"I stole my dad's gun and used it to stop him from beating the shit out of me. But I just grazed his shoulder and pissed him off even more."
My face fell and my stomach twisted into agonizing knots for him.
"Holy shit. I'm so sorry."
He shrugged as he picked up the rifle again.
"Don't be. I'm grateful to the bastard. He was the best motivation I had to get the hell out of that crack house and get my real estate license."
For a moment I felt the massive divide between us again. Not because of money this time, but our family lives. I would’ve given anything to have my dad back. Reagan sounded like he would’ve been happy to piss on his old man’s grave.
“My dad was tough on me,” I said quietly. “If I were a boy, he would’ve treated me no differently. But I knew he loved me. He did it to teach me to be strong.”
Reagan paused from wiping the rifle with a cloth.
“Your dad did good,” he said gently, his eyes matching the greenery that surrounded us. “He raised you well and you’re lucky you had him. Mine never cared about anything but his next fix.”
He looked at me with amusement sparkling in his eyes and my breath felt stolen from my body by how handsome he was.
“The old bastard still has the nerve to ask me for money. I’ve never given him a dime, of course.”
“Really?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “Not even for rehab or anything like that?”
“He doesn’t want rehab,” Reagan said bitterly. “He doesn’t want to become a better person. No, all that manipulative asshole wants is a high.” His eyes flashed angrily. “It’s unfortunate that we’re blood-related. If it weren’t for that, he’d be absolutely nothing to me.”
“I guess that’s kind of how I feel about my mother,” I admitted, lowering to sit down on the tree stump next to him. “I wonder if she ever really loved us or just used my dad until she was bored and ready for her next adventure.”
Reagan reached out and touched my arm. It was a simple, comforting and platonic touch but also so much more. Our eyes locked and his touch lingered.
“It’s the negative experiences that make or break us,” he said solemnly. “They either make you stronger and push you to do better, or they expose the weakness that was always inside you. I think you and I are the first kinds of people.”
I leaned into his touch without even realizing it. Nothing else had ever resonated with me so much since before Dad passed away.
He was absolutely right. Everything from childhood bullying to Mom leaving to Dad’s passing shook me to the point of feeling like crumbling. But I still got up every single day, scratched my dog’s ears, got my work done, and smiled at my neighbors.
When I looked at Reagan, I could see that he did the same thing day after day, no matter what happened to him.
And that opened my heart up for the first time in what felt like centuries.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REAGAN
I didn't know it was possible to feel closer to a woman from shooting guns with her. I just went on a hunch, knowing she could shoot, but her eyes lit up when I brought out my Glock and I knew it was the best move I made since I met her.
I couldn’t have done better if I brought her the whole Louis Vuitton fall collection.
We shot until nearly nightfall before heading back to the house. We laughed, talked, and had so much fun, I didn't want the day to end.
Ignacio's voice nagged at me in my brain the whole time. I would have to ask her soon. Getting her relaxed and opening up first seemed like the best move.
"My hands are sore as fuck," Pepper said, rubbing into her palms. "But that was the most fun I had in a while." Her eyes gleamed when she looked at me. "Thanks, Reagan. It's like you're getting to know me."
Her words tested the tense waters between us. It was like we were walking on a frozen pond and seeing how far we could walk before crashing through the ice.
"I hope I am," I replied coolly.
It was now or never. I flashed a winning smile.
"So, Pepper. I think I'm ready to cash in on my favor."
Her delicate eyebrows lifted.
"Oh, how so?" Her voice was cautious, unsure.
"There's a party you should come to with me," I replied. "Next weekend."
"No," she said all too quickly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm not a fancy party person."
"Have you ever been to one?" I pressed.
"Well, no..."
"Then how do you know if you'll like it or not?"
She huffed out a sigh. "I know that I'll stick out like a sore thumb and have nothing in common with anybody. "
"That's not true," I urged gently. "Come on, it would be great for you to let loose and unwind. Don't all girls have some secret desire to get all dressed up, made up, and feel like royalty?"
"Not me," she snapped. "This," she held up her gun. "Is how I let loose and unwind. I appreciate you making the effort to understand my world, but I definitely don't belong in yours."
My heart sank. She wasn't budging one inch. I could see her retreating into herself again, after opening up to me so beautifully earlier today.
“This is my best friend’s parents’ anniversary party,” I said. “It’s not a work function with assholes of my board. These are actually some down-to-earth rich people. They would never be rude to my date or any guests for that matter.”
Her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed. I knew I was tiptoeing the edge of being too pushy, on the verge of setting off that temper of hers but I didn’t care.
“Why me?” she asked suddenly.
“Because you’re the person I want to bring,” I answered simply.
“Okay, but why?” She almost sounded pleading. “Don’t you have a long list of women who would jump at the chance to be your date? Who actually know how to talk to these people and not make a fool of themselves?”
I shrugged as I stepped closer to her, invading her space. She tried to back away but bumped into the porch railing. We both froze there, the moment as intense as it had ever been between us. Our breath mingled in midair like an indirect, untouching kiss.
Her eyes flashed challengingly at me, but the rest of her body betrayed her desire. A warm flush crept up her neck to the apples of her cheeks. Her lips parted arduously and her gorgeous tits heaved with her breaths just inches away from my chest.
“Sure,” I began in a low voice. “There are women who know me and want me, but they have nothing interesting to say. They don’t… challenge me like you do.”
“And how important is that, really?” she barked, not backing down. “They’ll look nice on your arm, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
“Pepper,” I breathed, incredulous that she couldn’t see what I saw in her. “You’re beautiful.”
My hands floated to her shoulders which she promptly brushed away.
“Stop. You don’t need to say things like that. It won’t work.”
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “You’re gorgeous. And you’re tough and interesting.”
“You mean, I would be pretty if I lost some weight,” she said bitterly. “Or dyed my hair or dressed more like a lady.”
“No way!” I balked. “You are perfectly stunning as is. The fact that you’re such a strong, badass only adds to it.”
I was dying to kiss her. I wanted to prove that I meant every word I said by feeling the curves of her waist under my hands, the inside of her mouth with my tongue, and the hardness of my cock against her belly.
A sad smile crossed her lips as she lowered her gaze from mine.
“Maybe you’re different from the rest, but the fact is you earned your spot among your class of people. I might as well belong to a completely different universe.”
She turned and started to head inside.
“Thanks for the offer, though. Goodnight, Reagan.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
PEPPER
I wasn’t entirely surprise
d to see Reagan pulling up the next morning in a pickup truck. If I knew anything about him at all, he was persistent, even crafty. He tried all kinds of different methods to figure out what worked.
After he asked me to the party last night, that made me apprehensive.
To be honest, a part of me did want to go. I did want to dress up, sip champagne and eat tiny portions of things that cost too much money. Sometimes when I got stoned at night, I’d break out my makeup and let loose some artistic creativity on my face. I even had one of my mom’s evening dresses still in my closet, a little Gucci number that fit me perfectly.
But therein lied my discomfort about the whole thing.
I didn’t want to become my mother. I couldn’t afford to even take a tiny peek into Pandora’s box, because then what if I couldn’t close it?
How could I forgive myself if I threw away all of my dad’s hard work? And my grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s?
Crying about it wouldn’t be so bad if you were crying into a bowl of caviar.
I shook my head as if to release my mother’s hold on my brain.
“Don’t shake your head no before I even tell you what we’re doing.”
Reagan stepped out of the truck and approached me with an easygoing grin, his eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses.
He looked so relaxed and summery in khaki shorts, flip-flops, and a hunter green T-shirt that hugged his biceps and matched his hidden eyes.
Tell me what we're doing? You've got some nerve, boy.
Still, I couldn't help the smile that played on my lips. After yesterday's surprise target practice fun, the giddiness in my chest bubbled with excitement again.
"What do you have hidden up your sleeve this time?" I asked playfully.
"Since you won't go on a fancy dinner date with me, I figured we'd do something more to your liking."
He reached into the backseat of the truck cab and pulled out a picnic basket. It looked exactly like every basket you saw in movies, a wicker rectangle with handles and a checkered tablecloth peeking out, and I nearly laughed.
"Picnic, huh?"
"Yeah, at the lake," he said. "I've got a baguette, cheese, wine, salami, olives. All the fixin's."
My smile refused to stop growing, but I crossed my arms and swayed my hips a little from side to side, trying to appear indecisive.
"Like, right now?" I asked.
"You got anything better to do?"
I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.
"Can I bring the dog?"
"Definitely. She'll love it."
"Fine," I said with mock defeat. "But not one more word of fancy dinner parties, alright? This isn't a gateway date."
"Scout's honor," Reagan said, raising a hand. "Not that I was ever in Scouts, but I can't exactly say crack house survivor's honor."
I put my shoes on, grabbed Bonny's treats and collapsible water bowl, and off we went.
Bonny laid down in the backseat next to the picnic basket while I sat in the passenger seat next to Reagan. I only had to tell her "No, Bon-bon," once to keep her from investigating the basket.
As Reagan pulled off of my property and onto the dirt road heading toward Cloverville Lake, I glanced at his handsome, chiseled profile across the console and wondered how the hell we got to this point.
Not even two weeks ago, he was about to start building illegally on my land and I thought he was the biggest douchebag ever for showing up in a helicopter. The next thing I knew, he started working on the farm with me and now we were going on a date?
Was this a date-date? Or was this still part of some long con he was pulling to get my land? He hadn't mentioned the development in over a week. I barely thought about it myself recently.
It felt so surreal. Here I was with a crush on someone who I thought would be my worst enemy. Every night, I gave into my body's desires for him. I hadn't taken an edible ever since that first night because of how intense it was. Even without anything to enhance my moods, every part of my body cried out for him.
My attention snapped to the present as I felt my cheeks burning, and I realized we had gone off the main road to the lake. The truck rose and fell as Reagan drove over rocks and fallen tree branches.
“Did you get lost?” I asked, reaching for the support handle.
“Nope,” he smirked. “There’s a private, shaded area right on the bank of the lake. I saw it while flying over in my helicopter.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“If that’s true, how have I lived here my whole life and never heard of this secret place?”
“You tell me,” he teased. “Having a bird’s-eye view has its perks, sometimes.”
We climbed uphill over rocks, tree branches and brush for another five miles or so and I soon realized why I never knew about this hidden area of the lake. Hiking up here would challenge even the most seasoned climber. The incline was steep and there was no clear path, so Reagan just drove straight through the brush.
Either that or his plan the whole time was to murder me and hide my body, which he could successfully do up here.
No way. Bonny trusts him. If she didn’t, she would have ripped his throat out before he ever got close enough to me.
We finally pulled up to a flat area when Reagan put the truck in park and cut the engine. It was so dense with trees, we barely had room to open the truck doors.
“Careful, I think we’re close to the edge,” he warned.
Sure enough, we parked at the edge of a small cliff with the clear, blue water about twenty feet below us.
“If I remember correctly,” Reagan said, gently guiding me by the shoulders. “There’s a small beach down to the side here.”
I followed him down a gentle, rocky slope while Bonny loped on ahead of us and could barely believe my eyes when we reached the bottom.
“Wow,” I gasped. “This is beautiful.”
It was a tiny, private cove no bigger than my living room, complete with a small, sandy beach, trees from the cliffs above to shade us, and a spectacular view of the lake.
I moved to sit on a large rock but Reagan took a hold of my arm to stop me. He sure was touching me a lot, and getting physically closer since we went shooting yesterday. But I couldn’t act like I didn’t enjoy it anymore.
“Hang on. I got you covered,” he said and whisked a large beach towel out of the picnic basket.
“I figured you would know by now that I have no issues with sitting unprotected on a rock,” I teased as I helped him to spread out the towel.
“Yes, I know,” he replied dryly. “I’m just still trying to trick you into thinking I’m a gentleman.”
“Oh, I already know you’re not,” I said with a grin.
We laid down on the towel next to each other, which felt strangely intimate despite keeping about a foot of distance between us. I wondered how much wine it would take before one of us started closing the distance.
Over the next couple of hours, we took turns throwing sticks into the water for Bonny to fetch. She was happy as could be as she ran, splashed, and even chased birds. She even let us know by shaking water off all over us. Reagan and I just laughed harder with every shake and tried to cover our food as best we could.
In between stick throwing, we munched on cheese, cured meats and took turns swigging red wine straight from the bottle. My body slowly grew warm and relaxed, as did my tongue.
“This wine is way better than what Solomon gets me,” I said, my words slurring just slightly as I examined the label on the now empty bottle.
Reagan laid quietly next to me with his hands behind his head, his green eyes on the tree canopy above, and the hem of his T-shirt exposing a thin sliver of hard, taut belly.
"There's nothing going on between you and that guy, is there?" he asked softly.
"What?! No!" I cried out. "He's married with kids! And I know his wife, too."
I jabbed my finger into his ribs, making him squirm and wrestle my hands away.
"Are you jealous?" I asked with a triumphant grin. "Is that why you get such bad feelings about that guy, as you put it?"
"No," Reagan said, although the look in his eyes betrayed his thoughts and I felt my heart swell. "Not jealous. Just protective, maybe. He looked like a rough character, that's all."
"What, like you were?" I continued to jab at him. "One guy with a rough past meets another?"
"I dunno, maybe." He propped himself up on his elbows and dropped his gaze in a manner that seemed almost shy. "What was he doing at your house when I pulled up?"
I sighed. If whatever this was between us kept blossoming into something more, he would have to know eventually. Might as well find out what he felt about it.
"You promise not to tell anyone in town?" I asked solemnly. "It's nothing... bad but the older folks will clutch their pearls and start rumors like wildfire."
Reagan frowned but nodded.
I sucked in a deep breath in preparation to say what I never told anyone before.
"He was buying brownies from me."
Reagan's brow furrowed.
"Brownies?"
"Yeah, marijuana brownies," I said. "His father-in-law has arthritis. He buys them to help manage his pain."
A smile of amusement and possibly also relief broke out on Reagan's face.
"I was expecting much worse than that," he chuckled and looked at me curiously. "Why would anyone in town care? It's legal in California now."
"I know," I said. "The greenhouse in the orchard, that's where I'm growing the plants. I'm experimenting with different kinds of edibles for a business idea later on down the road. But it'll be a while before most of the townspeople are okay with it."
"Well look at you," Reagan said, looking at me with enough affection to make my heart skip a beat. "I had a feeling there was an entrepreneurial spirit in there."
I nodded. "It's to help supplement the farm, really. It’s been in my family for four generations, so I can never sell it but it's a constant money pit. I don't know if we've ever come out in the black."
“Hmm.” Reagan pursed his lips thoughtfully and every cell in my body ached to kiss him. “Sounds like you might need a business advisor. You’ve got to be able to turn a profit somehow.”
Cocked and Loaded: A Billionaire Romance (Small Town Bad Boys Book 4) Page 6
