by Maisey Yates
Not that he didn’t know how to build a fire. It seemed tonight he’d have to.
He went outside, into the failing light, wearing nothing but his jeans and a pair of boots, and searched around for an ax.
There was no preprepared firewood. That would’ve been way too convenient, and Holden had the notion that James Maxfield was an asshole in just about every way. It wasn’t just Soraya that James didn’t care about. It was everyone. Right down to the people who lived and worked on his property. He didn’t much care about the convenience of his employees. It was a good reminder. Of why Holden was here.
Though, Emerson seemed to be under the impression that James cared for her. An interesting thing. Because when she had spoken about trying to earn the approval of one of her parents, he had been convinced, of course, that she had meant James’s.
But apparently, James was proud of his daughter, and supported her.
Maybe James had used up every ounce of his humanity in his parenting. Though, Holden still had questions about that.
And it was also entirely possible that Emerson knew the truth about how her father behaved. And that she was complicit in covering up his actions in order to protect the brand.
Holden didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t concern himself with the fate of anyone involved with James Maxfield.
If you drink water from a poison well, whatever happened, happened.
As far as Holden was concerned, each and every grapevine on this property was soaked through with James Maxfield’s poison.
He found an ax and swung it up in the air, splitting the log in front of him with ease. That, at least, did something to get his body warmed up, and quell some of the murder in his blood. He chuckled, positioned another log on top of the large stone sitting before him and swung the ax down.
“Well,” came the sound of a soft, feminine voice. “I didn’t expect to find you out here. Undressed.”
He paused, and turned to see Emerson standing there, wearing a belted black coat, her dark hair loose.
She was wearing high heels.
Nothing covered her legs.
It was cold, and she was standing out in the middle of the muddy ground in front of his cabin, and none of it made much sense.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He looked her up and down. “Dressed like that.”
“I could ask you the same question. Why didn’t you put a shirt on? It’s freezing out here.”
“Why didn’t you put pants on?”
She hesitated, but only for a moment, and then her expression went regal, which he was beginning to recognize meant she was digging deep to find all her stubbornness.
“Because I would be burdened by having to take them off again soon. At least, that’s what I hope.” Only the faint pink color in her cheeks betrayed the fact that she’d embarrassed herself. Otherwise he’d have thought she was nothing more than an ice queen, throwing out the suggestion of a seduction so cold it might give his dick frostbite.
But that wasn’t the truth. No, he could see it in that blush. Underneath all that coolness, Emerson was burning.
And damned if he wasn’t on fire himself.
But it made no damn sense to him, that this woman, the princess of Maxfield Vineyards, would come all the way out here, dragging her designer heels in the mud, to seduce him.
He looked behind his shoulder at the tiny cabin, then back at her.
“Really,” he said.
The color in her cheeks deepened.
Lust and interest fired through him, and damned if he’d do anything to stop it. Dark, tempting images of taking Emerson into that rough cabin and sullying her on the rock-hard mattress... It was satisfying on so many levels, he couldn’t even begin to sort through them all.
His enemy’s daughter. Naked and begging for him, in a cabin reserved for workers, people James clearly thought so far beneath his own family that he’d not even given a thought to their basic needs.
Knowing Holden could have her in there, in a hundred different ways, fired his blood in a way nothing but rage had for ages.
Damn, he was hungry for her. In this twisted, intense way he had told himself he wasn’t going to indulge.
But she was here.
Maybe with nothing on under that coat. Which meant they were both already half undressed, and it begged the question whether or not they should go ahead and get naked the rest of the way.
A look at her hand. He noticed she didn’t have her engagement ring on.
“What the hell kind of game are you playing?” he asked.
“You said that whatever happened between you and a woman in bed was between you and that woman. Well, I’m of the same mind. It’s nobody’s business but ours what happens here.” She bit her lip. “I’m going to be really, really honest with you.”
There was something about that statement that burned, because if there was one thing he was never going to be with her, it was honest.
“I don’t love my fiancé. I haven’t slept with him. Why? Because I’m not that interested in sleeping with him. It’s the strangest thing. We’ve been together for a couple of years, but we don’t live near each other. And every time we could have, we just didn’t. And the fact that we’re not even tempted... Well, that tells you something about the chemistry between us. But this...you. I want to do this with you. It’s all I can think about, and trust me when I say that’s not me. I don’t understand it, I didn’t ask for it, or want it, but I can’t fight it.”
“I’m supposed to be flattered that you’re deigning to come down from your shining tower because you can’t stop thinking about me?”
“I want you,” she said, lifting her chin up. “You asked me earlier if there was anything I had ever wanted that I couldn’t have. It’s you. I shouldn’t have you. But I want you. And if my father found out that I was doing this, he would kill us both. Because my engagement to Donovan matters to him.”
“You said you had an arrangement,” he stated.
“Oh, Donovan wouldn’t care. Donovan knows. I mean, in a vague sense. I texted him to make sure I wasn’t just making assumptions. And I found out he already has. Been with someone else, I mean. So, it’s not a big deal. But my father... He would never want it being made public. Image is everything to him, and my engagement to Donovan is part of the image right now.”
And just like that, he sensed that her relationship with her father was a whole lot more complicated than she let on. But her relationship with James wasn’t Holden’s problem either way. And neither was whether or not Emerson was a good person, or one who covered up her father’s transgressions. None of it mattered.
Nothing really mattered right here but the two of them.
The really fascinating thing was, Emerson didn’t know who Holden was. And even if she did, she didn’t need anything from him. Not monetarily. It had been a long damn time since he’d appealed to a woman in a strictly physical way. Not that women didn’t enjoy him physically. But they also enjoyed what he had—a luxury hotel suite, connections, invitations to coveted parties.
He was standing here with none of that, nothing but a very dilapidated cabin that wasn’t even his own.
And she wanted him.
And that, he found, was an incredibly compelling aphrodisiac, a turn-on he hadn’t even been aware he’d been missing.
Emerson had no idea that he was Holden McCall, the wealthiest developer in the state. All she wanted was a roll in the hay, and why the hell not? Sure, he was supposed to hate her and everything she stood for.
But there was something to be said for a hate screw.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You haven’t even kissed me. You don’t even know if I want to kiss you. But you were willing to come down here not even knowing what the payoff would be?”
Her face was frozen, its b
eauty profound even as she stared at him with blank blue eyes, her red lips pressed into a thin line. And he realized, this was not a woman who knew how to endure being questioned.
She was a woman used to getting what she wanted. A woman used to commanding the show, that much was clear. It was obvious that Emerson was accustomed to bulldozing down doors, a characteristic that seemed to stand in sharp contrast to the fact that she also held deep concerns over what her parents thought of her and her decisions.
“That should tell you, then,” she said, the words stiff. “It should tell you how strong I think the connection is. If it’s not as strong for you, that’s fine. You’re not the one on the verge of getting married, and you’re just a man, after all. So you’ll get yours either way. This might be it for me before I go to the land of boring, banal monogamous sex.”
“So you intend to be fully faithful to this man you’re marrying? The one you’ve never been naked with?”
“What’s the point of marriage otherwise? You said that yourself. I believe in monogamy. It’s just in my particular style of engagement I feel a little less...intense about it than I otherwise might.”
He could take this moment to tell her that her father certainly didn’t seem to look at marriage that way. But that would be stupid. He didn’t have enough information yet to come at James, and when he did, he wasn’t going to miss.
“So you just expect that I’ll fuck you whether I feel a connection to you or not. Even if I don’t feel like it.”
She lifted her chin, her imperiousness seeming to intensify. “It’s my understanding that men always feel like it.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But that’s an awfully low bar, don’t you think?”
“I don’t...”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’m going to give you a kiss. And if afterward you can walk away, then you should.”
She blinked. “I don’t want to.”
“See how you feel after the kiss.”
He dropped the ax, and it hit the frozen ground with a dull thump.
He already knew.
He already knew that he was going to have a hard time getting his hands off her once they’d been on her. The way that she appealed to him hit a primitive part of him he couldn’t explain. A part of him that was something other than civilized.
She took a step toward him, those ridiculous high heels somehow skimming over the top of the dirt and rocks. She was soft and elegant, and he was half dressed and sweaty from chopping wood, his breath a cloud in the cold air.
She reached out and put her hand on his chest. And it took every last ounce of his willpower not to grab her wrist and pin her palm to him. To hold her against him, make her feel the way his heart was beginning to rage out of control.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman like this.
And he didn’t know if it was the touch of the forbidden adding to the thrill, or if it was the fact that she wanted his body and nothing else. Because he could do nothing for Emerson Maxfield, not Holden Brown, the man he was pretending to be. The man who had to depend on the good graces of his employer and lived in a cabin on the property. There was nothing he could do for her.
Nothing he could do but make her scream his name, over and over again.
And that was all she wanted.
She was a woman set to marry another man. She didn’t even want emotions from him.
She wanted nothing. Nothing but his body.
And he couldn’t remember the last time that was the case, if ever. Everyone wanted something from him. Everyone wanted a piece of him.
Even his mother and sister, who he cared for dearly, needed him. They needed his money, they needed his support.
They needed him to engage in a battle to destroy the man who had devastated Soraya.
But this woman standing in front of him truly wanted only this elemental thing, this spark of heat between them to become a blaze. And who was he to deny her?
He let her guide it. He let her be the one to make the next move. Here she was, all bold in that coat, with her hand on his chest, and yet there was a hesitancy to her as well. She didn’t have a whole lot of experience seducing men, that much was obvious. And damned if he didn’t enjoy the moment where she had to steel herself and find the courage to lean in.
There was something so very enjoyable about a woman playing the vixen when it was clear it wasn’t her natural role. But she was doing it. For him. All for the desire she felt for him.
What man wouldn’t respond to that?
She licked her lips, and then she pressed her mouth to his.
And that was the end of his control.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed her against him, angling his head and consuming her.
Because the fire that erupted between them wasn’t something that could be tamed. Wasn’t something that could be controlled. Couldn’t be tested or tasted. This was not a cocktail to be sipped. He wanted to drink it all down, and her right along with it.
Needed to. There was no other option.
He felt like a dying man making a last gasp for breath in the arms of this woman he should never have touched.
He didn’t let his hands roam over her curves, no matter how much he wanted to. He simply held her, licking his way into the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers as he tasted the most luscious forbidden fruit that had ever been placed in front of him.
But it wasn’t enough to have a bite. He wanted her juices to run down his chin. And he was going to have just that.
“Want to walk away?” he asked, his voice rough, his body hard.
“No,” she breathed.
And then he lifted her up and carried her into the cabin.
Five
If this moment were to be translated into a headline, it would read: Maxfield Heiress Sacrifices All for an Orgasm.
Assuming, of course, that she would have an orgasm. She’d never had one yet with a man. But if she were going to...it would be with him.
If it were possible, it would be now.
When she had come up to the cabin and seen him standing there chopping wood—of all things—his chest bare, his jeans slung low on his hips, she had known that all good sense and morality were lost. Utterly and completely lost. In a fog of lust that showed no sign of lifting.
There was nothing she could do but give in.
Because she knew, she absolutely knew, that whatever this was needed to be explored. That she could not marry Donovan wondering what this thing between herself and Holden was.
Not because she thought there might be something lasting between them—no—she was fairly certain this was one of those moments of insanity that had nothing to do with anything like real life or good sense.
But she needed to know what desire was. Needed to know what sex could be.
For all she knew, this was the key to unlocking it with the man she was going to marry. And that was somewhat important. Maybe Holden was her particular key.
The man who was destined to teach her about her own sexuality.
Whatever the excuse, she was in his arms now, being carried into a modest cabin that was a bit more run-down than she had imagined any building on the property might be.
She had never been in any of the workers’ quarters before. She had never had occasion to.
She shivered, with cold or fear she didn’t know.
This was like some strange, unexpected, delayed rebellion. Sneaking out of her room in the big house to come and fool around with one of the men who worked for her father. He would be furious if he knew.
And so he would never know.
No one would ever know about this. No one but the two of them.
It would be their dirty secret. And at the moment, she was hoping that it would be very, very dirty. Because she had n
ever had these feelings in her life.
This desire to get naked as quickly as possible. To be as close to someone as possible.
She wanted to get this coat off and rub herself all over his body, and she had never, ever felt that before.
She was a woman who was used to being certain. She knew why she made the decisions she did, and she made them without overthinking.
She was confident.
But this was a part of herself she had never been terribly confident in.
Oh, it had nothing to do with her looks. Men liked her curves. She knew that. She didn’t have insecurities when it came to her body.
It was what her body was capable of. What it could feel.
That gave her all kinds of insecurity. Enough that in her previous relationships she had decided to make her own pleasure a nonissue. If ever her college boyfriend had noticed that she hadn’t climaxed, he had never said. But he had been young enough, inexperienced enough, that he might not have realized.
She was sure, however, that her last ex had realized.
Occasionally he’d asked her if she was all right. And she had gotten very good at soothing his ego.
It’s nice to be close.
It was good for me.
And one night, when he had expressed frustration at her tepid response to his kisses, she had simply shrugged and said, I’m not very sexual.
And she had believed it. She had believed each and every one of those excuses. And had justified the times when she had faked it, because of course her inability to feel something wasn’t his fault.
But just looking at Holden made a pulse pound between her thighs that was more powerful than any sensation she’d felt during intercourse with a man before.
And with his hands on her like they were right now, with her body cradled in his strong arms...
She could barely breathe. She could barely think.
All she felt was a blinding, white-hot shock of need, and she had never experienced anything like it before in her life.
He set her down on the uneven wood floor. It was cold.
“I was going to build a fire,” he said. “Wait right here, I’ll be back.”
