by Cassi Carver
She blinked. She’d never seen him look so angry or so wounded, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. He knew what he’d done. How could he stand there and meet her gaze like an equal? Because he wasn’t her equal. No, he might be worth about a billion dollars more than Sara, but he was lowly worm in the composting pile of life. No, that wasn’t right. Even worms had a purpose in the grand scheme of things. Ben lived only for himself. Only for the temporary pleasures—and then he was gone. Like some sort of insect that only hung around long enough to breed and die. “Do you know how serious I am about this?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He turned and began walking back toward the main party.
“Serious enough about planning Kyle’s party that I’ll even work with you to get it done.”
He stopped and spun, something like loathing in his eyes. “Ah, well, that certainly explains it. A fate worse than death, huh? Yes, you’re clearly very serious if you would agree to plan the party with me.”
Sara stood taller and stared into his eyes. “Exactly.”
“Too bad I won’t allow it. You see, I have no desire to plan any such party with you.” When he turned this time, she grabbed his arm with one hand. His biceps were too large for her to get a good grip, but it seemed to get his attention anyway. “Let me go, Sara. I’m not playing this game with you.”
She dropped her hand but stepped closer, until her shoulder brushed his chest. “Oh, I’m not playing—trust me.”
He looked down at her, seeming truly shocked by this new side of her. “Are you for real? You know you can’t force me to do this, right?”
“I think I can. You see, I have a secret that I’ve been keeping for way too long.”
He went completely still. “You wouldn’t use that.”
“I would if I had to.”
“I wouldn’t be the only one you hurt. Think of yourself.”
“I’m not in the spotlight, Ben. I can handle the truth getting out. Can you say the same?”
“You’re blackmailing me? Over a bachelor party? This can’t be happening.”
“It’s not just any party. This is Kyle’s last hurrah, and I want him to be able to enter his marriage in one piece, with no regrets—something you won’t be able to do.”
The planes of Ben’s jaw looked hewn of granite, and with the way his nostrils flared, Sara actually started to wonder if she was even safe standing here with him. Then he looked down at his hand and everything paused, as if he was having a great internal debate. He twisted the little gold band around the pinky finger of his right hand. And twisted. And twisted.
Finally he said, “Yeah. You can help. But just so you know, you can take your blackmail and shove it up your ass. I’m not doing this for you.” And with that, he turned back to the party.
As Sara’s bravado gave out, so did her knees. She slumped against the nearest wall to keep from falling as a slow smile spread across her lips. She’d won the first battle against Benjamin Swayne. If her heart could take this pummeling and keep beating—she could win this war.
Chapter Two
The clack of Sara’s heels echoed off the scuffed beige tiles of the airport floor. When the double doors slid open, the Vegas heat almost blew her hair back. She made her way to the curb then rested her luggage on the sidewalk and looked around. She wasn’t sure what Ben’s chauffeur drove, but it wasn’t hard to find a billionaire’s ride. Even when they were trying to go incognito they seemed to stand out.
When a sunflower-yellow Ferrari pulled up next to her, its top down to reveal the sandy-haired blond within, Sara took one look at Ben’s disheveled hair and dark glasses and eight years of pain flooded back in. She clutched a hand to her stomach. This would be so much easier if he hadn’t aged so well…if he didn’t look even more handsome now than the day he’d—
“Throw your bags in the back,” he told her, not smiling or looking up.
“I’m not driving with you.”
It had come out as a whisper, but Ben must have been waiting for those words, because he finally met her gaze and lowered his glasses so she could see his eyes. “Well, I’m not walking.”
Sara lifted her chin and stepped closer to the car. “Then trade places with me. I’ll drive.”
If it were possible for a grown man to growl like a stray dog, she was pretty sure Ben was growling at her. At least, there was a strange rumble in his chest that hinted at him wanting to throttle her. Oh, well. He was not driving them.
After a thirty-second stare-down contest, Ben finally opened the driver’s door, got out and came around to the passenger side. He brushed past her, not saying excuse me or helping with her bags, and plopped down in the passenger seat, slamming the car door with a heavy tug.
“Do you even know how to drive a stick?” he asked.
Sara slipped into the driver’s seat, revved the engine and threw it into gear. “My father was the head of personal transportation for the Ashford Family. I grew up around cars like these.” To punctuate her words, she glanced into traffic and rocketed from the curb. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember that.” But it still hurt that he didn’t.
Ben’s hands opened and closed, like maybe he wanted to grab on to something for balance, but machismo was holding him back. “Shit, Sara. Slow the hell down. Are you trying to kill me?”
As she merged onto the freeway, the white lines to the left of her lane were flying by. “Not at this moment, but trust me, the thought has crossed my mind. And anyhow, Ben—unlike you, I have a perfect driving record. I may start out fast, but I know the speed limit.”
When Ben remained silent, Sara glanced his way. He looked out the passenger side at the Vegas strip. The sun reflected off his aviator glasses, but a stark shadow had collected between his brows, and with the top down on the Ferrari, his hair was thrashing about his scalp. Sara had put her hair in a low ponytail, but she could have let it blow in the wind and the knots would still have unraveled of their own volition before she could get a comb to her head. She had the stubbornly straight hair of her Mexican mother—straight as dry spaghetti, and almost as thick, her mother would tease—and she used to think the golden highlights in the brown strands were courtesy of her Spanish father. Now she knew better.
When a car suddenly put its brakes on in front of her, Sara downshifted and swerved, passing him easily and then hitting the gas again.
She couldn’t see Ben’s eyes with the glasses on, but his head turned toward her and his jaw flexed. “I think you missed your calling. Have you ever thought of giving up controlling the universe in favor of race car driving?”
She just humphed and pressed her foot down harder. She wasn’t going to speed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get up to the limit in three-point-three seconds.
“This is a borrowed car, you know,” he said over the sound of the rushing wind. “I’d like to return it in one piece.”
Her brows shot up. “You borrowed a 2012 Ferrari 458 Spider? Who would want to loan you one of these?”
“It’s a rental.”
“A rental? Who did you rent it from?”
“A private company that arranges things like this. If it bothers you, you can call the airport car rental company and ask if they have any sedans left. Or maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll have a hybrid or something more tofu for you.”
What did her eating habits have to do with cars? Back when she’d known Ben, she hadn’t been that regimented, had she? He kept dropping these little hints, though, like he still had inside info on her life, but then he couldn’t even remember what her parents did for the Ashfords?
“By the way, the gas mileage sucks on this car,” she informed him. “You’re talking twelve miles per hour city, and seventeen miles per hour highway. A hybrid wouldn’t have been a bad idea. Especially if we’re going to be covering a lot of ground. I own one.”
“Of course you do.”
She squeezed the steering wheel to keep from reaching out and wrapping her hands around
his throat. How was it that every single thing Benjamin Swayne said to her sounded like an insult?
“Is that a problem for you? I’m helping the environment,” she retorted. Granted, in a dream world, she’d rather drive a car like this—and given what Kyle paid her as his right-hand woman, she could afford it if she saved up—but she was nothing if not responsible. For herself. For those around her. Yes, even for the environment.
“Sara?”
She glanced over at him, but he was back to staring out the passenger side at the scenery flashing by. “Yes?”
“I’m allowing you to see the party plans. That doesn’t mean we have to talk the whole way, right?”
She filled her lungs with a painful breath. God, why had she put herself in this position? She loved Kyle and Rayna, but was this trip really worth it?
“The address?” she asked.
Ben tapped the screen to his phone and then set it on the console. Immediately, a computerized woman’s voice began navigating them to their destination. Sara promised herself not to say another word until they got there. She wouldn’t give Ben the satisfaction of telling her he didn’t want to hear her again.
She was surprised when they left the strip and started venturing deeper into the Nevada desert. She glanced at the gas gauge. They still had plenty of fuel if the navigation program could be trusted. Thirty more miles. Likely sixteen miles per gallon at this speed. Yes, they were fine.
Ben rested his head back against the seat, probably closing his eyes behind the shiny surface of his sunglasses. His forehead was just starting to show signs of a mild sunburn where his hairline began. Sara could get tan with one hour in the sun, but she always wore sunscreen. Even in the part of her hair. Not Ben, though. At almost thirty years old, he was already showing traces of fine lines around his eyes and mouth. Too much sun, or too much laughing and partying, maybe.
There weren’t many cars on the road now and she risked another glance at his slumbering form. She hated that her breath quickened and her fingers tingled with the desire to run them through his hair. It wasn’t fair. Not at all. She hated this man, yet her body remembered him. Truth be told, it remembered only him.
How many times had she woken up from a dream about him over these past eight years? In some, he would take her in his arms and kiss her, and she would wake up feeling so alone. In another, he would turn his back on her and walk away, and she was ashamed to admit she’d woken up crying on more than one occasion from that particular dream.
Damn her body and its inability to hold a grudge. She’d prefer not to skim her gaze over his tanned skin and want to touch him so badly. She didn’t want to yearn to slip her fingers between the buttons of his shirt and feel that chest that seemed even more robust and heavily muscled now than it had been when he was twenty-one.
“Think you might want to put your eyes back on the road?” Ben bit out.
Sara swerved before bringing the car back under control. “I…uh…you’re getting sunburned. On your forehead.”
Ben sat up straighter in his seat. His traitorous cock couldn’t even handle the idea that Sara might have been staring at him with something like desire in her eyes. Not likely, you idiot, he told his penis. Down, boy.
But she’s mine, Big P said. But she wasn’t his. She’d made that abundantly clear. And damn her, how many other women could get him actually conversing with his dick? This weekend with her was a fucking horrible idea, even if he intended to make the most of it by teaching her a lesson.
“Are you worried about me, Sara? Aww…how sweet.” Then he couldn’t help but mumble, “Yeah right.”
“No. I stopped worrying long ago. Now I’m just waiting for you to die young of a heart attack in a supermodel sex orgy in some foreign country that you probably own half of.”
“Wow. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
Her lips thinned, and she shanked him with a hard glance. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”
He shook his head. Un-fucking-believable. “Is fun against the law in your universe? That’s not exactly the girl I remember. You used to laugh. Smile even.”
“There’s more to life than fun.”
“Yeah. There are numbers to crunch. To-do lists to conquer. By the way, congratulations on your engagement. Is that number three or four?”
Her nostrils flared. “It was number two, asshole.”
“Was? Oh, right. You called it off. Figures. I bet the professor wasn’t perfect enough for you.”
In fact, the man wasn’t good enough for Sara by a long shot. Another stodgy academic type. This one, head of economics at NYU. He would have killed what was left of Sara’s spirit—the spirit Ben hoped was still alive somewhere in that tightly regulated control-center brain of hers.
She narrowed her eyes and cast a quick glance at him. “Are you keeping tabs on me, Ben?”
Always have. And I wish I could stop. “Don’t flatter yourself. Kyle talks. I try not to listen.”
Her mouth went wide with an indignant huff. He’d just thrown Kyle straight under the bus, but Ben would never admit how often he still thought of Sara or that he hadn’t been able to fully disentangle her from his life or his heart. But thankfully, he disliked her enough not to make an utter fool out of himself over her again. He figured he could manage that much. And if she expected the worst from him…well, she was about to get it.
He glanced at his navigation app. “Looks like we’re almost there.”
“Yes,” she drawled, “and this would be a great time to tell me what the plans are.”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Sara downshifted when they came upon a semi doing ten miles per hour under the limit. “I don’t want to ‘see’. I want you to tell me. I didn’t appreciate your cryptic texts when I was trying to plan my weekend.”
“I want you to experience it as Kyle is going to experience it. If I ruin the surprises I have in store, you won’t be getting a feel for the real thing.” The computer voice told them to exit the freeway and head east, and Ben bit his lip to keep from grinning wider.
Sara let out a heavy, disapproving breath, audible even over the sound of the wind in his ears. How did she do that? “First the hotel, right? I may need to freshen up before we get to whatever the surprise is,” she said.
“You look fine.” She looked distractingly beautiful, as she always had, with those big, dark eyes and thick brown hair. She wore her clothes fitted and prim, but she couldn’t hide a figure like hers. She was all legs, with a trim little waist and a teardrop ass that made grown men weep. “Besides, I didn’t say it was a hotel. It’s more of a ranch.”
Her hands shifted on the wheel. “Like a dude ranch? One of those places where you get to experience what it’s like to rope a steer and ride over the plains?”
“A dude ranch…” Oh crap, it was hard to hold it together. “Yeah. Exactly. A dude ranch.”
“Hmmm…” She pursed her lips, considering, and followed the directions to the next turnoff. “Sounds interesting. He might like that. Mr. Ashford never let Kyle be around that sort of thing and since Rayna grew up on a ranch, it’s not a bad idea, Ben.”
He inwardly cringed. That was the first thing she’d said to him in eight years that didn’t reek of disapproval. Still, he had plotted his course, and he wasn’t turning the ship now. “I want you to experience it like Kyle will. I have everything arranged. You have to pull over here and let me drive. I have a blindfold in the glove compartment.”
“Oh hell no. You are not blindfolding me.”
He turned to her and lifted his hands palms-out. “I know you don’t trust me, Sara, but you owe me a chance to show you what I planned for Kyle. It’s a ranch, for Pete’s sake. Go with it.”
She looked like she was arguing with herself and pissed as hell, but she pulled over and stalked to the passenger side while Ben walked around to the driver’s.
“For Kyle,” she said, like a true martyr, and fished the handkerchief f
rom the glove box.
Ben adjusted the Ferrari’s seat for his height and got back on the dusty one-lane road. Sara tied the cloth around her eyes, and then Ben didn’t have to hide his smile any longer. “Can you see?” he asked when the ranch came into view.
“No!” she spat. “I don’t cheat. Ever.”
She didn’t cheat? That wasn’t exactly true, was it? His heart gave a pained lurch…but fuck that. He wouldn’t go there. If he could just get through the next ten minutes, he’d have Sara out of his life for good.
“Okay, sorry,” he said, as though he’d conceded.
They pulled up to the gates leading to the big red building, and security waved him through. He’d already paid them handsomely for what was about to happen, and they were expecting him. He parked near the front entrance and stopped the car. The neon sign flashing “The Bunny Ranch” hopefully wouldn’t draw Sara’s eye since it was still light out.
He came around, opened her door, and touched her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Do you have to touch me?” she complained when his hand closed gently over her toned upper arm.
Damn him, but his hand lit up over every nerve ending when he pressed his fingers against Sara’s sun-warmed skin. Shut up, Big P! he preempted.
“Just for a minute. You’re woman enough to handle a man touching your skinny little biceps, aren’t you? I never thought you were that squeamish.” He certainly hoped she wasn’t, or he might be attending Kyle’s bachelor party with a black eye.
“Whatever,” she answered, allowing him to lead her up the dusty steps.
When they came through the door, the woman at the front desk winked and said, “Mr. Swayne,” in her thick Southern drawl, “your room is right this way, and your roundup is ready.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” He gripped Sara’s arm just a fraction tighter. This was such a beautifully bad idea.
The hostess opened the door to the suite and even expecting the scene before him, Ben’s eyebrows hitched. There were seven women of every color and shape stretched out in various poses around the room. Mostly topless with panties on that were so teeny, they were in danger of disappearing into the cracks. Sex toys decorated the room and a fire burned high in the fireplace, though the air conditioner had the room just the right temperature to shuck your clothes and neither be too hot nor too cold.
