by Maisey Yates
And damned if it wasn’t sexy.
She racked her brain, trying to come up with something witty to say, something to defuse the situation, but she couldn’t think. Her heart was thundering fast, and there was an echoing pulse down in the center of her thighs making it impossible for her to breathe. Impossible for her to think. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, or a wild fantasy that was surely happening in her head only, and not in reality.
But his body was hot and hard underneath her hand, and there was a point at which she really couldn’t pretend she wasn’t touching an actual man.
Because her fingers burned. Because her body burned. Because everything burned.
And she couldn’t think of a single word to say, which wasn’t like her, but usually she wasn’t affected by men.
They liked her. They liked to flirt and talk with her, and since becoming engaged, they’d only liked it even more. Seeing her as a bit of a challenge, and it didn’t cost her anything to play into that a little bit. Because she was never tempted to do anything. Because she was never affected. Because it was only ever a conversation and nothing more.
But this felt like more.
The air was thick with more, and she couldn’t figure out why him, why now.
His lips curved up into a half smile, and suddenly, in a brief flash, she saw it.
Sure, his sculpted face and body were part of it. But he was...an outlaw.
Everything she wasn’t.
He was a man who didn’t care at all what anyone thought. It was visible in every part of him. In the laconic grace with which he moved, the easy way he smiled, the slow honeyed timbre of his voice.
Yes.
He was a man without a cell phone.
A man who wasn’t tied or tethered to anything. Who didn’t have comments to respond to at two in the morning that kept him up at night, as he worried about not doing it fast enough, about doing something to damage the very public image she had cultivated—not just for herself—but for her father’s entire industry.
A man who didn’t care if he fell short of the expectations of a parent, at least he didn’t seem like he would.
Looking at him in all his rough glory, the way that he blended into the terrain, she felt like a smooth shiny shell with nothing but a sad, listless urchin curled up inside, who was nothing like the facade that she presented.
He was the real deal.
He was like that mountain behind him. Strong and firm and steady. Unmovable.
It made her want a taste.
A taste of him.
A taste of freedom.
She found herself moving forward, but he took a step back.
“Come on now, princess,” he said, grabbing hold of her left hand and raising it up, so that her ring caught the sunlight. “You don’t want to be doing that.”
Horror rolled over her and she stepped away.
“I don’t... Nothing.”
He chuckled. “Something.”
“I... My fiancé and I have an understanding,” she said. And she made a mental note to actually check with Donovan to see if they did. Because she suspected they might, given that they had never touched each other. And she could hardly imagine that Donovan had been celibate for the past two years.
You have been.
Yeah, she needed to check on the Donovan thing.
“Do you now?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“Well, I have an understanding with your father that I’m in his employment. And I would sure hate to take advantage of that.”
“I’m a grown woman,” she said.
“Yeah, what do you suppose your daddy would think if he found that you were fucking the help?”
Heat washed over her, her scalp prickling.
“I don’t keep my father much informed about my sex life,” she said.
“The problem is, you and me would be his business. I try to make my sex life no one’s business but mine and the lady I’m naked with.”
“Me nearly kissing you is not the same as me offering you sex. Your ego betrays you.”
“And your blush betrays you, darlin’.”
The entire interaction felt fraught and spiky, and Emerson didn’t know how to proceed, which was as rare as her feeling at a loss for words. He was right. He worked for her father, and by extension, for the family, for her. But she didn’t feel like she had the power here. Didn’t feel like she had the control. She was the one with money, with the Maxfield family name, and he was just...a ranch hand.
So why did she feel so decidedly at a disadvantage?
“We’d better carry on,” she said. “I have things to do.”
“Pictures to post.”
“But not of you,” she said.
He shook his head once. “Not of me.”
She got back on her horse, and he did the same. And this time he led the way back down the trail, and she was somewhat relieved. Because she didn’t know what she would do if she had to bear the burden of knowing he was watching the back of her the whole way.
She would drive herself crazy thinking about how to hold her shoulders so that she didn’t look like she knew that he was staring at her.
But then, maybe he wouldn’t stare at her, and that was the thing. She would wonder either way. And she didn’t particularly want to wonder.
And when she got back to her office, she tapped her fingers on the desk next to her phone, and did her very best to stop herself from texting Donovan.
Tap. Don’t. Tap. Don’t.
And then suddenly she picked up the phone and started a new message.
Are we exclusive?
There were no dots, no movement. She set the phone down and tried to look away. It pinged a few minutes later.
We are engaged.
That’s not an answer.
We don’t live in the same city.
She took a breath.
Have you slept with someone else?
She wasn’t going to wait around with his back-and-forth nonsense. She wasn’t interested in him sparing himself repercussions.
We don’t live in the same city. So yes, I have.
And if I did?
Whatever you do before the wedding is your business.
She didn’t respond, and his next text came in on the heels of the last.
Did you want to talk on the phone?
No.
K.
And that was it. Because they didn’t love each other. She hadn’t needed to text him, because nothing was going to happen with her and Holden.
And how do you feel about the fact that Donovan had slept with other people?
She wasn’t sure.
Except she didn’t feel much of anything.
Except now she had a get-out-of-jail-free card, and that was about the only way she could see it. That wasn’t normal, was it? It wasn’t normal for him to be okay with the fact that she had asked those questions. That she had made it clear she’d thought about sleeping with someone else.
And it wasn’t normal for her to not be jealous when Donovan said he had slept with someone else.
But she wasn’t jealous.
And his admission didn’t dredge any deep feelings up to the surface either.
No, her reaction just underlined the fact that something was missing from their arrangement. Which she had known. Neither of them was under the impression they were in a real relationship. They had allowed themselves to be matched, but before this moment she had been sure feelings would grow in time, but they hadn’t, and she and Donovan had ignored that.
But she couldn’t...
Her father didn’t ask much of her. And he gave her endless support. If she disappointed him...
Well, then she would be a failure all around, wouldn’t s
he?
He’s not choosing Wren’s husband. He isn’t choosing Cricket’s.
Well, Wren would likely refuse. Emerson couldn’t imagine her strong-headed sister giving in to that. And Cricket... Well, nobody could tame Cricket.
Her father hadn’t asked them. He’d asked her. And she’d agreed, because that was who she was. She was the one who could be counted on for anything, and it was too late to stop being who she was now.
Texting Donovan had been insane, leaning in toward Holden had been even more insane. And she didn’t have time for any of that behavior. She had a campaign to launch and she was going to do it. Because she knew who she was. She was not the kind of person who kissed men she barely knew, not the kind of person who engaged in physical-only flings, not the kind of person who crossed professional boundaries.
The problem was, Holden made her feel very, very not like herself. And that was the most concerning thing of all.
Four
Emerson was proving to be deeply problematic.
What he should do was go down to the local bar and find himself a woman to pick up. Because God knew he didn’t need to be running around getting hard over his enemy’s daughter. He had expected to be disgusted by everything the Maxfield family was. And indeed, when he had stood across from James Maxfield in the man’s office while interviewing for this position, it had taken every ounce of Holden’s willpower not to fly across the desk and strangle the man to death.
The thing was, death would be too easy an out for a man like him. Holden would rather give James the full experience of degradation in life before he consigned him to burning in hell for all eternity. Holden wanted to maximize the punishment.
Hell could wait.
And hell was no less than he deserved.
Holden had finally gotten what he’d come for.
It had come in the form of nondisclosure agreements he’d found in James’s office. He’d paid attention to the code on the door when James had let him in for the interview, and all he’d had to do was wait for a time when the man was out and get back in there.
It fascinated Holden that everything was left unguarded, but it wasn’t really a mystery.
This was James’s office in his family home. Not a corporate environment. He trusted his family, and why wouldn’t he? It was clear that Emerson had nothing but good feelings about her father. And Holden suspected everyone else in the household felt the same.
Except the women James had coerced into bed. Employees. All young. All dependent on him for a paycheck. But he’d sent them off with gag orders and payoffs.
And once Holden figured out exactly how to approach this, James would be finished.
But now there was the matter of Emerson.
Holden hadn’t expected the attraction that had flared up immediately the first time he’d seen her not to let up.
And she was always...around. The problem with taking on a job as an opportunity to commit corporate espionage, and to find proof either of monetary malfeasance or of the relationship between James and Holden’s sister, was that he had to actually work during the day.
That ate up a hell of a lot of his time. It also meant he was in close proximity to Emerson.
And speak of the devil, right as he finished mucking out a stall, she walked in wearing skintight tan breaches that molded to every dimple of her body.
“That’s a different sort of riding getup,” he said.
“I’m not taking selfies today,” she said, a teasing gleam in her blue eyes that made his gut tight.
“Just going on a ride?”
“I needed to clear my head,” she said.
She looked at him, seeming vaguely edgy.
“What is it?”
But he knew what it was. It was that attraction that he felt every time she was near. She felt it too, and that made it a damn sight worse.
“Nothing. I just... What is it that you normally do? Are you always a ranch hand? I mean, you must specialize in something, or my father wouldn’t have hired you to help with the horses.”
“I’m good with horses.”
Most everything he’d said about himself since coming to the winery was a lie. But this, at least, was true. He had grown up working other people’s ranches.
Now he happened to own one of his own, a good-sized spread, but he still did a portion of the labor. He liked working his own land. It was a gift, after so many years of working other people’s.
If there was work to be given over to others, he preferred to farm out his office work, not the ranch work.
He’d found an affinity with animals early on, and that had continued. It had given him something to do, given him something to be.
He had been nothing but a poor boy from a poor family. He’d been a cowboy from birth. That connection with animals had gotten him his first job at a ranch, and that line of work had gotten him where he was today.
When one of his employers had died, he’d gifted Holden with a large plot of land. It wasn’t his ranch, but totally dilapidated fields a few miles from the ranch he now owned.
He hadn’t known what the hell to do with land so undeveloped at first, until he’d gone down to the county offices and found it could be divided. From there, he’d started working with a developer.
Building a subdivision had been an interesting project, because a part of him had hated the idea of turning a perfectly good stretch of land into houses. But then, another part of him had enjoyed the fact that new houses meant more people would experience the land he loved and the town he called home.
Making homes for families felt satisfying.
As a kid who had grown up without one at times, he didn’t take for granted the effect four walls could have on someone’s life.
And that had been a bargain he’d struck with the developer. That a couple of the homes were his to do with as he chose. They’d been gifted to homeless families going on ten years ago now. And each of the children had been given college scholarships, funded by his corporation now that he was more successful.
He’d done the same ever since, with every development he’d created. It wouldn’t save the whole world, but it changed the lives of the individuals involved. And he knew well enough what kind of effect that change could have on a person.
He’d experienced it himself.
Cataloging everything good you’ve done in the past won’t erase what you’re doing now.
Maybe not. But he didn’t much care. Yes, destroying the Maxfield empire would sweep Emerson right up in his revenge, which was another reason he’d thought it might be more convenient to hate everyone connected with James Maxfield.
He’d managed to steer clear of the youngest daughter, Cricket, who always seemed to be flitting in and out of the place, and he’d seen Wren on many occasions, marching around purposefully, but he hadn’t quite figured out exactly what her purpose was. Nor did he want to.
But Emerson... Emerson he couldn’t seem to stay away from. Or maybe she couldn’t stay away from him. At the end of it all, he didn’t know if it mattered which it was.
They kept colliding either way.
“You must be very good with horses,” she said.
“I don’t know about that. But I was here, available to do the job, so your father gave it to me.”
She tilted her head to the side, appraising him like he was a confusing piece of modern art. “Are you married?”
“Hell no,” he said. “No desire for that kind of nonsense.”
“You think love is nonsense?” she pressed.
“You didn’t ask me about love. You asked me about marriage.”
“Don’t they usually go together?”
“Does it for you? Because you nearly kissed me yesterday, and you’re wearing another man’s ring.”
Great. He’d gone and brought that up. Not a go
od idea, all things considered. Though, it might make her angry, and if he could get her good and angry, that might be for the best.
Maybe then she would stay away.
“I told you, we’re not living near each other right now, so we...have an arrangement.”
“So you said. But what does that mean?”
“We are not exclusive.”
“Then what the hell is the point of being engaged? As I understand it, the only reason to put a ring on a woman’s finger is to make her yours. Sure and certain. If you were my woman, I certainly wouldn’t let another man touch you.”
Her cheeks flushed red. “Well, you certainly have a lot of opinions for someone who doesn’t see a point to the institution of marriage.”
“Isn’t the point possession?”
“Women aren’t seen as cattle anymore. So no.”
“I didn’t mean a woman being a possession. The husband and wife possess each other. Isn’t that the point?”
She snorted. “I think that often the point is dynasty and connections, don’t you?”
“Damn, that’s cynical, even for me.”
She ignored that. “So, you’re good with horses, and you don’t believe in marriage,” she said. “Anything else?”
“Not a thing.”
“If you don’t believe in marriage, then what do you believe in?”
“Passion,” he said. “For as long as it burns hot. But that’s it.”
She nodded slowly, and then she turned away from him.
“Aren’t you going to ride?”
“I... Not right now. I need to... I need to go think.”
And then without another word, Emerson Maxfield ran away from him.
* * *
The cabin was a shit hole. He really wasn’t enjoying staying there. He had worked himself out of places like this. Marginal dwellings that had only woodstoves for heat. But this was the situation. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and apparently his ass had to be kind of cold right along with it.
