Pepper and I picked from one section of trees while Maddy and her two male friends worked from another section. I glanced over at those three occasionally with my curiosity piqued. The two guys seemed equally invested in impressing Maddy. I wondered if they were truly just friends or had some kind of menage-a-trois going on.
"Oh, to be young and innocent again," Pepper joked as she caught me looking.
"Come on, you're barely older than her."
I winked as I lifted four buckets of apples, two in each hand, into the truck bed.
Pepper looked away but I didn't miss her rosy blush.
"Older enough," she muttered, focusing intently on checking apples for bruises and pests.
"I'll tell you my age if you tell me yours," I teased.
A smile crept across her lips, despite trying to hide it.
"I'm twenty-four," she said.
My eyebrows shot up.
"Damn, you are way young to be running this place all on your own."
"Yeah, shit happens," she muttered, her smile disappearing. "And you are?"
"Twenty-eight," I replied.
She huffed a humorless laugh.
"And you say I'm young! You're four years older than me and running a real estate empire, apparently." Her eyes returned to her apples and her voice grew quieter. "Although you probably got a much better head start than me."
"I wasn't born into money," I said, perhaps a little sharply. "I'm basically an orphan. Everything I have, I made it happen for myself."
Pepper bit her lip on her regretted words. I'd behaved myself all day but that one little action sent my dick aching for her. I wanted to taste that lip between my teeth too.
"Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have assumed."
"It's alright," I answered, trying to wrestle with my physical frustration.
"I'm basically an orphan too," she said in a small voice, and I realized it was the first thing she really shared about herself. "My mom left years ago. My dad passed away from cancer last year. Hence why the farm was left to me."
“I’m sorry,” I offered sincerely. “That is really, unimaginably tough.”
She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.
“The ground still has to be tilled and the crops still need to be harvested,” she said dryly. “They don’t care who’s here and who’s not.”
“Have you ever had a day off?” I asked. This girl’s toughness and tenacity were both making me respect her and ache for her at the same time.
“Not since I was about fourteen,” she said almost proudly. “That’s when my mom ran off with the first guy who would promise her an easy, comfortable life and I had to step it up to support my Dad.”
“Holy shit,” I murmured. “If anyone deserves a day off, it’s you.”
A full day lying on your back with my cock buried between your thighs, making you come again and again. How does that sound?
The pieces were coming together. I was beginning to understand her attitude, her work ethic, and her aversion to large amounts of money.
“Can’t afford it,” she said flippantly. “Maybe if I had more employees beyond three teenagers and a random, rich, hot guy--”
Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes grew wide as saucers. I could only grin as her face grew beet red from accidentally speaking her mind.
“Hey now,” I protested, holding my hand to my heart in mock hurt. “I may be rich and hot but I’m definitely not random.” I winked at her. “There’s a reason for everything, sweetheart.”
“Forget I said anything,” she muttered, looking away again.
To save her embarrassment, I decided to quit teasing and change the subject.
“So what’s in the greenhouse?” I asked, nodding my chin at the hooped structure covered in semi-opaque sheeting in the center of the orchard.
“Nothing,” she barked. I could practically see the armor sliding into place again and the real, vulnerable Pepper retreating away.
“Don’t ever go near it. There’s nothing in there that concerns you.”
CHAPTER NINE
REAGAN
"You better have a good reason for this delay, Sells!'
Alfred Huxley's jowls shook as he growled at me from across the long table in my conference room. Next to him, my buddy Ignacio smirked into his hand as he tried not to laugh.
We had a term for guys like Huxley-- triple G: Greedy, gluttonous, and geriatric.
In other words, old men born into old money who had no patience or flexibility for anything.
"When have I ever unwisely invested your money, Hux?" I asked, keeping my voice friendly and calm. "The Cloverville development will continue. There are just some local concerns about its proximity to an organic farm so we're revisiting some location options."
"Pay the fucking redneck farmer off!" Spittle flew from Huxley's mouth and narrowly missed Ignacio's sleeve. "I don't care if you flatten his whole damn corn field! This project will never get finished if you listen to every redneck local's bitching and moaning."
"You have to remember, Hux," I said, keeping my voice calm despite my temper simmering underneath the surface. "There is so much more investment opportunity in Cloverville. This development is just our first toe in the water. But at its heart, Cloverville is a small, farming community. We have to work with the locals and show that we're good for their community and their economy. Not some faceless corporation trying to make their next quick buck. They'll quite literally drive us out with pitchforks if they get even the smallest whiff of that."
Several of the other board members nodded in agreement, while Huxley and his fellow Triple-Gs remained tight-lipped and scowling.
Narrowly, the board voted in favor of exploring other locales for the development and I left the conference room feeling like a warrior who barely survived battle. At least I had a majority of people still on my side and the dissenters would likely keel over before construction was done anyway.
"Yo," Ignacio called, clapping my shoulders as he caught up to me. "Drinks at La Borrachita?"
"Fuck yes please," I groaned. "Listening to those old fuckers make me want to drown in tequila."
Ignacio called an UberLUX to pick us up in front of my office building in the San Francisco financial district. A Porsche Cayenne pulled up right as we stepped out to the sidewalk and took us to the heart of the Mission District, San Francisco’s central hub of Latin culture and flavor.
La Borrachita was a lively Mexican restaurant with an excellent rooftop bar and the best street tacos north of the border. I inhaled half of my margarita and first two tacos in the time it took for Ignacio to flirt in Spanish with the waitress and get her number, which took all of about two minutes.
He was a handsome, charming bastard. Almost as much as me. The only difference was he had that Latin flair.
“So, since when is organic farming suddenly so near and dear to your heart?” he asked me once he finally settled into his food and drink.
“Since the farmer waved a shotgun in my face and also fired it into the air to scare off the construction crew,” I replied.
“What?” he nearly choked on his margarita. “Good thing you didn’t bring that up at the meeting! But damn, maybe you should flatten his corn field.”
“Her,” I corrected. “And she doesn’t grow corn. The fruit orchards were her biggest concern.”
Ignacio stared at me like I grew a second head before a wide grin broke out on his face.
“I see,” he observed. “I think I know what this is about. She’s hot, eh?”
I kept my expression blank but he must have seen it in my eyes. Ignacio knew how to read me.
“I knew it!” He clapped his hands victoriously. “El Rey got himself a little reinita!
I couldn’t help but grin to myself.
“She makes me work for it, that’s for damn sure.”
“The right woman always does, man,” he grinned back. “But it’s so worth it.”
I raised a suspicious
eyebrow. When it came to our reputations with women, he made me look like a saint. The last thing I expected him to know about was the right woman.
"Since when are you such an expert on true love?" I asked.
"I'm Latino, man! It's in my blood." He grinned again. "I fall in love at least once a day. That waitress there? She's going to have my children, I swear."
I rolled my eyes. I never could always tell when he was joking or being serious. It was true that he showed a lot more effort and romantic gestures toward his hookups than I ever did. Maybe that was just cultural differences or something I could stand to learn from.
"This one is different," I mused. "She's tough as nails but fragile as a bird at the same time."
"There you go getting poetic on me, Mr. Tough American Guy," he teased. "But seriously, all women are different. I know you're a late bloomer but it's about time you see that."
"Fuck off," I said dryly, draining the rest of my margarita.
"Oh hey!" Ignacio sat straight up like he had a sudden moment of clarity. "My parents' 40th anniversary is next weekend. They're throwing a huge party and making it a big fuckin' deal. You should come and bring your reinita!"
"Something tells me she wouldn't be too keen," I muttered. The party would be a black-tie affair almost certainly. Ignacio's parents were loaded. They owned a number of luxury hotels and tourism companies through Mexico and Central America.
Still, the image of Pepper in a floor-length evening gown with her hair and makeup done sent all the blood straight to my cock. She would be absolutely stunning and I'd feel like the biggest stud in the room if I had her on my arm.
"You're good at negotiating, talk her into it." Ignacio urged. "And I'm dying to meet the woman who makes El Rey get up and work his big American ass."
"They're called deadlifts, you skinny fucker," I shot back. "I make no promises but I'll ask her."
I stared at my hands around my glass, unfamiliar with this feeling coming over me. The anxiety over needing to hear a yes, when she would likely tell me no.
CHAPTER TEN
PEPPER
"Pepper, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."
Solomon held out the cash for me in his tattooed hand and accepted the container I gave to him in the other.
"It's no problem," I told him. "I really hope your father-in-law feels better. Make sure he tries small pieces first and waits a couple of hours before taking more."
"Maybe I'll test-drive one first," he said with a smirk and a wink. "I'll bring your container back to you."
"Don't worry about it. I have tons," I assured him.
"No, trust me. Natalie will wash it and ensure that I return what doesn't belong to me," he said with a chuckle.
"Give her my best," I said warmly. "Oh, and here." I held out a small paper bag. "Some extra sweet cherries for the kids."
"Now you're just spoiling them," he cracked but accepted the bag from me. "Thanks. You're getting the first pick of that sauvignon blanc once we bottle it next week."
"Sounds good to me!" With the hottest days of summer approaching, a chilled glass of white wine sounded absolutely heavenly. "Take care, Sol."
Just as his large, tattooed form turned and stepped off my patio, I noticed the cloud of dust created by the approaching car in the driveway.
It was Reagan's signature Bentley SUV, once black but lately more of a tan color from all the dust it accumulated from my property.
My heart bounced against my ribs, as it seemed to do more often lately when he showed up.
He'd been coming over and working tirelessly almost every day of the last week. I held my breath every time he did, wondering if this was the time he'd say what he actually wanted, the real reason why he was doing this when he surely had rich-people things to do.
But he always left without asking for anything and always refused money when I offered to pay him. With how fast and efficiently he worked for free, I was already saving a fortune and had more breathing room, money wise.
I also realized how much I was starting to enjoy his company, as much as I hated to admit it.
He was funny and charming, always teasing me but never in a way that was truly insulting. I felt at ease and relaxed around him, rather than self-conscious about the massive differences between us. We had more in common than I thought was possible.
And Bonny was nothing short of in love with him. She'd been sleeping in the house while Solomon was here, but darted out the doggy door with her tail wagging furiously when Reagan's car approached.
Still, a strange feeling twisted inside me. I felt uncomfortable about feeling so comfortable with him, if that made any sense.
I didn't want to start liking a rich guy. I didn't want to become my mom.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was betray my dad's dying wish and leave this farm to die with him. To leave four generations of hard work and careful maintenance of this land for a fast, easy life that would probably leave me miserable in so many other ways.
Not that Reagan had ever spent a dime on me yet, or indicated he wanted to whisk me away.
Stop getting ahead of yourself. It's a crush. You've had these before. Get over it.
Something curious happened as Reagan stepped out of his car.
As he and Solomon passed each other, they locked eyes and seemed to circle each other slowly, like a couple of boxers in a ring. No words were exchanged but it wouldn’t have looked unusual at all if they growled at each other like two alpha wolves from rival packs.
And just as quickly as the moment began, it ended.
Solomon got into his car and Reagan ascended the steps of my porch with Bonny glued to his side and begging for ear scratches.
“What was he doing here?” Reagan asked, his tone calm but bordering on demanding.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Hello to you, too,” I replied, ignoring his question and crossing my arms defiantly.
“Was he bothering you?”
His voice turned gruff, his eyes sharp and not moving from me. My skin prickled with the heat of his gaze. Heat pooled between my legs as I realized he was being territorial, if even protective of me. It should have annoyed me but for some reason, I found it incredibly sexy.
“Yeah, that’s why I sent him off with a bag of cherries and baked goods,” I answered sarcastically. “No, we’re neighbors. Just being neighborly.”
Reagan’s lip curled with distaste.
“I get a bad vibe from him. Just be careful.”
“Please,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Your jealousy is completely unfounded.”
“I’m not jealous,” he barked defensively. “You’re just… all alone up here. And a good few minutes outside of town. This farm could be an easy target for shady characters. Just be vigilant is all I’m saying.”
“I have nothing of value up here,” I replied, also defensively. “And no one from town would dare fuck with me. You think you’re the only one who’s seen my gun?”
“Forget I said anything, then.” Reagan raised his hands in defeat. “So you got any work for me?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “You’ve been such a workhorse all week, I don’t have much left to do this evening.”
Reagan’s grin made my heart skip a beat.
“Speaking of guns, how about some fun then?”
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a black handgun.
Any other girl from any other place probably would've been frightened. Your average twenty-four-year-old woman probably never saw a real gun in her life before.
But me?
I just smiled and felt warmth spreading throughout my chest. Giddy excitement in the form of a giggle threatened to spill from my mouth.
"You got ammo for that thing?" I asked coyly.
He produced a box from his other pocket, which made a metallic sound when he shook it.
"You got targets?" he asked, returning my coy smile.
"I could probably scrape something
together."
Right about then, he put a lethal target on my heart.
***
A half hour later, we had set up cans and glass bottles on the fence posts that bordered the back of my property. I tested out Reagan's gun, a 9mm Glock, while he tested out my rifle.
"Damn, this thing is accurate!" he exclaimed as he shot another clean hole through a metal soup can. "I gotta get me one of these."
"Yeah, hell of a lot more accurate than yours," I muttered. Handguns were never my strong point. It was a lot harder to fire accurately from a smaller package.
"Here, let me help."
Reagan flicked the safety on my rifle and laid it down on a tree stump. He came up next to me. Very, very close next to me. His clean, expensive scent filled my lungs and his presence overwhelmed me.
"Straighten your arms out," he said, gently pushing up on my elbows. "And widen out your base. Since you don't need to support the barrel with your hand, make your whole body as square and stable as possible."
I spread my feet out wider and took aim again. Reagan moved behind me and my core flooded with warmth. How was I supposed to concentrate with him so close like that? He didn't touch me but the air between us crackled with electricity. A few inches closer and his crotch would be pressing up against my ass.
I swallowed and inhaled as I tried to focus on the sight in front of me. With a slow exhale I squeezed the trigger. The glass bottle exploded in what looked like white smoke from this distance.
"There you go!" Reagan's voice cried triumphantly in my ear. "Much better."
I smiled at my victory.
"When did you learn to shoot?" I asked him.
"When I was about eight," he replied. "You?"
"Same age," I answered. "Killed and ate my first rabbit then, although I mostly shot to scare away raccoons and coyotes."
Reagan smiled humorlessly. I couldn't read the expression in his eyes.
Cocked and Loaded: A Billionaire Romance (Small Town Bad Boys Book 4) Page 5
