Tough Luck Hero

by Maisey Yates

  * * *

  SHE WAS STARVING. Starving and trying to pretend that she was going to get some sleep in her current state. She had skipped eating dinner because she had just wanted to barricade herself in her own space and get some distance between herself and Colton, and now she was made of grumbling and regret.

  She rolled out of bed, tugging her T-shirt down in place.

  This room was so different than her own. The bed had a rather plain comforter on it, a deep green with no extraneous details. The bed itself was fashioned from natural wood, in keeping with the theme and the rest of the house.

  Again, she could see no piece of Natalie here. Couldn’t begin to imagine her friend—or rather, her former friend—inhabiting this place.

  But then, she would never have been able to imagine herself living here, and yet, here she was.

  “Maybe this is what he does,” she muttered. “Maybe he just marries people and spirits them off to his house.”

  Well, in fairness, he hadn’t married Natalie.

  That she knew of. She supposed it was possible that he had yet another secret marriage. Though that would make theirs illegal. Which would potentially alleviate some problems.

  Lydia Carpenter: Victim of Bigamy Scandal was a lot less damning than Lydia Carpenter: Quickie Marriage and Divorce with her Ex-Friend’s Almost Husband.

  Of course, the actual headline was about to be Lydia Carpenter: Found Dead of Starvation in Colton West’s Home if she didn’t find some food.

  It was after ten, so she could only hope that Colton had retired to his room. She hadn’t heard him move around for a while.

  She crept out of the bedroom, walking on soft socked feet into the kitchen. She opened up his fridge and nearly sagged with relief.

  It was full of food. Food in neat little Tupperware containers, likely provided by his housekeeper. Okay, that she could get used to. Sharing space with that...that man, was a different story entirely.

  He was just entirely too there. Too big. Oh yeah, and too much of an asshole.

  She thought back to the way he had been winding her up. The way he had looked at her with that confident gleam in his eye, the smile curving his mouth as he had told her that he remembered what they had done that night.

  He didn’t remember.

  She took out a container that seemed to be full of enchiladas and huffed as she shut the door. “He doesn’t remember,” she muttered into the empty space, reiterating it herself.

  “You don’t think so?”

  She jumped, and an elegant shriek escaped her lips. She whirled around, pressing the container tightly to her chest, the cold from the fridge bleeding through her top. “What are you doing?”

  “I heard an intruder in my kitchen.”

  She waved a hand. “Not an intruder. Just me.”

  “So, that all depends on your definition of intruder.”

  “Oh no,” she grumped, “don’t act like I chose to move in here.”

  He folded his arms over his broad chest, leaning against the door frame. “You didn’t? Because I seem to recall you being deeply concerned about appearances.”

  “I was compelled to move in. Compelled by the expectations of the community. And your family, I might add.”

  “Mostly your own ambition. What do you have there?”

  “It appears to be enchiladas. I’m hoping they’re chicken.”

  “You’re in luck. I think they are. And my housekeeper makes amazing enchiladas, so it was a very good choice.”

  She suddenly realized she hadn’t exactly asked for permission to have access to his food. She also realized that she couldn’t exactly live with him and not contribute to the cost of groceries and electricity. There were so many logistics. Logistics that were just now dawning on her, because she was still overwhelmed by the whole moving in with him in the first place thing.

  “Can I have the enchiladas?” she asked, sounding much more hopeful and feeble than she’d intended.

  He pushed off the door frame. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re afraid I’m going to snatch the Mexican food out of your hand. I might be kind of a dick, Lydia, but even I have my limits.”

  She eyed him warily as she crossed the room, popping the lid on the container slightly before sticking it into the microwave. “It’s nice to know that you draw the line at starving me.”

  “I have no intention of starving you.”

  “Nice. Thanks for stating intent to keep me...well, living. But that does make me think. We need to work out a system. Because you can’t possibly pay for all the food.”

  He shrugged, walking deeper into the kitchen. “I don’t know. I’ll ask Sandra what her budget is for the food, and I’ll have you pay for some of it. But I don’t do my own grocery shopping, so I can’t really work it out.”

  He said it so casually. Having this sort of thing done for him was mundane, everyday, for the likes of him.

  “Okay, noted.”

  He lifted his arms, bracing his hands on the back of his head, stretching. His T-shirt went tight across his chest, highlighting the fine musculature there. Then he made a low, masculine sound that seemed to rumble through him, and her at the same time. The shirt rode up a bit as his pants dipped indecently low, giving her a slight peek at bare, enticing skin.

  She quickly turned her attention back to the microwave. “Do you not want me to light fires in your fireplace?” she asked, somewhat absurdly. Because there was nothing else to say, really. Maybe that wasn’t even a thing to say, but she had needed to say something.

  His dark brows shot upward. “Is that a euphemism?”

  “No,” she said, stomping her foot, the gesture completely useless and mute thanks to her thick cotton socks. “It is not a euphemism. I meant the literal fire. You seemed kind of...perturbed about it. And I just wanted to make sure that we establish some boundaries.”

  “You like boundaries, don’t you?”

  “I love them. Boundaries are practical. They keep people safe. I think of a boundary as being something like a guardrail.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. You know, they keep your car from plummeting over the precipice into the sea. I think we should all be a little more appreciative of boundaries.”

  He shifted his stance and for the first time she noticed his feet were bare. That shouldn’t matter. And for some reason, it did. It mattered in some deep place inside of her that went tight. “That’s a little dramatic,” he said, his tone dry.

  “I’m not dramatic. I’m actually very practical.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “The fact that I moved in here is evidence of my practicality.” She nodded definitively, more for herself than for him. “I’m willing to be uncomfortable for a short time in order to serve the greater good. Practical.”

  “I’m in awe.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think you are.”

  He shrugged again. “It isn’t my fault if you can’t tell.”

  “Are you going to stand around and harass me or do I get to eat my enchiladas in peace?”

  “I thought we might talk about tomorrow,” he said. “Since you’re up.”

  “Yeah, up for food.” She tapped the countertop. “Not necessarily a strategic planning session.”

  “Too bad. We need a strategy. You need us to pretend to be married until the end of this election. That means there’s no way to keep my family out of this. I made light of it earlier, but my mother is fragile. I mentioned that I had a brother. No one has seen him in over fifteen years.”

  “He’s...missing?” The microwave beeped and she looked toward it, not entirely certain if it was appropriate to dive upon a container of enchiladas when someone was bringin
g up the topic of their missing sibling. Probably best to wait a second.

  “I mean, not really. He’s not on a milk carton or anything. He just left. He left like he didn’t have a family. Like there wasn’t an entire empire to look after. So I took over the construction company that my father started years ago, like Gage was supposed to do. And when my dad is unable to see to the business with the horses, I’ll do that, too.” He planted his hands on the counter, leaning across toward her. “I’m the only son my parents have left. I have to pick up the slack.”

  Siblings were a difficult subject for her. In fact, they were difficult enough that it usually took her a minute to personalize it. He had mentioned a brother, and it hadn’t immediately made her think of her twin. She had a lot of practice just not thinking about her family at all.

  Even now, she shoved it to the back of her mind. She wanted to hear what he had to say, but that didn’t mean it needed to accompany any personal soul-searching on her part.

  “Okay, I think I didn’t fully appreciate the fact that our situation does force you to drag your family into this. I’m sorry about that. I don’t have family in town, so it’s different for me.”

  “But haven’t you talked to them?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Not yet.”

  “Do you talk to them?”

  “Not often. Sometimes I go up to Seattle for holidays. Sometimes. I mean, the last couple of years I’ve been really busy doing events with the Chamber around Christmas, so I haven’t made it home for that. But Thanksgiving.”

  She could sense the judgment coming off of him, and she had a fair idea he was conflating her with his brother who had taken off.

  But that wasn’t really her problem. She didn’t owe him an explanation.

  “It impacts me differently,” she said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Fair enough. I appreciate the concession.” He let out a long, slow breath. “You know, tomorrow we’re going to have to share a meal together with an audience. And we are going to have to pretend that you don’t want to disembowel me with a fork.”

  “I don’t want to do that. It sounds disgusting. I would pay hit men to take care of you if I really wanted you gone.”

  “Remind me not to add you to my life insurance policy.” He nodded toward the microwave. “Aren’t you going to get your enchiladas?”

  “Oh!” She turned, opening the door and pulling out the Tupperware, taking off the lid and fanning the steam away. “You have diet soda?”

  “No wine? No beer?”

  “I’m keeping off of hard beverages around you.”

  He chuckled. “It should be in the fridge.”

  She went rooting around for a drink and emerged victorious with a chilled can. “Okay,” she said, “I have fortification. Now, about tomorrow.”

  “It’s more than just not insulting each other every five minutes,” he said as though he were explaining something to a small child. “We have to actually look like we want to be together.”

  She frowned. “That sounds hard.”

  “Sorry to inflict myself on you.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  The glint in his eyes sharpened. He took a step toward her, and her breath hitched. She was so touchy around him. Mostly because there was no denying the fact that he felt like a guy she had slept with, even if she couldn’t remember the activity.

  She wasn’t very experienced. One boyfriend just after high school and another when she had moved to Copper Ridge. It had been nice. Comforting. But, even sex she remembered hadn’t made her feel quite like this.

  She swallowed hard, picking up the container with her enchilada in it and holding it up against her chest like a shield.

  “You really can’t look at me like that,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re a small frightened rodent suspicious about a predator.”

  She set the enchiladas down, glaring up at him. “I have reason to be suspicious.”

  “I promise I’m not going to eat you.”

  Those words sent a rush of longing through her, one that started in her chest, knocking the breath out of her, and spiked down between her thighs.

  There was something erotic about the way he said the words. Something rough and unsophisticated, standing at sharp odds with the way she normally thought of him. A man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth wouldn’t have been able to speak those words around it. Surely.

  They are innocuous words. You are being a pervert.

  Yes, she was.

  “Good to know,” she said, wishing that her voice didn’t sound so scratchy and thin.

  “We’re going to have to hold hands when we walk in.”

  She swallowed hard. And suddenly, she was tired of feeling like a cornered rodent. She was going to claim a little of her own back. Since when did she behave this way? Since when did she allow Colton to call the shots? Since when did she allow anyone to call the shots? She was allowing herself to get thrown off-kilter because she was out of her depth. Because he was undoubtedly the more experienced party here. Because, in spite of herself, she did have to acknowledge that he was sort of attractive, and she was not unaffected by that attractiveness.

  But it was not going to win. It was no more powerful than she was.

  She was an independent woman, gosh darnit.

  She reached out, locking eyes with him. “That’s fine with me. Let’s practice.”

  His body jerked, a little like he had made contact with an exposed wire. He recovered quickly. “Sounds good to me.”

  He closed the distance between their hands, lacing warm fingers through hers. Her breath shortened, her heart pounding hard in her chest, in her throat, in her head.

  Oh yes, she did remember this. Except, right now, she was sober. So it didn’t seem hazy, didn’t seem like a harmless bit of fun. It was sharp, slicing into her like a knife. And she was very afraid that he could see her bleeding need helplessly in front of him.

  His palm pressed against hers, his touch hot and firm. And they just stood like that for a moment, her breathing slowly getting a little bit easier. She could do this. She was already getting used to touching him.

  But then he changed the game.

  He tugged her toward him, pressing her hand flat against his chest. He curved his other arm around her waist, his hand resting on the curve of her spine.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice sounded foreign, scratchy. Definitely not unaffected, as she would have liked.

  “Practicing,” he said, his voice rough, a caress that skated over her skin, down her spine. And here, in one blinding moment of clarity she realized what the tension had always been. That gradual tightening of her muscles, that twist in her stomach, that sensation that her skin was too tight, too hot, to wear anymore.

  Attraction.

  Dammit.

  “That seems like a little much,” she said.

  “We have to be comfortable with each other,” he said.

  “I don’t feel comfortable.”

  “What’s it going to take?” He smoothed his hand up the line of her spine, his fingers digging into her tight muscles, sending a wave of...something, something she didn’t want to analyze, coursing through her.

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to feel comfortable with this.”

  “Well, this is extreme. If you can weather this, a little bit of hand-holding shouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Okay,” she said, both reluctant to pull away and desperate to do it at the same time.

  His breathing had grown shallow, matching hers, and she wondered if his heart was thundering up against his rib cage the same way hers was. She wondered if his palms were sweating, and then came to the conclusion they probably weren’
t. Because, while this was out of the ordinary for her, it was certainly not for him.

  He had been in a relationship until only recently, and before that... Well, she just had the idea that he didn’t keep himself quite as cut off as she did.

  He had been in a relationship until recently. That thought hit her a little bit harder the second time through. He had been with her friend. Until just a few days ago. Touching her, kissing her.

  Of course, you already touched him. On what would’ve been her wedding night.

  She did not feel like she’d betrayed Natalie, because Natalie was the one who had chosen to leave Colton at the altar. Still, the idea of the overlap was kind of...icky.

  But that was just on a philosophical level. Since nothing about physical Colton was icky. He was decidedly non-icky, all over, in fact.

  Touching him felt so... So good.

  He was hot. Which was possibly the understatement of the year. But more than that was what he made her feel. There were plenty of hot guys that she could admire from afar and not feel this. This was beyond hot. It touched something deep and dark inside of her. Something that she had left untouched and unexamined for...well, forever.

  But she was powerless to keep it locked down with him. It was beyond her control and she found she was fascinated by that in the same way a tiger was fascinating in person.

  Beautiful. Impossible to look away from. So clearly dangerous and best kept in a cage.

  Even so, she didn’t want to pull away. She wanted to stretch up on her toes and taste his mouth.

  She didn’t even care if it was a weird thing to wish you could taste someone. It was what she wanted. She was suddenly so overcome with the desire to do it that she began to shake. Had she ever wanted anyone like this before? Had she ever wanted anything like this. Anything at all?

  She would never have thought she was the kind of person to lose her mind over sexual attraction. And here she was, losing it completely, wearing ridiculous shorts, T-shirts and socks in the middle of some guy’s kitchen. She was not dressed to play the part of seductress. She was hungry. For Mexican food, and for him. She wasn’t wearing makeup and had underwear that was the opposite of sexy.