, but I don’t care. Most of them are small town friends of hers, some cousins, some aunts and uncles. I’d feel odd coming back here if it weren’t for the woman sitting comfortably on my lap. She rests her head on my shoulder and looks around the kitchen.
“This kitchen could grace the cover of Country Living,” she says.
Gran grins. “Thank you. Aren’t you a sweetheart?” She opens the oven and pulls out a large, steaming chicken pot pie. “Darius, how did a businessman like you ever meet a sweet little thing like her?”
If only she knew. Thankfully, Vegas news hasn’t reached these parts. Katie covers her mouth, stifling a giggle.
“Oh, I met her at the hotel,” I say, pinching Katie’s ass to make her behave.
“Oh?” Gran takes a large bowl of green beans and hands them to me. “I’m glad to hear it. Now make yourself useful and bring the food out, will you?”
“What happened to the guests of honor?” I say, gently pushing Katie off my lap and taking the dishes out to the dining room.
“I meant her, Darius.”
I’m still grinning when I bring the food into the dining room, while I plot my way back into Katie’s bed tonight.
Chapter 13
Katie
He’s quiet at dinner. Reserved. Deep in thought. I spend the meal fidgeting, wondering if it’s me that keeps his mind so far away.
Or if it’s her.
Tiffany. The beautiful but shallow ex who more than makes up for his lack of conversation with her bragging.
She owns a condo in Atlanta, a vacation home in the Georgia mountains—who knew there were even mountains in the state of Georgia—and ‘various other properties,’ whatever that means.
She mentioned that she was a debutante, several times, to which I had to ask what that word meant. It turns out around here an upper-class gal who has reached sixteen makes her debut to society in an over-the-top ball. For Tiffany, that meant her father renting out a Victorian mansion and her sailing down the curved marble staircase wearing a white Vera Wang gown that was designed just for her.
When I was sixteen, I debuted myself into womanhood by becoming the counter girl at the Tastee Freeze frozen yogurt stand, a pillar in our small town. I also wore white.
In the form of an apron and paper hat.
She holds three pageant crowns—knew it!—including Junior Miss Georgia Beauty, Miss Southeast Georgia, and my personal favorite, Queen Peach. Apparently, the honor came complete with a ride in an orange convertible. Excuse me while I gag… and take notes for the female villain in my next book.
I think I’ll name her… Tifani.
Gran pulls out peach pie with fresh whipped cream, while Tiffany drones on. I tune her out, imaging the outline for the rest of my book. Maybe there’s some way to work in an evil, killer peach who turns into sweet jam at the end of the book… thinking of my story makes me realize I haven’t worked on it in days. I’ve been so wrapped up in the drama of the news, my little running away stunt, the reunion that followed—I regret nothing.
I’ve got to find some time to squeeze in a few chapters. Even though Darius is paying me generously, I know firsthand how fast money runs out. Besides, I’d love to have a down payment on a home. Leave apartment life behind and maybe buy a little cottage in town, far away from the strip. Yellow, with black shutters and a white picket fence. Or maybe even paint it my favorite shade of pink and have a little garden in the back, like Gran’s.
A perfect place to cozy up by a roaring fire and write my books.
Somehow, Darius sneaks into my fantasy. But I just can’t picture his large, serious frame curled up on a red velvet couch in a pink cottage. I see him more in a home like this one, big and proud and timeless.
But do I see me there with him?
Sneaking a glance at him out of the corner of my eyes, I catch his darting gaze looking at Tiffany every so often, offering an ‘uh huh,’ or ‘yup,’ into the conversation—I mean, her monologue—every so often. That muscle in his jaw is twitching away.
He holds the end of his butter knife, twisting it over and over on the tabletop. Does he like being here? Does he like me being here with him?
I don’t realize I’ve let out a sigh until I feel his hand on my arm, his gaze locked on my face. “What’s wrong? Are you tired?”
He’s so quick to respond to my every need, my every desire, yet I still don’t know how he feels about me. Suddenly, I’m bone tired, emotionally drained, and need some space. Forcing a smile, I let out a little yawn, thinking of my computer and the cozy quilt I saw on Gran’s guest bed. “You know what. I am kind of tired and I have an email I need to send to my publisher.”
Tiffany’s brows dart sky high. “Publisher? You’re a writer?”
Oops. Shit. I didn’t mean to give her any more ammo to look down her nose at me—I mean, isn’t my lack of height and class enough—and I certainly didn’t want to bring up my career to his family. “I, uh… just… dabble.”
Her brows lower, knitting together. “Dabble in what, exactly? What kind of writing do you do? If you have a publisher, you must write something substantial.”
I look to Darius to save me, but I find his own face lined with curiosity. We’ve only had one or two brief conversations about my writing and I’ve always brushed it off, ready to change the subject. Of course he wants to know more.
Sensing my discomfort, Gran pitches in, “Katie, dear, if you’re tired, please feel free to head on upstairs. You’ll have to excuse our curiosity. In the South, we tend to get all up in each other’s business.” She shoots a pointed look at Tiffany.
Which the Queen of the Peaches conveniently misses. Leaning her elbows on the table, Tiffany stares me down. “No, really, Katie, I’ve never met a writer before. Please, tell us about it.”
In no way do I mistake her ‘friendly’ open gaze for genuine curiosity. The only reason she’s digging so hard is because she can sense my reservation. I’m an open book, my cheeks blush, my eyes go wide, my fingers tend to tremble when I’m nervous.
I’m not good at hiding my emotions. And you know what? I’m tired of hiding anyway.
Though I’m answering her, my gaze is trained on Darius’s eyes, as I come clean. I care nothing for her, or her nosy questions. But I long for him to know me... all of me. “As Darius knows… I’m a romance writer. I write love stories.”
He nods. He already knew that about me, but he leans in, eager for more.
I keep going. “I’d rather keep my pen name private. I always have, and I’ll continue to do so because I enjoy the anonymity. It gives me the freedom to write what I want without being burdened with the worry of whether people I know will like my work. I enjoy writing love stories where the hero and heroine have to fight for their love. I went to school for creative writing and straight out of college I had a bestselling series.” Taking a deep breath, I release it, and with this confession, this breath, comes freedom.
My shoulders feel lighter, my muscles loosen. I’ve been avoiding this conversation with him out of fear, but I find it feels so good to talk about my writing.
Darius’s gaze is soft, loving, inquisitive. “What was it about? Your first series?”
“Cowboys. So you can see why I loved Gran’s barn so much.” We share a secret smile, thinking of our tryst in the hayloft. “And I’ve had a little writer's block since then, but luckily, I’ve recently found some inspiration.”
He slides his hand over my thigh under the table, giving it a soft squeeze. “Thank you for sharing. And whoever it is you’ve found your inspiration in, is a very lucky man.” He gives me a kiss on my cheek.
Before Tiffany can respond with her sharp tongue, dogging my profession, my cowboys, Gran stands from the table. “Tiffany, Rawley, these dishes aren’t going to clear themselves. Let’s let our little author head upstairs to send her email
and the four of us can get this mess cleaned up.”
I stand to help. “Oh, that’s okay. I can help out first, and send my email later—”
Gran cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Scoot. Now.”
I can’t hold back my silly grin at her no-nonsense ways. Darius kisses me goodbye, sending me upstairs with a very public swat to my rear that has my face heating up and me biting my lip. I suppose it’s the modern caveman’s method of claiming ownership and I love it.
Taking the stairs two by two, I take another deep breath. After the intensity of the day, I can’t wait to have a few minutes alone. Closing the door behind me, I dress in my comfiest sweats, throw my hair on the top of my head in a messy knot, and grab my computer from my backpack.
Snuggling down under the quilt that’s just as soft as I’d imagined it would be, I turn on my laptop, grateful I splurged for that hotspot with my wireless company—do they even have internet out here? After shooting an email to Sarah, reassuring her I’ll be able to meet the deadline we discussed, I jump into my story.
I find my daddy dom book turning into a retelling of Beauty and Beast. The hero is gruff and aloof, yet everything he does seems to be in care of his beautiful captive. He has a hard exterior, yet he’s so attentive to her needs, it leaves her wondering… does he love me?
She tries to run away from him, but he catches her. The chemistry between them is palpable and I find myself writing one of the dirtiest scenes of my life, reminiscent of the night Darius tracked me down on the street, punishing me and making me come till I was bucking over his lap, white stars in my line of vision.
The beast is just about to slam his huge cock into Beauty’s ready sex when someone enters the room. I’m so lost in my writing, I startle, nearly jumping two feet in the air. Darius is creeping in the room, trying to close the door behind him without making the sound of the metal latch clicking.
Hitting save, I close the laptop with a guilty click, sliding it onto the nightstand. “You surprised me!”
“I was hoping to. There was no way I was going the whole night without seeing you again.” A corner of his lip quirks up. “But I’m also not too old for Gran to dress down, so... shhh.” He climbs into the bed beside me, propping his elbow up on the mattress and stares at me. “Did you get your work done?”
