Dirty Money - Jessica Clare

Copyright © 2017 Jessica Clare Cover photograph © The right of Jessica Clare to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Published by arrangement with InterMix, A member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company First published in this Ebook edition in 2017 by HEADLINE ETERNAL An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic

production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library eISBN 978 1 4722 4122 1 HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP An Hachette UK Company Carmelite House 50 Victoria Embankment London EC4Y 0DZ www.headlineeternal.com www.headline.co.uk www.hachette.co.uk

Contents Title Page Copyright Page About the Author Praise for Jessica Clare By Jessica Clare About the Book Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Epilogue Welcome to the Billionaire Boys Club Meet the Billionaires and the Bridesmaids Find out more about Headline Eternal

About the Author

Jessica Clare is the New York Times bestselling author of the Bluebonnet series, as well as the Billionaire Boys Club and Billionaires and Bridesmaids series. She also writes under the

names Jill Myles and Jessica Sims. Jessica lives in Texas with her husband and cats, spending her time writing, reading, writing, playing video games, and doing even more writing. Follow her on Twitter @_JessicaClare or join her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AuthorJessicaClare.

Be dazzled by Jessica Clare’s passionate love stories . . . ‘Just thinking about it puts a smile on my face . . . In short, this is a really fun, entertaining, engaging book, and I can’t wait to read (and reread) the other billionaires’ stories’ Heroes and Heartbreakers ‘Saucy, blistering and emotionally endearing . . . sizzling good fun. With broad strokes and wry detail, Clare creates characters who are unapologetically individual and wonderfully unpredictable’ Romantic Times ‘An awesome quick read that touched my heart and stirred my spirit. Buckle up and take a ride – you’ll enjoy every peak, valley, twist, and turn’ Cocktails and Books

‘Fun and sexy and flirty . . . Stranded With A Billionaire has reignited my love of the billionaire hero’ The Book Pushers ‘Sizzling! Jessica Clare gets everything right in this erotic and sexy romance . . . You need to read this book!’ Romance Junkies ‘A cute, sweet romance . . . A fast, sexy read that transports you to the land of the rich and famous’ Fiction Vixen ‘Fast-paced, passionate, very sexy . . . A unique, modern-day fairy-tale that’s as steamy as it is entertaining’ Harlequin Junkie ‘A fun, flirty, and sexy read . . . an emotionally rich love story’ Fresh Fiction

By Jessica Clare Roughneck Billionaires Series Dirty Money Billionaire Boys Club Series Stranded With A Billionaire Beauty And The Billionaire The Wrong Billionaire’s Bed Once Upon A Billionaire Romancing The Billionaire One Night With A Billionaire His Royal Princess (novella) Beauty And The Billionaire: The Wedding (novella) Billionaires And Bridesmaids Series The Billionaire And The Virgin The Taming Of The Billionaire The Billionaire Takes A Bride

The Billionaire’s Favourite Mistake Billionaire On The Loose

About the Book

Boone Price and his brothers know oil; at least, the dirty, backbreaking side of working an oil rig. But when their scrubby, worthless hunting land turns out to be sitting on top of one of the biggest oil wells in North America, they go from the rig to the boardroom and end up billionaires practically overnight. Now with enough money to do whatever he wants, Boone is developing a taste for fine things. And the finest thing he’s ever seen is Ivy Smithfield, local realtor. Boone’s determined to buy her affection and show the world that he’s more than just a dirty

fool with a bit of money. Ivy’s classy and beautiful – she’ll make the perfect trophy wife. The fact that she’s sexy and funny is just a bonus. There’s one tiny problem – Ivy’s as dirt poor as Boone is. Her carefully crafted veneer of luxury? All an act to promote her business. What’s Boone going to do when he finds out the woman he’s falling for is, well, in his league? Want more irresistible billionaire romance? Look out for the Billionaire Boys Club titles, starting with Stranded With A Billionaire, as well as the sizzling spinoff series, Billionaires and Bridesmaids, starting with The Billionaire And The Virgin.

Chapter One

Boone It’s a blistering hot day out in West Texas. There’s not a fucking cloud to be seen, and it’s so dry that the dust puffs up under your boots as you walk. Reminds me of the old days, back when me and my brothers used to be the roughnecks out on the old, rickety rig that cost me a finger and Clay two toes. In a way, it’s kinda nostalgic. I’ve got my bandana on under my trucker cap to kill the worst of the heat, an old company T-shirt on with my jeans, and shitkickers on my feet. I got grit on my face and a brutal sun beating down, and the land all around me is flat and open and bare of everything but the occasional rig in the distance. Ain’t a tree around for miles.

Feels good. Feels more like me than I have in a long time. But the moment I see the guy in the suit show up, briefcase in hand? I know this shit’s gonna be trouble. I take a swig of my water and watch the peckerhead rush across the endless landscape like he’s got somewhere to go. I hate suits. Hate guys that think they’re appropriate on a rig site. Hate wearing the damn things. Just kinda hate suits in general. Clay finishes chatting with a couple of the roughnecks leaning against a nearby pickup, and spots the suit hobbling over toward us. He drifts over to my side, where I’m perched on the end of my truck bed, and sits down next to me. “Who’s that?” “Dunno.” I check the time on my watch. Ten minutes to go. Clay crosses his arms and tilts his head, staring out. He chews on the toothpick in his mouth for a moment, then leans toward me. “I’d ask if it was

the company man, but I guess that’s you and me, right?” I shrug over at him. “Did Bates say he was sending someone?” Bates is our partner for this newest rig, just because I owed him a favor from way back when. It ain’t because I need the money. These days? I don’t need anyone’s money. But Bates did me a solid back in the day, and now his company’s got nothing but dry wells. So I told him I’d give him half the profits if he’d let me handle the dig site and the crew and all the shit that takes a brain. Bates? Nice guy, but not much in the way of brains. Better to let me do it. “Dunno.” Clay chews on his toothpick again. “Maybe our boy here’s lost.” I scratch my beard absently. “Seems like an odd place to get lost, if you ask me.” “S’pose we’ll find out soon enough,” Clay says. “You got your dowsing rods?” I nod and pull them out of a back pocket. “We’ll get started in ten.”

“I’ll tell the others.” Clay hops back up, whistling, and the truck bed bounces as he does. I remain seated, rolling my dowsing rods absently between my hands. My mood’s growing a little darker by the moment. I don’t like surprises. I sure don’t like a surprise on a potential well site that I’m in charge of. Gives me bad juju. I ain’t a fan of bad juju. The suit finally arrives where our trucks are parked. We’re out in the flats, in the middle of nowhere. He hesitates, then looks around. I’ve seen that look before. He’s looking for the boss man. That’s me. After a moment, he hugs his briefcase closer to him and then heads toward me. “Is this the meeting site for the Price-Bates potential well?” “Yep.” I roll the dowsing rods between my hands again, slowly. Should put ’em away. Shouldn’t be filling ’em with all this bad energy, but I can’t help myself. Need something to do with

my hands, because the urge to jerk that briefcase out of his grip is growing by the moment. He sizes me up, studying my form. I’m bigger than him, a helluva lot more tanned, and dressed like the rest of the crew. After a moment, he sniffs and glances around. “Are we waiting for Mr. Boone Price to arrive?” I shrug. Clearly this fool doesn’t realize I’m Boone Price. It’s something I get a lot, and it shouldn’t surprise me after two years of this nonsense. People think a billionaire can’t have a beard, or tattoos, or wear a T-shirt. They think I should look like this peckerhead in the suit, all sweaty and nervous with his damn briefcase. “There a problem? Wasn’t told there’d be company men here.” “Company men?” The man wrinkles his nose. Hell. Does this guy not know anything about roughnecking? “You know, the boss man’s lackey. The shill. A tool. The company man.” He frowns at me and pulls out a pair of sunglasses, then mops at his forehead with a linen

hanky. “Mr. Bates sent me with contracts for Mr. Price. I’m to get him to sign things before the well is dug.” “Did he, now,” I say flatly. “We aren’t drillin’ today, you know.” “We’re not?” The suit frowns, gazing around him. The man’s stupider than dirt. I glance over at Clay and the other boys, but they’re all looking at me with amusement. Clearly, this is my problem. I roll my dowsing rods between my hands again. “No digging today. You see any equipment?” He turns. He actually turns and looks around. Like he wouldn’t see a fucking rig from a fucking mile away. They ain’t exactly stealthy pieces of equipment. Off to one side, my brother Clay snorts and presses a hand over his face, trying to hide his laughter. I glance at my watch. Five more minutes. Damn. That means this idiot’s gonna sit here in front of me for five more minutes, looking for a rig that ain’t here.

The suit finally turns and looks at me again. “If we’re not digging, what are we doing here?” I hold up the dowsing rods. “We’re picking where we drill.” The suit stares at the rods I’m holding, then looks me right in the eye. Then, he looks away over at Clay and the others. “Does your boss know that you’re using sticks for this?” “It’s called dowsing,” I correct him. He’s got a snotty tone in his voice I like even less than what I’ve heard so far. “And it works.” “Listen,” he says, clutching his briefcase to his chest and wiping at his forehead again. “I realize that Mr. Price had a big hit on oil—” “So I hear.” Really, this would be amusing if it wasn’t so damn insulting. “And I know they call him Spindletop, because he found a well that rivals that one—” “Hundred thousand barrels a day,” I agree. I know this story well. It’s my damn story. “And I realize that maybe because he came from working oil that he doesn’t mind if you do

things in a haphazard fashion,” he continues, his lip curling as he looks over at me. “But Mr. Bates is not as foolhardy with his money and his time, and I’m here to see that Mr. Price doesn’t waste either of them.” “Uh-huh,” I say slowly. He stares at me, waiting for an answer. I check my watch. Two minutes until the top of the hour. Close enough. I hop off the end of the truck bed and nod at Clay. “Wanna get started?” “Still got two minutes,” Clay says. “Two minutes?” the suit asks. “Two minutes for what? Is Mr. Price going to show up?” And the idiot turns and looks around again. “Bad juju if we don’t start at the top of the hour.” Clay smirks over at me. “And we need all the good juju we can get ’round here.” “Our juju’s already bad,” I say, rubbing the dowsing rods with an oil-soaked cloth like I always do, so they get the scent of what they’re looking for. “Might as well get this dog and pony show going.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Price? My employer won’t be happy about this dowsing—” I’ve about had enough of this peckerhead. I step forward, and the man retreats like I’m gonna raise a fist. “You want Boone Price?” I ask him. The suit nods, cringing. I shove a thumb at my chest. “I’m Boone fucking Price. And if I wanna fucking dowse for oil, I’m gonna dowse for oil. Understand?” The man’s mouth drops open. Then shuts. Then opens again. He eyeballs me, then the rods in my hand, as if he doesn’t quite believe it. Hell of a day I’m having. *** By the time we leave the worksite, I’m in a foul mood. Worse than foul. I should go home and shower the West Texas dust off of me, but I can’t stop thinking about the dickface in the suit and how he was such an ass to me. I don’t know why it’s galling me so much, but I can’t get past it. I’m still

pissed about it when I climb into my truck and Clay sits in the passenger seat and starts yammering about the day. He’s in a good mood—of course he is. Ain’t nothing that bothers Clay for long. Me, I’m the one that stresses the fuck out over everything. And the lack of respect I’m getting right now? It fucking bothers me. I tear down the highway, only half listening to Clay laugh and tell jokes about what the guys said. About what I did today. I’m not paying attention. All I can think about is Bates. Bates sending his little pencil-dick company man to try to get me set up “proper.” Like I don’t know what I’m doing. Like I’m the one that doesn’t have money. Like I’m the one that’s the needy party. Fuck that shit. I don’t need anyone. By the time we get to the outskirts of the city, Clay’s yawning and mentioning beer. I give my brother a narrow-eyed look and a nod, then grab my phone off the dashboard. I dial Bates.

“I’m on the fourteenth hole and I’ve got an hour of daylight left,” he barks into the phone. “This better be important.” “It’s Boone,” I say flatly. “Which golf course?” “Golf course?” Clay asks, a groan in his voice. He puts a hand on the brim of his cap. “Shit, bro, I just want to get drunk. Can’t we go to the bar?” I ignore him, concentrating on Bates’s aggravated words. I catch “Silver Birch” and something that sounds like “Country Club” before he hangs up on me. Fine. I fling my phone at Clay. “Type in Silver Birch Country Club and gimme the address.” He sighs. “You’re not gonna rest until you get this out of your system, are you?” “Nope.” “Fine.” A moment later, the phone starts to spit out directions in Homer Simpson’s voice, which amuses my brother enough that he shuts up. I follow the directions and a half hour later, I pull into the parking lot of the country club, right next to

some fancy convertible. Clay whistles at the sight of it. “I’ll stay here. You gonna be long?” “Not long.” I climb out of the truck, slam the door behind me, and stalk toward the main clubhouse. The sun’s setting right in my eyes and it’s been a long, hot day, half of it spent in the damn car. I’m covered in dust, my throat’s drier than anything, and I want the drink that Clay’s been bitching about for the past half hour. But I also can’t let this go. Not until I get it out of my system. That’s how I am. A dog on a bone, my brothers joke, and they ain’t wrong. Once I get fixated on something, I don’t let up until I’m satisfied. And right now? I sure as shit ain’t satisfied. A woman hurries up to me. She’s wearing a pale blue polo shirt with a logo and a pair of khaki pants. The smile on her face is not welcoming in the slightest. “Can I help you find something, sir?” “I’m looking for a friend,” I tell her, not stopping.

She trots after me. “I see. Do you have a membership?” “No.” “I see. I’m afraid we’re not open to the public.” I stop and look over at her. She’s got the bright, fake smile on her face that says sorry, but I’m not leaving you alone. “How much for a membership?” Her smile remains tight and fake. “It’s not just the price, sir. We rigorously perform background checks on our club members and ensure that only the most prestigious qualify.” She gestures back behind her, indicating I should leave. As in, I ain’t gonna cut it. Fuck that. I turn and start walking again. All I need is five minutes to talk to my shithead “buddy,” Bates. She can just hold her horses. The woman starts making squawking noises and follows me a moment longer. When I won’t stop to acknowledge her, I hear her radioing for security. Like I’m a damn criminal. It’s so fucking ridiculous I can’t even find the words.

I’ve never been on a golf course before, so I don’t rightly know which way to go. There’s a path and so I start to follow it, and as I do, Bates rolls up in a golf cart, a frown on his face. “What are you doing here, Boone?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Got a few things to say to you.” “All right.” He gets out of the cart and turns to look at the men sitting beside him. “I’ll join you boys in the locker room shortly.” They give me disgusted looks—ironic considering they’re all wearing pink shirts—and then drive off. Like I’m some sorta cockroach that crawled onto the greens. Fuck them, too. Bates pulls at the leather gloves on his hands, a slight frown on his face. He eyes me up and down, from my cap to the dust on my work boots. “Did you just come straight from the site?” “I did. Some of us like to work,” I drawl. “I’m working,” he protests. “Networking is a very important part of being a good business owner.” The look he gives me is cool. “It’s

something you might want to consider in the future.” “You’re giving me tips on how to run a business?” I bark a harsh laugh. “That’s rich, given that you came crawling to me asking for my help because you need a producing well instead of the dry holes you got right now.” The look on Bates’s smug face grows alarmed. “Keep your voice down,” he hisses, and leans in. “What the hell is this about, Price? Why’d you come storming here?” “I came here because your asshole suit showed up on site and I want to know why.” He tilts his head and stares at me like I’ve gone crazy. “What do you mean, you want to know why?” “Just what I said. I want to know why.” Bates sputters. “He’s one of my executives and the overseer of this particular project. He’s there because he’s got my company’s best interests in mind—”

“Because you think I’m gonna screw you?” I snarl. “You came crawlin’ ta me.” I slam a hand against my chest. “This is a favor I’m doin’ you. Why would you need to be protected from that?” “It’s procedure—” “Fuck procedure!” He casts another horrified look around us. “Keep your voice down, Boone. This is a gentlemen’s club.” Am I not being gentlemanly enough for him? Too damn bad. I glance around and sure enough, there are several groups of people staring at us, including the employee that tried to stop me from coming in. All of them have shocked looks of distaste on their faces as they gaze in my direction. You’d think I took a dump on the green right in front of them or something. “I’m pissed at you, Bates, because you didn’t trust me and sent that insulting shithead over just to tick me off.” He looks concerned now, reaching out to take my arm and steer me away from the others. I jerk away from him but head in the direction he’s going,

because I want answers. “Insulting? Did he say something to you?” “He acted like I was one of the hands. Zero respect for me or the business. Thought dowsing was a shit idea and tried to tell me how to run things.” Bates only rubs his chin. “I can understand having a difference of opinion, and he’s a corporate guy. Of course he doesn’t understand dowsing.” The look he gives me is a bit condescending. “And as for one of the hands . . . well, look at you, Boone.” My brow goes up. “The fuck you say?” “Listen to how you act. Talk. Simmons is used to dealing with men in a boardroom. I told him he was going to speak to Mr. Price, the head of Price Brothers Oil, and he was expecting . . .” He shrugs, a gosh-shucks look on his fucking face. “A suit?” I ask drily. “Something like that, yeah.” He chuckles. “Of course he thought you were one of the hands. You still look and act like one.”

Do I, now? “I got a hand for you,” I tell him and shove my middle finger in his face. “You want a partnership? Take your fucking hand and shove it up your fucking ass, you cocksucker.” The people standing nearby gasp audibly, loud enough for me to hear. It only pisses me off, more. I’m tired of these hoity-toity assholes sticking their noses up when I’m around. I’m just as good as them. Hell, I’m fucking better because I can buy all of them. I turn and shoot them all the bird, too. “Boone, be reasonable,” Bates begins. I ignore him. I’ve had enough of his shit. I storm away, ignoring the golf course employees that trail after me like I’m going to start attacking people. It’s fucking ridiculous. I’ve got half a mind to buy myself a golf course and burn the motherfucker to the ground. ***

Hours later

“And then,” Clay yells out over the jukebox wailing in the corner. “When the guy pulls out his contracts and shoves ’em in Boone’s face, Boone throws ’em on the ground and pisses all over them!” Gage, Knox, and Seth howl with laughter. Clay pounds a fist on the table, throwing his head back and guffawing with the others. “Yuk it up,” I say flatly, swigging the last of my beer. I’m still in a foul mood. Something about being insulted by a dick in a suit that thinks he’s better than me? It gets to me, every time. At least Clay’s only got this morning’s story to tell—I’m still smarting over Bates and the whole golf course bullshit. That one Clay ain’t gonna pry out of me. Let them laugh at the way I put a suit into place. I’m fine with that. The Bates shit? I am definitely not fine with. “You pulled your dick out and pissed on his papers?” Gage chuckles and raises a hand for me to high-five. I only scowl at him. “I was angry.”

Still am. “You know Big Brother here hates it when people don’t take him seriously.” Clay reaches over and tries to grab my cap, but I grab his wrist before he can touch it. That just makes our three younger brothers laugh even harder. Gage smacks the table again, and his beer spills everywhere. “I’m glad someone can laugh about today,” I say sourly, staring into my beer. He looks just like one of the hands. Look at you, Boone. Of course he didn’t think you were the boss. My hand tightens on the mug. “Waste of fucking time if you ask me. Land was dry, too. Not a hint of oil.” “Zero? That sucks,” Knox says, tossing napkins down on Gage’s spilled beer while Seth flags down a waitress. The trucker bar we’re drinking at is crowded, and all of our drinks are nearly dry. No one’s hovering over us to make sure that the Price brothers—all billionaires—get cold, fresh drinks. Funny how I’m okay with that here, and not out in the field. Maybe because here, we’re all

anonymous wallets. Out in the business world, I should be top dog, and instead, everyone fucking acts like I’m some sort of criminal that just waltzed in. Like I don’t belong. I could buy every damn oil rig in West Texas and everyone would still turn their noses up like I’m some sort of idiot. It’s bullshit and I’m damn sick of it. I think of that golf course and the jackasses in their pink shirts, giving me horrified looks. Like I dared to show up on their turf. Their turf. I could fucking buy their turf and fucking salt it and they’d never grow another blade of grass there again. I could turn it into a fucking pig farm. “You’re still pissed,” Gage realizes, sobering. “I am.” I drain the last of my lukewarm beer and put the empty glass at the end of the table. “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal,” Gage says. “Because we’re rich. We’re good with our money. And people that should respect us treat us like we’re fucking ticks on a dog’s ass.”

Clay just snorts. “Worse ’n that.” He’s not helping. “So we’re trash,” Gage chimes in. “So what’s the big deal? We might as well own it.” He grins and rips one sleeve off of his T-shirt, then the other. Knox hoots with laughter, clapping him on the shoulder. Clay just rolls his eyes. “Because it should matter. We should matter. I want respect.” I think of all the assholes in my life that did me dirty, and it burns in my gut. I’ve worked hard to get to where we’re at today, harder than most men. I want the assholes that sit down with me in boardrooms and out in the field to realize I know what I’m talking about. That I’m not just a dumb roughneck that struck it rich. That I took that money and turned it into an empire in the space of a few years. That I make more money in the time it takes for me to wipe my ass than they’ll make in a lifetime. Maybe that makes me an arrogant prick, but I don’t fucking care. I want people to tremble when they see me. I want those pencil-dicks in suits to

quail when I arrive, not turn their noses up at me. I want them to know who’s in charge. “It’s all image, brother,” Seth says, returning with the waitress. She’s pretty, with brassy blonde hair and tits that are overflowing her too-tight shirt. She smiles at me but I just nudge my glass in her direction. Ain’t got time for waitresses. Those don’t get a man respect, especially not this one. We come to this bar regularly and I’ve seen her sneak into the back with more than one trucker. If she wants a good time, she ain’t getting it from me. “You’re one to talk,” Clay calls out to Seth, and mockingly runs his hands through his hair. “Oh, look at me, I’m Seth and I’m using product.” Our entire table bursts into laughter, and I even crack a smile. Seth comes around the edge of the table and puts Clay in a headlock, smirking. Clay just grabs at Seth’s shirt and tries to haul our littlest brother over his shoulder before he gets choked out. The waitress ignores our roughhousing and switches the beers out. She casts me one last

heated look before giving up and returning to the bar. “I’m right, though,” Seth says to me, even though Clay’s got the flat of one hand in his face. “It’s image. S’all fuckin’ image, bro. Why do you think those dumbasses wear suits everywhere?” I shrug, but I’m pondering his words. He ain’t wrong. “I’m not cutting my beard.” “No one’s saying you gotta cut your beard, Boone,” Knox comments, taking a swig of his beer and then swapping it with Seth’s full glass. “Just, you know. Class it up.” I grunt. “I don’t even know how.” I am who I am, and if the world doesn’t like it, they can suck my dick. “Get yourself a big house.” “I got a house.” Well. Sorta. I got a trailer. But I also don’t have a family and I work a lot, so a house isn’t big on the priority list. But maybe Knox is right. “Get a bigger one. Big car. A classy lady.” Gage wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Spend some of

that money you hold on to so tightly.” “You mean like you?” I drawl. Gage loves to live the good life. He takes his buddies on vacations, buys them cars, and has an endless cycle of new female friends in his life. Maybe he’s right, though. It ain’t me, but . . . maybe I need to change. Maybe I need to start throwing my money around if I want people to respect me instead of look at me like I’m some dumbass hillbilly. “Nah, my lady friends aren’t quite to the caliber you need,” Gage replies. He picks up the advertisement card at the end of our table and holds it out. “Like this one here. She looks like a classy broad.” I take the advertisement from him and study it. We come in here every weekend, usually after a long drive out from Odessa, and I’ve never once noticed the pamphlets they litter the ends of the tables with. This one’s bland and boring, for the most part. It’s a picture of three men and a slender, pale blonde standing at their side. Three Jacks Real Estate. San Antonio’s Premiere Living

Experts. The guys in suits don’t interest me, but the woman does. She’s wearing a cream-colored suit with a tapered skirt, and it makes her legs look fucking amazing. She’s tiny, but those legs look like they go on for miles. I like a girl with long legs, so they can wrap around me when I fuck her. I’m a simple man. The rest of her’s pretty nice, if a little preppy and stiff. Her tits are decent sized, which means small enough to not be fake. Her hair’s a soft, smooth gold pulled back into a ponytail, and her face is real dainty with a pointy little chin and big eyes. She’s wearing a strand of pearls at her neck, and no other jewelry. She’s not flashy, but from top to bottom? She looks classy. And I wonder what she’d look like with her mouth on my dick, my hand on that ponytail of hers. Like I said, I’m a simple man. I study the picture for a while longer, then glance over at Knox. “You know these people?” He shakes his head and carefully switches his half-empty glass with Gage’s full one when Gage

is eyeing a piece of tail by the bar. Knox is a sneaky bastard, but that’s par for the course. “Saw the flyers, that’s all. But she looks like a lady to me.” I gaze at the picture, scratching at my jaw. That she does. From the lines of her elegant skirted suit to the smooth fall of her hair—even to them small tits—she screams class. And while I usually don’t have time to pursue a woman—business is the only relationship I’m in—I have to admit she appeals to my animal instincts. Maybe it’s that sweet, gentle smile on her face or the perfection of her appearance. Maybe it’s those legs. Either way, I picture her in my bed, rumpled from a good round of fucking . . . and I’m interested. Someone like her? She’d class things up just by walking into a room. And a girl like her wouldn’t have anything to do with a guy like me. Not before I got rich, that is. “All right. I’ll take her.” “You mean someone like her?” Clay asks, amused.

“No, I mean her. I like the way she looks.” I study the picture a moment longer and then tuck it into my back pocket. I’m gonna jerk off to it later, picturing that sweet, pink bow of a mouth closing over the head of my cock. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. A classy woman. Yeah. One to stand at my side and look like a peach, and make all those other bastards jealous. One I can dirty up and show just what a roughneck likes between the sheets. I like this idea. I like it a lot. But Clay just laughs, and even Knox looks amused. “It ain’t a girlfriend catalog,” Clay comments. “It’s an advertisement. You don’t know nothin’ about her.” “I know she’s classy. That’s all I need to know.” “If she’s so classy, how you gonna get her to date you?” Knox raises an eyebrow at me. He takes a sip of his drink and I notice it’s full. Again. I wonder how he does that—switching glasses without anyone ever noticing. And then I wonder

what else he switches when we’re not paying attention. “I’m rich, ain’t I? That convinces a lot of women.” “Not the ones worth having,” Clay adds. He’s got a point. I stroke my beard thoughtfully. “You said I needed a fancy house. I guess I’ll have her sell me one.” “What if she’s married?” Knox adds. “You still want her then?” I frown at them and pull the picture back out of my pocket. “Ain’t married,” I say after a moment, studying her small hands. “No ring.” “She’s the ad candy,” Clay points out. “Put a pretty girl in there with all the sausages in suits so guys like ol’ Boone here think they have a shot if they go in and buy a house.” He elbows me, grinning. “Works, too.” “You’re a dick,” I tell him, and thump the picture. “And you’re just jealous you didn’t see her first.”

“Nah,” Clay says. “I like my women a little rough around the edges.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “So when you gonna meet Miss Classy and scope her out?” I eye Miss Classy in the picture, and my gaze goes down to those long legs. Might be nice to get laid before the weekend, if I can talk this sweet piece into it. I’ve never dated a classy girl before, so maybe she ain’t that type. She might be cold. Hell, she might fuck with that same starchy look on her face. That’s a depressing thought. Only one way to find out, though. “Guess I go house hunting tomorrow.” My brothers just smirk.

Chapter Two

Ivy A familiar tweed suit passes by the print room while I’m standing over the copier. I immediately abandon my task and race after him. “Oh! Jack! I didn’t realize you were in the office! Wait up!” I hate that I have to scramble after him—in heels, no less—but the bastard’s not slowing down an iota. I hobble after him on the marble floors of Three Jacks Real Estate’s swanky office, hoping I don’t fall on my ass and make a fool of myself in front of the others. When Jack doesn’t stop, I have to speed up just to catch him. “Jack!” He finally stops, right at the front doors of the office, and frowns at me like I’m an annoying puppy. “What is it, Ivy? I’m on my way out the

door, as you can see.” He gestures at the large glass double doors like I’m an idiot. “Let’s make this fast.” “Of course!” I put on my fake, cheeriest realtor smile. “I was just going to say that my day is clear, and I know LaDonna had that big house on Forsyth that was scheduled to have a showing. I’ve made flyers—well, actually, they’re on the copier right now—and I can go handle things, maybe pass out a few cards—” He narrows his eyes at me. “Is LaDonna out?” “Um, she’s having an emergency appendectomy, remember?” I bite my lip as he continues to look blank. “It was emailed out to everyone?” “Mmmhmmm?” The look on his face tells me he didn’t read it, or doesn’t care. “So I thought I’d pitch in and help with her listing for today? It’s a really great house and I’ve researched the neighborhood, and I can chat with some prospective buyers and—” His lips purse and he holds up a finger. “The house is on Forsyth?”

“Yes.” “In the Twin Oaks development?” I nod. It’s the hottest area in the suburbs at the moment, and there’s a waiting list for properties. This one’s a little pricey but I also know it’ll fly off the market within days. It’s such a big opportunity. “How much is the list price?” There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it. I have to. I’m this far in. “It’s listed as one point one million.” Jack pulls out his phone and starts to type. “Street address?” I give it to him. “Great. I’ll take care of it.” “Oh,” I say, fighting the crushing disappointment I’m feeling. “But I can do it, really. I’ve done comps and I’ve got flyers ready and—” “Now, Ivy. You said it’s a million-dollar house, right? It’s been a lean month for the company and we need to make sure we land all the commissions we can.” His tone goes condescending. “And I just

don’t know that you’re the right person to take on such a big task.” “I can absolutely do it, Jack—” “Now, if I wanted an ice cream cone, you’d be the first one I’d call.” He winks at me, the jerk. Winks. Like it’s a funny joke. “But for a milliondollar listing? Let’s make sure someone with a lot more experience handles it, all right? Oh, and I’ll take those flyers, too.” He gives me a I’m-the-manaround-here look. “And can you grab me a coffee while you’re in the copy room? Super. I’ll wait right here.” He winks. “Make it snappy. I’ve got an open house to handle.” “Right. Sure.” I force a smile to my face and turn on my heel, heading back toward the copy room to retrieve the flyers I’ve been working on all morning. It’s not fair. It’s so not fair. Every time something decent even comes close to landing in my lap, one of my bosses is there to snatch it away again. I’m stewing as I snatch the stack of copies from the machine and tuck them under my arm, then

head to the coffeemaker. Get him a coffee while I’m at it? Like I’m his freaking secretary? But he’s also the boss, so I’m stuck. I eye the two coffeepots on the burner. One’s nothing but dregs, and the other’s a fresh pot. I grab a paper cup, tip the dregs into the cup, and then march back out the door to hand Jack the flyers about the house I know I could sell today, if I was given the chance. He gives me another wink as he turns to go. “Thanks for the tip, Ivy. Good work.” I watch him leave, my fists clenched. I’m stewing with helpless frustration. Thwarted yet again. Thanks for the tip. Like it was a freaking tip? That was my hours of hard work. That was my opportunity that he snatched away. And if I keep thinking about it, I’m going to puke with anger. So I take a deep breath, smooth a hand down the front of my suit, and calmly walk back to my desk in the back of the office, tucked near the bathrooms. A client is strolling out of the men’s room and I keep a poised smile on my face. I’m composed until I sit

down and put my hands on my keyboard. Calm. Rational. The moment the client disappears? I bury my face in my hands. “Uh-oh,” Farah says from her desk across the way. “What happened? You were on cloud nine ten minutes ago! Did something happen to LaDonna?” I take a deep breath and lift my head to look over at my friend. “Jack happened.” She wrinkles her nose. “Dumb Jack, Jack Jack, or Winky Jack?” “Winky Jack,” I say miserably. “He stole that open house from me and said he’d handle it. What could I do?” “Tell him no?” Farah raises one dark brow at me. “Tell him to do his own work instead of stealing yours?” “He’s the boss,” I tell Farah with a sigh. “I like being employed.” “I don’t see how,” she says drily, pulling out a stack of folders on her desk and flipping through

them. “They don’t leave you enough clients to make a living.” “Oh, they do,” I say glumly, and cross my arms, staring at my laptop. The screen still has a dozen comp listings pulled up from this morning’s work, all gone to waste. “They leave me all the clients with bad credit and no money. You need to buy a house with nothing down and a spending limit of fifty grand? Go talk to Ivy.” She snorts. That’s all she can do, because we both know I’m not wrong. Farah’s been with Three Jacks for ten years—no clue why she stays. Me, I’ve been here for one, and a lot of the time I feel lucky to have that one. They hired me, fresh off the streets after I got my realtor license, and I didn’t have a lick of experience to my name. I was working at an ice cream shop prior to Three Jacks . . . something that the bosses like to remind me about all the time. Three Jacks is a boys’ club. I knew it was when I got hired. It’s run by Jack Farrington (Dumb Jack), who’s older than the hills and has a silver

spoon in his mouth; Jack Jackson, who’s a snake oil salesman if there ever was one; and Jack Richards (Winky Jack) who thinks women aren’t born with two brain cells to rub together and he’ll have to rescue us from ourselves. They’re nice enough, as far as bosses go, I suppose. After all, they did give me a job. I make half of a percent on any house I sell. That means on a regular three percent agency commission, they get the other two point five percent and I get what’s left after expenses. If I sell a house that’s a hundred grand? I get five hundred dollars and the company walks away with the other twenty-five hundred. Jack (Dumb Jack) told me that I could “promote” my commission amount once I’ve earned two million in sales for the company. Given that the only clients I get handed to me are dirt poor or can’t land a mortgage? It’s been an exercise in frustration, but I’m determined not to give up. Ivy Smithfield is going to get a better life for herself and her sister, even if she has to climb

uphill both ways, I vow. I may not have the experience or the pedigree, but I’ve got determination. With that mental pep talk, I feel a little better. I’m going to do this. So I’m still seven hundred K away from getting that pay increase? It’s doable. I just need to hustle and hustle hard. I’ve got this. I do. “I’ll just have to find some new leads,” I announce to Farah. “It’s a minor setback, but it’s not a deal-breaker.” “Whatever,” Farah says, giving me side-eye. “You know it’s okay to be pissed, right?” “I’m not pissed,” I reply, pulling up local housing forums to scan them for potential clients, just like I do every day. My mama always said “Fake it until you make it,” and I’m getting to be a real pro at faking it. Sometimes I even almost believe myself. “Minor setback. I’ll just have to work on some other leads.” “Mmhmm.” She curls her lip. “Least they put you on the flyer. Dumb Jack told me I was too

‘Mexican’ looking.” I glance over at her. “I thought you were Persian?” “I am.” I wince. Well, he’s called Dumb Jack for a reason. “Ouch. Besides, you know they only put me on the flyer because they had to have a girl on there.” “Oh, I know. Said they didn’t want to appear sexist.” She puts her fingers in the air and makes a set of quotes. “Appear. I mean, they are sexist, they just don’t want to look it.” I smile wanly at her. They may be sexist, but they’re also the bosses and I can’t do much about it. To make things worse, Winky Jack also handles the human resources for the company, so it’s not like I can go complain about his buddies. Or himself. I just need to work harder. Once I’ve climbed a few rungs in the ladder, I’ll make good money and I’ll have so many clients I won’t be stuck here in the office, twiddling my thumbs. And if at that

point I’m still not making good money? I’ll at least have enough experience under my belt to go somewhere else . . . or hang my own shingle and get the full three percent commission. It’s a nice dream. It also won’t become a reality unless I hustle. I look over at the picture on the corner of my desk. It’s recent, a picture of my little sister Wynonna in her cap and gown at graduation. My arms are around her and our faces are pressed close together. She’s so happy, so excited to take on the world. So eager to get out there. It’s for her that I’m doing all this. So I pull up the forums, put my hands on the keyboard, and go back to work trying to drum up clients online. *** It’s getting late in the day when I get a call from my sister on my brand-new iPhone. I had to get it because my flip phone and printed maps were

making some of the clients look at me funny. Problem is, I can’t figure out how the whole “smart” phone works, and so I swipe the wrong buttons and end up missing the call. Farah just snorts and rolls her eyes, like I’m the world’s biggest goober. Maybe I am, but I could never afford a smartphone until now. Actually, I still can’t, but I’m forking out extra money so I look legit to my clients. Plus, okay, the mapping application is pretty awesome. A text comes in a moment later, shaking my phone. Wynonna: U Ivy: I am. now!! Wynonna: O Wynonna: I this crap.

there, Reba? And remember, I’m Ivy god, whatever. don’t have time for

Well, she’d better make time. Ivy’s my real name now; I had it changed legally. Reba sounded like a redneck cliché, and when my teacher at my realtor classes suggested that I go by a less

“polarizingly Southern” name, I jumped at the chance. I’ve been Ivy to everyone else for the last two years, but to my sister, I guess I’ll always be Reba Lee Smithfield. Wynonna: I have a flat. Gonna B late getting home. Ivy: Are you ok? Wynonna: Rim’s bent I think. We got the money for that?

I wince. We don’t. We don’t even have the money for the insurance for Wynonna’s little 1992 Civic, but I’m trying to make it work. I type slowly, since my fingers feel too big and clumsy for the tiny smartphone screen. Ivy: I’ll figure it out. Are you pulled over somewhere safe? Wynonna: I’m fine. A friend is coming to pick me up, but the car’s on the side of the highway. You want me to wait for a tow truck? Ivy: No, those cost too much. I’ll leave work and see if I can change the spare for you. Maybe it’s not as bad as we think.

Wynonna: Ok! Just text me when u get there. I’m sorry :( Ivy: Don’t be sorry! The tires were old. We knew they would go soon. I’ll handle it. Wynonna: K! Don’t work 2 late! Friend is taking me 2 a used bookstore so I can see if any of my college texts are there. Maybe I can get them cheap. Ivy: Smart thinking!! XO Wynonna: XO to u 2

I put the phone down and resist the urge to bury my head in my hands. Car repairs—the last thing I can think about right now. Wynonna needs her car to go to college, and I need to finish scraping together some money for her tuition. If it’s just a flat tire, we can eat ramen for a week or two and scrape by. If it’s more than that . . . well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I’m just glad my little sister wasn’t hurt. Of course, this means I really need to get some leads. Shoot. I might take a clipboard to the mall and pretend to do a survey, all so I can pass out

some cards. It’s desperate, but heck, I am desperate at this point, and the Jacks keep stealing all my good leads. After that, I might stop by the library and the gym and pin a few cards to corkboards. Something will pay off eventually, if I just put enough work into it. Well, no time like the present to get started. I gather my things, stuffing my folders and then my laptop into my shoulder bag. No rest for the wicked, and I’m going to put in a long night tonight trying to drum up leads. I might even try Facebook ads and Craigslist, if that’s what it takes. All I need to do is sell one house in the next thirty days and I can pay for Wynonna’s tuition. If I get someone in escrow, I can ask for an advance until payday. I have options. I just need to get someone in the door. I’m sure I can seal the deal if that happens. I rush out the back of the office and into the lobby—only to see Winky Jack heading back in. He’s got a coffee in hand and his sunglasses on. I smile at him as I pass by. He stops and points at me. “Ivy!”

I halt, but inwardly I’m torn between snarling at him and just wishing I could race out the door. Instead, I keep a warm smile on my face and try to pretend that someone just stuck gum to the back of his expensive suit. “Hi, Jack, how did the open house go?” “Fantastic. Got one or two couples that are very interested.” One of his cheeks twitches, and I realize he’s probably winking at me from behind his sunglasses. Eesh. “It was a great lead. Thanks for sending it in my direction.” But I didn’t, I want to snap. You stole it. “Of course.” He sips his coffee, ignoring the fact that I was trying to leave. “You said you had some comps, right? Mind emailing me those?” “Sure.” I gesture at the door. It’s getting harder to smile by the second, but somehow I manage. “Listen, I have to go—” At that moment, a man pushes open the glass double doors and walks into the lobby. He’s wearing a dirty trucker cap, an equally dirty T-

shirt, jeans, and work boots. He’s got an enormous, bushy beard covering most of his face and glances around the building, thick brows drawn down as if he disapproves of everything he sees. The receptionist gives him a blank look, and then her lips twitch with a smirk. She glances over at me and Jack as if to say can you believe this guy, then over at the client. “Can I help you, sir?” He saunters forward with a cocky swagger, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Wanted to talk to someone about a house.” He’s got a thick Texas accent that tells me he’s from a small town and not a big city. They drawl more out east and west. I know, because it took me thirteen CDs of selfguided voice coaching to try to ditch my own accent. The receptionist looks over at me and Jack. Jack takes another sip of his coffee. “Looks like this one’s yours, Ivy.” I’m torn. On one hand, I need sales. On the other hand, this guy doesn’t look like he has two nickels to rub together. That’s why he’s “mine.”

Jack can’t be bothered unless it’s a million-dollar sale. I smother the stab of resentment I feel. “I do need to go . . .” But Jack’s already turning and walking away. That . . . jerk. Grr. It’s not the client’s fault for having bad timing, though. It’d be rude for me to take my frustrations out on him. So I look over at the man with the beard and give him a smile, offering my hand. All right then, I said I wanted a sale, and fate is providing. “Hi there. I’m Ivy Smithfield . . .” And my voice dies off, because he’s leaning against the receptionist’s counter, dripping red dirt from his hat and shirt, and devouring me with his eyes. I’ve heard that expression before but I’ve never experienced it. I’ve never felt like anyone was pulling my clothing from my body with their freaking gaze and eye-fucking me . . . Until now. Good . . . goodness. I’m flustered and don’t know what to think.

Chapter Three

Boone This was a fantastic idea. For once, my brothers were smart and led me in the right direction. And even though I feel a bit like an asshole for coming into this fancy office with its shiny floors and glass everywhere I look. The receptionist looks at me like I’m scum, but it’s all worth it the moment she turns and I see her. The woman from the flyer. She’s more perfect in person than she is in the picture. Her long, blonde hair seems brighter, her smile more sincere. Up close, her skin seems translucent and flawless, and her mouth is a soft pink bow that is just begging to do filthy things to a man’s cock. Her eyes are a vivid greenish-brown

that I can’t stop staring at. She’s wearing the same suit and skirt she did in the photos, right down to the shoes, and her tits look just as fucking amazing in it as they did in the photo. As she extends her hand to me, I see perfect fingers tipped with a pale peach manicure. Her hand is soft as she slips it into mine, but her grip is firm. “I’m Ivy Smithfield,” she says, and her voice is soft, slow, and sweet. Fuck, it’s giving me a hard-on just to hear her voice. I’m glad I did this, because I want her. I want her in my bed, right now, her long legs wrapped around my hips as I pound into her. She can even wear those beige heels of hers. I’ll let her put ’em on my shoulders while I fuck her. She can tell me dirty things in that smoky little voice of hers until I bust my nut. Yeah, I like the sound of that, too. Her cheeks are flushing with color and she gives my hand a little shake. “And you are . . . ?” Right. Guess I’m too busy mentally boning her to do introductions proper. “Fucking happy to see

you.” Her entire face flames red. That’s fucking adorable. “I see.” She tries to pull her hand out of my grip. I hold on tight to it, because she’s mine now. She didn’t laugh at me when I came in, like the receptionist. She didn’t look at me like I was fucking dirt for daring to step into her world. She came and gave me her hand, just like I was a client that mattered. She’s classy, just like I thought. And she’s sexy as fuck. She’s mine. All mine. Anyone that looks at her sideways is gonna get a fist in their mouth. I’m still eyeing her when she gives her hand a little jerk, and the flushed look on her face gives way to mild panic. I don’t want to scare her—I want her in my bed. So I let her hand go. “Sorry. Name’s Price. Boone Price.” I wait to see if she has any sort of reaction to that. People that read the financials absolutely know who I am. But she only continues to smile, sweet and warm and friendly. “It’s nice to meet

you, Mr. Price. Welcome to Three Jacks.” She gestures at the lobby. “Did you just happen to walk in?” “Something like that.” I glance around. “Nice building.” She smiles proudly, like it belongs to her or something. “We’re on the historical register. The owners refurbished the place after it was nearly condemned twenty years ago. It’s got a fantastic history if you’d like to hear it.” “Some other time.” It just looks expensive and fancy to me . . . just like her. That’s all I need to know. She inclines her head. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or a bottle of water?” “I’m good. Can I buy you a drink?” The look on her face becomes shuttered, her smile tight, and I know I’ve gone too far. “I don’t date clients, Mr. Price.” Good. I like that she’s got a firm moral backbone, even if I’m scaring the dickens out of her. I’ll just have to cool my jets a bit. Just enough

to get her comfortable. “Of course. I’m just used to being a straight shooter and all.” “I see.” She gestures at the sea of desks in the back office behind her. “If you’d feel more comfortable, I’d be happy to let you talk to one of my associates—” “I want you,” I say flatly. When her mouth gets tighter, I put my hands up in the air. “All right. I’m putting my foot in my mouth with everything I say, aren’t I?” I throw on a bit of the charm to make her think my words aren’t sincere—truth is, I mean every fucking word of it. She’s mine. All mine. But I’ve got to play it cool and sneaky until she lets her guard down a bit more. “I want you to sell me a house. We don’t have to date. In fact, we can just pretend I never opened my fool mouth and said any of that.” For now, we can pretend that. She relaxes a little, but there’s a bit of wariness still in her posture. Ivy gestures at a nearby set of chairs in the lobby, and we move over to them. As we do, she sits down and crosses her legs, and I

swear to god, I nearly bust a nut in that moment. She’s effortlessly beautiful, and I’ve never been filled with so much lust and possessiveness for a woman in my life. I’m not a big dater, and now I know why. I was waiting for her. As I sit, I notice a fine cloud of dust leaking from my hat. Actually, I notice there’s a trail of dust from where I was standing, now over to this chair. Whoops. “Sorry about the dirt. I came in straight from the field.” It’s been another long day in West Texas, but this time I found myself a new spot for a well—and not on Bates’s property. He can go fuck himself. She waves a hand. “Work is work, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She pulls out a small notepad and a pen and writes my name across the top in a girly, looping scrawl and then underlines it. “So tell me about you, Boone. What are you looking for?” You, I want to say. “In a house?” She nods.

I shrug. “Haven’t really given it much thought. Something classy, I think.” Ivy writes a note under my name. “Fixer-upper? Move-in ready?” I shrug again. “Which do you think is better?” Right now, with the way my cock is aching at her nearness? I’d live in a cardboard box if she told me it was a good idea. “It depends on your budget. Have you given much thought to how much you want to spend?” I rub my neck. “Not really? I haven’t paid much attention to the market. That’s why I thought I’d come to you.” That, and because I want you. Now that I’ve seen you, I need you. She gives me another little smile, and I feel like I fucking won the lottery. “We’ll find you the right house. Bachelor pad or something for a family?” “You askin’ me if I got a woman?” Her cheeks turn bright red again. “I-I-I—” I lean in. “I’m just teasing you, Miss Ivy.” She gives a high, nervous laugh that’s adorable and a little shake of her head. “It’s so I know how

many bedrooms you’re looking for, Mr. Price. That’s why I asked.” There’s a curve to her mouth that’s an almost-smile, though, and I know I’m winning her over. I can be a charming bastard if I need to be, dirt and all. “I know, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease you.” I glance down at her list and notice again that her smooth, pretty fingers have no rings on them. Another possessive surge rushes through me. She ain’t married. Just like I thought. That means she’s mine for the taking. Good. “So—rooms?” I stroke my beard. “Not sure how many yet. I would like a big place.” Ivy nods, scribbling notes in her pad. “In this area? Or is there a particular location you need to commute to?” “Here’s fine.” San Antonio ain’t that close to West Texas, but my brothers like living here, and she’s here, so that’s good for me. I don’t mind a long drive, and I’m only out west when it comes time for a new well, anyhow.

Behind us, the receptionist starts to put away the things on her desk. “Will you be long, Ivy?” she calls out, giving me a pointed look that tells me she doesn’t approve of me taking up her friend’s time. “Or should I leave the lobby open for you?” Ivy fumbles in her purse and pulls out a phone. She taps the screen a few times before it reacts, and then she bites her lip as she notices the time. “Gosh, yeah, it is getting late. Mr. Price, would you like to set up a meeting time? Maybe tomorrow or the day after? You can email me your list of needs and we can go over them—” “I’ll do you one better,” I tell her, giving Ivy my most charming smile. “How about I take you out to dinner and tell you what I’m looking for in a property?” When she freezes, I add, “As business partners. Not a date.” I rub my stomach. “I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving.” “Oh.” She hesitates and looks at her notes. “I’m not sure. I have a lot to do tonight . . .” Her voice dies as a man comes strolling through the lobby with sunglasses perched atop his head. He winks at

Ivy in a way that makes me grit my teeth, and then pauses to speak to the receptionist. They put their heads together and laugh softly, and I’m guessing they’re laughing at me. Hate burns in my gut. Ivy isn’t like those assholes at all. “Gosh, Mr. Price,” the object of my desires says, shaking her head. That long ponytail flips back and forth over her shoulder, tormenting me. “I really shouldn’t, because I really do have a lot of work I need to get started tonight. Why don’t I just get the basics of your information and call you in the morning?” I give her an easy nod, like I understand. She’s gonna make me chase her. Fair enough. I can chase. “Tell me what you need.” “Okay, we can wrap this up fast. Rooms? How many were you thinking?” Her pen poises over the paper. I purse my lips, glancing over at the assholes laughing by the front desk. How big of a house

would I need to shut those two up? How many rooms? “Forty,” I decide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. Four?” Ivy says politely, writing. “Forty,” I repeat. She blinks at the paper, and then looks up at me. Her pink, sexy mouth is parted, and I have this incredible urge to kiss her despite the dirt on my clothes. Ivy shifts in her seat and leans forward. “Did you say forty?” Her voice has dropped to a whisper. I lean in. “Yes,” I whisper back. “Too many? You think thirty-five will do?” Ivy licks her lips—god help me—and then glances over at the front desk, where the two smirking assholes are still chatting. “Mr. Price, how much money do you have to put down?” This is where I’m good. I grin at her. “I got a couple billion. Like I said, I don’t know how much houses run in this area. How much do you need?” Her mouth parts and she blinks up at me. I’ve knocked her on her ass, haven’t I? Can’t say I’m

not feeling a little smug about that. “You know what? I think I will take you up on that dinner invite after all.” I just grin. Thought she might.

Ivy My heart is thundering in my chest as I get out of my chair. A million thoughts are whirling through my head. This guy’s rich. Unless he’s messing with me— entirely a possibility—he’s rich. I can’t even imagine a house with forty bedrooms, much less selling one to someone. And it’s clear he wants to go out with me, because he hasn’t stopped giving me heated looks since I met him. I know I shouldn’t go out to dinner with him . . . But Winky Jack is right there, very close nearby. And if he so much as smells the money on

this guy, he’s going to steal the commission from me. And I could really, really use the money. But what if he’s lying? What if Mr. Price isn’t who he says he is? I’m torn. It doesn’t make sense to meet up with a client and immediately go to dinner with him two minutes after he asks me out. It also doesn’t make sense that he’d work with someone like me if he really is rich. I ponder all these things even as Mr. Price opens the office door and puts a hand on the small of my back to lead me out into the parking lot. Am I being stupid? Dazzled by the promise of money? I hesitate the moment the door shuts and look over at him. Bright white teeth flash under that enormous, scraggly beard. “You need to Google me?” It’s like he can read my mind. I give him an apologetic smile. “Would it be terribly offensive if I did?” He laughs, throwing his head back, and in that moment, I realize he’s no more than thirty, maybe

thirty-two. And under that beard and dirt? I wonder if he’s cute. Oh god. That’s so gold-diggery of me. But he waves a hand at the phone I’m holding. “Go ahead.” I start to type in his name on my smartphone . . . and then stop. How rude am I being? Just because he’s thrown me off my game with his dirty, disheveled appearance doesn’t mean that I need to start running a background check on the guy. “You know what? I don’t need to do that. I’d sell you a house either way.” “Because you’re a lady,” he says approvingly. “Knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.” His praise makes me feel all flustered all over again. He has no idea how hard I’ve worked to shuck off the trailer park dust from my shoes so I can bring in big clients and make a real living at this. “Let’s just go to dinner,” I tell him. “We can talk more there.” If Winky Jack sees me out here, I worry he’s going to smell a big fish and beeline his way over.

I don’t trust him not to. “All right,” Mr. Price drawls. “Your car or mine?” I start to say my car and then I freeze. My car is a 1992 Geo Metro with no bumper. Whenever I have clients, I check out one of the “company cars” of the day so I can show my clients around in style. I can’t let Mr. Price see my real car, or he’ll know I’m a fraud. And if I go back inside, Winky Jack will know Mr. Price is a client important enough to go out to dinner with, and he’ll sneak in for the kill. So I look over at Mr. Price. “If we take your car, can I send a picture of your license plate to my sister? Just to be safe?” “Of course.” “Then let’s take yours.” Of course, I worry that makes me sound like a complete ninny, so I add, “A client spilled a latte on my front seat earlier and I haven’t had a chance to take it in to get the upholstery cleaned.”

“Gotcha.” He pulls out his keys and gestures to an enormous red truck parked right in the center of the Three Jacks Real Estate parking lot. The tires and the sides of the car are covered with reddish dirt and I’m pretty sure there’s a metal step-up on the side. “Let me get the door for you.” “Thank you.” I take a furtive picture of his license plate and text his info to my sister, explaining to her where I’m going. I’m a slow typer, so it takes me a few moments and I wander slowly toward his car, focused. Before I can hit send, I pause. I’m going to have to climb into his truck. Somehow. I put the toe of one shoe delicately onto the step and look up, searching for a handlebar of some kind. “Here, let me help,” Mr. Price says, and the next thing I know, his hands are on my waist and he’s lifting me into the truck like I weigh nothing at all. And okay, I must be dazzled by his money, because those big hands on my waist? It feels . . . amazing. His grip sends a hot pulse through my

body and I cling to the seat as I sit down. Mercy. No wonder women like it when men get all caveman on them. I’m suddenly seeing the appeal. Breathless, I finish sending the info to my sister. By that time, Mr. Price has climbed into the other side of the truck. He looks over at me, that intense look on his face. “What?” I ask, feeling tingly and weird. I want to stare at his beard, because I have this intuition that under all that facial hair, there’s a really sexy beast of a guy. I just know it. I shouldn’t think about it, either, but I can’t help myself. “You wanna send your sister a pic of my face? Extra security?” “That’s a good idea,” I admit, and pull my phone back out. “You’re okay with that?” “Long as you get in the picture with me, I’m good.” Oh. Why does that make me all tingly? “Sure.” I hold the phone up and lean toward him a bit. He leans in close as well, and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to smell my hair or something strange

and intense like that. But he’s only gazing at my phone camera, and I’m the one that looks all flushed and bothered. I snap the picture quickly. “Thank you.” “Of course. Don’t want your family to worry about you. You’re safe with me.” That feels . . . strangely possessive. Odd to be hearing from someone I just met. But I’m not getting a weird vibe from him, so I buckle up, send the picture, and look over as the truck pulls out of the parking lot. “So where are you taking me to dinner?” “Got anything in mind?” Hmm. I eye his clothing. I’d normally take a client out for something fancy just to make them think I’m a big deal, but he’s not dressed for the part and I don’t want to embarrass him. “Do you like sushi?” “Am I a dick if I say no?” I laugh. “How about barbecue, then?” His brows furrow together and he gives me a disbelieving look. “Barbecue?”

“Yes?” “I ain’t taking a lady out to dinner to eat ribs.” He snorts, as if the idea is ludicrous. “You deserve someplace classy. Someplace nice.” I don’t point out that he’s covered in dirt. “All right, then. Let me think.” “I know the place,” he says confidently, glancing over at me. “You let me handle it. I’ll let you pick next time.” I’m surprised when, a few minutes later, we pull up to a small restaurant tucked away in a quieter section of town. Is it weird that I expected Red Lobster? I’ve never been to this place, but the name is in French, which makes my stomach twist a little with worry. I really hope this doesn’t get awkward and they don’t turn him away at the door for being underdressed. He roars the truck up to the front parking space and I glance out at the deserted parking lot. Is this place even open? It’s dinnertime and most restaurants are packed at this hour. Mr. Price insists on getting my door for me, and then walking

me up to the front of the restaurant. He’s acting like a gentleman, which is sweet. I can’t remember the last time a guy held a door open for me. Even if it’s all part of some plan of his to win me over, it’s working. I’m flattered. I just met the guy, and even though he’s got a bushy beard, is covered in dirty clothes, I’m still feeling slightly dazzled by how he treats me. Like I’m some sort of rare jewel he feels lucky to have run across. I’ve never encountered that before. It’s . . . nice. Strange, but nice. This man is a stranger to me. He’s absolutely not my type and a client to boot, and yet in the space of a few minutes, I’ve gone from thinking no way to feeling utterly flustered every time he focuses his intense gaze on me. The door opens as we approach the front of the restaurant, and an utterly gorgeous woman in a white blouse and black skirt beams a smile at us. “Welcome back, Mr. Price. Your table is ready.” He nods as if expecting this, and puts a possessive hand at the small of my back, steering

me into the restaurant. “Welcome back?” I ask him as we enter. The lights are low and dim, and the rest of the restaurant is a sea of empty tables. “Did you already eat?” “Nah. I stopped by and asked how much it’d cost to hold the place reserved for me and a lady friend tonight.” He stops at a private booth off to one side, as if this table was chosen exclusively for us, and gestures for me to take a seat. I slide in and give him a curious look as he sits across from me. “How did you know I’d say yes?” He shrugs his big shoulders and pulls off his trucker cap, tossing it onto the booth bench beside him, then runs his hand through equally shaggy dark hair. “I didn’t.” So he just threw this money down in the hopes that I’d go out with him? Something else occurs to me . . . “Wait. Were you going to go to dinner with any realtor?” I’ve suddenly gone from bewildered but flattered to confused. “Nah, I went there looking for you.”

“For me?” I blink. “Why me?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. I don’t realize what I’m looking at until he pushes it toward me and I see my own face on it. It’s one of the Three Jacks marketing flyers. There I am, in the same suit I’m wearing today—one of my five expensive work suits, since I can’t afford more—with a serene smile on my face. I know this photo. It’s the one Farah hates because they put me in it instead of her. It’s the one where I felt like a ridiculous idiot to be standing with the partners when I am clearly not, but was tapped because I was the “cute blonde girl in the office.” Since then, I’ve seen the awkward photo at bus stops, on benches, at the ends of restaurant tables, and in newspaper flyers. It’s clear he picked this up from somewhere. And it’s clear from how many times it’s been folded that it’s been carried around a lot. I don’t know what to say. I stare at the picture for a moment, trying to think. I’m spared an immediate response when the

waitress comes over, a gorgeous brunette with a perfect figure and even more perfect hair and makeup. She beams at the two of us and then gives Mr. Price a very come-hither look that is shockingly blatant. He doesn’t even look at her. His gaze is entirely focused on me. “Would you two like to see the wine list?” she asks, her voice husky and seductive. Her hand goes to her hip and her breasts thrust out. It’d be cartoonish if it wasn’t happening right in front of me. One thing’s for sure—she definitely knows who he is and she wants herself a piece of this big, dirty beard. I feel like I’ve been dropped into bizarro land in the last hour. “Would you?” he asks me. “Would I what?” He hasn’t even glanced in her direction, his attention a hundred percent on me. “Wine list?” “Or shall I get the sommelier for you?” She leans even closer to Mr. Price’s side of the table.

Any closer and she’s practically going to slide in next to him. I can feel myself frowning. To her, it’s like I don’t even exist. Jesus. I do know how to order wine, though. It’s one of the things I’ve crammed for in my long list of business etiquette miscellany that I’ve prepped for. White wine with fish, a rosato for chicken, and a petite sirah for steak. Mr. Price definitely looks like a steak guy to me. “Petite sirah?” I suggest. He glances at the waitress for the first time, and the look on his face grows cold when he sees how close she’s leaning in. She straightens. “We do have a lovely sirah from Israel?” “Sounds wonderful. Thank you.” All I know about sirah is that it’s pretty dark compared to the rosé boxed wine I normally drink, but it’s also what is considered “appropriate” so I roll with it. It’s not about me as much as it is image. So much of this business is image and how you present yourself.

I look down at the crumpled picture of myself. Speaking of images . . . The waitress moves away, and when she’s gone, I hand the picture back to him. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand.” “I went to your office looking for you,” he says in a slow, easy drawl. “I want to fix my image.” Maybe I’m just not understanding. I give my head a little shake. “What’s wrong with your image?” His eyes light up and he gives me a devastating smile, like I’ve just said the best thing possible. “You are real sweet, you know that?” I can feel myself blushing at his approval. I didn’t mean it quite like that, but I don’t correct him, either. “Well,” he says when I remain silent, and strokes his crazy beard. “You know how I made my money?” “Actually, I have no clue.” I clasp my hands on the edge of the table. “I don’t know anything about you other than you made a bunch of creepy plans to

go out to dinner with me before you even met me and you’re carrying around a picture of me like a stalker. And somehow in here, I’m hoping you still want to buy a house because otherwise I should probably go.” He laughs, throwing his head back. The waitress returns with the wine, uncorks the bottle, and pours two glasses for us. She looks at us patiently, and I take my glass. At this point we’re supposed to sniff it to admire the bouquet and swirl it and some other fancy stuff. Mr. Price just takes his drink and downs the whole thing, making a sound of approval as he puts his glass down. The waitress’s body language becomes stiff. “Did you like it, Mr. Price?” “Tastes like piss,” he says in a genial voice. “But I don’t have much of a cultured palate.” She giggles like he’s said something utterly charming instead of insulting the wine. I give mine a quick sniff and swirl and then taste it. God, it’s strong. But I nod and thank her as if it tastes just

fine and she refills Mr. Price’s glass and then sets the bottle down. “Now, where was I?” he asks, picking up the bottle of wine. He pours a bit more into his glass, since the waitress only gave him a taste, and then pours even more into my glass. “That’s better. Anyhow, I’m not exactly a cultured man.” I give him a half smile. “But you wanna know why I’m coming to you, don’t you?” “The thought has crossed my mind about a hundred times in the last hour.” “Then I should get all of the introductory shit out of the way, right? Tell you all about me since you didn’t Google it and trusted me?” There’s a gleam in his eye, and the way he strokes his beard? He seems mighty pleased at that thought. Like me trusting him was a pleasant surprise he can’t quite get over. “Grew up dirt poor. Dad was a roughneck, and my mother was . . . well, not rightly sure what she was. Most days she worked in a grocery store.

Least she did until she up and left.” He shrugs. “Then I had a revolving door of stepmothers and stepbrothers.” This sounds . . . awful. And awfully close to my own terrible story. Thing is, I’m not sure if he’s telling me this to try and slap me with my own past or if there’s somewhere he’s going with it . . . so I remain silent, sipping my wine. “When I looked old enough to be eighteen, a buddy of mine got a job out on a rig out in West Texas. Roughnecking. Got me a job out there, too, and I became a worm. Dad didn’t like it, but he didn’t have a choice.” “A worm?” I ask. I shouldn’t interrupt, but I’m curious. “What does that mean?” “It means the new guy on the rig. Low man on the totem pole. You get all the shitty jobs and you got to learn them, fast.” He grins and drums his fingers on the table, and as he does, I notice he’s missing one. “Sometimes you don’t learn ’em fast enough.”

The smile he’s giving me is charming, but I still want to know how I factor in to all this. He shrugs. “I’m getting to the point, trust me. Anyhow, I did that for a while and the driller took me under his wing. Wanted to teach me the biz. It’s good money if you can work fast, smart, and hard. And money was something I needed. He taught me dowsing, too.” “Dowsing?” I don’t know any of this. “You know.” He picks up his butter knife and mine, and then waves them back and forth. “You use metal rods to find the oil. Anyhow, I got real good at it. Had bosses at other rigs paying me to come dowse on their land for a nice fee. Saved that money up and bought some nice hunting land for me and my brothers. I got drunk and did a little dowsing on my new property, and the rods practically jumped out of my hands. So I got a buddy of mine—” He pauses, strokes his beard, and then shakes his head. “—Ex-buddy Bates to sell me an old outdated rig. I paid through the nose for it, had it put on my land, fixed it up, had my

brothers help me drill, and then boom.” He spreads his hands. “Spindletop two point oh.” I give him a blank but polite look. “Is that good?” His brows go up. “You ain’t heard of Spindletop?” “No?” “Biggest oil strike in the US. Hundred thousand barrels a day.” “That’s . . . good, right? It sounds good.” I grimace and reach for my wine again. “I’m afraid I don’t know a thing about oil, Mr. Price.” “Boone,” he says in a low, husky voice. “Call me Boone.” “Not until you tell me why I’m here and you’re stalking me,” I say primly, but on the inside my stomach is fluttering. When he stares at me like that, it makes my entire body prickle with awareness. “I’m gettin’ to that. Drink that fancy-ass wine and lemme think.”

I chuckle and take another sip of the wine. It’s heady as heck and I’m feeling a little tingly, so this probably isn’t the best idea, but it’s also helping me relax and not get up and leave. Which is probably a bad idea and I probably should leave. But . . . billionaire. Wants to buy a house. From me. Eye-fucking me, sure. But money. And if I’m totally honest, I’m fascinated by him and his brash, uncouth nature. The way he makes no apologies about who and what he is and throws money around to get what he wants. Like, tonight at this restaurant? He rented out the entire thing in the hopes that he could get me to go out with him? And he hasn’t even so much as glanced at the waitress, who is hovering even now, as if she’d like to interrupt and shove her phone number under his nose. So I drink my wine and wait for more of this story.

“Spindletop,” he says. “Hundred thousand barrels a day. You know how much a barrel of oil sells for right now?” When I shake my head, he continues. “’Bout a hundred bucks a barrel. And my well was gushing out a hundred and twenty thousand barrels a day.” I do a bit of math in my head . . . and then choke on my wine. Twelve . . . million dollars a day? He nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s fuckin’ ridiculous. I went from being some dirt-ass-poor roughneck to a millionaire in the space of a day. Billionaire in less than a year. Cut my brothers in and they’re all billionaires, too. ’Cept I don’t know how to be a billionaire, really. All I know is how to be a roughneck. And even though I’m running with the bosses now, they don’t respect me. They laugh at me and don’t take me seriously because to them, I’m a dumbass with money.” He stabs the table with one finger. “So I’m going to up my game.” “Up your game?” He nods. “Starting with a big fuckin’ house.”

The realtor in me thrills to hear that. “Mr. Price —” “Boone,” he corrects. “Boone,” I echo, and his name feels like a scandal on my tongue. “If you want a big house, I will sell you the biggest house I can find in all of Texas.” He grins real slow, and my heart flutters again. “That’s real good.” “But you should also know that I have only been practicing real estate for about a year, and if I’m being honest, I’m not in your league.” Maybe it’s the wine that leads me toward self-sabotage, but I feel guilty. He needs to know I’m not some real estate savant before he trusts me with a million-dollar home. Wait. He wanted forty rooms. This might be millions of dollars of home. That would be thousands and thousands of dollars of commission for me, even with my lousy half a percent. This would get me to the next threshold of commissions with Three Jacks.

This would pay for Wynonna’s college and a few more suits for work. A car with a bumper. Lots of things. Oh god, I’m getting excited and all he’s done is mention a house briefly. “You’re the one that I want, Ivy.” The way he says that makes it seem like a double entendre. Heck, that comment is so loaded it might as well be a quadruple entendre. “Why me?” “Because you’re honest, for one.” His smile crooks under that mess of beard. “And because you’re classy. You’d sell me a classy house.” “And you want classy? Something to make everyone eat their words, I’m guessing?” At his slow nod, I can’t help but point out, “But any realtor could do that for you, Boone.” “Yes, but I want this one.” He points at my face on the paper between us. “I wanted her the moment I saw her.” It gives me goosebumps. I stare at his finger on my face, then look up at him. “Why?”

The possessive look he shoots me feels like a rocket under my skin. “Because I want everything, Ivy. I want the big fucking house and the classy woman.” And I realize he’s talking about me.

Chapter Four

Boone Her face is expressive. I can see the exact moment she realizes I just declared my intentions. Hell, I did more than that. I fucking planted a stake on that hill and stood on it, beating my chest. There should be no doubt anymore what I mean when I say I want her. And meeting her? Interacting with her? Hearing her laughter? Seeing the tiny smiles that curve her mouth when she’s pleased and the blushes when she’s embarrassed? Watching her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear? Watching her lips touch the rim of her glass? It’s all making me so fucking rock hard I can’t even think straight.

I want her. This is dog-on-a-bone Boone talking, maybe, but I’ve decided. Her cheeks are bright with color, her mouth rosy from the wine. Her lips are parted and she stares at me, shocked by my blunt words. Maybe I ain’t the biggest prize in the land, looks-wise, but I’ve got enough money to make her happy, and I’m willing to throw it in her direction if that’s what it takes to get her in my bed. “Mr. Price,” she begins. “Boone,” I correct. Mostly because I’m bound and determined to get her to call me by my first name. It’s fucking sexy as hell when she says it. “Boone,” she says, and it’s throaty and caressing and feels like a stroke on my dick. Damn. “You could have anyone, I’m sure.” She glances over at our waitress, then back at me. “I’m flattered, but I’m really not sure I’m the woman you truly want.” “Oh, I’m completely sure I want you.” Hell, just sitting across from her in the restaurant is making me itch to touch her.

She looks adorably flustered again. “I really should not date clients, Mr.—Boone,” she corrects, and sips her wine to cover her nervousness. Her glass is gettin’ mighty empty, so I pick up the bottle of wine and refill it, then gesture for the waitress to come and take our order. Not that Ivy’s even looked at her menu. I just need to get food in her before she gets tipsy. “Then don’t date your clients. Date me.” “Oh, but I need you to be a client.” She seems troubled. She must want the sale. “I still want to buy a house from you,” I tell her. I think about it, and then add, “A golf course, too.” “A golf course?” “Yeah, I decided I want one.” One in particular. So I can raze it to the fucking ground. “Doesn’t change the fact that I want you, too.” But she looks worried. “I don’t know that I should be your realtor and date you. It feels like a conflict of interest.” “All right, then, marry me.” Her eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“Marry me and you can shop for your own home.” I like this idea. The moment I say the words, they feel right. I’ve found the one for me. I’m convinced. The only one that still needs convincing is her. Marriage seems like a fucking brilliant compromise to me, and I get her in my bed that much faster. Win-win situation right there. “I can’t.” Ivy gives a graceful little shake of her head, and she pushes away her wineglass. “I really can’t. To all of this.” I’m pushing too fast, too soon. I know that, but pushing normally gets me what I want. So I continue, doing my best to be charming. “Is it because there’s someone else?” “That’s not the point—” “So there is someone else.” I fight the stab of jealousy I feel at the thought of Ivy in someone else’s arms. Some other bastard undoing that sleek, elegant ponytail of hers and rumpling her. “There is not,” she says firmly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Then it’s me that turns you off?” “No,” she says quickly, and then the flush colors her cheeks again when she realizes she just admitted she likes me. “It’s that I just met you, Boone. I don’t know a thing about you—” “Not true,” I say, spreading my hands wide. “Didn’t I just tell you my life story?” “You told me a bit, but I don’t know anything else. I don’t know your likes, your dislikes, if you have family beyond your brothers, anything.” She looks more and more flustered with every word, and I admit it’s fascinating to watch. It’s like she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, or she’s trying to reason with herself why it’s a bad idea to turn me down. “I don’t know your birthday, or your religion, if you’re allergic to anything—” “I’ll bring a doctor’s note—” She makes an exasperated sound. “You know what I mean! We don’t know each other. How can you possibly propose marriage to me an hour after meeting me?”

Because I know. I know that she’s mine like I know when there’s a gusher of a well under the ground. I just know. She can fight . . . for a time. I’ll get her to change her mind. “The offer will stay on the table,” I tell her. “No pressure. You can just tell me when you’re ready to get married.” Ivy huffs with irritation, crossing her eyes at me. It’s so childishly silly in comparison to her elegant demeanor that I throw back my head and laugh. I love it. I love discovering these new facets of her personality. I’m fascinated by her already, and I can just see that fascination growing with time. But I’ll let her fight it for a few days if she must. “Would you be more comfortable if we just talk about houses, then?” “Yes.” She rummages through her bag and pulls out a pen and paper. “Now please, let’s talk about what kind of house you want and stop talking about how you’re going to get me to marry you.” Her eyes are sparkling with amusement as she says it, which tells me she’s not taking me seriously. That’s

all right; I’ve mentally filed away every bit of information she’s thrown at me tonight. She needs to know my birthday and personal information about me. She needs to know my history. She needs to meet my family. I can do that shit. And as I do, I’m going to seduce her. She needs pretty words? I’ll give her pretty words. She needs flowers and jewelry? I’ll give her those, too. She needs my face between her legs? I’ll fucking tongue her for hours on end and love every moment of it. I can win her. I know I can. I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted as long as I fought for it, and I fully intend on winning Ivy Smithfield.

Chapter Five

Ivy My sister’s car isn’t on the stretch of highway she described to me, which means it was likely towed away. That means a ticket for vehicle abandonment and an impound fee that I don’t have. I should be really upset right now, because my bank account can’t handle a new tire, much less extra costs on top of that. Strangely enough, though, it’s barely on my radar. I don’t give it a second thought as I drive home, past the suburbs, exit off the highway, and then head down a familiar gravel road. The rocks thunder against the undercarriage of my car and I swerve heavily to the right, then the left automatically. It’s a private road and the potholes

here won’t be fixed by the city, and they’re big enough to lose a tire in. I’m on autopilot, though; I don’t need to think as I’m driving, which is good because my mind is fixated on Boone Price. I . . . received a marriage proposal from a billionaire tonight. It’s so strange. Not only that, I turned it down. Part of me wonders if that is crazy. If I shouldn’t have agreed to it, regardless, and walked away a few weeks later with whatever chunk of his money that the prenup would have gotten me. That’s mercenary, but it’s hard not to be mercenary when your bank account is empty and the bills keep piling up. I didn’t take him up on it, though. For some reason, it’s weirdly important to me that Boone not think I’m just after his bank account. Or rather, I’m interested in his bank account, but only in how it can help him purchase a house. And then, of course, I’m thinking about Boone again. Despite his uncouth appearance, Boone can be real charming. I ponder this as I drive up to the single-wide that I call home. The lights are on,

which means Wynonna’s home, too. I should have bailed on dinner the moment he started hitting on me, but he never pushed so hard that I felt uncomfortable. Just hard enough to let me know that he meant business. Once I firmly established that I would not be marrying him, we talked about houses and what he’s looking for. Boone pretty much just wants one thing: grandiosity. So tonight, I’m going to start scouring the Internet for the biggest, most impressive houses that South Texas has to offer. Riiiight after I tell my sister about the bizarre day I’ve had. I park my car in front of the trailer and head inside. Wynonna’s sitting tucked on the small plaid sofa in the trailer, a stack of books in front of her and her laptop open on a nearby table. She looks up at me, surprised, when I open the door. “You’re home late.” “It has been a weird, weird evening,” I tell her, sitting down at the small, built-in corner table that acts as a kitchen in our tiny trailer. “Did you

change your flat? I passed the spot on the highway you said it’d be at and I didn’t see it.” My sister looks upset. “No. Do you think someone stole it?” I shake my head. “More like it got towed by the city. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out in the morning.” I don’t want Wynonna to stress about money—I’ll do all the stressing when it comes to that. So I nudge the stack of books on the table. “Did you find the right books for your classes?” “Sort of? They’re an edition or three out of date, but I’m hoping the majority of the text is fine, because they were also cheap. I’m willing to take that risk.” She pats the stack of books. “Twelve bucks for all of these.” “That’s wonderful!” Books are so expensive, and it was a worry we both had. “One problem down.” “Yep.” She crosses her legs and gives me an expectant look. “So tell me about your day. Did you find another meth house in the suburbs?”

“Weirder than that,” I tell her. “I got a new client today.” “And?” “And he took me out to dinner.” Her brows go up. “And?” “And he’s a billionaire.” Her eyes get huge. “What? Get out.” “I’m serious! His name is Boone Price and he works in oil. He told me all about it.” This time, Wynonna gives me a skeptical look. “Reba, are you sure someone’s not playing a joke on you?” “Call me Ivy, you doof. And I’m sure. Everything he told me was legit.” I pat the table. “Bring your laptop over here.” She does, and we immediately pull up dozens and dozens of webpages all about Boone Price, the Price brothers, and the “21st Century Spindletop.” In a way, I’m relieved to see that everything he told me was the truth, but now I’m also completely intimidated once again. He’s all over Wikipedia as one of the richest men in the United States, the oil

well is the biggest producer on US soil in a century, and there are endless financial articles about wells and roughnecking and rigging and how people can become a billionaire like Boone Price. My sister skims a few articles and then goes back to Google and clicks on “Images.” “What are you doing?” I ask. “Checking out his face.” She squints at the photos, frowning at the laptop. “That’s not him, is it?” She points out a picture and I click on it to enlarge it. In the photo are five big, dirty men with equally scraggly beards wearing baseball caps. There’s one in the center that’s not smiling, and I nod slowly then point him out. “That’s Boone.” “Wow. He looks . . . not like a billionaire.” She tilts her head. “More like a lumberjack that hasn’t had a bath in about ten years.” That’s . . . not an inaccurate statement about Boone. “I think he works directly on the wells sometimes? So I get why he’s dirty. I’m sure he’s not dirty all the time.”

“Was he dirty today?” “Yeah.” “Mmhmm.” Her brows go up again. “So this big dirty billionaire wants you to sell him a house? You said he was a new client, right?” I nod. Should I tell Wynonna the rest or just let her assume it’s just about a house? “Okay, but why you? I love you, Reba, but we both know you don’t have the clout that the Jacks do. So why go to you?” Count on my clever sister to see right through things. She knows the struggles I’ve been having, and how the Jacks are always there to grab any worthwhile clients before I can make a move on them. “He saw my picture in the flyer and wanted to work with me . . . and go out with me.” Her lip curls in horror. “Seriously? Oh my god, Reba—” “Ivy—” “Whatever! You told him to fuck off, right?” When I hesitate, she gasps. “You are not serious! We do not need the money this bad! Look at this

guy!” She stabs her finger at the screen. “He looks like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown, just aged a few years! Don’t tell me you said yes!” “He’s not that bad in person—” Her mouth falls open. “And besides! I didn’t say that I was going to date him. I turned him down.” “Darn right you did.” “And then he proposed marriage.” Her mouth falls open again. “Whaaaaat?” She waves a hand at me, indicating I should keep speaking. “I changed my mind. Tell me everything.” So I do. I don’t tell her about Winky Jack stealing my open house, or the fact that I have forty dollars in my bank account. My sister doesn’t need to know how desperate the situation is, or how anxious I am about keeping us afloat. She just needs to worry about college and her classes. I can handle everything else. I always do. Instead, I focus my story on Boone Price showing up at the elegant Three Jacks office, trailing mud and dirt

with every step. I tell her about how he reserved the entire restaurant on the hopes that I’d go out with him. I tell her about the picture, and his rather forward suggestion that I should marry him. Wynonna just shakes her head, as if unable to believe the story. “I’ve heard billionaires are eccentric, but this story really is nuts. Crushing over a company advertisement? You’re pretty, sis, but can’t a billionaire have anyone? A model? Actress? Anything?” Her face is worried. “Are you sure this isn’t a prank?” “I know, I wondered about it, too.” I’m trying not to be hurt by my sister’s open skepticism, because it is strange. “He said I’m elegant, though, and he wants someone with a bit of class to them. It’s so odd. I get the impression he’s looking at this as more like a business transaction than an actual relationship. He’s decided he needs a classy girlfriend and I’m the one he wants.” Of course, that doesn’t explain the scorching looks he sent in my direction all night, but I don’t tell my sister about that.

“Well, I’m glad you turned him down.” She gives a small shake of her head, as if unable to believe it. “We need money, of course, but not that bad.” I say nothing. She doesn’t realize how desperate I’ve been feeling lately, because I work hard to make sure she feels secure. Like she doesn’t have to stress about going to college. I want her to have the choices I didn’t have when I was eighteen. I want her to have a different path than I did when Mom ran off and Dad went to prison, and I was forced to drop out of high school a month before graduation. I want her to have fun and take the classes that excite her, and go to frat parties and whatever else she wants to do. I don’t want her to spend her college years flipping burgers or scooping ice cream like I did, because that put food on the table and kept my sister out of foster care. And if I have to work a little harder to make ends meet, I do. I always do. The last thing I want is for Wynonna to stress, like she is right now. Her

young face is unhappy at the thought of me being harassed. Which it wasn’t—it was a very determined client taking me out for dinner. “I told him no, Wynonna. You don’t have to worry about it. It’s just a funny story and I thought I’d share it.” The worry on her face eases and she smiles. “You should pass him off to someone else, Reba. I don’t want some creepster bugging you because he thinks you’re pretty.” “He gave me his phone number and told me to call him with houses. I just won’t call him,” I soothe her. “I don’t think he lives super close to here so it’s unlikely I’ll see him again.” “Okay.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You’ll get other commissions, I promise. This one just seems sketchy to me.” I don’t know if it’s sketchy as much as it is just strange. But I nod. It’s not worth upsetting my sister. I’ll just scour Craigslist for some leads tonight and take some stuff to the consignment shop in the morning to get grocery money. No big deal. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Boone—Mr. Price—

does have something shady in mind and I’m too gullible to see it. “So how was your day? Did you register for classes?” Wynonna’s face lights up. “Oh, Reba—” “Ivy,” I warn. “Ivy, you should see the college campus. It’s so cool!” I settle in and listen to my sister gush about her future, trying hard not to think about my own.

Boone She won’t call me. Pretty, classy Ivy Smithfield won’t return my phone calls. I mean, it’s to be expected. I ain’t in her league. I ain’t even close. Even though I have shitloads of money now, to some people I’m still a dirt-grubbing, uneducated redneck. You can’t change some people’s minds, and even dangling an enormous commission in front of Ivy’s classy little

upturned nose won’t get her to give me the time of day. I’m disappointed. I thought we connected at dinner. She didn’t leave early. She didn’t toss her wine in my face. She talked to me—steering it back to business, always—but she was pleasant and funny. I thought she’d call me in the morning. But she hasn’t. It’s been a week now, and I haven’t heard a peep. Not a call. Not a text. Nothing. I reached out to her a few times and left voicemails. She didn’t return those, either. She’s deliberately avoiding me, then. I ain’t even mad; I’m just disappointed. Did I want Ivy to fall into my arms and throw all her clothes off? Fuck yeah. But the fact that she’s not going to come easy just means that I’ve got a little bit longer to wait before she’s in my bed. That’s all right. I can be a patient man if it’s for something I truly want. After seven days of silence, though, I get tired of being patient and set my brothers on it.

I text Seth. He’s wearing a fancy suit that he recently purchased—Seth’s the one that likes nice clothes—and is sitting in the lobby of Three Jacks Real Estate. Even shaved his beard and slicked his hair down all nice and neat like he’s going to a wedding instead of a real estate office. Clay wanted to go and spy for me, but we look a lot like my dad and more like full brothers instead of half. Seth’s blond and baby-faced and eight years younger, so he’s the perfect one to go in “disguise.” Well?

SETH: She ain’t here I don’t think. I’m sitting w/some lady named Farah & she is telling me all about this bldg. Historic or some shit.

Yeah, they did the same to me. Everyone there’s damn proud of that shit. To me, it’s just old. I text Seth back. B P: Where’s Ivy? Seth: Ivy’s desk is across from hers I think. Empty. Lunch maybe?

I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Ten in the morning. Ain’t lunch, I send back. SETH: Maybe another client. Hey, u

think I shld buy a house? B P: I don’t give a fuck. SETH: Some of these places r pretty sweet. I need a bachelor pad for the lil mamas to hang at.

I rub my face, frustrated. Seth is the youngest of my stepbrothers and also the one that can’t be serious for a moment. Maybe it was a bad idea to send him. I stare at the street sign ahead of me, scowling. I’m parked at the curb a few blocks down so Ivy doesn’t think I’m stalking her. I mean, it’s not really stalking if I send someone else to do it. And really, I ain’t gonna bother her if she just doesn’t want my money. I just want to know she’s alive and showing up to work. If she is, it means she’s not laid up in a hospital somewhere, and I don’t want that at all. I’ll figure something out. SETH: Wait, she’s here now. Just came in. B P: She look ok? SETH: Ur right, she’s pretty. Amazing legs.

I growl at my phone. I want to see her legs for myself. But is she ok? Seth: She looks tired. Just sat down. Keeping her arm clenched.

A moment passes. Seth: Farah is chatting w/her. She donated blood. Huh. That’s a random thing to happen midday. She got any clients there?

SETH: Nope. B P: I’m coming in, then.

I’ve never been one to fear confrontation. All I want’s an answer. If Ivy’s ignoring me because she never wants to see me again, I’ll go away. If there’s something else going on, I need to know why she’s not answering my calls. She’s the one that I want. It’s all decided. The only thing I need is her to realize it. So I get out of my truck and walk the two blocks over to their snooty little office. I didn’t dress for the part like Seth did; I’m in a T-shirt and jeans, and wearing my favorite hat. Least I’m not covered in West Texas dust this time. I go in the

office and the receptionist’s look tightens as she claps eyes on me. “I’m here to see Ivy Smithfield,” I drawl. “Did you have an appointment?” “Yup,” I lie. It’s kinda an appointment. She promised to call me back and never did. In my mind, that counts. The receptionist nods stiffly and picks up her phone. “Shall I let her know who’s waiting?” I shake my head slowly. “Naw. Just get her up here.” Her eyes narrow at me. “Ms. Smithfield? You have a client waiting in the lobby.” She sets the phone down and her mouth purses as she looks at me. I bet if this place had security she’d have called it on me already. She’s got that look about her. Like a guy ain’t allowed to be low class in her lobby. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so damn ridiculous. But then Ivy walks in, a cool drink of water. She’s so fucking gorgeous she takes my breath away. Her hair is pulled up in a high bun, and she’s wearing a beige suit jacket with a dark red skirt

and tall fuck-me shoes. She looks so damn sexy I want to throw her over my shoulder and run off with her. Instead, I just smile broadly like this was all part of my grand plan. She looks surprised to see me, and then guilty. But she recovers quickly, moving forward and extending her hand toward me. “Mr. Price. It’s nice to see you.” “Is it?” I ask, and instead of shaking her hand, I raise it to my mouth to kiss her knuckles. Her face flushes bright with color, almost as red as her skirt. I half expect her to pull away but she lets me kiss her hand, and I make sure to brush my thumb over that soft skin afterward. “I wasn’t expecting any clients today.” “Then you got lucky I showed up, didn’t you?” “Would you like to sit down in one of the conference rooms and talk?” She’s all business as she pulls her hand from my grip, her smile as charming as ever. “Nah. I just want to know why you won’t return my phone calls.”

“Work.” She gestures at the office. “It’s been insanely busy this week.” I look around at the office. Looks rather empty to me. In fact, Ivy and me are the only ones in the lobby. I have a sneaking suspicion that Seth’s probably the only client here. “Sure looks busy.” She blushes and bites her lip, glancing around. Time to stop beating around the bush. I give her my most disarming grin. “Is it me? Did I come on too strong?” She arches a perfect eyebrow. “Do you know how to come on as anything other than strong?” I laugh, because that’s a fair point. I love this woman’s brain. “Was kinda hopin’ you’d be dazzled by my determination and look past the fact that you’re too good for me.” Her teasing look falters, and for a moment her expression is soft and wistful. Shit, she’s pretty. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” “The truth?” “No, that you’re not good enough.” She leans in, a little smile on her face. Her voice is low as if

she’s whispering to me. “I don’t know if anyone has pointed this out to you, Mr. Price, but you’re a billionaire.” “No shit?” I drawl. I lean in, too. “And I told you to call me Boone.” Her cheeks are still bright with that pretty flush of hers that happens when I flirt, and she’s not leaning away. I realize, seeing her, that she likes me. She likes me and maybe she doesn’t want to because of her job. That’s fair. That also means I have an opening, though, and I’m ruthless enough to take it. “You know I haven’t changed my mind about that house,” I tell her. “Or the golf course.” Ivy looks torn. She crosses her arms over her chest and glances around, then moves in closer to me again. “Boone, I don’t know that I’m the right realtor for you. It’s just . . . complicated.” “Well, I think you’re the right one for me. I don’t want anyone else. I told you that.” I want to put my arms around her waist and pull her slim body against me. She’s a little pale today, but so

beautiful and elegant it makes me ache. I haven’t ever wanted anything as badly as I want this woman, and I feel like she’s dancing just out of reach. I need to figure her out. Figure out the right words that will unlock her reservations and make her fall into my arms. Maybe I’m just not persuading her enough yet. So I lean in close again. “You want me to double your commission? I’m more than willing to do so.” Her eyes go wide. “That’s not necessary—” She pauses as another man comes sauntering into the lobby. “Hello, Jack.” Her voice grows cool and her smile a little more stiff. Her eyes meet mine before she gestures at the man in the suit approaching us. “Boone, this is Jack Jackson. He’s one of the head realtors of Three Jacks.” I nod at him, narrowing my eyes. This her boyfriend or something? She said she didn’t have anyone, but this guy’s showing a lot of interest in the fact that I’m standing in the lobby with her. “Something I can help you with?” Jack Jackson says, offering me his hand. I know this guy’s type

immediately. He’s a slick motherfucker, the smile on his face oily and sly. “No,” I growl. I want to step between him and Ivy, who has a distressed look on her face. Her entire body language has changed, too. She was leaning in to me before, and now she’s polestraight and nervous. This guy bothers her, and it makes me feel protective. Jack looks surprised at my vehement reaction. “Are you a client of ours, Mr. . . . ?” He trails off, expecting me to answer. To my surprise, Ivy steps in before I can. She moves in front of me and puts an arm around my waist. Her smile is brilliant as she beams at Jack. “Actually, this is my boyfriend, Boone.” Boyfriend? Hot damn. My hand slides around her waist and again, I get that possessive, caveman feel roaring through my skull as I touch her. This woman belongs in my arms. It’s where she’s meant to be. She pats my chest with her other hand and snuggles against me. “He’s taking me out to lunch.”

Jack just gives us a slow nod. “Nice to meet you, Boone.” He focuses on Ivy again. “Let me know if any walk-ins show up and they’re at my particular . . . level.” “Of course.” Her smile doesn’t waver, but I can feel her tense against me. He turns away and then pauses. “Oh, and, Ivy, if I were you, I’d probably see more sales if I spent less time going to lunch with friends.” He gives her a thin smile, nods at me, and then walks away again. Ivy remains in my arms for a long moment, as if expecting that dickbag to turn around. Since she’s there, I lean in, practically nuzzling that tempting little ear of hers. “Would you be offended if I punched him in the throat?” I can feel her shiver, and it sends a ripple of arousal right through me. “I wish someone would,” she murmurs, and slowly steps out of my arms. “You wanna tell me what that’s about?” “I imagine he’s just trying to hit his quota for the month. It’s been a slow summer for him and

he’s not happy.” “Fill his quota . . . or take yours?” I guess. Maybe that’s why she plastered herself to me. She hasn’t given up on my commission. She nods again, a pained expression on her face. I’m filled with protective outrage. Are these assholes bullying my woman? And she’s too classy to set them in their proper place, I imagine. She’s a fucking lady and they’re taking advantage of that. “Remember how I told you I wanted to buy a golf course?” “Yes?” “I’m adding to that list. I think I want a real estate office, too.” She gives me a puzzled look. “You do?” “Want me to tell you about it over the lunch you said we were about to go have?” She bites her lip and looks back at Jack, who’s walking away a lot slower than most people. “I shouldn’t,” she whispers. “I’ll get in trouble with

the boss. But I’ll text you later tonight and we’ll talk, all right?” “Really? ’Cause you haven’t been a big fan of answering my texts lately.” “I know,” she says quickly, and grabs my hands, squeezing them. That impulsive little move warms my heart—and sends a bolt of lust right through my groin. “But please, I will this time, okay? You can come up here and harass me in the morning if I don’t.” “Fair enough.” “And don’t talk to any other realtors, all right?” She looks at me with those big, pleading eyes. I move forward, since Jack’s still watching us from afar, and I put a finger under Ivy’s chin. “Darlin’, you didn’t believe me when I said you were the only thing I wanted? You should.”

Ivy

In a way, it’s a good thing that Jack Jack starts throwing his weight around and scaring Boone off. It gives me time to go back to my desk and recuperate. I’m still feeling a little faint from this morning’s plasma donation—my second in a week —and I eat cookies and sip orange juice until I feel more like myself. Farah’s been flirting with the client sitting across from her for well over an hour, and never mind that he’s half her age. She’s laying it on thick. She must smell a commission in sight. I smell a commission in sight, too, but I’m texting mine after work tonight. I nibble on a peanut butter sandwich cookie and pull up my email on my laptop, though I’m not really paying attention to my inbox. I’m still thinking about Boone. When I saw Jack stroll into the lobby, that hungry look on his face, I knew what he wanted— Boone. More specifically, Boone’s commission. The moment he’d have smelled that Boone was a billionaire, he’d have been on him and I’d have been shuttled into the background. Jack would have

come up with some reason as to why I couldn’t possibly help Boone out and then I’d be pushed out of the picture. Maybe I’d have to do inventory on coffee filters in the break room. Maybe I’d have to cold-call old clients and ask them for leads. There’s a million types of busywork and Jack Jack knows plenty of them to send in my direction. The moment I saw him approach, though, I had to change tactics. Boone’s mine. Well, my commission, anyhow. I feel all hot and flustered just thinking about him. He wasn’t dirty today, but his hair was still wild under his cap, sticking out on the sides, and that bushy beard was as intimidating as ever. His eyes were bright and sexy, though, and his flirtiness makes me feel weak in the knees. I feel an intense pull every time he speaks, and I’m attracted to him despite all the hair and his blunt way of speaking. I might have panicked when Jack Jack swooped in, and so I said the only thing that I could think of

that would scare him off—that Boone was my boyfriend and not my client. My sister would die of secondhand embarrassment. I . . . just won’t tell her that I’ve decided I’m going to take Boone on, then. Because I need the money. I need it almost as much as all the plasma I’ve been donating for pitifully small amounts. It would help out so much, and I don’t care if my sister thinks the situation is sketchy or that Boone has an ulterior motive. I suspect his motive is to try and get me into his bed. And the thought of that? Fills me with a tingly sort of excitement instead of disgust. I have no idea why I’m attracted to him; he’s not my type. He’s big and brutish and hairy, but . . . there’s something about him that draws me like a moth to a flame. I tell myself I need to go slow, though. Keep it professional. I won’t see Boone again in person until I have a house to show him.

As I finish my cookie, Jack Jack heads over to my desk. He’s got a slight smile on his face but there’s a cold look in his eyes. “Didn’t go out to lunch, then?” “No, I’ve got too much to do here,” I lie, giving him an equally fake smile. “I told my boyfriend I’d just catch up with him later.” Jack Jack crosses his arms over his chest and comes to loom over my desk. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Ivy.” “Oh?” “While we certainly can’t tell you who you should date in your private life—that’s your own personal business, of course—but we have concerns about those personal relationships showing up here at work.” “Oh?” I repeat, because I don’t know what else to say. Where is he going with this? “We like to present a certain . . . caliber of potential to any client that should walk in the door. That’s why we have this expensive office, and why it’s been professionally decorated by the best that

San Antonio has to offer. That’s why we wear suits every day. That’s why we insist our realtors drive the company Town Cars if their own cars are not up to our standards. You know this.” I do know this. I’m one of the realtors that has to borrow a car whenever I visit clients. I’m one of the realtors that bought suits at Lord & Taylor even though I couldn’t afford it. Three Jacks is all about appearances. “Are you saying that my boyfriend doesn’t look like he should be here?” Jack Jack raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say that.” Not out loud. Behind me, Farah and her client have gotten very quiet. There’s always very little privacy in an office, but today, I wish my desk was just a little bit further away from hers. And really, what Jack is saying is so damn snobbish. “I see nothing wrong with his appearance.” Heck, today he wasn’t even dripping dirt on the floors. That’s a bonus.

“I didn’t say there was. I’m just saying we need to consider appearances, that’s all.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him coolly. “Thank you, Jack.” “I’m glad we had this little talk,” Jack tells me, raps twice on the end of my desk as if the matter is settled, and then walks away. “Oh, me too,” I mutter. I almost miss the soft chuckle of Farah’s client. At least someone hears the irony in my voice. *** Ivy: Hi Boone, this is Ivy. B P: Well this day just got better. Ivy: Oh? B P: I was half convinced you’d blow me off again. Ivy: I promised you I’d text, remember? B P: You promised that last time, too.

B P: Not busting your balls about that. Just pleased to hear from you. Though we could Snapchat if you’d rather see my face. Ivy: I don’t know how to Snapchat . . . and isn’t that for dick pictures?? B P: Only if you want one. Ivy: I don’t want one!!!! Ivy: I’m trying to sell you a house, not get pictures of your dick. B P: I understand. You want the real thing. I get that a lot. Ivy: Omg, I just want to show you a house, you freak. B P: I know. Just busting your balls again. Ivy: And you wonder why I don’t call you back! B P: Nah, I knew why you didn’t call me back. I came on too strong. Ivy: At this point, I’m convinced you only come in one setting. B P: Might be the case, but it gets me what I want. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Ivy: Of course you wouldn’t!

B P: Can’t help it if I’m decisive. B P: And if you’re truly offended, I’ll stop hitting on you and we can just be all business. Ivy: Yes, let’s talk about business. B P: So you’re not saying you’re offended, then. Ivy: Look at this picture of this great house I found online. I can get a showing for the day after tomorrow. B P: Do you always avoid the question when you’re feeling shy? Ivy: Shy!?? Ivy: You are an impossible man to text with. B P: But you didn’t say if you were offended. Do you want me to stop flirting with you? Ivy: House? Ivy: See the house? Ivy: Pretty house? B P: Fine, fine. I know when to back off. Ivy: No, you don’t. :) But look at the house pictures and let me know what you think.

Ivy: It only has 8 bedrooms but it’s 20k square feet and on twenty acres. 2.5m is the price listed. B P: That’s cute. Ivy: What’s cute? B P: It’s kinda cheap ain’t it? I shit 2.5m out over breakfast. Hell, before breakfast. Ivy: Gross. Also, it has an enormous pool and a wine cellar, too. Ivy: And 2.5m is not cheap! But I thought we’d start on the low end to see what you are looking for. It’s a good starting place. B P: You’re the boss. If you wanna look at dumps we can go look at dumps as long as I get to go with you. Ivy: 20k square feet and 8 bedrooms is not a dump!!! Ivy: Are you messing with me? B P: Do you realize how much money I have? How much I can blow on bullshit and not bat an eye? Ivy: You’re rich. I get it. I’ll go back to the drawing board. B P: No, we can stick with this one. Do you like it? Ivy: The house?

B P: Sure, the house. ;) Ivy: Do I like the house? B P: Yes. Ivy: I won’t know until I see it, but it looks like it has a lot of potential. We can take a look at it and see if it meets your needs. Ivy: Shall I tell them you’re interested in seeing it? B P: You’re gonna be there, right? Ivy: Of course. B P: Then yup, I want to see it. Ivy: Fabulous! B P: Can’t wait to see you. Ivy: I think you’ll like the house. B P: Oh, are we back to talking about the house? Ivy: Gotta go. :) B P: I’m not giving up on you. Ivy: Somehow that does not surprise me.

Chapter Six

Boone I don’t see Ivy until tomorrow. Funny how I’m already staring at the clock impatiently, waiting for it to speed up. Of course, part of that reason might be because I’m in hell. Hell is our monthly meeting with the money guys. Me, Clay, Gage, Knox, and Seth are all sitting at a table in the small office we’ve established for Price Brothers Oil. It’s a small place in an ultraexpensive suite in an office building on the Riverwalk. I don’t really care for the place, but at least it looks fancy. I’m more of a rig guy and I usually just set up in a trailer on site. Least, I used to. Now I come in here when I have to and let our

money guys handle shit. Every now and then, we have to sit down and go over business with them. It’s boring but I suppose it needs to be done. I’ve been mostly quiet as the new rig was discussed. I’ll leave that for Gage to handle. I’m the one in charge but my brothers need to earn their scratch, too. Gage will oversee this well and Knox the next one. Clay’s all wrapped up with his Smart Camo business that he started up—something with government contracts—and Seth? Well, Seth’s a fucking lazy little shit, so he’s gonna be worming on this new rig. He just doesn’t know it yet. “We received a call from Bates Petroleum,” one of my suits is saying. “They’re extremely upset about our refusal to dig a well on their land per the contracts.” Clay sniggers and looks over at me. I rub my beard absently. “He still pissy over that shit?” “Quite,” one of the money guys says. “Is there a holdup somewhere? Or a specific reason that we

can go back to them and cite as to why we’re delaying production?” “Well, his land’s a dry piece of shit, for starters,” I drawl. My brothers chuckle but the suits look prissy and displeased. “And second of all, he insulted me.” “We have a contract with them,” one of the suits begins. “Cancel it.” “The cancellation clause can be executed but it’ll end up costing PBO quite a bit—” “Don’t care,” I drawl. “We’re gonna focus on the new well on my land. Gage is gonna handle it.” I nod at my brother, indicating that I’m done with this shit. The suits sigh and argue amongst themselves about how best to break the news to Bates Petroleum that PBO—my company—ain’t gonna wipe their asses for them. I don’t care how they spin it. I don’t care if they go and tell Bates he can suck my big dick. All I know is that I’ll fucking cut my own hand off before I dig a well for that

jackass. I think of the golf course and the sneers everyone sent in my direction. My eyes narrow. I don’t forget shit like that. “Before we go on,” I interrupt, sitting forward. “I need to tell you guys I’m buyin’ a golf course.” Everyone at the table goes silent. “You are?” Knox looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “You into golfing now or something?” “Or something,” I agree. “I want a very specific golf course. Silver Birch Country Club.” The money guys exchange looks. “I don’t know that it’s for sale,” one says, scribbling notes. “Then you call them and make them an offer they can’t refuse,” I tell them. “That’s how this works. You”—I point at them—“take my money and turn it into things I want. That’s what I pay you for.” Two of the money guys protest, flipping through papers and mumbling about how they’re going to need time to go over company information for the golf course, see how we can make it profitable,

blah blah blah. The one at the end of the table— with the laptop—just writes a few more notes. “I’ll get on it, sir.” That one? He’s getting a raise. “You do that.” I look over at Gage. “Sorry to interrupt. You wanna talk about the new well?” My brother lights up with enthusiasm. Gage leans back in his chair and talks about the new well for a long time. How many barrels a day we’re averaging, and how long before production slows. How much it’s costing a day to run the thing. The numbers are good. The barrels are good. I knew it was a good spot. The suits are pleased, too. They scribble down notes and one types into his laptop like we’re shitting nuggets of wisdom at them. Like this is a surprise? The Prices always know oil. It’s in our blood. I’m only half paying attention, though. I’m thinking about Ivy and what she’ll look like when I see her again. Short skirt? Or one of those sexy numbers that gets tight at the knees and makes her legs look like a wet dream?

More fuck-me shoes? Will her glossy hair be up or down? As Gage goes on and on about whether or not production can be increased with a second crew on an adjacent well, Clay leans over to me. “You snare the classy blonde?” “Not quite yet, but I’m going to.” I glance over at him. “Meeting her tomorrow to look at a starter house.” “Starter house?” “Yeah, small-time shit. Three million dollars or something. Only eight bedrooms.” He grunts. “Doesn’t sound that impressive. I thought you wanted forty rooms.” “I know. She wants us to start small so we can see ‘what we like.’” Clay looks amused at the thought. “She doesn’t know you all that well, does she?” She doesn’t. But she will.

Ivy I’m nervous as could be on Wednesday. I’m supposed to meet Boone at the office and drive him out to the potential house. It’s a bit outside of Canyon Lake, which means we’re looking at close to an hour drive. It’s going to be just me and Boone, alone in the car together. And that makes me nervous. Not because I think he’ll do anything untoward . . . but because he’s going to be alone with me and we’re going to talk. And whenever we talk? He flirts. And I’m getting really bad at resisting his flirting. I hope this house is nice. I hope it’s exactly what he wants so I can lock him down into escrow, get an advance prior to closing, and then I can keep him at arm’s length. That is the ideal situation. It’ll solve my money problems, my Boone problems, all my problems. I don’t need a romantic entanglement right now, not when I should be focusing every moment on scrounging more money for my sister’s college education.

Instead, I’m spending far too much time fussing with my appearance. I wear my hair in a smooth bun and make sure it’s pinned tight. I leave a lock of hair free to dangle at my brow, just because it looks a little disheveled and seductive . . . and then I tuck it back in because I don’t want to be seductive. Or do I? I’m a mess. I shouldn’t want to be sexy for a client. That should be the last thing on my mind. But then again, Boone’s not quite like any other client. He’s also not like any other man I’ve ever met. There’s something incredibly self-assured about him, and yet at the same time, there’s a core of vulnerability. He wants respect for his hard work, but he doesn’t want to change who he is. That’s why he wants the house . . . and me. And he wants me because in his eyes, I’m “classy.” A lady. Boy, he’s got me pegged all wrong. I consider that as I get dressed for our meeting in a dark navy jacketed suit. The skirt on this one is

a little short and tight, and that, of course, is not why I’m picking it . . . It’s for the sexy red stilettos that go perfect with it. They say the clothes make the man—or woman—and whenever I meet a client, I dress to the nines. It doesn’t matter if they’re buying a trailer or a mansion; I have to look the part. I put on a silk slip to go under the jacket, a string of my favorite fake pearls, and then smooth my bun. It’s hot as Hades in Texas today, so I skip the pantyhose. That’s my only concession to not looking as “classy” as I could. Truth is, I’m not classy. I’m a girl that never went to college. I’m a girl that flipped burgers and scooped ice cream until she got her realtor’s license. I grew up in a trailer—heck, I still live there. My dad’s in prison. My mom is god knows where. If he thinks I’m “cultured” it’s because of my clothes, or the fact that I do my best to look like I belong at hoity-toity Three Jacks Real Estate. Truth is, I’m a square peg in a round hole desperately trying to find a way to fit in, just like him.

Maybe I just hide it better. Funny how he refuses to change his appearance and that’s the only thing I can control when it comes to my situation. I smooth my hands down my skirt, put in a pair of fake pearl earrings, and then grab my purse. I head straight for the office and grab my folder full of comps and the keys to one of the Lincoln Town Cars that the company insists we use for clients. I get in the car and pop open an air freshener (eucalyptus) and a CD of music (violins). I run a lint brush over the seats and floorboards to pick up any stray crumbs, wipe down the dash to ensure there’s no dust, and grab two bottles of ice-cold water. I’m ready. It’s time to go. I glance at my phone’s clock. Two minutes until meeting time. It’s swelteringly hot and I don’t want my makeup to be ruined by sweat, so I start the car to cool off the interior and think about Boone. Offlimits, totally-a-bad-idea Boone who my sister would be truly pissed to find out that I’m going to go ahead and take the commission from anyhow.

She thinks I should play it completely safe and aboveboard as a realtor . . . but I also don’t think she realizes just how desperate our financial situation is. That’s my own fault, too; I’ve shielded her from everything upsetting because I want her to have the easy, carefree college experience that I never did. So I’m going to take Boone’s money. And his business. And his flirting. I’m not going to let it go anywhere, but I’ll play along. That won’t be too hard, seeing as how I’m weirdly attracted to the guy. Actually, maybe it’s not so weird. He’s blue collar, and I am, too, though I’m trying desperately to change to white collar. He says and does what he wants, and those are traits I admire, given that I rarely get to do either. Is he a little rough around the edges? Yeah. Okay, he’s a lot rough around the edges. He’s also unshaven and his hair is long and shaggy. He wears T-shirts that—if clean—have holes at the

collar and look like they’ve seen better days. He likes trucker caps instead of business suits. But he’s also got an amazing laugh and a devilishly handsome smile. And big, strong, tanned hands. And— Someone raps on my car window, right at eye level. I jump, then look over to see Boone in a white, paint-splattered T-shirt, jeans, and his favorite trucker cap. He grins at me through the wild bristle of his beard. I roll down the power window a few inches. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you over the air conditioner.” He squints up at the cloudless sky. “Yeah, it’s a hot one. You ready to go?” “I’ll drive,” I tell him, indicating my passenger seat. “You’re my guest today. Hop in.” Boone gets into the car with me and a moment later, he waves a bottle of champagne under my nose. “Brought us refreshments.”

I look over at him, surprised. “I can’t drink while driving. That’s all you, I’m afraid.” He shrugs and tosses the corked bottle into the backseat of the car. “I ain’t much for the fizzy shit. Bought it to impress you.” “Or get me drunk?” I can’t help but tease as I pull out of the parking lot and into the busy downtown streets. Boone snorts. “Why? I like my women responsive and willing.” “And do you generally have a lot of women?” Shit, why did I have to go and ask that? Am I stupid? I must be stupid. I don’t care. I really don’t. Really. Of course, my brain’s not buying that any more than my racing heart is. “Nope,” he says slowly. “It’s mostly business for me. Haven’t dated anyone in years.” “Not even with all your billions?” I tease. “’Specially not after that. Too much work to do and not enough hours in the day to do it.” “Huh.” “What, huh? What’s that mean?”

I shake my head and ease the car onto the entrance ramp of the highway. “Just surprised that you aren’t much of a ladies’ man, given how hard you’ve been hitting on me.” “That’s because I finally found what I really want and I don’t plan on letting it get away from me.” There’s a teasing note in his voice to take the seriousness out of the statement, but it still gives me shivers. Weird that I’m glad to hear that he’s not a player. Even though he comes across as a blowhard playboy, knowing that it’s just for me? That makes it all the more flattering and that much harder to resist. “I’m still not sure why you want me when you can have anyone.” “You know why.” “Because I’m classy?” “That, and those legs that you’re showing off under your skirt. And the way you blush when I flirt with you. And the way you’re real polite to everyone even when they treat you like shit. I like everything about you, Ivy.”

It takes me a moment to unpack what he’s telling me. When did someone treat me like shit in front of him? And how did he notice that I wore my shortest skirt just to show off my legs? I’m sitting down. Or is he guessing that I’d wear something a little business-but-flirty to meet with him? I shift in my seat a little, uncomfortable at being confronted but also a little breathless. “This is just business between us.” “All right, we’ll go with that idea for now.” He sounds amused again. Weirdly enough, that’s another thing I like about Boone. It’s like no matter how hard I push, he knows it’s mostly shyness and not disinterest. He’s not scared off in the slightest by my standoffishness. I tell myself I should be more firm, to put him firmly in the role of client. But I can’t seem to do it. Can’t seem to want to do it, either. The ride down the highway is pleasant, and we leave the bustle of San Antonio and head north into much flatter, open territory. There’s not a lot of

houses out this way, and I personally view that as a plus. It’s a little more remote here, a little more private. We talk about easy, small things, occasionally interrupted by the electronic voice of the map program telling me which exit to take. When we get to front entrance of the mansion, I put the car in park and roll down the window to type the code in at the gate. I’m nervous, because up close, the gate looks a little rusty instead of clean, and some of the bushes lining the long fence that wraps around the property are overgrown. The gate creaks open a moment later and then I drive us up the winding driveway to park in front of the house. “We’re here,” I announce in my sunniest voice and turn off the car. “What do you think so far?” Boone looks over at me, one dark eyebrow going up. “You want me to be polite or you want the truth?” “The truth, of course. We’re looking at this house for you.”

He gazes back up at the house and I try to see it how he might. There’s a few patchy spots on the shingled roof, the landscaping is ragged and overgrown, and there’s a fountain in the courtyard that looks a little greenish. “I think if I’m trying to make someone buy my house for a few million, I’d make it look better.” I nod, because I’m in total agreement. “Sometimes the photos are slightly altered to make the house look better. That might be the case here. Do you still want to go in and look around?” “And spend time with you? Of course.” His gaze is intense as he watches me. “I’ve got you for the whole afternoon, don’t I?” A little shiver ripples through me. “You do.” “Well, then I plan on taking advantage of that.” We go up the steps to the house and the double doors have a lockbox just below the doorknobs. I type in the code and pull the key out, then unlock the door. Cool air rushes over my skin as the door opens, and I turn to look at Boone. “Clients first.” “Age before beauty, you mean?”

I chuckle. “Whatever gets you in the door, you stubborn man.” He grins at me, and it’s clear he’s enjoying our banter. I am, too. Boone saunters in, admiring the foyer. The place is completely empty of furniture. They haven’t even staged the place, which surprises me. The rooms echo and there’s a fine layer of dust on the floors, which tells me the owners haven’t been living here for at least a month. The tile below my feet is expensive, if a little dated. There’s a staircase with an out-of-style bannister and ugly beige carpet on the steps. “This is a nice, spacious room,” I tell him, deciding to focus on the positive. “Very open-feeling.” “Mmm.” He glances around, and then up. “I like the antlers.” Antlers? I look up, and sure enough, there is a gaudy, antlered chandelier over the main entry-hall light. I can’t help the horrified giggle that escapes me. “You like that?”

“Yeah, it’s real nice. I might do something like that when I get my place. Antlers in every room. Hang some deer heads on the walls and I got myself a real nice place.” The idea’s so horrific to me—and so at odds with his need for “class”—that an awful little giggle escapes my throat. I try to smother my laugh but it ends up as a snort, which just makes everything worse. His eyes widen and he looks over at me. “What?” “Nothing,” I mumble, then press my fingers to my lips, trying to stifle more laughter. That slow, dazzlingly sexy smile curves his mouth and I start to feel weak in the knees. “Lemme guess. Antler chandelier isn’t classy?” I give my head a little shake and another snorted giggle erupts. “What about deer heads?” My shoulders start to shake with the force of holding back my laughter.

“Moose? I got myself an elk, too. I got about thirty trophies, actually. Could hang ’em all in one room and they could all look at each other.” He gestures at the entryway. “Maybe throw down some animal-skin rugs.” Now he’s just messing with me. I can’t stop laughing, though. It snorts out of me in the most awful, piglike way, and I can’t seem to hold it in. “That . . . sounds . . . terrible,” I gasp between giggles. “You don’t want a buncha dead animals giving you the eye when you walk in? Come on.” The look on his face is pleased, as if he likes making me laugh. “Beats boring old wallpaper.” I just keep laughing, and have to hold on to his arm for support. The dusty floor is slick and my shoes are in danger of skidding, and I can’t concentrate with all the laughter pouring out of me. Boone likes my nearness, though. He pulls my hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm and then places his other hand over it, like we’re a couple.

“Shall I show you the rest of the palace, my lady?” he teases. “I’m the realtor here. I should be showing it to you.” He raises a dark brow at me and leans in. “Ivy, darlin’, I think we both know just by looking at this that I’m not giving them a dollar, much less two point five million of them.” And I start giggling again, because it’s so horrible. He’s so right. This place is awful. Dated, ugly, and overpriced. “Let’s go into the main living area, shall we?” he says grandly, and we move forward. There’s ugly beige carpeting in every room, but that’s truly cosmetic. The ceilings are high and there’s a hairline crack or two that was photoshopped out in the pictures but I feel the need to point out. The kitchen has nice appliances, but they’re all at least ten years old. The pretty tile is cracked in several places. The wine cellar has broken racks and looks cheap in person. The immense swimming pool in the backyard needs to

be regrouted, replastered, and the tile back there is cracked as well. I feel obligated to disclose this information to Boone as we go along, because they’re minor fixes. If he likes the house, we can fix it up and make it like new again— And then I catch myself, because I’m acting like it’s going to be our house together. Which is crazy. We check out the upstairs, and it’s spacious but equally dated. The view is nice, and I make sure to point that out. Boone’s been rather quiet as we look around, and that worries me. Is he having second thoughts about me? And the house? I mean, it’s clear the house isn’t great, but it’s also just the first one I’ve shown him. There are plenty of other houses out there. I worry about all of this as he turns to me as we leave the master bathroom. It’s one of the nicest rooms in the house, with travertine tile and a raineffect shower. It’s also a good note to end on. “So what do you think? I know it’s big and spacious, but it also needs updating. Your thoughts?” “You like it?” Boone asks.

“Me?” He gives me another toe-curling smile. “Yeah. You.” “As a realtor?” “I was thinking more like as my woman. But sure, let’s say that. Realtor.” I can feel a blush heating my cheeks, which seems to happen a lot when I’m around Boone. He makes me flustered. “I think it needs updating, but the bones are good. You could sink some money into this place and it could be really lovely.” He’s watching me intensely, and his hand is still covering mine, and for some reason that makes me exceptionally nervous. I slide out of his grip and pretend to be considering the house again, walking into the next room. “As your realtor, I’d say we could knock the price down a decent chunk in lieu of updates that need to be made, but none of that matters if you don’t like the place or if it doesn’t fit your vision.” “I have one vision,” he drawls. “You know what it is.”

And I suspect it points back to me. I say nothing, continuing down the stairs. I’m trying to judge this house, I really am, but I’m distracted by his presence. I can feel that he’s waiting for me to say something. Anything. To give the house my vote or to veto it. Like it’s going to be my house and not his. I realize again just how serious he is about wanting me. He wants me to like this place as much as he does, because he wants me here with him. Goosebumps and adrenaline rush through me, and I feel breathless. I’m silent as I continue out to the car, my keys in hand. What can I say? If I said yes, I have no doubt that this man would fork out millions of dollars to buy this house, just because I indicated that it met with my approval. I could get a commission in no time. A big one. All I have to do is say yes. “You ain’t talkin’,” he murmurs before I can put my hand on the handle of the door, and I realize he’s standing closer to me than I thought.

I turn around and he’s so near that my breasts practically brush against his chest. Then, I swallow a whimper, because his nearness sends a bolt of electricity through me. Tension crackles between us, thicker and hotter than the sultry Texas air. I feel like I can’t make eye contact, so I stare at his shirt, and notice that I can see muscles bulging underneath the thin T-shirt fabric. Oh, mercy, that’s not any safer to look at. I’m trapped by his nearness, his virility, his sex appeal. He leans one hand against the car, right next to my arm. “You’re really bad at answering when I have questions for you, Ivy.” His voice is low and husky and he leans in even closer. “Did you like the house? Should I buy it for you?” My gaze flicks to his mouth. His lips are such a contrast against that bushy beard, and I wonder what it’d feel like to kiss him. I’m breathing hard, my skin damp with sweat. “Ivy?” he asks again. “I’m thinking,” I stammer.

He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead, the stray “sexy” one I left loose and then tucked back into my bun at the last minute. I knew that rogue strand was a bad idea, because now he’s touching me and I want it . . . and him. Oh god, I really want him. But he wants an elegant girlfriend and that’s not who I really am. “You still not sure about my intentions?” Boone asks. “Because I thought I’ve been pretty clear about what I want, all along.” Me. He wants me. I blink and gaze at his full mouth, then back up to his eyes. “I’m a little worried.” “About?” I feel like I’m about to become unraveled. It’s maddening, this intense attraction between us. He’s so close that he’s making my nerves go haywire. “That there’s too much business involved in between us. That my attraction to you is based purely on your wallet.” Boone laughs and leans a bit closer, his mouth nearing mine. “Only one way to find out.”

Oh god, he’s going to kiss me. He inches in, his gaze flicking back to mine as if waiting to see how I react. Suddenly, it feels like it’s taking too long. Impulsive, I grab the front of his shirt with one hand and pull his mouth to my own. Our lips clash, hard and fierce, and I practically orgasm right then and there. Boone groans and presses his chest against mine. I’m pinned against the car, clutching the keys in my hand, my other knotted in his clothing. His wild beard feels prickly and thick, but his lips feel somehow firm and like velvet against my own mouth. The contrast makes me even crazier, and I bite at his lower lip, obsessed with this man. His breathing grows harsh and his hand grabs at my bun, and I don’t know if he’s holding me close or trying to free my hair. All rational thought has gone out the window. I hike my leg up, rubbing my thigh against his denimclad one, even as he snags my mouth and begins to kiss me again. His mouth is open, hot, and seeking, and when his tongue thrusts into my mouth, I feel it

between my thighs. I let the car keys drop, and wrap my arms around his neck, sucking on his tongue as he fucks my mouth with it. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything, ever. He’s consuming my senses, until there’s nothing but heat and sweat between us, bodies pressed together. It’s still not enough. I moan into his mouth and rub my breasts against his chest, desperate for more. I want him to pinch my nipples. I want his hand between my thighs. I want to feel everything he has to give me. “Good god, baby. You are hot as sin.” His hand slides to my ass and grips it, hard, and I moan against his mouth because it feels amazing. “I need this. Need you.” His mouth claims me again in a demanding kiss. “Need to claim what’s mine.” “Boone,” I whisper, utterly lost in him. I’ve never felt this maddeningly wild about another man. Ever. My few dating experiences didn’t even come close to this. He pulls me forward, and I gasp, clinging to him. He opens the back door of the car and then

steps forward. “Lie back, baby. I need to taste you.” “T-taste me?” I stammer. “All of you,” he agrees, voice heated. “I’m going to put my mouth on that sweet pussy of yours and lick it until you cream on my tongue.” It’s a good thing he’s holding me, because my legs suddenly can’t seem to support my weight. Dazed, I sit down on the edge of the seat and glance around. We’re in the driveway of this house —” “It’s abandoned,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of me, and his movements are slow and assured . . . and dangerous. Like a predator. His hands go to my thighs, and then he pushes them apart, my short skirt hiking up. “Ain’t nobody here but you and me, darlin’.” He’s right. Part of me thinks that I should protest. Put a stop to this. Tell him that we need to keep things professional. Instead, I watch as he runs his face along the inside of my knee, rubbing his beard over my

sensitive skin. My entire body prickles in response. He looks up at me a moment later, and there’s raw need in his eyes. “Lie back for me, Ivy.” I should say no. I should sell him this house and just walk away. Instead, I moan and lie back, my thighs quivering in anticipation. “Your skin’s so fuckin’ soft,” he murmurs, and I feel him kiss my knee again. I close my eyes and press a hand to my forehead, because it feels like that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from coming out of my own skin. I’m a bundle of nerves—part excitement and part skittishness. His mouth on my knee? That’s the furthest I’ve ever gone. I can’t stop thinking about where his mouth is going to go next. Boone’s hands go up my skirt, and I feel him tug on my panties. I freeze, because I can’t remember if I’m wearing sexy panties or if they’re granny panties. Now’s a hell of a time to be wondering. “Boone . . .”

“Shh. I’m just taking myself a souvenir.” That makes me prop up on my elbows to look at him. “You can’t take my panties as a souvenir!” He arches an eyebrow at me even as he slides the underwear in question down my legs. “Can’t I?” “They’re mine,” I protest weakly, watching even as he lifts them to his face and rubs the fabric over his mouth, then tucks it into his pocket. That was the most . . . insane and erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Dear lord. I stare as he turns back toward me with a predatory look in his eye. His hands move back up my skirt again, and he grabs my hips and then hauls me down the seat toward him. “Put those pretty feet over my shoulders, Ivy, and I’ll lick you until you scream.” Oh god. Oh, god. I’m trembling with nervousness and need. There’s a naughty edge to all of this, because we’re in the driveway of someone else’s house. Granted, the house is abandoned and there’s a gate,

but we’re still outside. In the open. Everything about that screams that we shouldn’t be doing this . . . which is probably why it feels so wicked. And yet, I can’t find the courage to do as he says. I’m paralyzed. Boone seems to realize this, because he takes one of my thighs and casually drapes it over his shoulder. Like it’s no big deal. His eyes meet mine for a brief, electric moment, and then he gives me one of those gorgeously cocky smiles . . . and dives under my skirt. All I can see is the tangle of his hair and then his mouth is on me. And then it’s hard to think about . . . anything. I can feel the tickle of his beard on the inside of my thighs. I can feel his mouth brushing over the curls of my pussy and then I feel the drag of his tongue as he licks the entire length of my folds. I gasp, but he’s not done. In the next moment his tongue sweeps deeper and then I feel him press it against my core. It feels . . . shocking. And intensely amazing.

A whimper escapes my throat, and I have to fight the urge to raise my hips. When he pushes his tongue against that spot again, I feel this intense need to be filled, my insides aching and hollow. “Knew you’d taste this fucking sweet,” he murmurs, and he shrugs my other leg over his other shoulder, and now I’m practically straddling his face. “Been waiting forever to taste you.” “We just met,” I stammer, even as he gives me another lick that sends shudders through my body. Ooooh. He shoots me a scorching look over my skirt. “And every moment I’ve had to wait to put my mouth on you has been a thousand years. So I’m gonna savor this right now.” His hand flattens on my hip and he drops his head again, and I feel his lips brush over my clit. A little cry escapes. That feels so incredible. His lips feel soft and yet firm as he sucks gently at my clit, and I can’t help but undulate against him as he does that. The breath is hissing from my lungs each time he licks or sucks at my flesh, until I’m

practically riding his face, and intense tension is ratcheting up through my body. I’m going to scream. I’m going to explode. I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces and no one will ever be able to put me back together again. Instead, I come, and come hard and wet, all over his tongue. I’m a little shocked at how intensely my body has reacted, because this is the first time I’ve ever, well, had a liquid rush. But this has also been my most intense sexual experience to date . . . And it’s still going. He hasn’t let up, even though I’m quivering with rolling wave after rolling wave of orgasm. “Boone,” I gasp, and my hand goes to his hair, to try and pull his head up and away from my thighs so I can catch a break. He’s not stopping, though. That beard’s rubbing all over my most sensitive parts and his tongue and lips won’t stop working my clit over. I yank on his hair to try and pull him up, but in the next moment, I knot my fingers in his thick mane and hold him

against my pussy because I’m coming hard and fast again, choking his name out as I do. This time, as I gasp for air, he eases up slowly, giving me one last possessive lick before raising his head. His lips and his beard are wet from my juices, and as I watch, he rubs a hand over his mouth like a savage. “Mine, Ivy,” he growls. “That pussy’s all fucking mine. You hear me?” All I can do is gasp for breath and gaze up at him, utterly spent.

Chapter Seven

Boone Ivy’s flustered and silent on the way back to her office, but I’m feeling smug. I’ve still got the sweet taste of her on my mouth, and there’s a big wet spot on the backseat that tells me just how hard I made her come. Of course, Ivy’s embarrassed by it, but that’s because she’s a lady. Me? I ain’t no gentleman. Maybe a gentleman wouldn’t have claimed his woman in the driveway of a stranger’s house, but I couldn’t resist her for any longer. The way she looked at me through her lashes? Made me absolutely fucking crazy. Touching her as we went through the house, her small hand on my arm? It felt like heaven and hell

both at once—because she was near, but my mouth wasn’t on her. And now that I’ve tasted her? I’m going to need her, and often. She came hard for me, and so pretty and flushed as she did, too. I made her wetter than the ocean. Ain’t no faking that. I’ll let her be a little shy for now if it makes her more comfortable. I’m claiming her again, though, and soon. I didn’t come, myself. Even though my cock is hard and aching with need for her, I can wait. Ivy’s skittish. She needs me to go a bit slower. She needs a bed for her first time with me so I can take my time and do everything I want to her sweet body. I can jerk off for one more night or two. After that, though, I want her in my bed. I want my hands buried in her hair, my mouth on her tits, my cock in her cunt. That’s what I want. I think that’s what she wants, too; she’s just too shy to admit it. Lucky for her, I ain’t shy.

Ivy parks the car at the curb. She doesn’t turn it off, just smooths her hair like it’s going to somehow get all proper in its bun again. There’s strands escaping everywhere and she’s licked all of her lipstick off. Her mouth is swollen from my kisses and she looks like she’s been well fucked, even if my dick hasn’t been inside her yet. And I like seeing her like that. Makes me all possessive and hungry for her. “You ain’t gonna fix it perfect again,” I tell her. “Everyone’s going to know you’ve been fooling around with me.” Of course, I like that. I like branding her as mine. She shoots me a cool look and then turns her attention back to the rearview mirror. “I think you should pass on that house,” Ivy says after a moment. “You can do much better.” “I know. But if you liked it, I wanted to see it.” She’s got a strand of hair at her nape that’s touching her neck, and I reach out and brush it away. Then, because I like touching her, I drag my finger along her soft skin.

She shivers and a little moan escapes her. Then, she gives herself a little shake, like she’s focusing, and turns to me. “Boone, we can’t do things like that.” “It was a bit of a risk in the driveway, I admit, but I thought it added a fun element to things.” She has the tiniest earlobes, and I can’t resist stroking one of them, too. “Not that part, though it’s definitely on the list of things we shouldn’t have done, either. I mean me and you, together.” She bites her lip and then gives me a sad look. “You’re my client—” “Then I’m firin’ you.” Her eyes go wide and she pales immediately. Her hand presses to her mouth, and her fingers are almost as white as her face. Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say. “I’m kiddin’, darlin’. I ain’t firing you.” She takes a long, slow breath and nods. Damn. I really fucked up just then. I put my hand on the back of her neck and squeeze it, just a little. “Here’s the thing. I want you. I want a house.

I plan on getting both. Does it matter if you’re the one that sells me the house or not?” “It’s not professional—” “Baby, no one can say that you are anything but professional.” A little color returns to her cheeks. “Can we . . . can we keep things private for a bit between us? It’d make me more comfortable.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You mean you wanna hide your dirty roughneck boyfriend from your hoity-toity coworkers?” “No,” she says firmly, and her hand goes to my knee. She gives it a little squeeze that I swear I can feel right in my groin. “It’s because I don’t want them giving me lip for dating a client, and I could get fired.” The look on her face tells me that this is important to her, maybe as important to her as she is to me. Fair enough. “We’ll do it your way for now, then.” She nods slowly. “Since my boss already thinks you are my boyfriend, we just won’t let him know

that I’m also selling you a house. In the meantime, I’ll look for other places we can check out.” “That’s fine with me, but I want you to keep one thing in mind.” I stroke my thumb on her neck, just behind her ear, and love that she shivers from that small touch. “What’s that?” “Don’t pick out a place you think I would like. Pick out a place you would like. Not me. And spare no expense. Let’s not go cheap on this next one.” Her brows go up. “Cheap? That was a twomillion-dollar house.” “Yeah, and it looked like ass. If we have to go twenty million or fifty million, then that’s what we do. My only request is that it look impressive and that it makes you mad wet.” Ivy’s blush tells me that my command probably isn’t far from the truth. “You’re terrible.” “No, I’m bold.” I lean in closer. “I know you said you thought you liked me for my wallet, but we both know that’s a lie.”

“It is?” There’s a fragile note to her voice and her gaze flicks to my mouth, over and over again. I bet she’s all wet for me right now, and the thought makes me salivate. “You like me because I know what I want and I take it. I don’t worry about being nice. I don’t worry about being proper. I don’t give a damn about any of that shit. All I give a damn about is you and making you come on my tongue.” Her lips part and she’s breathing hard now. I wish she wasn’t wearing a jacket, because I’d love to see her little nipples straining against her shirt. I’m tempted to put my hand under her skirt again and finger-fuck her until she comes again, but we’re in front of her office. And while I plan on pushing Ivy past several of her limits, that’s one I don’t think she’d appreciate. “Boone,” she whispers, and I can hear the ache in her voice. “We shouldn’t do this in front of my job.” “I know, baby. That’s the only reason I don’t have your legs over my shoulders again.” At her

sexy little moan, my cock strains against my jeans. They’re tight as fuck at the moment and I’m dying for release. Not right now, though. Time has to be right. She watches me, dazed and breathless, before removing my hand from its possessive clasp on her neck. She’s pulling back. For now, I’ll let her. Ivy smooths a hand over her hair again. “Can I have my panties back now?” “Those are mine. Spoils of war.” Her eyes widen. “You can’t keep them.” “Oh, I plan on jerking off with them tonight while thinking of you.” “Boone!” “Unless you wanna come over to my place and do me the honors.” She hesitates, and hot damn, she’s actually thinking about it. Hot damn. Ivy Smithfield is every wet dream I’ve ever had come to life. I love this fuckin’ woman. “I shouldn’t,” she says after a long moment. “My sister is expecting me home for dinner.”

She lives with her sister? For some reason, I’ve always pictured her in one of those sterileyet-modern apartments filled with three pieces of gray furniture and nothing else. The ones that are too “highbrow” for a guy like me to comprehend why you’d want only three pieces of furniture, and uncomfortable ones to boot. “We could go out, all three of us. I don’t mind if you bring her along to dinner. Family’s important.” After all, she’s gonna be my in-law soon enough. Might as well say hello. But Ivy is silent. Her mouth thins and she gives a small shake of her head. “Tonight’s not a good night.” “Tomorrow, then?” No answer. Ivy starts rummaging through her purse and pulls out a small bottle of hairspray, determined to fix the loose strands of her hair. I watch her, curious. She’s shutting down on me. Now, is it because of her sister or because of something going on tonight? “I got four brothers.

Think I told you that. Enough for a roughneck drilling team.” Her smile is quick, polite, as she glances over at me. “You told me.” “We’re real close. Family’s important.” Her expression goes soft. “It is.” “Your sister older? Younger?” Ivy’s gaze flicks to the rearview mirror and she turns off the car, shoving her hairspray back in her purse. “I should go, Boone.” “All right,” I drawl. She’s skittish over family. Huh. I’m gonna have to get that out of her, but some other time. I suspect she might be more vulnerable with my mouth on her pussy again. That’s something I look forward to—breaking down her walls, one slow lick at a time. “Might wanna get your car cleaned before you bring your next client in.” I nod my head at the wet spot on the backseat. “Though I have to say, I think it smells delicious.” Her cheeks flare red as she gets out of the car. ***

Later that night, Ivy texts me links to three different houses, asking me to pick one or two that I like the most so we can check them out later this week. She won’t tell me which one appeals to her, so I pick the most expensive. She immediately texts me back and tells me she’s picking a different house for us to see, because it has a ten-car garage and that might be more appealing to me. And I grin to myself like a loon, mostly because even though I told her to pick out what she wants, she’s still got me on her mind. I like that. I want to eat up her thoughts like I ate her sweet little pussy earlier today. My brother Clay’s hanging out over at my trailer tonight, and we’re playing a co-op shooter on the PS4 together. Well, sort of. My mind’s mostly on Ivy and I’m a fucking shit partner, to the point that Clay’s starting to toss me disgusted looks and check his watch. That works for me. The sooner he leaves, the sooner I can jerk off to Ivy’s panties.

Maybe I’ll call her as I do. Maybe I’ll actually show her how to do a video chat on her phone and let her watch me doing it. Wouldn’t that scorch her sweet little cheeks— “Aw, fuck, you just died again, Boone. Where’s your fucking brain, man?” Clay throws down his control in disgust and looks at me like I’m a turd under his shoe. “Seriously, you ran right into that pack of mercs. No fucking strategy at all.” I shrug and toss my controller aside, too. “Ain’t in the mood for playing, I s’pose.” “Let me guess. Ivy?” I rub my jaw, my beard prickling my hand. Sometimes when I rub it, I imagine it still smells like her honey, and that makes me all hard again. I drop my hand because I don’t want my brother to notice I’ve got a boner, and grab a couch cushion, tossing it on my lap. “Saw her today, yeah.” “You get some of that yet?” I shoot him a glare as he gets up, crossing the trailer to get a beer. “Ain’t any of your damn

business. She’s mine and that’s all you got to worry about.” “That ain’t a no,” Clay says, pulling a Corona out of my beat-up fridge. “You want a drink?” “No. You want to leave?” He gives me a strange look. “What’s eating your ass?” I scratch at my hat, then shrug. “She blew me off. I invited her and her sister to dinner and she acted like I’d just insulted her mom or something. Shut me down lickety-split, and that’s after we got all personal-like.” “Huh. Her sister cute?” I scowl at him. “Can we focus on me here?” “I s’pose.” He uses the edge of his shirt to twist the lid off the Corona and then takes a long gulp. Then, he adds, “Maybe her sister’s a bigger snob than she is?” “She ain’t a snob,” I tell him. “She’s just elegant.” But then I think about the part where she asked me not to point out to her coworkers that we were dating, and my gut gets all clenched. Course,

she told the one guy that I was her boyfriend, so I’m all fucking confused. There’s mixed signals everywhere. “Then maybe there’s something wrong with her sister,” Clay says. “Maybe she’s one of them kooks that doesn’t shave her pits and wears fucking leaves and shit. Like that one in the movie that lived in a tree.” “That don’t sound likely.” I think of Ivy, with her delicate mannerisms. She don’t seem like the type to have a crunchy granola sister . . . I think. “Hell, I don’t know.” “Hire an investigator.” I look over at Clay like he’s crazy, because that’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. “Do what?” “You got money now,” he says, then gestures at my old, beat-up trailer. “Not that you can tell from this place. Maybe you throw a few dollars down and get some Sherlock-style asshole to go stalk your girl and find out all the juicy details about her.” He swigs his beer again and then points at me

as an idea occurs to him. “Maybe she’s got a husband—” “Oh, fuck off. She ain’t got a husband, and I ain’t gonna have anyone spy on her for money.” That is some straight-up shady dumbassery if I’ve ever heard it. “Finish your beer and get outta here.” His eyes gleam with amusement. “Why? You gonna call your classy pussy and tell her to stop hanging out with her boyfriend and get herself a real man—” I throw the cushion at my brother and nail him right in the head. “Out, dickbag.” Clay just laughs like this is the funniest thing ever. “Ain’t like you to be all mopey over a girl, Boone. Wait until the others hear about this.” “So go tell ’em. Just get out of my face.” Tired of hearing this shit already, and I suspect that by the time Clay gossips to Gage, Knox, and Seth, I’ll have all four of those jackasses in my face. “Give a man peace and quiet already.”

“You sure are testy when you aren’t getting laid,” Clay comments, and then races out the door of the trailer before I can throw something else at him. My brother hoots and hollers, laughing into the night as he heads down the road to his own trailer. Dumbass. He ain’t wrong, though. My mood’s all tore up and it’s all thanks to Ivy. I keep telling myself I ain’t worried about the sister thing, but I don’t like how closed-up she got. There’s something she’s hiding, and I worry it’s me. I know I’m not good enough for her . . . I just don’t want that to stop me from getting my woman. It’s only been a few days but I already need Ivy like I need air. My body needs her, too. I get up and lock the front door of my trailer just in case Clay—or any of my other brothers— has any bright ideas, and head off to my bedroom. There’s a tiny wad of fabric in my pocket that’s burning a hole in my brain and I need to take it in hand . . . among other things.

I shut the door and fling myself down on my bed. My entire body aches at the thought of Ivy, and I stare up at the popcorn ceiling in my trailer. I hope she ain’t using me to get to my money. Not that it matters, I suppose, because I’d give her some either way. I’ve got enough to buy whatever she wants. But I like the thought of Ivy being turned on by me and not just my wallet. That I ain’t so stomachturning that she can’t introduce me to her sister or anyone else in her family. I’m willing to let shit slide for now . . . but once that house is sold? I want in to all aspects of her life. No holds barred. Nothing held back. Ivy Smithfield will be all mine. I pull out the panties and admire them for a moment. They’re a plain white pair, cotton, I think. It’s fucking adorable as hell that she wore regular ol’ panties out to meet with me. No thongs or silky things for Ivy, which meant she wasn’t anticipating me going down on her. I like that. It tells me she’s not as calculating as Clay thinks. I hold the fabric

up to my face and rub it across my mouth, inhaling her scent. My other hand works on my belt, freeing my jeans, and then my zipper’s down and I’ve got my cock in hand. It’s hard as fuck and aching for release, but something about this doesn’t feel . . . right. It’s not my hand I want, it’s her. It’s Ivy. My need for her hasn’t lessened an iota since making her come. Just because I could walk away from her doesn’t mean that I’m not raging out of control. I hold her panties to my face and inhale deeply again, stroking my cock with quick, angry jerks. I can take the edge off, but it won’t be enough. I know that already. I need her. I want her. I take the panties and wrap them around my cock, using the scrap of cotton to get myself off. It doesn’t take long, and then I explode, my cum splattering on my clothes and my hand. I lie in bed for a moment, trying to catch my breath. And then I’m just irritated with myself.

That was the saddest fucking thing ever. I wish it had been Ivy’s hand on my cock. Her mouth brushing over my skin, her fingers curling around my dick. Funny how I’ve just come and yet it didn’t do a thing for me. I still feel that gnawing hunger for her, that obsessive need, and I realize it’s not about my pleasure. It’s about hers. I need to see her come. I want her underneath me, her cunt clenched tight around my cock as I bury myself in her. I want to see her tits bounce when I fuck her. I want to see her mouth open in a silent cry when I thrust into her. I want to see her reactions, taste her sweat, lick her honey. I want all of Ivy. It ain’t about me anymore. It’s about her. I get out of bed and clean myself off, then change clothes into a ribbed white tank and a pair of running shorts. I grab my phone, find Ivy’s texts, and send her a note. B P: You awake?

I glance at the time. It’s not too late. Elevenish. I’m wide awake, still surging on the adrenaline from being around her earlier today. Maybe she is, too. Her response dings a moment later, and my heart speeds up like I’m some sort of damn schoolboy. Ivy: I’m here. What’s up? B P: Thinking about you, that’s all. Ivy: Did you find a listing you like and want me to call about seeing? B P: No. I just jerked off on your panties.

Her texts stop. I see the three dots that tell me that she’s typing flash up on the screen, and then they disappear. They flash up again, then vanish once more. She trying to think about what to say to me? That’s cute. I picture her, all adorably flustered, her cheeks red. Amused, I watch the three dots move back and forth, and then finally, she answers. Ivy: Well.

Ivy: I guess I won’t ask if I can have them back. B P: You can if you come get them.

Again, the three dots blink, and then disappear. I laugh aloud, because she’s just too damn cute. I love making her flustered. Ivy: You can keep them. I don’t know that I want them back at this point. B P: That’s a shame. I was just looking for any excuse to see you again. Maybe send me a sexy pic of you? Ivy: A selfie? B P: Yeah. You want me to send you one of me? Ivy: No!! It’ll probably be your junk and then I’m gonna have to explain that to my sister the next time she grabs my phone. B P: That’s cute. I like that you wouldn’t delete it, but save it. ;) Ivy: Ha. B P: I also love how you don’t answer me when you get all shy. You just keep trying to divert me.

Ivy: Did you want to talk about houses, Boone? B P: See, there you go again. I’m trying to get you to come over because I’m thinking about you, and you keep changing the subject. B P: So let me be blunt. B P: I’ve been thinking about you all night. I want you to come over. I want to taste you again.

I wait for those three little dots to start fluttering up on my screen again while she figures out her answer. To my surprise, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. Ivy. Hot damn. I pick up, doing my best to sound all lazy and bored, when all I really want to do is grin with delight. “Hello.” “You’re serious?” Her voice is soft. “You want me to come over?” “I am absolutely serious.” “Why?” “Why?” I repeat, amused. “Why do I want you to come over? Because you’re smoking hot and just fondling your panties ain’t doing enough for me? Because I’ve had the taste of you on my lips all

day and I’m hungry for more? Because I like your smile, and your laugh, and I like that little noise you make when you come even more. Because—” “Okay.” Her voice is so low and breathless that I almost think I’m imagining it. “Okay?” “Yes. I’ll . . . come over.” “I’m not pushin’ ya too hard, am I?” She still sounds a little reluctant to my ears. “Because I only want this if you want me, too. It ain’t any fun otherwise—” “Quit talking, Boone, before I lose my bravado.” Now she just sounds exasperated. I laugh then. She ain’t turned off, she’s just shy. “I’m shuttin’ up.” There’s a breathless little chuckle on her end, and then I hear the sound of rustling. “I’m getting a pen and paper. Give me your address.” I glance around my trailer. “I feel obligated to warn you that this ain’t a palace.” “I know that. That’s why I’m trying to sell you a palace,” she teases.

“I’m serious, Ivy. It’s a trailer. Kinda a shit show of a trailer, to boot. Lots of girls don’t like that sort of thing.” I’ve found that out many a time. Girls are real hot to go back to your place with you until they find out it’s on wheels. Then they find a real quick reason to leave. I gaze around at my place, trying to see it in her eyes. It’s messy, but it ain’t falling down too much. I can straighten up a bit before she arrives and make it suitable for her if she can get past the whole “trailer” part. “I don’t care that it’s a trailer, Boone.” The laughter is gone from her voice. “Do you really think I’m that much of a snob? I happen to—” She hesitates and then sighs. “Actually, never mind. I just want you to know I really don’t care if you’re living in a cardboard box, Boone. We’re getting you a big impressive house just like you wanted, and even if you wanted to stay there, your house doesn’t change who you are.” She’s a real peach, defending my shitty digs. I like this girl more and more every day. “You are real sweet, Ivy. But you know, if I wanted to stay

here, that means you can’t sell me some fancy house—” “Which is why I’m going to come over there before you change your mind.” “Lies,” I drawl. “You just want your pussy licked again.” She makes an outraged sound. Again, she’s fussin’ but she ain’t denying things. I love that I’ve figured her out. I give her my address and she promises to be over shortly. Time to clean up around here and find where I stashed those condoms. Not that it matters too much if I have them or not. Long as I get her off, I’m good.

Chapter Eight

Ivy I can’t believe I’m doing this. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say aloud to the empty car. “Tell me I’m crazy.” It’s silent, of course. Silent, but judging me. My Geo Metro putters down the gravel road toward Boone’s trailer. I thought long and hard about rushing to the office and borrowing one of the Town Cars for tonight, but ultimately opted against it. I can’t afford to lose my job just because I’m horny, and I’d definitely be in trouble if I got caught taking one of the work cars after hours. So I have a story planned—this will be my sister’s car, and mine is in the shop getting the tires rotated. Or something. My false veneer of Elegant Ivy

Smithfield will be retained despite this impromptu makeout session at his place. And really, I shouldn’t be heading over. I absolutely should not. But it’s like I’ve lost all impulse control when it comes to this man. The moment he starts talking dirty to me via text, my hand goes into my panties. And when he suggests I come over? How can I possibly say no? Lucky for me, Wynonna is out with friends and won’t be back tonight. I left a note just in case she comes home early, but it’s almost too easy to do this. Shouldn’t it be harder to have an illicit relationship with a guy? A few roadblocks to at least give me pause? Instead, I’m shucking clothes the moment I hang up the phone and take a quick shower. I shave everything, just in case. Everything. By the time I step out of the shower, my pussy is completely bare and I’m feeling edgy and aroused, because I want to see Boone’s reaction when he notices what I’ve done.

It feels deliciously naughty and utterly scandalous as I slip into a pair of silky panties. They feel completely different now that I’m bare, and I’m getting turned on already. I put on a matching silky bra and decide to wear one of my work suits with my highest pair of heels, since Boone seems to find them sexy. My wet hair goes into a quick updo and then I’m ready. Ready to go sleep with my client. My biggest client. The one that could turn my floundering career around. I inwardly wince because when I put it like that, it sounds so stupid to go and chase after him. Wynonna would think I’m crazy. My bosses would think I’m a slut. But if I don’t go, Boone is going to think I’m being a chicken. For some reason that’s what decides me. Boone’s opinion is important to me, and so I button my suit jacket (with no silk tank top underneath so there’s miles of cleavage) and grab my purse.

Maybe it’s because I’ve given up so much of my life for the last few years for Wynonna that I’m doing this wild, impulsive thing for myself. It can’t be that I’m addicted to a man I just met a few days ago . . . can it? I think for a moment and then grab extra toiletries and my haircutting scissors from the counter and shove them into my purse. I’ve become an expert on trimming both my hair and Wynonna’s because we can’t afford to go to the salon ourselves. I wonder what Boone will look like if that thick mess of hair on his head is trimmed down a little. Not the beard, though. After today? The beard can stay. And I squirm thinking about it tickling my inner thighs again. I expect to be full of anxiety and doubt as I drive over to Boone’s place, my phone shouting out directions that lead me further and further away from the heart of San Antonio and out into the lesscrowded countryside. For some reason, though, I’m not second-guessing myself. I’m into Boone. I’m an adult. If I want to sleep with the man, I

should. I should let him lick every inch of me and not give it a second thought. I’m in my twenties. I shouldn’t be a virgin who does nothing but work and sleep. I should be able to go out and have a good time every now and then. And, okay, if my good time consists of going over to some guy’s trailer so he can kiss my girly bits again? I’m fine with this. I’ll think of this as Netflix and chill . . . minus the Netflix. I’m not surprised that the road out to Boone’s place isn’t paved and turns into dirt and gravel. The road going toward my own trailer is just like this, though this one doesn’t have nearly as many potholes. The trees are thick out here, and I pass a NO TRESPASSING sign that has a bullet hole in one corner. Lovely. Down the road a bit further are a few trailers, though. I count five of them, staggered apart from each other, and I’m a little surprised. Of course, Boone did say he had four brothers. Still, this leaves me with a dilemma as to which one is his place.

I park the car in the middle of the road and pull out my phone. Ivy: You want to tell me which trailer is yours? Or do I just give your brothers an eyeful until I find you?

Someone charges out the door of the trailer in the back, and then gestures at my car. I recognize the trucker cap and the broad shoulders even though his face is shadowed. It must be Boone. I pull the car forward and park in front of the trailer, and then quickly hop out. “Before you can say anything,” I call as I shut the door. “Mine is in the shop. This is Wynonna’s.” He gazes down at the car and then shrugs. “Didn’t really notice.” Didn’t notice? How can he not? The thing putters like it’s a motorboat. The license plate is held on to the trunk with masking tape and there’s no bumper to speak of. It looks like a big outdated egg. “All right.” I shoulder my bag and do my best sexy saunter up the wooden steps of his trailer. He’s silent and

there’s no self-assured smirk on his face like he normally wears, which makes me curious. Is he as full of insecurity at the moment as I am? That’s surprising. It always feels like there’s nothing that rattles Boone. Nothing at all. When I get to the top of the stairs, he opens the screen door and invites me in. I put a hand on his chest before I go inside, because his silence is bothering me. “Are you all right?” He nods, his gaze moving up and down over my body. “Just think you deserve better than hanging out in a trailer, that’s all.” Aw, that’s sweet. I laugh. “You’d be surprised. And it’s fine. Let’s go in.” The interior of the trailer is very bachelor. There’s video games scattered on tables, a Texas flag hanging over one wall that counts as decor, and an enormous television over by the tattered sofa. The carpet is old and has probably seen better days, but given that I’ve seen Boone covered in grime? I’m kind of pleased that his trailer is just

shabby and not a pit. “Can I have a drink?” I ask as I set my purse down on the back of the couch. I’m nervous and it’ll give me something to do with my hands. “Sure,” he drawls, heading to the kitchen. “You want Coors Light, Natty Light, Corona, or the hard shit?” “Um, water?” He looks at me, blank. “Water?” “Like a bottle of water?” Boone rubs his jaw. “Uh . . .” “It’s okay. Whatever you’ve got is fine.” “Well . . . I got Coors Light, Natty Light, Corona, and Jim Beam.” Oh boy. I’m not a drinker, and I’m definitely not a fan of beer. “Coors Light. Thank you.” He nods absently. “I didn’t think this through. Shoulda ordered you some fancy shit. Asking you over was kinda impromptu, though. I couldn’t wait to see you again.” He gives me a sheepish look that’s adorable.

I’m melting. He couldn’t wait to see me? Maybe I’m not the only one that’s addicted. Boone pops the tab on the beer, then holds it out to me. “You want me to order you a pizza and have them bring some drinks while we’re at it?” “No, it’s all right.” I take the beer and give it the world’s smallest sip. “Thank you.” He gets a beer for himself, pops the tab, and takes a few swigs. We’re quiet. It’s strange, because normally Boone is eating up the entire room with his personality. But right now? He seems unsettled. I glance around the trailer. It’s an older model, like mine. “How long have you lived here?” He finishes his beer and grunts a response. “A while. It was my dad’s before he passed.” “Passed?” I ask politely, though I know this is a rocky road to go down. Parents are always a tricky discussion. Trust me, I know. “Yup. Roughnecking. Freak accident. The chainhand fucked up and my dad’s leg got wrapped up in chain instead of it going around the pipe.

Yanked Dad up a good ten feet before his leg got severed, and then he just kinda bled out on the rig.” He crumples the can in his hand and tosses it into the sink. “Company paid us a good chunk to make it go away, and since we were young, stupid kids, we took it. Bought my little brothers trailers of their own so we didn’t all have to squeeze in here anymore.” “I’m so sorry, Boone. How old were you?” He rubs his beard. “Twenty. I was out on a rig myself at the time. Clay, too. Hard to go back to work after that, but we didn’t have a lot of options.” “Out in West Texas?” I ask delicately, holding my beer. Time to steer the conversation toward safer, less unhappy grounds. The last thing I want to do is bring up memories of his dead father before asking him to kiss me. “That’s where most of the rigs are, yeah.” “Should you be looking to purchase a house out there, perhaps?” I’ve been keeping my housing searches confined to the San Antonio and South

Texas general vicinity, but I wonder if he wouldn’t rather live closer to his work. “That’s quite a commute.” “’Bout five hours one way,” he agrees, then shrugs. “And there ain’t much out there ’cept rigs, so I don’t mind living here. I don’t have to be on site every day. I just go in and check on things to make sure they’re running smoothly, or to dowse for a new well.” He studies me for a long moment. “’Sides, there are things I like here.” My heart flutters in my chest. The look he’s giving me makes me feel like he’s mentally stripping all of my clothing off and tossing it aside. “The Riverwalk?” I tease. “The Alamo? Are you a history buff, Boone?” “You know I don’t give a damn about any of that shit,” he tells me. He plucks the beer from my hands—not that I was drinking it—and sets it down, then steps in closer to me. When I don’t move, he reaches out and rubs the backs of his knuckles along my jaw.

“You should,” I whisper, electricity racing through my body at his touch. “Give a damn about that shit, that is. The Alamo’s supposed to be fascinating.” “Then maybe we’ll go sometime. Quit stallin’. You know what I’m interested in.” His thumb grazes my lower lip. I lick the tip of his thumb when it skims my mouth in a flirty, impulsive little motion. “The housing market?” I ask, pretending to be coy. “Something in the housing market, yeah.” His hand slides to the side of my neck and he caresses it, sending shivers through my skin. “You wearing panties?” A little gasp escapes me at his blunt topic change. Count on Boone to stop mincing words and get directly to the heart of things. I feel a flush creeping up my body and I’m aroused and excited at the same time. “I don’t know,” I lie. I picked out my panties just for him. “You going to check for me?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Somehow I think you’d be a little uncomfortable if I just shoved my hand under your skirt.” I laugh. Now he’s getting thoughtful on me? “That’s never stopped you before.” “Yeah, but now I’m about to get laid.” Wild giggles escape me. Just when I think this man is backing down from his heated pursuit, he surprises me again. I love his boldness. It makes me want to be bolder as well. I put a hand on his chest, and can practically feel the heat radiating from his skin. I wonder if he’s hairless or covered in a thick carpet of chest hair? He’s certainly shaggy enough in the face. “So you think you’re about to get laid, do you?” “Well, if I’m not, I’m reading all the signals wrong,” he drawls, leaning in close. It’s as if he’s going to kiss me, but he keeps talking, instead, his lips lickably close. “Signals?” I pretend innocence. “Have I been sending you signals?” “A few.”

“Such as?” I lick my lips because I want him to notice that small action and close the gap between us. I’m hungry for his mouth on mine. “Such as the fuck-me pumps you’re wearing,” he murmurs, so close that his breath skitters over my face. “And the fact that when I lean in, I can see all the way down the front of your suit, right to that lacy bra. You dress like that for all your clients?” “If I did, I’d sell a lot more real estate,” I tell him, and then whisper, “Can you see that my nipples are hard?” He groans and licks his own lips, and I’m hit with a surge of unholy lust. I want this man, bad. I nearly come out of my skin when he leans in closer. Our lips are less than an inch apart, but he still doesn’t kiss me. “Ivy,” he murmurs. “I think I’m going to stick my hand under your skirt anyhow to check on those panties. You won’t panic since I’m warning you, right?” “Warning me . . . or declaring me as your property?” That sexy, husky voice doesn’t even sound like mine, yet it’s coming out of my throat.

I’ve never thought of myself as a vixen before. I’m definitely more of a Betty than a Veronica, and a Mary Ann than a Ginger. But in his eyes? I feel like the most exotic, erotic woman in the world. “Same thing.” His hand moves from my neck to my shoulder, and then he slowly traces one of the lapels on the front of my suit. I remain utterly still, my body tense with anticipation. I can feel myself breathing hard; I want him to touch me. I think I want it more than anything. His hand trails to my skirt, and then he looks at me. Our eyes lock and his expression is that intense, possessive one I’ve seen before, and makes me shudder. Then, he goes under my skirt and cups me between my thighs. I suck in a breath, because that one simple motion is more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. Boone’s eyes go wide and he rubs his fingers over my mound. “You shave?” “I did a little housekeeping,” I say hoarsely.

He moves one finger deliberately against my cleft, outlining it through the silk of my panties. “You think of me while you do it?” I whimper, because he knows I did. How can I not? This man has totally claimed me. “Of course.” “You are the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen,” he tells me, and then his mouth is on mine. It’s an impolite kiss. Some kisses are gentle and hesitant, almost as if they’re asking permission. That’s not how Boone Price kisses, though. His kiss is deliciously savage, his tongue plundering my mouth. It’s like he wants to claim me with every flick of his tongue against mine, every caress of his lips. He kisses the hell out of me even as his finger drags back and forth over my panties. I cling to him, my arms going around his neck. I want to straddle his hand and rock against it, but his mouth and his tongue are leaving me just as dazed as his fingers. It’s complete and utter sensory overload. And I want more of it.

He rubs his mouth over mine again, and his beard drags against my skin. His beard. That reminds me . . . But then he rubs me through the panties again, hard, and I moan into his mouth. My knees go weak and I sag against him, boneless under this onslaught. “Gonna make you come a dozen times,” he rasps, kissing my jaw and then moving to my ear. His beard drags against my sensitive skin and I shudder as he licks my earlobe, the dichotomy of sensations just adding to the feeling of being overwhelmed by him. “And I’m gonna lick up all your juices as I do.” “A dozen?” I breathe. “That seems . . . like overkill.” “I’m a man that likes to do things right.” He sucks on my earlobe, and another wave of pleasure rushes through me. I have no doubt he’ll do things right. Despite his uncouth appearance, he’s been melting me from

the moment we met. I can’t resist him or his demands . . . and I don’t want to. “Can’t believe you shaved this for me,” he murmurs, nipping my ear. His fingers stroke over my bare pussy, and it feels like the panties I’m wearing are nonexistent. “Love how naughty you are under all those prim clothes.” I do feel naughty. He makes me feel that way. I’m swept up in the excitement of his world and I want to show him that I’m not just someone he’s pushing into bed. I want to show him that I’m going there eagerly. “I brought something over,” I tell him, stroking my hand over his beard when he lifts his head. “Something kinky?” He arches an eyebrow. “Not exactly?” I slide out of his grip, but I do notice that his hands smooth down my sides as I move away, and it sends shivers through me. I open my purse and pull out the shaving and grooming kit that I brought and show him the bag. He looks at me, confused. Takes the bag. Unzips it and studies the implements inside. “You

gonna . . . shave my balls? Really?” “What? No!” A horrified laugh escapes me. Boone chuckles and re-zips the bag. “Well, you came over here all shaved and pretty for me. Was wondering if you had some sort of bare-skin fetish I wasn’t aware of.” I’m a virgin. I don’t know that I have any fetishes . . . yet. But I don’t point that out. “It’s a trimming and hair clipping kit. I thought maybe we could do a little something with your beard—” The look on his face grows shuttered. “You want to shave my face? What’s the matter? I ain’t pretty enough for you?” I’m a little taken aback at how offended he is. “Not at all—” “But I’m just not good enough looking for you to show around to your friends?” His body is stiff with anger. “Are you fucking serious, Ivy?” Where is he getting this? “That’s not what I said —” “You didn’t have to. I know where this is going and—”

“Will you let me finish?” I snap at him. “Before you go apeshit over some perceived insult?” His brows go up, but he’s silent. I hold the kit against my chest. “I’m sorry about the cussword.” “I’m just kinda impressed that you didn’t back down.” A reluctant smile curves his mouth. “But fine, finish insulting me.” I roll my eyes. “What I was trying to say is that I like your beard and I find it sexy. And I was wondering if I could trim it or condition it for you so it’s less flyaway and looks even more sexy. If you don’t want to change a thing, I don’t care. But I’m a girl and we like grooming things.” I give him a prim look. “And that includes boyfriends.” The spark returns to his eyes and I can see the tension slide away from him. “So you’re doing it because you want me more sexy for you?” “I’m selfish like that.” He rubs at his jaw thoughtfully. “And it ain’t an attempt to change me because you’re embarrassed of me?”

“Not at all.” “Then let me meet your sister.” I freeze. That’s the one thing that cannot happen. Not only will Wynonna let it slip about our financial situation or our background, but she’ll throw a fit that I’m seeing Boone in the first place. “That’s going to have to wait until after I sell you the house, because my sister does not approve of me dating a client. Since I don’t plan on giving you or the commission up, it’ll be a few weeks.” He gives me a skeptical look. “But you swear you ain’t hidin’ me.” “I swear I’m not.” I think for a moment, then decide to sweeten the pot to push him over the edge. “But if you need convincing, I’ll give you an IOU for a blow job in exchange for letting me play barbershop.” The look in Boone’s eyes goes hot again. “An IOU for a blow job,” he repeats. “Yes. You can name the time or place.” Look at me, so clever. I’m making it sound like this is something I’d do for him, when in reality, I’ve

been thinking about what it’d feel like to explore him like he did me. I’ve never given a blow job before, but I’m dying to try out my skills on him. I mean, if he turns me down, I’m still going to give the man a blow job. There’s no question about that. I’m licking my lips just thinking about how he’ll taste and feel. He’s made me into a ravenous woman. He makes me want to be a bit more naughty and bold. “So you wanna fuss with my beard, and if I let you, I get a blow job?” He gives me a skeptical look. “This don’t exactly sound fair to you, baby girl.” “It’s fair because we’re doing the shaving for my pleasure. Seems only fair that I return the favor and give you pleasure.” “Man can’t argue with that.” His gaze rakes over me. “But I want you to be naked while you fuss with my hair.” Heat jolts between my thighs at the mental image. “You do?” He nods slowly.

“A—all right.” I want to squirm with just how aroused I am. I’m mentally picturing leaning over him, my nipples brushing against his back, his arm. Him casually fingering my pussy as I cut his hair . . . God, this should not seem as erotic as it does. But I’m practically beside myself with need at the thought. “I’ll cut your hair naked.” “Hair, too?” “Well, that seems fair, don’t you think? I’m doing a lot of giving here.” And I wiggle my eyebrows at him. He snorts and pulls his cap off, then rubs his hand through his hair. “Long as I don’t get a stupid haircut, I don’t care what you do with it.” “It won’t be stupid,” I breathe, excited. My nipples are hard under my jacket, and it’s like he just went down on me again, not just promised to let me cut his hair. Calm down, silly nipples. “No weird haircuts, I promise. I’m just going to trim it.” He nods slowly. “If you want.” I smile. “Then show me your bathroom. I’ll strip down for you, and we can get started.”

Boone extends his hand to me and I melt a little. He’s going to hold my hand while giving me a tour of his place? That’s so sweet and oddly gentlemanly. I tuck the kit under my arm and put my hand in his, following close behind as he leads me through the trailer. He opens a door down the hall . . . and stops. Sighs. “What is it?” I ask, though I’m a little worried. Guys can have gross bathrooms. I peek around his shoulder, unable to help myself, and I’m puzzled at his dismay. It’s a bathroom. It’s clean, with a few bottles on the small sink, but it’s tidy. “This ain’t right,” he tells me. “Why isn’t it right?” He glances over at me and I can feel him squeeze my hand. “Because here I am, inviting you over for a night of no-holds-barred sex, and I made you drive over to my trailer. And then there’s this.” He gestures at the tiny bathroom. “What’s wrong with it? It looks clean.” “You deserve better.”

I fidget, feeling uncomfortable. Does he not realize my place could be a twin to his? I wish that I could tell him that I didn’t care. But he wants an elegant girlfriend. One that knows her way around society and how to impress people. One that can sell him a big fancy house because she knows about fancy things. And if that changes, I might lose him. I . . . don’t want that to happen. Not yet. So I say nothing. Boone frowns at his bathroom a moment longer, and then gazes down the hallway of his trailer. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that it doesn’t matter. Maybe I can tell him a friend of mine lives in a trailer and it’s no big deal. But before I can come up with a story that will make him feel better, he tugs me down the hall after him, and we’re heading back toward the living room. “Where are we going?” I ask. “I have an idea. Get your purse.” He releases my hand and grabs his car keys from the kitchen counter.

I move to the couch and pick it up, tucking the shaving kit back inside it. I’m a little confused by what’s going on. “Are we leaving?” He nods slowly, giving me another heated look that makes my toes curl in my shoes. “Since I don’t have the big house yet, I’m gonna take you to a nice, fancy hotel and we’re gonna do this right.” “I don’t need a hotel,” I protest. “Really. This is fine, Boone.” “It’s not fine. You’re classy and deserve better than this.” He gestures at his trailer with a shake of his head. “Ain’t right for you.” Isn’t it? I feel a stab of guilt at keeping my secret. It’s making me uneasy, because he’s so focused on how “classy” I am (a word I’m starting to hate) that I wonder how he’s going to act when he finds out I’m not anything like his picture of me. “Maybe we should just call this off, Boone. I don’t know—” “No,” he says quickly, moving across the trailer to my side. Then, he’s looming over me, his largerthan-life presence eating up all the oxygen around

me as he cups my cheek. “I want this. I want you, Ivy. You have no idea how bad I want this.” A small smile returns to my face. “Don’t I? You tell me all the time.” “Well, if you know how badly I want you, you should know that I want this to be right for you. It ain’t sitting right for me that the first time I fuck you is gonna be in some lousy, run-down trailer. You deserve the fancy sheets, the nice bed, the lobster tail, the works.” “Oh, so now we’re going out to dinner?” I tease, and then gesture at my very low neckline, where my breasts are practically escaping my suit jacket. “I’m not exactly dressed for that.” “We’ll get room service. Whatever you want. I just want to do this right.” I shake my head. “However we do it is right. I promise you, I don’t need all that—” He silences my protest with a hard, fierce kiss that leaves me dazed. When he lifts his mouth from mine, he nips at my lip one last time before saying, “This is how it’s gonna be.”

And what can I do but agree? “All right.” Boone looks thoughtful. “How much does a fancy hotel suite cost a night?” “Oh, I’m not sure.” Mostly because I’ve never stayed in one. Time to lie, again. “The last time I stayed in one it was about five hundred a night.” God, I’m such a terrible liar. He’s going to see right through me and wonder. But Boone only nods slowly. “All right, I don’t have that much cash on me. I gotta get it out of my savings. Come on.” I follow him out onto the porch, but I’m bewildered when he skips heading to his truck and instead pulls a blue tarp off of what looks like a four-wheeler. He holds a helmet out to me, indicating I should join him. “What are we doing?” “Going to pull money out of my savings?” “I . . . thought we were going to a bank for that?” He snorts. “Like I trust a bank.” “Shouldn’t you? You’re a billionaire.”

He puts the helmet over my head and then puts one on himself. “I keep most of the big money in the company and don’t have access to it. Mostly because I can’t dig enough holes to squirrel it all away. My personal money’s here on the land.” Squirrel away? I’m suddenly envisioning Boone showing up for closing on his house with a freshly dug-up gold bar or three. “I’m not following you.” “I got several jars of money buried in a few spots. We’ll pull cash from one of those.” And to show me that he’s serious, he tucks a spade into his back pocket. It’s night. I’m in a suit and five-inch heels and he wants to go digging in the woods for money? This feels . . . bizarre. “We really don’t have to do this, Boone—” “Get over here or I’m going to sit you down and lick your pussy until you say yes.” The look on his face is challenging. Good lord, the man means it, too. I’m torn, because . . . that’s not exactly a punishment. And

Boone’s as pigheaded as they come, I’m realizing. Me stalling or telling him that this isn’t a good idea? I might as well be trying to reason with the trees. I sigh and adjust the strap under my helmet. “Please tell me it’s not gold bars, at least. I’m pretty sure hotels don’t take those.” He laughs as he sits down on the four-wheeler and waits for me to straddle the seat behind him. “I may be a crazy redneck, but I ain’t that crazy.”

Chapter Nine

Boone Ivy knows of a fancy place downtown, so we head there in my truck. She keeps protesting that she doesn’t need a nice bed or a super expensive hotel room, but I need that for her. Ivy’s going to be my wife, and I’m not having our first time together on my shitty old bed in my shitty old trailer. She’s used to better and she deserves to be treated like the lady she is. I glance over at her as I drive. Even though it’s late at night, she looks fresh and pretty. Her mouth’s still a little puffy from my beard-scraping kisses, but I kinda like that look on her. She keeps a hand on the front of her jacket, pinching it together with her fingers so her tits don’t show to

the world. Not that I’d mind that, but Ivy’s a lady, and that ain’t a lady thing to do. Then again, neither is going to a hotel late at night to have sex with me. Course, I don’t mind that, either. I feel a fierce surge of satisfaction just thinking about her, because she’s mine. Finally, she’s gonna be mine. I’m gonna take her to some fancy-ass overpriced hotel room, peel the clothes off her body, get a few glasses of champagne in her, and lick every inch of her silky skin until she’s begging for my cock. Even now, I’m hard, my jeans tight in the crotch. But I can be a real patient man when I need to be. Haven’t I been patient waiting on her to come around to how good it could be with me? Longest damn week. But worth it, if I get her in my bed and in my life. We check in at the hotel, and Ivy seems even more nervous, holding her jacket shut and clutching her purse tight against her arm. I get one of the top-

floor suites and, when I’ve paid, escort my woman to the elevator. “I think they think I’m an escort,” she whispers to me as we get in. “Did you see the way the clerk was looking at me?” I didn’t, but she might not be wrong. It’s late at night and weird things happen late at night, especially in hotels. I keep my arm at her waist, feeling possessive of her. “Nah. They recognize class when they see it. Probably just wondered what you were doing with me.” She’s silent, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe me. But she’s still going upstairs with me, so it must not bother her that much. ’Sides, I think my girl has a secretly dirty side. I like it. The room turns out to be bigger than my trailer. It’s got a couch, a sea of leather chairs accompanied by tiny wrought-iron tables, a huge balcony view of the Riverwalk, and a ritzy bathroom with a spa tub and a long marble counter. There’s a bunch of ugly-ass art on the wall, which makes me think they need to fire their decorator. At

least the bed’s enormous, which is all I care about. I turn to Ivy. “You like it?” “It’s lovely.” She gives me a faint, shy smile, then sets her purse down and slips out of her high heels. As she moves around the room, I head for the phone and the room service menu. I dial the number. “What can I get you, sir?” the voice on the other end asks. “I want a bottle of your most expensive champagne and a couple of lobsters.” When Ivy wrinkles her nose, I add, “What you got for dessert?” The man rattles off something in French, and I get two of it. Because fuck it. I want to impress my lady. “It’ll be an hour,” the person on the other end promises. “This late at night our special orders take a bit longer.” An hour’s fine. I hang up and look over at Ivy, who’s gazing out at the Riverwalk below. She’s fucking gorgeous in the moonlight, all soft curves and long legs. She also looks . . . a little nervous.

Her shoulders are tense and she hugs her arms to her torso. Maybe she needs something to occupy her. I know just the thing. “Well,” I drawl. “You wanna do the honors?” “Honors?” She turns around and looks at me. I scratch at my beard. “You said you wanted to shave me, right?” Her cheeks flush prettily and she smooths her bun with one hand. “Isn’t room service coming up?” “It’s gonna be an hour. That’s enough time for you to get all naked and trim my beard, right?” She licks her lips and they part gently, as if she’s considering it. I nearly bust a nut in my pants at that small gesture because she’s so damn sexy. I’m a redblooded man and I’ve wanted women in the past, but there’s something about Ivy Smithfield that makes me think I never knew lust until I set eyes on her. She’s changed the entire game for me. “You shy?” I ask, half teasing. It makes my heart ache to look at her. So beautiful, and all

mine. “A little,” she admits. “But I’ll work through it.” Ivy takes one last look at the lights of the Riverwalk, and then she closes the balcony doors and draws the curtain over it, making our room private. Her hands go to the front of her jacket and she starts to undo the buttons. The playfulness is gone from her expression, and she looks very serious, as if she needs to concentrate to do this right. Doesn’t she know all she has to do is smile and I’m hers? I’m easy to impress, and even easier to arouse, especially when it comes to her. Her hands tremble as she slides her jacket off her shoulders, revealing the silky pink-and-black bra that’s been tormenting me via her low neckline. Damn, she is fucking beautiful. Her belly is gently rounded and her hips are curvier than I thought. Her breasts are high and a perfect size, and her shoulders are a work of art. She’s gorgeous . . . and she looks so nervous she’s breaking my heart. On impulse, I start to undo my belt.

She freezes in place, her little nipples hard and pointing through the fabric. “What are you doing?” “Gettin’ naked with you, so you don’t feel all uncomfortable.” The little giggle that escapes her warms me. “I don’t know if I’m going to feel better with you pantsless. What about when the food gets here?” “I’ll cover with a towel.” She gives a small little shake of her head, still smiling, and steps out of her skirt. Now she’s in nothing but her panties and matching bra, and god almighty, it is a sight to see. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life, and her legs are a dream. I want to stare at her for hours and drink in every beauty mark, every inch of skin, every strand of hair. “Maybe you’d better leave your pants on. But you can take your shirt off. Probably a good idea since it’ll just get covered with hair.” I can do that. I immediately tug my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor, and then wait for her to comment. I’m pretty cut, thanks to my time on a rig, and I normally work out a few times a

week just to get some of the stress out. I’m not completely covered in tatts, though, and I hope she wasn’t expecting that. I have a few on my arms, and that’s it. But maybe she likes more? I hate the thought of disappointing my woman. Her eyes go wide as I rub my naked chest. She stares at me for a good, long moment, and then her gaze flicks to my face. “I . . . oh.” “You what?” Ivy’s face goes beet red. “Nothing.” Amused at her reaction, I tease her a bit more. “You disappointed?” I pretend to grab my nonexistent beer gut. “What? No!” She presses a hand to her cheek, and then moves closer to me. “I like the way you look. I was just . . . surprised. I don’t know why. I guess maybe I expected you to look . . . less . . . ?” “Rugged?” I supply. “Amazing? Manly?” I flex again, because how can you refer to yourself as manly and not flex that shit? Her hands go to my chest and she traces her fingers down my pectorals. Just like that, I forget

all about teasing. Her small touch fills me with raging need, and it’s all I can do to stay still as she explores my body with her hands. I can’t even breathe when she grazes her thumbs over my nipples, because I’m picturing her doing that to my cock. Hell, I’m picturing doing that to her nipples, which are tight and juicy looking through the fabric of that bra, and so close that I want to reach out and taste them for myself. But this is her moment, and so I remain still. “Delicious,” she breathes, her hands moving over my collarbone. “What?” My voice sounds gruff, even to my own ears, but damn. I can’t think when she’s doing all this touching. “I didn’t expect you to look so delicious,” Ivy tells me in a soft voice. “I was expecting . . . I don’t know. Lots of chest hair.” Her hand slides over one pectoral, then the next, and then down to the trail of hair on my lower stomach. “But you have just enough. I like it.” Her hands seem to be moving all over me. “And I like all these muscles.”

“Made ’em just for you.” She grins at that, but in my head, it’s not a lie. In my head, everything I do is for her. I lean in to kiss her, because I need the taste of her on my lips. But she only moves away and saunters toward the bathroom, peeking over her shoulder at me. “We’ve only got an hour, Boone. We need to hurry this along.” “Only an hour? Damn. How long’s it gonna take to shave a man?” I follow her, because I’m fascinated by the sway of her hips and the way her ass moves. And god almighty, those long legs. Those are gonna be the death of me. “I don’t want to rush. I need to do it right, because I want to keep the beard and the hair. Just clean them up a little.” Well, damn. I want to keep the beard and the hair, too, but this is starting to sound iffy to me. She enters the bathroom and picks through the stack of fluffy white towels until she finds one the right size she wants, and then spreads it on the counter. She grabs another and tosses it over my

shoulders, smiling and looking for all the world like she’s thrilled to be givin’ me a haircut. Women are so strange sometimes. “Wait here,” Ivy tells me. “I need to get my purse.” So I wait, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t see the big deal. I’m a little shaggy . . . okay, a lot shaggy. I rake my hand through my hair and I’m pretty sure it’s been a year or so since I got my last cut, and it’s at least six inches long. It goes in every direction, most days, which is why I like to wear a cap. I drag my fingers through my beard, thoughtful. It’s kinda scraggly on the sides but fuller toward the chin and ends in a sloppy point. I picture the suits that I have meetings with, and Bates. I don’t look like them at all. I do look just like a dirty roughneck. Maybe Ivy’s right. Maybe a change isn’t so bad after all. She returns a moment later with her little bag and then hops up on the counter. “I think we’ll start

with the beard first, and then we’ll clean up some of your hair.” I don’t care what we do, so long as it involves her touching me. I lean in closer and she automatically spreads her legs as she sits on the counter, allowing me between them. My cock aches hard at that, and I press my body against the counter to try and stave off some of the consuming lust I’m feeling. Up close, she’s so pretty and perfect. Her hair is still in one of those tight knots and I want to pull it loose and see how long it is. But first things first . . . “You forgettin’ something?” Ivy pauses as she pulls out the electric clippers and glances around the bathroom counter. “Did I?” I reach out and slide one of her bra straps down her shoulder. “Part of our deal was that you’d be naked, remember?” As I watch, the flush moves over her skin. It’s like it’s racing from her breasts to her cheeks, which is fascinating. “Oh.”

“But I’m a gentleman,” I declare. “You can keep your panties on.” She gives me a wry look. “Boone, there are many words I’d choose to describe you, but I don’t think ‘gentleman’ is ever one of them.” “You like me all rough around the edges, though.” I move the other bra strap down her other shoulder, and lean in to kiss her skin, just because she looks so good. Smells incredible, too. Like fresh soap and soft, girly flowers. Love that. “I do, it seems,” she murmurs, even as I lean in to kiss her again. My arms go around her and I find the clasp of her bra and undo it, even as our mouths lock. One moment of hesitation from her and I’ll stop what I’m doing. I want her to feel she has some control and not that I’m charging over her like a bull. I leave the clasp alone and focus on kissing her, instead. I could kiss this woman all day, just because her tongue feels like heaven against mine. She moans when I deepen the kiss, her arms curling around my neck. One of her feet rubs

against the outside of my thigh and I wish that damn foot was rubbing on my cock, it feels so good. She breaks off the kiss and I can’t resist getting one last peck in before she gives her head a dazed little shake. “I suppose we’d better get started.” “I suppose,” I drawl, though I’m more interested in kissing her than getting my beard cut up. Ivy gives me a nervous look, and then tugs her bra the rest of the way off. She tosses it onto the floor in a slow, casual motion, and then straightens on the counter, her back slightly arched. It’s almost like she’s waiting for me to pass judgment on her tits. As if they’d ever be anything but perfection. Her breasts are everything I’ve been dreaming they would be. Creamy, round handfuls tipped with the prettiest tight pink nipples that are begging for my mouth. Gorgeous. “You’re a real pretty sight, Ivy.” “I know,” she says confidently, but her skin is covered with nervous goosebumps. She picks up

the electric shaver again and then crooks her finger at me. I lean in obediently. “Do I get to touch your tits once you’ve cleaned me up?” “I’ll think about it,” she teases. “Be kind to a poor, humble man.” She snorts. “You are neither poor nor humble. Now, hold still.” I close my eyes because I don’t want to see the travesty she’s going to make of my beard. The clippers buzz angrily and I can feel her movements as she works on my beard. Man, if this looks awful, my brothers are going to give me such shit — “Okay, done with the beard,” Ivy says a scarce moment after she started. “Already?” I open my eyes and she’s smiling at me. “Yeah, just wanted to clean up the sides a bit.” She strokes my beard, examining me. “We could get you a bit of beard oil and shape things, if you wanted.”

“You gonna do it for me?” I say gruffly, because her touching me is one of the best things I’ve ever experienced. I’d probably be willing to let her turn my beard pink if she’d keep stroking it like she is. My gaze falls to those pretty, bouncy tits. God, I can’t wait to touch her. “I can. What do you think?” “I think those are the nicest tits I’ve ever seen.” My mouth is watering just looking at them. “No, about your beard, silly.” There’s a tremble in her voice now, even though she’s trying to keep things light. “We’re not doing anything with my tits.” “Not yet,” I drawl, and finally focus in on the mirror. Huh. I run my hand along my jaw. I’m not all wild looking anymore. I’ve still got a thick beard, but she’s cleaned up the sides and my moustache, and trimmed some of the stray hairs. I still look like me, just a bit tidier. “Huh.” “Do you like it?” “You managed to make me look even more devastatingly handsome,” I tell her playfully.

She just grins and gives a little wiggle on the counter like she’s pleased. “I have a good subject.” “Do I get a prize?” I slide my hand down her arm, gliding over her soft, lovely skin. “Because I can think of something I’d like in my mouth right about now . . .” “I haven’t even touched your hair yet,” Ivy murmurs, shifting a little closer to me when I lean in. “And I’m covered in your beard hair. Look.” She gestures down at her gorgeous thighs and there’s a few stray sprinkles of my hair on her skin, but not enough to thwart a man. “So you need to wait.” I sigh. “All right. If I must.” “This time I need you to sit on the toilet, I think, so I can work on your hair.” She dusts her legs off and hops down off the counter, sauntering across the enormous bathroom to the toilet and gesturing at it. I groan but do as she asks. I lower the seat, adjust the towel around my neck, and give her a grumpy look as she comes to my side with a comb

and a pair of the world’s tiniest scissors. I’m getting tired of all this grooming— Or I am until she moves between my knees and then starts to comb my hair. It puts her naked, delicious breasts right in front of my face. Well, now. This just got a lot more interesting. She raises her arms and starts to clip my hair. As she does, her breasts move higher, and then jiggle with the motion of her hands. I groan, tempted beyond belief. Does she know how it feels like eternity since I last touched her? I ain’t a patient man, and she’s presenting me with something impossible to resist. I reach out and brush my hand over the tip of one of those delectable breasts. Ivy gasps and her hands jerk against my hair. “Boone,” she protests weakly. “Don’t care,” I tell her, and wrap my arms around her waist. I pull her against me and nuzzle one of those sexy little breasts, because I’m tired of waiting. “I want you,” I tell her, peppering kisses onto her skin.

She moans and I feel her hands clench against my shoulders. “You shouldn’t touch me,” she breathes. “I think I just cut off a big chunk of hair.” “Don’t care,” I repeat. She can finish this groomin’ shit later. It’s time for me to claim her. Now that I’ve got my mouth on her? I’m not going to let her slip out of my grip. I rub my mouth across one of her nipples. It’s tight and hard, but her skin is so soft and smells so sweet, and I can feel her entire body tremble when I do that. I graze my mouth over it again, then drag my tongue over the tip. Ivy cries out, and I hear the scissors and the comb drop to the floor. A moment later, she’s ripping the towel off my shoulders and running her hands over my skin. Guess I’m not the only one that no longer cares about my hair. Good. I tongue her sweet nipple for a moment, teasing it with little flicks before I give it a nip. She whimpers my name, her entire body shuddering, and then I move over to her other breast. She

practically drags my head to it, one hand tangling in my hair. Not shy any longer, my Ivy. Love that. Love how she can forget everything when I touch her. I need her in my bed, now. I push to my feet and a small protest escapes her as my mouth leaves her skin. She gives me a dazed look, her brows drawn together. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong,” I tell her, caressing her lovely cheek. “Other than we ain’t in bed and I’m fixin’ to amend that.” I lean in, squatting down a little. “Arms around my neck, baby girl.” She does. I haul her against me, those hot little breasts rubbing up against my bare chest. Goddamn. She wraps those long legs of hers around my waist and leans in, running her mouth over every inch of my skin she can get her hands on. Jesus, this woman. She’s amazing. I plant my hands on her ass and haul her into the next room, over to the bed. I want to throw her

down onto it and cover her with my body, but I need to be gentle and go slow with Ivy our first time. I gotta find out her boundaries, what she likes, what she doesn’t, and what spots make her crazy. So I set her down gently on the edge of the bed and kneel between her legs. I put one arm around her waist and start to kiss every inch of her skin: her neck, her collarbones, her ear, her shoulder. “Take your hair down for me,” I command her. “Wanna feel it all over me.” She nods and reaches behind her head, pulling out pin after pin from her hair. It seems to take forever, but then she pulls out a band and gives a final shake of her hair . . . and then it’s loose and spread across the bedspread. And she’s fucking beautiful. She gives me a shy smile. Her long, silky hair gleams like sunlight, and I can’t help but take a handful of it in my grip and rub it across my face. It smells clean and soft and just as good as the rest of her. “You’re fucking beautiful, Ivy.” I move in to kiss that pouty mouth of hers again, pushing my

body between her thighs. She’s under me on the bed, and she feels perfect. “And you’re all mine. You know that, right? That once I claim you, you’re mine forever.” “I know,” she says in a small, breathless voice, and it makes me even harder to hear her acknowledge that. I kiss her fiercely, my tongue dragging against hers in a rough claim. With every thrust into her mouth, I rock between her thighs, pushing my cock against her panties. I want her to feel every inch of me, to know what it means to be claimed. To be mine. And I want her to love it. She moans against my mouth as the kisses grow deeper, clinging to my shoulders. Her little fingernails dig into my skin, but I love the sharp feeling of it, especially when she scratches at my back. It’s like she can’t control herself when I touch her. I love making her crazy like that. I kiss down her neck and over to her breasts again, teasing one with my fingers while I nip and

suck at the other. She arches against the bedspread, her hands moving to my hair as I pleasure her. When her breasts are pink from the scratch of my beard and her nipples are red from all the sucking I’ve done, I start to kiss lower. I want to make her come like she did in the car. I need it. Already I’m addicted to her. I kiss her rounded, soft belly even as I tug on the waistband of her panties. “Time to get rid of these.” “Yes,” she moans, and she’s no longer shy. Now she’s just eager. She lifts her hips and I take the invitation, pulling the panties down her hips and thighs. There’s my girl. I stare at her bare pussy, my mouth watering at the sight. It was pretty before, with neat little curls shielding her folds. But smooth like this? I can’t stop staring. I run my hand over that smooth skin and then cup it. She whimpers my name, arching up on the bed again.

“I’m gonna lick ya, baby. Patience. I just need to admire your handiwork first.” I trace a finger along her pink, dusky folds. “Do you like it?” “I like it,” I tell her, and then part her folds with one fingertip and rub her clit. “But I liked it the other way, too. You’re fucking sexy no matter what you do . . . and you’re wet as hell right now.” It’s like a hot little lagoon under my fingers, and I can’t wait to drink her up. “Now, tell me what you want me to do, baby.” She makes a little mewing sound and spreads her legs wider, which is so sexy it nearly fries my brain. “I want you to keep touching me.” She sounds breathless, and her hand steals down to rub over her bare pussy. “And your mouth. God, your mouth. I want that, too.” “You’re gonna get both, sweetheart.” And I’m gonna make her come so damn hard. I lower my head and rub my face against her bare, smooth mound. Her excited little cries and the way she moves against me make my dick

harder than a rock. I love how shyly enthusiastic she is. Like she thinks she should be all ladylike, but the moment I touch her, all bets are off. Even now, her hands are fisting in my hair and I know she’s just moments away from shoving my head down against her pussy in a silent demand for my mouth. Thing is, she doesn’t even have to ask. I’m more than willing to give it to her. I lower my mouth onto her and give her sweetness an exploratory lick. “Oh god, Boone,” she moans, and her body jerks in response. “Love it when you say my name,” I tell her, and drag my tongue over her sweet pussy again. “Maybe we should play a game.” “G-game?” Her voice is quivering almost as much as her thighs. “Yup. Like, I’m not gonna be able to stop myself from kissing you here,” I tell her, and punctuate my words with a few demonstrations. “But if you want me to stop playing and really

work this pussy over? I’m gonna need you to say my name. That’s how you’re gonna tell me that you need more.” “You shouldn’t call my girl parts ‘pussy,’” she breathes, her hips rolling slightly as her head goes back on the bedspread. “You make it sound so filthy.” “Baby, the things I’m going to do to this pussy are filthy.” My classy woman has no idea just how filthy this roughneck can get. “Or would you prefer I called it your little cunt?” “Oh god, no,” she moans, but she rocks her hips again. “Sounds to me like you like it,” I drawl, and bury my face in her folds, licking and nibbling at every inch of skin. I deliberately avoid her clit, because that’s part of the game. I want to make her beg for it, just because it’s so fucking delicious when she does. “Maybe it makes you all wet when I say ‘cunt.’ Maybe I’ll just keep my mouth down here and find out.”

I tongue the opening to her core, and yup, she’s incredibly wet and juicy. She might not like to say filthy words, but she sure does like it when I say them. Ivy moans again, and her hands tighten on my hair. “You’re terrible,” she breathes, one of her heels digging into my shoulder. I don’t move other than to press a few light kisses on those soft pink petals, because I’m waiting for her to ask for more. A long moment passes, and her little heel digs into my shoulder again, like she’s trying to shove me forward and plant my face against her pussy again. When that doesn’t work, she says my name in a soft protest. “Boone.” “That gets a reward,” I tell her, and push her folds apart with my fingers, exposing her clit. I drag my tongue over it, hard, and then circle around it. All the while, she makes little choking noises of delight. “You gotta keep saying my name to encourage me, darlin’. You know what I like.” “You’re terrible.”

She makes it sound like a caress instead of an admonition. “Doesn’t matter. You love it.” Her smooth little mound is so plump and pretty I can’t help but give it a little nip. “Love this sweet cunt of yours.” Ivy whimpers, and I can feel her getting even wetter. Yep, this woman definitely loves dirty talk. It’s like she can’t let loose herself, so she’s gonna get all hot and bothered when I do. Which is fine by me. So I go into great detail about her pussy. I describe it in great, filthy detail and all the things I want to do to her. How I’m going to use my mouth. How I’m going to use her body. Where I’m going to put my fingers and my tongue, and then I demonstrate those things for her when she calls out my name again. All the while, she’s getting wetter and juicier for me, and my own cock is aching in my pants like it’s going to explode. But my needs are secondary to hers. She needs to come first, and then I’ll worry about myself.

“I ain’t hearin’ my name, darlin’,” I murmur as I press light kisses on her mound. My thumb strokes the inside of her soft thigh, tickling her skin. “Boone,” she says dutifully, and so I give her a lick. Just a light one. She makes a sound of frustration. “Let me rephrase,” I say, between nips. “I ain’t hearing my name with conviction.” When she moans a protest, I drag the tip of my tongue along her slit. “Sometimes a man needs a bit of encouragement.” “Oh please,” she says derisively, her hands tightening in my hair again. “As if you ever needed any kind of encouragement—” “Just for that, I oughta spank the naughtiness out of you.” “Boone,” she moans again, and this time there’s a bit more oomph to it. It’s frustration and need all bundled up into one, and it sounds real pretty to my ears. So I reward it, stroking a finger against her

core even as my tongue goes to her clit and teases it. “Now that’s more like it,” I murmur against her skin, and slick my tongue over her wetness. She tastes beautiful, and it’s a pleasure to put my mouth on her. I push my finger into her heat, and she’s tight, impossibly tight, given how wet she is. My balls tighten against me as I imagine pushing into her warmth, her cunt so tight around my cock it’s like a fist. Fuck. I need this woman bad. Ivy cries out as I thrust my finger slowly into her. “Boone! Oh god, Boone.” Fuck this game, I decide. I need to be inside her, but I need to make her come first. So, enough with the playing. I dedicate my mouth to her clit— licking and sucking alternately. I drag my tongue against the small nub of flesh. All the while, I slowly thrust one finger into her, then add another, because she needs to stretch if she’s going to take my cock. My name turns into a string of whimpers on her lips, and her body jerks with every push of my

fingers into her warmth. Her entire body is trembling, and her hips are arching, so I wrap one arm around her thigh, holding her in place while I pleasure her. A moment later, she screams, her hands rough on my hair. I can feel her head thrashing on the blankets—not that I can look up, because I’m focused on my task. Her cunt is tightening hard around my fingers, and I don’t stop thrusting. I want to wring out every bit of this orgasm, and so I suck on her clit harder. Her scream turns into a keening cry and she jerks against me, over and over, until a sweet liquid rushes against my mouth. Now there’s the money. I lap it all up and ease off on her while she pants and trembles under me. The taste of her is all over my face and in my mouth, and I love it. Nothing’s ever tasted as good as Ivy Smithfield when she comes. “Oh my god,” she moans after a moment. I sit up and look at her, wiping off my mouth.

Ivy looks wrecked. Her hand goes back to her forehead and there’s a sheen of sweat on her skin. Her long hair is a tangle, and there’s a flush on her breasts and her cheeks. Her legs are sprawled and she’s never looked so disheveled . . . or so gorgeous. Right then and there, I decide that I need to get this woman messy on a regular basis, because she looks sexy as fuck like this. “You come hard for me?” I ask, and reach down to cup a hand over her wet pussy, like I’m staking a claim. “Or you need more?” A small, throaty laugh bubbles up in her throat and she stares up at nothing, drowsy. “I think if I had any more, they’d be scraping me off the ceiling.” “Give me a few minutes,” I drawl, grinning. I can’t help but give her pussy a little stroke with my fingers and she squeaks. But I can’t make good on that promise, because I need a condom before I can sink into her. I get up off the bed because my tightfeeling jeans are killing my dick, and I pull my

wallet out and toss it on the bed before I undo my zipper. She sits up, wobbly, and tries to smooth her hair into some semblance of dignity, but it ain’t working. She looks good and fucked, and I’m about to make sure that she is good and fucked. I shove my pants down, sending my underwear with my jeans, and step out of both. Her eyes widen and she stares at me naked for a long, long moment. “Wow.” Ivy does know how to flatter a man. I grin, opening the condom and rolling it down my length. “Why, thank you.” “This is probably a silly question . . . but are all, ahem, erect penises that large?” She raises her eyebrows and looks at me, as if clearly skeptical. Erect penises? I still, because that’s a damn virginal question to ask. Makes no sense, unless . . . “Ivy, you a virgin?” Her cheeks get all flushed. “Maybe.” Oh, god damn. It’s like the floor has just been jerked out from under me, but in the best possible

way. I’m humbled that she’d choose me to share such a gift with. And a more savage, primal part of me is filled with possessive joy—that I’m going to be the first and last hand to touch her in this way. She’s mine. More than ever, she’s mine. “Is that a problem?” she asks. She tugs her long hair forward over one shoulder, covering a breast. The look on her face is suddenly uneasy. “Not a problem,” I tell her, my voice gruff. “But I’m glad you told me.” Because that explains why she’s so tight, and I need to go extra slow and careful with her to make sure that she comes her brains out. I want her first experience to be earthshattering. I want her to love every minute of it. I’m tempted to go down on her again to ensure just that. I won’t, though. Ivy’s already pretty sensitive and I just made her come hard. I don’t want her to be too gutted to enjoy my favorite part of sex. I want her to be there with me through every moment. I want her to come when I come. I want

her to enjoy my cock inside her. I want her to love it when I stake my claim on her. I’m a selfish prick like that. Ivy looks nervous, even though she shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if there was an appropriate time to point it out. Not that it matters, because we’ve done a lot of other . . . nonvirginal things.” She’s blushing again, and her thighs go together. She’s thinking about me between her legs. She’s gonna have me between her legs every day for the rest of her life. “It changes nothing. You’re still mine.” I move back onto the bed, covering her. I prop up on one elbow and pull her body against mine. We’re both naked now, and I can feel every inch of her bare skin against my own. She shivers and gazes up at me with big, soft eyes. “I like being yours,” she whispers. I groan and capture her mouth with mine. She’s so fucking sweet, so damn perfect that it hurts. I drag my tongue over hers, trying to give her as much pleasure as she gives me. Her mouth opens

eagerly for my kiss and her tongue plays alongside mine, her hand skimming my arm. I slide a hand between her thighs, brushing over her bare pussy before slipping a finger inside her again. She inhales slightly and I deepen the kiss between us, determined to keep her in the moment even as I move a thigh in between hers. She’s soft and wet for me, but still tight, and I work her pussy with my hand even as I kiss her. When she’s moaning and breathless in my arms, I put a hand on one thigh and spread her legs wider. “I’m gonna push inside you now, Ivy. You just say something if you want me to stop.” She gives me a little nod and presses a tiny kiss to my mouth, as if trying to encourage me. So fucking sweet. I rub my hand over her sex again, and her folds are slick with her juices. I drag the head of my cock back and forth in them, lubing it up. Ivy moans, her head tossing. I fit my cock against her entrance, and then slowly begin to ease into her.

She’s fucking impossibly tight, and I have to push a little harder than I want to get anywhere. I don’t want to hurt her. The last thing I want on this earth is to cause her pain. Her hand stops its gentle stroking of my arm and her nails dig into my skin a little. “You okay, baby girl?” I ask, leaning in to give her another quick kiss. She nods, gazing up at me with dark eyes. I push into her inch by excruciating inch, all the while keeping my gaze locked with hers. It’s the most intense, intimate thing I’ve ever done. Most of the time I just slam into a girl and hope for the best, but everything needs to be perfect for Ivy. Everything. Ivy is tight around me, her body squeezing my cock like a glove. I kiss her again, and again, because I want her to think of this moment with pleasure, not with any discomfort she might be feeling. She’s my first—and only—virgin, and I don’t know what to expect or how badly it’s going to hurt her. All I know is that I want to make it

good for her. So I take my time and then, impossibly, I’m sheathed entirely in her warmth. “How does it feel?” I ask her, pressing my mouth against her jaw. My entire body is tense with need, and I feel the strain of holding back in every muscle. “Very . . . full.” Ivy sounds breathless. Her body quivers under mine, and then she shifts, just a little. “Uncomfortable?” I’ll get off her right now and stop if it means she’s not enjoying herself. She shakes her head and her hand strokes my hair back from my face. “It feels good. Different, but good.” I nod and give her another searing kiss before pulling back and rocking into her. I move carefully to ensure that I don’t hurt her, and every inch feels excruciatingly slow. It’s the most intense sort of pleasure and I can feel my own need to come building in my body. I need to fight it, because I need to make this good for her.

Her eyes widen and she gasps when I thrust into her. “Boone,” she breathes, the sound full of wonder. “Tell me how you’re feeling, baby girl,” I murmur, pressing kisses to her face. “That was . . . oh . . .” Her sigh of pleasure is everything. “Want more, or want me to stop?” “Don’t stop.” Her hand moves to my shoulder and she lifts one leg, wrapping it around my hip. “Please, don’t stop.” That’s all the encouragement I need. I begin to thrust into her in languid, steady movements, working hard to keep myself in check. I’m sweating hard at the tense need in my body, but this has to be good for her. It has to be perfect. So I focus on her pleasure, the expressions she makes, the look in her heavy-lidded eyes that tells me she’s enjoying this. I can’t help but run a hand over her body as I fuck her slowly, cupping one sweet breast and caressing her skin everywhere.

She moans as I push deep into her, the first sound of pleasure she’s made since I pushed into her. I focus on that, because I want more of her responses. I drag my thumb over her nipple and stroke into her again, increasing my rhythm. My mouth claims hers, and I swallow her next little responsive sigh. She likes that I’ve sped up, and so I move faster, my thrusts harder and deeper. This time, when she moans into my mouth, it’s full of need. Her hands flutter over my shoulders, as if she’s unsure where to put them. I grab one and put it on my ass, never breaking our kiss, and rock into her over and over again. Her cunt ripples around me and I can feel her suck in a breath in the moment that everything changes. Her entire body shivers under me and when I thrust my tongue into her mouth, her kiss in response is wilder, more frantic. Her nails dig into my skin again, and then we’re locked together, her body pinned under mine as I claim her hard, each thrust pushing our joined bodies across the bedsheets with the force of it.

She makes an escalating little sound, her hips rising up to meet each of my thrusts, and I hold her tight as I plunge into her. I need her to come again, to let go so I can finally claim my own release. But she moans and writhes under me, close but not quite there yet. I need to get her there. Now. Fast. Before it’s too late and I spill my load. Before I can push into her again, I reach between us and find her clit. I rub my fingers over it in a little circle and feel her body surge under mine. She bites down on my lower lip, making an intense little sound. I thrust into her again and then I can feel her body respond. Her cunt seems to suck me deeper and tightens hard around my shaft, and her entire body ripples with the force of her orgasm. She cries out and I keep rubbing her, even as I begin to thrust harder. Now I can come. Blind with lust, I pump into her with mindblowing force. I’m in her wet heat, so deep that my entire cock feels like it’s being clenched tight in

her pussy. I’m drowning with need for her, and a second later, I explode with the force of my orgasm. My entire body shudders with my release even as I continue to pump into her. It feels like I’m coming forever. Like there’s no end to my own orgasm. I’m barely aware of her sweaty skin under mine or that her hand is stroking through my hair as I collapse on top of her. All I know is that she’s mine, and I’ve just claimed her.

Ivy I lie atop the blankets of the enormous, posh bed, and feel totally and completely destroyed . . . in all the best ways. I’m exhausted, sweaty, my thighs are slick from my own release, and my long hair feels like it’s stuck to my skin. But . . . wow. I feel incredible. Boneless, and sated, and completely, utterly sexy.

Boone rolled off of me the moment he came, and he lay in bed next to me for a moment before getting up to get rid of the condom. He returns a few moments later with a warm, wet towel and proceeds to bathe the insides of my thighs like it’s no big thing. Like I’m a piece of property that needs to be carefully maintained. And instead of being offended, I find it . . . oddly sweet. Thoughtful. Of course, all of that changes when he strokes the towel over my pussy and gets a thoughtful look in his eyes when I shiver. So soon? I still feel hollowed out from sex with him. It was my first time, and while it felt tight and awkward for a few moments, it wasn’t the teeth-clenching ordeal I’ve heard it described as by some women. “How you feelin’?” Boone asks, even as he slowly rubs the towel over my flesh. I shiver, feeling squirmy under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m fine. And I can wash myself, really —”

There’s a sudden knock at the suite door. “Room service,” a male voice calls. I squeak in horror and fling myself from the bed, racing toward the bathroom. Boone just chuckles. “Coming,” he calls out. I look back at him and he’s wrapping the blanket around his hips, making his way to the door. I close the bathroom door and press a hand to my overheated cheeks. I’d forgotten about room service completely. Good lord. I stare at the counter, covered with stray beard hairs and my scattered grooming kit, and realize I’ve forgotten about a lot of things. Boone has kissed the brains straight out of my head. I look at my reflection and a sound of horror escapes me at the sight. My hair is a nest of snarls, my lower face scratchy and red from his beard. There’s a hickey on one of my breasts and I have no idea how that got there. I eye myself lower, and sure enough, my inner thighs are the same scratchy pink as my face, because his beard was there, too. I am going to be blushing for days.

I wash my face and wipe my body down with a wet towel, then comb my hair into a semblance of normalcy. I moisturize my irritated face with one of the hotel lotions and then crack the bathroom door open a hair, listening for people. “You can come out, Ivy,” Boone drawls. “He’s gone.” I wrap a towel around my body and emerge from the bathroom. Boone’s standing at a table, a tray of food in front of him, a bottle of champagne in his hands. His butt is to me and, gosh, it’s a really fine butt. I can’t help but notice the scratches on his back, though. And on his shoulders. And, okay, on his butt. “Sorry about the clawing. I guess I got carried away.” He gives me a rather wicked look. “I am completely fine with you getting carried away, just for the record.” I feel myself blushing, but move to his side. His beard looks fantastic now, neatened up and trimmed at the edges. The hillbilly look is gone, and in its place is a devastatingly gorgeous

man . . . who needs me to finish his hair. Well, I suppose I can do that later. “I can’t remember what you ordered,” I tell him, gazing down at the silvercovered trays. “Lobster,” he tells me. “Ain’t that what all the fancy guys buy their ladies when they go out?” Late-night lobster? I hide my grimace and pull a lid off of one of the trays. To my delight, it’s dessert. There’s a plate drizzled with chocolate and decorated with berries, and in the center is some sort of cream puff with sugary bread. “Is this one for me?” “Sure is.” I can’t help but dig a finger into the icing. I lick it and it tastes like sin. “Mmm. What is it?” “Hell if I know. It’s French.” He shrugs. “Sounded fancy as shit, though.” I giggle. “Well, thank you.” Boone’s eyes gleam with pleasure. “Gotta keep my elegant woman in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to.”

Somehow, I manage to keep smiling, but my joy is fading on the inside. What have I done? He’s bound to find out who I really am, and then the shit will officially hit the fan, and hit the fan hard. Maybe I should tell him. Just fess up that all this is an act to try and launch my sorry real estate business and I’m more tramp than lady. Maybe he’ll just laugh at the fact that I trained my Texas drawl out of my voice, that I buy clothes I can’t afford and learned how to do my own hair and nails on endless YouTube videos because I needed to look salon perfect without being able to afford the salon. He pours me a glass of champagne and sits down in one of the chairs at the table. Before I can pick a seat for myself, he grabs me around the waist and tugs me into his lap. He grabs the edge of my towel and pulls it off, and then I’m just as naked as he is. “That’s better,” he tells me. I shiver, not because I’m cold, but because I’m hyperaware of all his naked skin. “Why is this better?”

“Because you get to eat your sweets,” he tells me, tugging the dessert plate in my direction. “And I’ll get to eat mine.” And he leans in and gently nips at my bare shoulder. I bite back a moan. I’ll tell him in the morning. *** I wake up to Boone’s hand sliding between my thighs. He rubs my clit with his fingers as he kisses my neck, and doesn’t let up on either until I come. A moment later, he pulls me onto my hands and knees, puts on a condom, and then pushes into me from behind. His hand smooths down my back. “You sore, darlin’?” I’m a little achy, but not enough to stop him. I shake my head. That’s enough for Boone. He fucks me hard, jerking my hips back against his cock with every thrust. I do my best to stay silent and let him enjoy the moment, but that’s not enough for him. He’s not

satisfied until he puts a hand between my legs and massages my clit with every thrust. That makes me nearly come out of my skin with pleasure, and he doesn’t come until I’ve screamed his name into the knotted handfuls of sheets at least twice. Then, he carries me to the shower and gently washes me from head to toe, as if I’m too tired and helpless to take care of myself. It’s almost funny, except he’s so very serious about it. He washes my hair with great determination, as if the world depends on my hair being shiny clean and perfect. When we emerge from the shower, he lets me tidy up his hair with the scissors. I cut several inches away, not wanting to drastically alter his look to where he’s unhappy with it, but he insists I cut more. In the end, he winds up with ultra-short hair that’s just a little longer on the top. I put a bit of pomade on my hands and run them through his locks, and I’m stunned at how devastatingly handsome he is. He was good looking before, but I’m feeling a bit like Michelangelo with a marble block, and I’ve just uncovered David. Of course,

David had a small pecker, so perhaps that’s not the best comparison for Boone. “Why’re you smiling?” he asks me, leaning forward in the mirror to check his quickly drying hair. “Don’t look stupid, does it? I ain’t a good judge of these things.” “You look fantastic,” I tell him. “Like a sexy beast.” He gives me a devilish grin. “So sexy you wanna crawl back into bed with me?” “You’re lucky it’s a Saturday, because if this was a workday—” Something screams out of the other room, and I jump a little. “What was that?” He grimaces and pats my shoulder. “That’s my ringtone for the money guys. Hang on a sec.” I watch, mystified, as he goes to answer the phone. Sure enough, the scream echoes through the room again a second later, and he answers. “What is it?” He’s silent for a long moment, and so I close the bathroom door to give him some privacy. I put

my grooming kit away, twist my wet hair into a bun, and pin it tight, and then work on moisturizing my face again. I’m still a little pink from last night but I can’t find it in me to ask him to cut the beard . . . I like it too much, heaven help me. When I emerge from the bathroom, Boone’s grinning ear to ear. “Get dressed, darlin’. We’re about to go have some fun.” “We are?” “Yup. Remember I told you I wanted to buy a golf course?” I head to the opposite side of the bed and pull my suit off the floor. It’s wrinkled badly. Ugh. I’m going to have to iron it before I dare leave the room, or else the staff downstairs really will think I’m a hooker. “I remember. I thought we’d focus on the house first, and then—” “I bought one,” he says, interrupting me. I stop, surprised at the stab of hurt I feel at his announcement. “You did?” “Yeah, there’s one I wanted in particular, so I set my money guys on it. They made an offer on the

business and signed the paperwork lickety-split.” “Oh.” I don’t know if this particular business would have fallen into my jurisdiction, but I’m strangely wounded. “Don’t be sad, baby girl,” Boone says. He comes to my side and wraps his arms around me in a bear hug. “I know I promised you the commission on this one but the owner was motivated to sell fast, and so I needed to get my guys in there. We threw so much cash at him it made his head spin.” This isn’t making me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse. There goes one commission, and I never even had a stab at it. What if Boone gets bored or tired of waiting on me to find him the perfect house and goes under my nose again? “I see.” “Get dressed, because we need to go meet my brothers at the golf course and I wanna show you off to them.” I feel a stab of irritation and pry out of his arms. “I’m not sure I want to go. I have a lot of

work to do and I’m already eating into my schedule by being here.” The boyish enthusiasm on his face dims, and I feel like a jerk. “Am I hogging all your time?” “It’s not that,” I say quickly. “Tell me how much it’ll cost to keep you with me today—” “I’m not a hooker,” I snap. “You can’t buy me by the hour.” Boone looks utterly abashed. “Well, shit, Ivy. I didn’t mean it like that.” And now I really feel like a jerk. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just hurt about the golf course.” And I’m woman enough to admit it. “I’ll go with you. I just need to tidy up my suit.” I hold up my wrinkled skirt. Some of the excitement returns to his face. “I’ll show you a good time. It’s gonna be fun.” I’m not sure how me seeing his new purchase that I didn’t get a commission on is going to be “fun” but I have to admit that every time he gives me one of those broad smiles, I get weak in the

knees. “While I iron, do me a favor and find me a hand towel I can pin to the front of my jacket to act as a slip?” He nods and pulls me against him. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Ivy.” The look on his face is utterly somber. “I’m just used to declaring that I want a thing and going after it. I completely forgot that this might take money out of your pocket. I’m gonna make it up to you.” “You don’t have to,” I say quietly, because I don’t know why I’m mad. It was pie-in-the-sky money, anyhow. As in, I won’t believe there’s a sale attached until I see the money in my bank account. “I do. And I’m gonna. Starting right now.” The naughty gleam returns to his eyes and he drops to his knees. “Think you can iron while my mouth’s on your pussy?” Oh, dear lord help me, because I think I’m about to find out.

Chapter Ten

Ivy A short time later, we pull up to the Silver Birch golf course. The parking lot is near-empty despite it being Saturday morning, and I worry that Boone’s made a bad purchase. There’s a few men standing near the front entrance talking, but other than that the place is deserted. Not that this bothers Boone. He just grins and smacks a hand on the steering wheel. “I see my brothers are here. Those are their trucks.” He points at a row of pickups that stick out like sore thumbs in the parking lot. Each one is enormous, older, beat up, and covered with mud. Well, except for one. There’s a brand-new, tricked-out Sierra

Denali . . . that is also covered in mud. One brother apparently has expensive taste. As he parks the truck, I check the front of my suit in the mirror. The pinned-on washcloth is covering my very gaping cleavage, but it looks ridiculous. “Am I all right?” “Yup,” he drawls, and leans in to give me a quick, possessive kiss. “You can hardly see the scorch marks.” “The scorch marks are your fault,” I scold as he jumps out of the truck to go open my door. Of course, I didn’t exactly do a lot of protesting, so I guess it’s my fault, too. I’m blushing as he helps me out of the truck, but I’m smiling, too. Boone’s practically beside himself with excitement, and it’s hard not to get caught up in it as he takes my hand in his. “Boone, you’re practically giddy. I had no idea you liked golf so much.” He just throws back his head and laughs, which mystifies me. As we cross the parking lot, I notice that the men standing out front are there with what look

like red gas cans. There’s a golf cart or two parked on the lawn, so maybe they’re fueling up? Though directly in front of the main clubhouse seems an odd place to do so. There’s also a box on the lawn, and one of the men has a dirty boot propped up on it. “Well lookee there,” calls one man. “Who’s that fancypants asshole headin’ for us?” “Can’t be Boone,” yells another. “That fucker ain’t never seen a hairbrush.” He elbows the third man, while the fourth looks occupied with his phone. “Fuck all y’all,” Boone says amiably. “And don’t be fuckin’ cussin’ in front of my fiancée. She’s cultured, damn it.” “F-fiancée?” I sputter as we approach. “Excuse me?” He just gives me another one of those pantymelting smiles. “Told you I was gonna marry you, Ivy. But don’t you worry. I’ll propose all nice and right when you’re ready for it.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re engaged,” I protest, but it’s clear that Boone’s already decided. This man is pure pigheadedness. I think of his words— that I’m cultured—and inwardly cringe. If only he knew the truth. Of course, it’s kind of hard to bring it up right now when his four brothers are staring me down. They eye me like I’m some sort of strange beast, though one keeps staring at my breasts. I move a little closer to Boone and he puts a possessive arm around my shoulders. “This here’s Ivy. She’s the one that’s gonna sell me a mansion to make all those assholes weep that they ever talked shit about us.” “Uh-huh,” one says. “’Cause a mansion is gonna fix things.” He tilts his head, and for a moment, he looks shockingly like Boone, bushy beard and all. The others don’t look much like him —the youngest is blond and looks a little familiar, though I can’t place it. One brother has slightly darker skin that hints at Hispanic ancestry. They’re all wearing Price Brothers Oil trucker caps, and I

swear that they all shop from the same closet, because they all look like they just came from a construction site. Good lord. Here I thought Boone was an anomaly with his rough talk and even rougher appearance, and he’s got four clones lined right up in front of me. “Shaddup, Clay. I like the idea of a big fancy house. And so does Ivy.” He squeezes my shoulder. One of the brothers narrows his eyes at me, and I suddenly feel like a gold digger. “I’m his real estate agent,” I tell them quickly. “Our personal relationship has nothing to do with business.” As a one, they smirk. “Uh-huh,” drawls the first one again. He taps his boot on the box under his foot. “Before you ask, I brought the good stuff, bro.” Boone howls with laughter. “You got some dynamite this early in the morning? You’re a genius, Clay.” Wait . . . dynamite? Perhaps I heard wrong. Even as I wonder, a loud horn honks behind us. Everyone turns, and I see two big fire trucks full of

men pull up in the parking lot. The firefighters are grinning and one bounds out of his truck. Boone crosses over to meet him, and they shake hands. “Thanks for inviting us out for this,” he says to Boone. “Gonna be a great exercise for my men.” “Anytime,” Boone declares. “We’re just about to get started.” He looks over at his brothers. “Everyone gone from inside?” “Almost,” Clay says. “The manager didn’t much appreciate gettin’ fired. She’s takin’ her time packing up her stuff.” Fired? I blink at the brothers, then back at Boone, where he’s talking to the firefighter. “I’m afraid I’m a bit confused,” I say. Okay, I’m a lot confused. “I thought Boone just purchased this place?” “Oh, he did,” Clay drawls. “This is all part of the plan.” There’s a plan here? Because this just seems like chaos to me. As if I can’t get any more confused, the doors to the clubhouse open and a woman comes out with a

box in hand. It looks like a bunch of desk junk, and she’s weeping. Is this the manager that got fired? I want to ask what’s going on, but the others are staring at her like she’s some sort of viper. This just gets weirder and weirder. As she passes us, she glares at Boone and his brothers. “Trash!” she spits at them. “I wish you’d go to hell!” “Wish in one hand, shit in the other,” one of the brothers murmurs, and that sends them all into a fit of laughter. The woman gives me a haughty look, as if I’m some kind of idiot for being here with them, and sticks her nose in the air. She marches through the parking lot and gets into her car, and when she drives off, Boone turns to the fireman and rubs his hands. “Shall we get started?” “Be my guest,” the man says, gesturing at the building. Boone turns to his brothers, a wicked smile on his face. “Boys. You know what to do.” “I call dibs on golf carts,” says the youngest brother. He picks up one of the gas cans and hauls

over to one of the carts, then drives off. As he does, I could swear that I see gasoline splashing out onto the bright, well-tended golf greens. Another pair of brothers pile into the other golf cart, each with cans of gasoline. As I watch, Clay opens the box at his feet and pulls out a stick of dynamite and waves it at Boone. Has everyone gone completely insane? Boone steps forward to take the dynamite, and I step forward, too, because I’m confused. “Can we talk, Boone?” He frowns at the dynamite his brother is holding out to him, and then looks over at me. He immediately heads to my side and tries to pull me against him. “What’s up, baby girl?” “I don’t understand what is happening here,” I tell him. “Is . . . is this place condemned?” Because it doesn’t look condemned to me. It actually looks very nice, and the realtor in me can see it being fixed up and sold for a very pretty penny. Which is why it’s doubly confusing to me as to what is going on.

“It is now,” Boone says, and grins at me. “What do you mean, it is now?” “I mean, I bought this place.” There’s a hard look in his eyes. “I came here a few days ago and they were shitty to me. Treated me like I was low class. Like I was human garbage and didn’t deserve to walk on their perfect green grass. I don’t stand for that shit, and I vowed that I’d handle things.” He gestures at the fire trucks. “This shit’s about to be handled.” My jaw drops. “You’re going to torch the place because they were rude to you?” “Not just torch,” he says with a gleam in his eyes. “We’re gonna demolish the clubhouse and burn the greens.” I think of the crying woman. “And you fired the employees?” I’m shocked. This seems . . . insane. The look on his face is hard. “Maybe next time when she’s shitty to someone, she’ll think twice about passing judgment.” “But you . . . you can’t fire everyone, Boone! There are livelihoods at stake here.”

He shrugs and looks off over where his brother is. As if on cue, Clay waves the stick of dynamite at him. Then, Boone looks back at me. “This place was going under fast, Ivy. That’s why the owner sold it so quick. So it wasn’t like those guys weren’t gonna be out of a job soon. I just made it a lot sooner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a golf course to torch.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and then heads off to Clay’s side. I watch him go, my arms crossed. I think my jaw is going to permanently hang open. This is madness. This is . . . stupid money. Petty revenge for an insult. I’m shocked . . . but then again, am I really surprised? Boone has shown that he can be incredibly pigheaded, and he’s sensitive about being treated like trash. They treated me like I was low class. I don’t stand for that shit. As I watch the brothers light up a stick of dynamite, the sick feeling in my stomach grows. I turn away as Clay races into the building and the

men howl with laughter. I don’t want to watch this. Of course, the moment I turn around, one of the brothers drives past in a golf cart, shaking gasoline onto the carefully tended grass. This is how Boone reacts when he feels like he’s been mistreated. What’s he going to do when he finds out I’m just a big fat lie? *** The razing of the golf course takes a few hours. Everyone seems to have a great time—beer is passed around, a catered lunch is brought in, and the firemen are given plenty of opportunities to train. Everyone except me, that is. Boone is attentive to me, but I’m sick at heart with my secret. There are no in-betweens with Boone Price and his brothers. To them, the world is in black and white. You are either with them, or you are against them.

And I? I can’t do this. I can’t continue like I have been. I’m crazy about Boone . . . emphasis on crazy. Nothing about our relationship makes a lick of sense. In the space of a week we’ve gone from me taking him on as a client to me tossing my virginity at him with extreme haste. I’ve forgotten all about the fact that he’s a bull in a china shop and that he takes what he wants, and if you don’t like it, too bad. I’m still crazy about the guy . . . but this isn’t healthy. I don’t know that I can be with someone that has such callous disregard for other people’s feelings. More than that, I don’t know that I can be with someone who hates how people view his roots so much that he’s sure to hate my roots, too. I’m quiet as the day goes on, and when Boone realizes I’m not having fun, I cite a stomachache from the catered food. The truth is, I haven’t eaten a bite. I can’t. My stomach’s too knotted with misery.

He’s sweetly attentive, getting me water and rubbing my shoulders, but I just want to escape. I ask Boone to take me back to his place so I can get my car and head home. He immediately agrees, much to the dismay of his four brothers. They exchange a few teasing insults, and then Boone takes me back out to his truck and we head out to his trailer. Back at his place, he wants to take care of me, but I cite work again, and my illness. He looks torn, like he doesn’t want me to leave, but eventually gives in. I climb into my small, rickety car and feel like an even bigger failure as I do so. I wave at him in the rearview mirror as I leave, feigning a cheer I don’t feel. As much as I like Boone, I need to break this off before it gets ugly. I can’t do this. I can’t. Even the commission doesn’t matter anymore. While the money would be terrific, it’s not worth the heartache—both mine and how Boone would feel if he realizes I’m the realtor equivalent of putting lipstick on a pig. I can dress up however I want,

train my voice, fix my hair, and do any number of things to make myself seem more upscale . . . but at the end of the day, I’m still Reba Lee Smithfield, trailer park trash and burger flipper. The drive home seems endless, and I’m paranoid enough that I watch my rearview mirror just to make sure that Boone isn’t so worried about me that he’s going to follow me home. That would be the worst. But there’s no one behind me, and I pull up in front of my trailer. Wynonna opens the screen door before I can even make it inside. “Dude, where have you been? I have to send my admissions payment off today!” Oh, shit. The last thing I need is to deal with Wynonna and her college issues. I love my sister, but the fact that we have no money for her college is stressing me out almost as much as the lie that is my relationship with Boone. “I’ll send off the payment, don’t worry.” It’ll put our account in the red quite a bit, but I have a few dollars stashed into my wallet that I can make do with until

payday. I hope. Monday, I’ll call and see if I can donate more plasma. Wynonna gives me a weird look as I enter the trailer. “What’s with your jacket? And were you out all night?” “Farah invited me over to watch movies and have a girls’ night,” I tell her, coming up with a quick lie. “I drank a few too many margaritas and ended up crashing on her couch.” “And . . . you wore a suit and your realtor heels to your friend’s house?” Her brows draw together. “We went to a club to get a few drinks ahead of time. You know I told you Farah’s between boyfriends.” As if that explains everything. I set my purse down and head to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, like all of this is no big deal and I normally go out all night every weekend. “Some guy spilled a drink on me at the club and that’s why I have this towel over the front of my jacket.” “Wow, that sounds like hell.” Wynonna crosses her arms and leans on the counter as I take a sip of water. “At least you had fun, right?”

“Wasn’t all that fun,” I lie. They’re just piling on at this point, those little white lies. “Stuff like this is why I never go out.” Well, that and I spend most weekends working. It doesn’t matter, though. She can’t know what I did this weekend. I love my little sister but I can’t let her know I’m doing something as foolish and selfish as sleeping with a client. A client that is so ridiculously rich that he bought a golf course just to torch it, I think to myself. “I’m going to go take a shower,” I tell my sister with a quick smile. “After that, you want to eat dinner and watch some TV? Get some quality sister time in since it’s going to be in short supply once you start college?” Wynonna rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’m staying in the dorms,” she says, a wistful note in her voice. “We’ll still have plenty of time to hang out.” I feel an unhappy surge of guilt. “I wish you could stay in the dorms, Wynonna, I really do. But

the costs . . .” “I know.” She gives me a bright smile. “We can swing college, but not that part. I get it.” We can’t really swing any of college, but she doesn’t have to know that. “Right.” “Oh, and before I forget, I’m going to visit Dad a week from Monday. Want to go?” I freeze. “You’re driving out to Huntsville?” She nods eagerly. “I talked to him on the phone and he said that he might be up for parole soon. He wanted me to go and discuss options with him.” My father. I wish I could feel anything other than disgust when his name comes up in conversation. Wynonna has a rose-colored view of him, but I remember him for who he was. Karl Smithfield was a mean drunk, a meaner dad, and incredibly shady. I somehow doubt he’s going to get out of prison early due to good behavior. He’s served six years out of a twenty-two-year sentence for armed robbery and aggravated assault. I wish I could say it was all a misunderstanding, but it’s not. Karl held up a gas station because he wanted

beer and smokes, and didn’t have the money for either. While that was bad, he also beat the attendant within an inch of her life for no good reason at all, other than he was drunk and mean. He tries to blame it all on my mother, because my mom had just split with his paycheck. And while I hate her for leaving, I hate him more for knowing he had two young daughters to take care of and deciding to be a degenerate asshole anyhow. “Options? What kind of options?” Wynonna shrugs. “You know, where he’ll go when he gets out.” I try to hide my disgust. “You mean, come back here?” “Well, it is his trailer, isn’t it?” My sister’s eyes are wide. “And he’s our dad.” All the more reason for us to get the heck out of here. “I don’t want him back here, Wynonna. We’re doing fine on our own.” Which is another lie, but I still firmly believe we’re doing better just the two of us than if dear old Dad showed up again.

Plus, the last thing I want is my ex-con father around while I’m involved with Boone. “You’re being unfair,” Wynonna says, flouncing away toward her room. “He’s still family! Family means everything!” I don’t disagree with her . . . but I also no longer consider my father part of the family. For the last six years, it’s been just me and Wynonna. No one else counts. And I’m a horrible sister, too, because I think of Boone, and how I’m sneaking around to see him behind my sister’s back. Some “family” devotee I am. I can’t do this. I’m being pulled in too many directions, and something’s going to have to give.

Chapter Eleven

Boone One week later She’s ghosting me. I text Ivy for the hundredth time in the last week. What are you up to, baby girl? Got any houses for me? I don’t expect much of a response at this point, but I can’t help but keep trying. I’m stubborn like that. Her response comes right away, and it’s negative, just like I knew it would be. Ivy: Work is terribly busy right now. Sorry. Will text you later.

Sure she will. That’s her response every time I send her a message, be it email, phone, text, or any

other way I can think of. She’s always very polite, but she pushes me away. She’s got no time for me, at all. She never calls me; I’m always the one calling her, tryin’ to get her attention. If I waited on her to contact me? I’d still be waitin’. I must have scared Ivy off. Maybe calling her my fiancée freaked her out. Maybe my brothers were dicks to her, though it didn’t seem that way. I’ve been racking my brain for the past week trying to determine where I went wrong. Maybe the sex was bad? Nah. I rocked her world. At least twice each time. Bottom line is, though, she ain’t friendly anymore, and I need to fix that. So I text her back, because I don’t like no for an answer. B P: I understand you’re busy but . . . it’s Saturday. Ivy: I still have clients on Saturdays. B P: Just . . . not this client?

Ivy: I’m currently with someone at the moment but I’ll research another house for you when I get home tonight! B P: You know I ain’t asking about the houses, Ivy. I’m asking about me and you. Ivy: I’ll text you about it tonight.

I sigh, because she is almost as stubborn as me. Almost. B P: Can’t we be mature adults and talk about this? Ivy: Absolutely! I’ll send you a message tonight. B P: Why don’t we meet to discuss it? Ivy: I’m having dinner with my sister. B P: Fantastic, I’ve been waiting to meet her. Ivy: I can’t, Boone. I’m sorry, I just can’t. B P: Do you hate me now or something? Ivy: No! Ivy: That’s not it at all.

Ivy: It’s just . . . complicated. I’m sorry I can’t say more. B P: Me too, baby girl. Me, too.

I toss my phone aside, frustrated with how the conversation went. I can normally win Ivy over in a matter of moments—so what’s troubling her so much that she won’t even see me? It’s complicated tells me absolutely nothing, other than there is something, and she doesn’t want to talk to me about it. I think for a moment, and then text one more time. B P: Are you pregnant? B P: I know we rubbered up, but accidents happen. Ivy: What? No! B P: So you got your period? Ivy: I am not discussing this with you, and are you freaking insinuating that the reason why I’m avoiding you is that I’m hormonal? B P: So . . . you are avoiding me, then. And here you’ve been telling me all week that it’s work.

She’s silent. I knew she would be. Ivy hates to be confronted. And somehow, having her admit that

she is, in fact, avoiding me just makes things worse. I need to figure out what’s going on so I can fix it. Protectiveness toward Ivy surges through me. No one better be messing with my woman. I’m actually a little bummed that there’s no baby. I picture Ivy’s stomach rounded with my kid and . . . I kinda like it. Of course, it’s early in the relationship yet, but Ivy pregnant with my baby? I’m up for that. Course, I gotta get her speaking to me, first. *** I get an idea of how to break down Ivy’s barriers a few days later. She’s been utterly silent and driving me crazy with lust, but I’m a patient man. Okay, I’m actually not, but I’m a calculating man. And I need a plan. It finally comes through for me on Monday, when Clay sends me a text message. Clay: Meeting with suits @ new drill site in West Tx. Tmrw @ 8 am.

You need to be there.

I’m about to text him that all of our brothers need to be there, because the company belongs to all of us even if I have the majority share. But as I start to text, I get an idea. Ivy has herself barricaded behind her desk, citing work. I just gotta get her away from work. I drive over to Ivy’s office. The lobby has a few clients inside it, sitting lined up in fancy chairs and sipping coffee. One’s in a suit and reading Forbes magazine. It’s a two-month-old issue. I know that, because it’s my face on the cover, along with my brothers as we pose with sledgehammers in front of one of our many rigs. I thought the picture was kinda stupid, but eh. It’s amusing to see this starchy, snooty suit reading my magazine, though. He barely gives me a passing glance before turning the page. The receptionist cocks her head and gives me a puzzled look, as if she can’t quite make me out. I guess Ivy’s number she did on my hair improved things more than I thought. Well, that and I’m not

covered in dirt today. Thought it might be bad manners to show up to woo my woman covered in mud. “I’m here to see Ivy.” “I’m afraid she’s not in at the moment,” the woman says, picking up her pen and a notepad. “Did you have an appointment?” “Sort of.” Her brows draw together. “Who shall I say came by?” “Oh, I’ll wait.” Her mouth opens and then closes again, and she gives me the tiniest of frowns, as if she disapproves of this choice. “I’m not sure how long she’ll be—” “That’s fine.” I move to one of the chairs in the lobby and drop into the seat, sprawling my legs out and getting comfortable. I’m prepared to wait. If Ivy’s here, she’ll have to come confront me at some point. And if not, well, I’ll run into her when she heads in again. Either way, I’m seeing Ivy today. I ain’t taking no for an answer anymore.

About a half hour after I sit down, the front door opens and a very pale, tired-looking Ivy enters, a stack of flyers in her hand. I immediately get to my feet, and as I do, surprise moves over her pretty features at the sight of me. “Boone! What are you doing here?” “Getting you a seat,” I tell her, taking her by the arm and leading her toward my chair. She looks . . . sick. Unhealthy. There’s a sheen of sweat on her face but she’s also paler than I’ve ever seen her, and my heart is about to jump out of my chest with worry for her. Is that why she’s been pushing me off? She’s ill? “What’s going on, Ivy?” She blinks her eyes at me, confused. “Going on?” “Why do you look like you’re about two steps from passin’ out?” She puts a hand to her forehead. “I’m fine. Truly. I just . . . need to eat some crackers and drink some juice.” That’s weirdly specific. “You just donate blood or something?”

“Or something.” She sags against me as if all the strength has gone out of her. Worry slams through my chest. She’s so fragile, and the weight she leans against me is slight. I’m full of panic, because I don’t know what to do. I feel helpless at the sight of her like this. But I have money, and as long as I have money, she’s gonna get the best care possible. So I scoop her up into my arms and immediately head out to my truck. “You hang tight, baby. I’m gonna get this all taken care of for you.” Ivy makes a small sound of protest as I open the door to the cab and gently set her inside. “Where are you taking me?” I buckle her in, gently close the door, and then race to the other side of my truck. “Boone,” she demands as I jump into the car. She sits up a bit more, no longer looking quite so scary-pale. “Seriously. Where are we going?” “Hospital,” I tell her as I start the truck and roar out of the parking lot. “If I have to buy them a damn wing to get them to look at you, I’ll do it.”

To my surprise, she laughs and her hand touches my arm. “I promise you, I’m fine. You’d be better off driving me to Starbucks than the hospital.” I glance over at her. Some of the color is returning to her face and there’s a hint of a smile on her lips, though she still looks mighty pale and worn. I’m torn, but I pull into a nearby Starbucks and order the drink she tells me. And then I order a few more cookies, just because she needs ’em. We pull up to the window and I fling my credit card at the girl, grabbing at the drinks and food and hastily passing them to Ivy. I don’t relax until she takes a few bites out of a cookie and sips at her iced coffee, and she gives me a bigger smile. “Thank you.” “You okay?” My heart feels as if it’s never gonna stop racing in terror. Her lips aren’t the same color as her pale cheeks anymore, though, so that’s good. “I’m getting there,” she says, and takes another sip. “You might want to get out of the drive-thru so someone else can get their order.”

I glance at the rearview mirror, and sure enough, there’s a line snaking around the building and lots of impatient people. But I don’t want to leave yet in case Ivy needs another cookie. I hand my card over to the girl at the window. “Pay for everyone else’s, too. It’s on me.” “Oh, Boone,” Ivy says, and there’s a soft note in her voice like I just bought these people something more important than a cup of coffee. “You big softy.” I put the truck in park. “I ain’t leaving until I know you’re good. You need more coffee? More cookies? A donut?” She shakes her head slowly. “I promise you, I’m perfectly fine now.” I ain’t sure I believe that just yet, but when the girl at the window hands me my card back, I guess I don’t have more reasons to stall before returning Ivy. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t return her. I give her a thoughtful look and she’s smiling so sweetly at me, as if she hasn’t blown me off all damn week.

As if she hasn’t given me blue balls and a sackful of worry. As if everything is okay now that she’s got some mocha java thing to drink. And then . . . what? I take her back to her work and she goes back to ignoring me? I nod thoughtfully and tuck my credit card back into my wallet, hand the girl at the window a fiftydollar bill for a tip, and then drive off, silent. “I appreciate the coffee, Boone, though it wasn’t necessary.” Ivy’s voice is like liquid honey, all smooth and pretty and sweet. “You’re thoughtful.” “Just doin’ my job,” I say blandly, and drive out from the parking lot and into the street. “Oh, I think you missed the turn for the office,” she tells me politely, gesturing at the windshield. “You can take the next street, though.” I don’t. I don’t take that street or even the one after that. I just keep driving, and she makes a surprised sound as I turn onto the highway. “Boone? Where are we going?”

I act like it’s no big deal, like I kidnap a woman every day of the week. Don’t even look over at her while I’m driving. “I’m taking you out to West Texas with me.” “What? You can’t!” “Kinda looks like I can, from my point of view.” “Boone!” She makes an outraged sound and thumps her hand on the dash. “Take me back to the office! Right now!” “Nope.” “What do you mean, nope?” “I mean . . .” I give her a lazy look. “Nope.” “You can’t just drive off with me! My laptop’s still at the office. My purse, too! All I had with me was my phone—” I let her make all kinds of unhappy noises, but I keep on driving. “You can’t just take me!” I glance over at her again. “It kinda looks like I did.”

Her eyes are flashing anger now. “This isn’t funny, Boone. I’m serious. This is kidnapping.” “No it ain’t.” “God, you are so frustrating! Yes, this is kidnapping! I can’t believe you!” I shake my head slowly. “You said you’d go with me.” “When did I say that?” I’m doing my best not to smile, though it ain’t easy. She’s real cute when she’s riled. “I seem to recall a certain promise of a blow job anywhere I wanted. Anytime. Any place.” Her gasp of shock is long, and low. “I want it in West Texas. At one of my rigs. Don’t worry, it’ll be private. I have to oversee drilling on a new well. Got a lot of production in the new area so gonna dowse for a well in some neighboring land. Thought I might bring you along with me.” “Because you want me to blow you?” “No, because I like your company.” I can feel the grin spreading across my face despite my best

efforts to play it straight. “Blow job’s just an extra.” “Boone, please.” Her voice is turning soft and pleading now. “I have clients this afternoon. I’m supposed to meet someone to discuss selling their house—” “Well now, that’s mighty interesting seeing as how you won’t look at houses with me.” Ivy goes silent. Now she’s snared. I wait patiently, because I’m bound and determined to get that explanation I’ve been wanting all week. She gives a little sigh. “You and I, we’re . . .” “Complicated?” I say drily. “Yes. No. I mean . . . we’re not supposed to be a thing.” “Says who?” Ivy rubs her forehead, and I nudge the bag of cookies toward her. “Eat another.” “You’re so pigheaded.” Not inaccurate. “And a bully,” she adds.

Possibly not inaccurate, either. “Where we goin’ with this?” “Ugh! You are so frustrating, Boone! Seriously! Why won’t you listen to me? I can’t be here with you. I need to go back to work!” Her voice turns pleading and she puts her hand on my arm again. “Please.” It almost works. Almost. “And then you’ll call me, right?” “Of course,” she agrees swiftly. “Just as soon as you get a chance.” Yeah. I fell for that once. I know the moment Ivy gets out of this car, she ain’t never gonna see me again if she can help it. There’s something I did that either spooked her or made her mad, and I need to figure out which so I can fix it. “Just like the rest of this week, right?” Ivy is silent. “Look, Ivy, I am a lot of things, but I ain’t stupid, all right? I know you’re avoiding me and you’re trying to play it off. I don’t know what I did

that made you run, but I’m tired of not getting an answer. So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?” For a long time, the only sound in the truck cab is the endless rhythm of the highway that passes under the tires, and the gentle roar of the air conditioner. “It’s complicated,” she says after a time. “I wish I could tell you more.” “Well, now, I sure wish you could, too.” “Can you please just take me back?” “If I do, am I ever gonna see you again?” She pauses for a long moment, and I grit my teeth. Damn. Whatever I did is so bad that she has to stop and think about whether or not she wants my money? Hell, I’m offering her everything—not just a commission on a fancypants house, but the chance to live there with me as my wife. My wallet —hell, my everything—would be hers for the taking. And she has to think about it? “Am I that bad to be around?” I have to know. The thought of her being repulsed by me sends an

ache right through my gut. I’m crazy about her and it kills me to think it might not be mutual. Ivy makes a sound of surprise. “It’s not you at all—” “Isn’t it? First chance you get, you ditch me. Kinda makes me feel like you’re having regrets for slumming it with me.” “That’s not true.” Her hand goes to my knee again. “If there’s a problem between us, it’s that I’m a little too addicted to you.” She’s not making any sense. I glance over at her before focusing my eyes back on the road again. “How is that a problem?” “It’s a problem for me. I don’t have time in my life right now for a relationship, much less an obsessive one.” “You think what we have is obsessive?” “Well, I’ve known you for a week and you’ve already been in my pants. I’d say that’s moving fast. And our first visit to a house you had your head between my legs.”

I lick my lips, because it’s been entirely too long since I’ve tasted her. “I miss having my head between your legs, Ivy. I’d put it there right now if I didn’t need my eyes for driving.” She sucks in a little breath and her legs shift on the seat. She’s wearing one of her longer skirts, her body covered down to the knees. I guess I’m the only one that gets the short skirts. Hot damn, I like that. Maybe what she’s telling me is true. Maybe she’s afraid of jumping in too fast. I can understand that. I put my hand on her knee, just to test the waters. After a moment, she puts her hand on mine, but she doesn’t try to remove it. Guess she’s not lying and she likes my touch after all. I stroke my thumb over the soft skin of her thigh. “Missed you this week. A lot.” Ivy’s hand caresses mine. “I missed you, too. I hate that I did. I wanted to be able to just walk away and not think about you anymore. Except that didn’t happen. I ended up thinking about you all the time.”

“But you still didn’t call me.” She chuckles. “You’re not the only one in this relationship that can be incredibly pigheaded.” And then I’m pleased, because she’s calling it a relationship. Maybe I’m breaking down her defenses. “I want you to go with me on this trip out to West Texas. It’ll just be an overnight, but I’d like you there with me.” “Because I owe you a blow job?” I drag my thumb along the inside of her knee. “Actually I just want to be around you. But yeah, we can say it’s for the blow job.” When she laughs, I press forward. “Call your clients. Tell them you can’t make it back today.” “I need my purse—” “You don’t. I’ll handle everything.” She shifts and I feel her creamy skin under my hand like a caress. I rub my fingertips along her inner thigh, wondering if she’d push me away if I let my hand go higher. “I do have two clients I’m supposed to meet this afternoon—” “Tell them you have to reschedule.”

“Someone will snag them out from under me.” “Tell your clients that if they don’t go with someone else, you’ll give them a free car at closing.” Ivy sputters. “I can’t give them free cars! I don’t—” “I’ll give them free cars. You don’t have to give them a thing. You’re my lady, and I’m stealing you away, so the least I can do is make sure your business is secure.” I tap my finger on her thigh. “Call ’em.” “This is . . . not realistic, Boone.” “I got enough money that I don’t have to live in reality anymore, or didn’t you notice?” I grin over at her, my hand possessive on her thigh. “Last week I shot down a two-million-dollar house for being too shitty.” “It was shitty for the amount of money you’re going to pay,” she admits, and pulls out her phone. She hesitates, and then sighs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I’m glad you are,” I tell her, and stroke her thigh again. She shivers even as she dials, but she doesn’t push my hand away. It’s like she likes it there. I think, for all her protesting, Ivy likes being owned by me. She calls a client and shoots a nervous smile over at me. “Hello, Mr. Thompson? This is Ivy Smithfield, over at Three Jacks Real Estate. Listen, I am terribly sorry. I know we were supposed to go and view a couple of houses later today, but I’m afraid that something has come up and I won’t make it back this afternoon.” She pauses, listening to the man on the other end. A tiny frown appears between her brows. “I know. I understand. Yes, it is unprofessional, but I’m afraid something really has come up.” “Tell him you’ll give him a free car,” I murmur. She shoots me a frustrated look, her focus on the phone. “I understand, Mr. Thompson. Yes. Yes.” A held-in sigh. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

Man, the guy must really be reaming her. “Tell him you’ll give him the car,” I repeat, stroking higher on her thigh to get her attention. She squirms against me, a startled look crossing her face. “Car,” I repeat. “Mr. Thompson,” she says, and there’s a breathless note to her voice that makes my dick hard. “I understand your frustration, and I know this is unconventional, but the appointment that came up today? The person in question is offering a free automobile upon closing if you remain signed with me.” Silence. “Yes. A car. Wh-what kind?” She looks over at me, helplessly. “Any kind he wants,” I tell her. I don’t give a fuck if he demands a Bentley as long as he stops yelling at my woman. “Any kind you like,” she stammers into the phone. “Yes, I am quite serious. Yes, I am sure you can get it in writing.” A throaty little laugh escapes her throat. “Does he own a car dealership? Something like that. I do realize it’s inconvenient

to reschedule like this, but that is why my client is offering this incentive. Yes. Yes, I promise I’m not lying. Yes, I suppose you can have a minivan if you need one.” She glances over at me. I nod slowly. My hand goes higher up her skirt, and I hold her thigh possessively. Her skin’s getting softer—and warmer—the higher up I go. And my dick’s getting harder with every inch I claim, too. “I see. Yes, send me an email and we’ll reschedule for early next week, I promise. And I’ll get you that information about the car. Yes, I promise I’m not joking.” She gives a little laugh. “I understand. It is strange, but this is a very generous client. Yes. Thank you for understanding, Mr. Thompson.” She hangs up the phone and looks over at me. “I hope you’re serious about the car thing.” “Of course I am. Why would I lie?” “Because I’m pretty sure that man was going to cry out of happiness.” “I wanted him to stop yelling at you.”

Ivy gives a small shake of her head. “You realize he’s going to try and find the most expensive minivan on the market, right?” “Don’t care. Long as you don’t lose his business.” She laughs and looks at me like I’m crazy. “You do realize the van you’re going to buy is way more expensive than anything I’d get, commission-wise? He’s very low-income, HUD housing. He’ll be lucky if he qualifies for more than eighty K through the bank.” She stares out the window. “Six kids, though.” “Then I should buy the guy a big van,” I agree. Sounds like the guy could use it. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Ivy looks over at me, smiling. “Don’t care if I am, long as I get what I want.” “And you want . . .” she prompts. “You know what I want.” I push my hand further up her skirt and cup her sex. Fuck, I can feel how wet she is through her panties. And the little gasp of shock she gives and the fact that she

clenches her thighs around my hand? Even fucking better. “I can’t get enough of you, Ivy. And if I have to buy minivans for the entire state, I’m gonna do it if that means I get to hog all your time.” I drag my fingers along her pussy. She’s keeping it nice and shaved, and damn if that isn’t the sexiest thing ever. “Oh my god,” she moans, and her hand clenches the truck seat. She’s not pushing my hand away, though. Her hand goes to the chicken bar over the door, like she’s gotta hold on to something. “You shouldn’t do this while you’re driving, Boone.” She’s probably right. I ain’t paying much attention to the road. Not with her hot pussy against my fingers and her squirming like she’s about to come off the seat. And since I’m not willing to remove my hand . . . I put on my blinker and immediately start crossing lanes, heading for the nearest exit. Up ahead I see a cluster of signs, and when I pull off onto the service road, I head for the parking lot of a local superstore. It all takes about thirty seconds as I tear through traffic, but that’s thirty seconds too long.

I screech the truck to a halt at the back of the parking lot, and throw it into park, and then look over at Ivy. Her eyes are wide, her skin flushed, and I can see the prick of her nipples through that demure little jacket of hers. “Get over here in my lap,” I growl, and rub her hard through her panties. I can feel her little clit under the pads of my fingers. Ivy whimpers, but she unbuckles her seatbelt. In the next moment, she’s crawling over to me and I put my arms around her waist. At the same time, I hit the release and my seat skids backward a few inches to give her room to climb onto me. Her skirt rides up, but I’m fine with that because it just gives me more access to her pussy. Her hair’s in another one of those ridiculously tight buns she favors, and I want to tug it free and see her hair cascade loose. I know from watching her undress that it’s held by a thousand little pins, and so I start to pull them out, one by one. With my other hand, I push inside her panties and stroke her wet folds.

Ivy cries out and then her mouth is on mine in a frantic, hungry kiss. That’s my girl. I let her take the lead, showing me her urgency. She controls the kiss, her tongue moving against mine and her soft little cries increasing each time I stroke her clit. All the while, I pull pin after pin from her hair, determined to get her off and to get her a little bit messy. Well, a lot messy. I want her to look well fucked, because I love seeing that on her. She shudders against me as I flick her clit and then rub it with my thumb. Her thighs clamp against my hand and she bites down on my lower lip. My cock aches hard, but this is about her—claiming her, making her mine, making her feel a tenth of how I feel about her on a regular basis. My needs don’t matter—all that matters is Ivy. A little cry escapes her throat and she breaks the kiss to press her face against mine. Her hips push down against my hand, and I can feel the little tremors rocking through her body that tell me she’s close, so close. Then, her hair cascades over my

hand, finally free of its tight confines. I grab a fistful of it and hold her as I double down, working her pussy over with renewed speed. My fingers glide through her slickness and I sink one deep, even as I rest my thumb over her clit and rub. Her hands claw at my shirt and the air explodes from her lungs. She buries her face against my neck and rides my hand, bucking wildly against it as I fuck her with my fingers. This is my girl. This is what I want from her—intensity. Abandon. Passion. I want all of it. I kiss her neck, scraping my teeth over her soft skin as I pump into her with my fingers, working her toward her climax. “Come for me, Ivy. Come on my hand. Come all over my fingers. Give me everything you’ve got.” She cries out and arches against me, and her cunt clenches hard around my finger, trying to milk it. I know my Ivy, though, and I keep rubbing her clit, dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of her as she shudders against me over and over again.

Slowly, she recovers and I pull my fingers from her warmth. I want to leave my hand between her legs forever, but, well, it makes it a little tricky to drive. She sits back in my lap and I put my fingers to my mouth and suck her juices off of them, because I ain’t letting a drop of it go to waste. Ivy strokes my beard as I do, a sleepy, almost amused look on her face. Then, she blinks at something over my shoulder. “What is it?” “Another car just parked right next to you. I . . . forgot we’re in a parking lot.” Pink is creeping up her flushed cheeks. “Oh my god, I always forget where I am with you.” “Can’t say I’m sad about that.” Not in the slightest, actually. Now I’m picturing all the places I’d like to take Ivy, just to get her off in public: a movie theater, a restaurant, anywhere I can show off to the world that she’s mine while privately stroking her sweet, hot little pussy. She pushes her hair off her shoulders and gives me a flustered look before sliding off my lap and

retreating back to her end of the truck cab. “That’s because you’re a bad influence.” “I like to think I’m the best influence,” I drawl. Ivy just grins and undoes the buttons on her jacket, revealing a silky little top underneath. She fans herself and then pulls the jacket off . . . and I see Band-Aids and bruises covering the inside of each arm. My arousal dies. The contentment I feel? Dies. Right in my fucking chest. “What happened?” “Hmm?” She fans her face absently and then turns one of the air conditioner vents toward her. “Your arms.” “Oh.” The flustered look returns to her expression and she gestures at one Band-Aid. “This? I was just donating blood.” “Again? In both arms?” I eye her. “How often are you giving blood?” “It’s for a good cause,” she says defensively. “Ivy, there ain’t no cause good enough for them to stick you like a voodoo doll. This why you keep fainting?” I grab the crushed bag of cookies that’s

been forgotten between us and shove it at her. “Eat one of these before I lose my fucking shit.” Ivy rolls her eyes and takes one of the broken cookies out of the bag, shoving it into her mouth and making a face at me. I don’t care if she’s pissy. I watch to make sure she eats every bite, and when she pops the last of it into her mouth, I hand over her drink and make sure she sips it. Maybe she’s got a family member that’s sick. Maybe that’s why she’s always so quiet and won’t tell me what’s going on. Maybe that’s why things are “complicated” and she doesn’t want to leave with me for the weekend. Suddenly I feel like an ass. “Who’s dying?” I ask when she swallows. The look she gives me is incredulous. “Dying? No one’s dying.” “Then why are you giving so much fucking blood?” “Why is it any of your business?” I clench my jaw and stare out the window. There’s a guy rounding up shopping carts who

gives us a weird look as he passes by, but I ignore him. Instead, I grab another cookie out of the bag and hand it to Ivy. She groans but takes it from me and begins to eat it. “It’s my business,” I say slowly, “because I care about you and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” “That’s sweet, but I can take care of myself.” I grab her arm and look at the gigantic bruise that’s growing under the Band-Aid, then look at her. She yanks her arm out of my grip and scowls. “I’m serious, Boone. I don’t need anyone hovering over me to make sure that I’m fine. I—” I snort. “That’s for damn sure. You don’t need anyone, it seems.” “Excuse me for being independent.” “There’s a difference between being independent and being a stubborn ass.” “Oh, and you’d know?” she retorts. “Because I’m not seeing a lot of nuance between the two on your end.”

“I might be stubborn, but at least I share what I’m feeling.” I jerk the truck into gear and head out of the parking lot, cold fury in my brain. “And I guess that’s the big difference between me and you, Ivy. I want to be in your life, and you just keep pushing me away.” She’s silent. Her arms are crossed and she’s quiet for so long that I think she’s quietly plotting how she’s going to chew my head off for the next round. “Are you taking me home?” she asks after a while. “No.” “No?” She seems surprised by that. “Nothing’s changed,” I tell her. “Just because I don’t like how you push me away don’t mean anything’s changed. I’m still fuckin’ crazy about you, Ivy Smithfield, and I’ll be damned if I let you just go home to ignore me all over again for another week or month or however long you get it in your head.” “So we’re still going to West Texas . . . ? For . . . your blow job?”

There’s a teasing note in her voice and I look over at her, skeptical. “Maybe just because I wanna spend the weekend with you.” She’s got a soft little smile on her face. “Fair enough. Can we just agree to disagree on all the other stuff? Please?” I hate that this is her avoiding confrontation again. I want to know what’s going on. I’m worried to hell and back about her, but there’s nothing I can do if she won’t tell me a thing. But I’m also a fool in love. “If that’ll make you happy.” “It will.”

Ivy My other client is all too happy to reschedule, even without the promise of a car. After that, there’s no excuse left to give, so it looks like I’m headed out with Boone for the weekend. I send my sister a note telling her I’m staying with a work friend, but

I’m sure she’ll ask questions. I’ll figure something out before I get home. Until then . . . I’m with Boone. As we drive west, the landscape flattens out until it looks as if we’ve left familiar Texas and somehow gone into the Texas of the movies, full of cactus, tumbleweeds, and endless dry, dusty roads. San Antonio is all buildings and color, and neither of those seem to apply the further west we head. “What’s the name of the place we’re headed to?” I ask. “Big Lake. It’s a drillin’ town, not much to look at. Some fracking, some oil, lots of rigs. ’Bout three, three and a half hours west of San Antonio.” His hand is on my knee as he drives, and has been ever since we got in the cab. I think he just likes touching me. And really . . . I like him touching me, too. “I thought most of your stuff was further west than that?” “It is. I purchased up some property from an old friend who ran dry. Pretty sure I can squeeze a

few more wells out of it. Ran my rods over the place and there’s still life there.” “Your rods?” “Dowsing rods.” I look over at him. “Like . . . the little sticks that shake if you find water?” “They point, and it works for oil as well as water.” He grins. “And I’m pretty good at it.” “So it’s not just an old wives’ tale? It works?” He nods slowly. “It’s how I find all my wells. I don’t let my boys drill without me picking the spot first. I used to do consulting, you know. Dowse for the competition. Now I just buy up all the adjoining land and milkshake ’em like the bastard I am.” I don’t even know what milkshaking is. “I’m surprised you’re superstitious, Boone. You didn’t seem the type.” “Oh, I ain’t as bad as some. I know some guys that put laxatives down the hole, convinced that works. And some get a preacher or any other sort of holy person to come and pray over their wells. Me, I just stick to the dowsing.”

I give my head a little shake, surprised by all this. “It’s just strange to me to hear a billionaire say that. What do your investors think?” “Eh, I don’t really ask ’em.” He shrugs. “I don’t run my business like most do. I let my suits run the company and I do my thing. I know rigs, and drilling, and that’s what I stick to. I let the company do what it wants as long as it makes me money, and I meet with my suits to make sure they’re doing their jobs. Other than that . . .” He shrugs. “You don’t want more control over your company?” “Nah.” “But . . .” “What if it goes under?” He shrugs again and switches lanes. “I got my money tucked away. My brothers are investing in some other businesses. Clay’s got some camo technology business he’s big into right now, and Knox is looking at what to do with his shares. Oil goes bust all the time. Wells dry up. Oil prices drop. You make hay while the sun shines.”

It’s crazy to me that he’s so blasé about potentially losing a fortune. I can’t even imagine. I’ll eat an expired can of soup just because I can’t imagine tossing it out and wasting the money. We come from such different worlds, he and I, even though we have a lot of similarities. But it just drives home to me that all this money he spends means nothing to him, and it’s everything to me. We chat a bit back and forth as he drives, his hand remaining on my knee like a possessive brand. Even though I’ve lived in Texas all my life, I’ve never driven west, and it’s amazing to me how different things seem. Eventually there’s a little sign that says BIG LAKE, TEXAS and a motel. There’s a couple mom-and-pop diners, and then more of the strange skeletal metal contraptions that are the lifeline to the oil industry. It’s all so foreign. Boone eventually takes a few turns down a gravel road, and then we pull up to a row of pickup trucks parked in front of a metal trailer. Off

to one side is a rig, and I can see men moving on the platform. Two other men in hardhats are talking in front of the trailer. Both of them wear suits despite the heat, and look just as out of place as I feel. “Here we go. You finish your cookies?” Boone asks as he parks the truck. “Or do you need to eat some more?” “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” I assure him, patting my stomach. The man bought practically a dozen and made me eat every single one over the last few hours. The plasma donations have been taking a lot out of me, but with the sugar and carbs, I’m feeling better. He studies my face, as if making sure I look healthy enough, and then nods. He gets out of the truck, then comes to my side and opens the door, offering me a hand to help me out. “I’m not dressed for this,” I chide him as my heels wobble in the dirt. “I got some boots you can wear inside the trailer. We’ll get you a hardhat, too.” He tucks my

hand in his arm and escorts me forward. “You look beautiful, anyhow.” Do I? My hair’s a mess after our makeout session, my panties are still damp, and my suit is wrinkled from hours in the car. I probably don’t have a lick of makeup left on my face. I feel awkwardly out of place as he leads me toward the others. I can almost guess what they’re thinking as they eye me. Gold digger. “Boys,” Boone greets as we approach. “Say hello to Ivy, my fiancée.” Oh shit, again? My cheeks heat with an awkward flush even as I extend my hand in greeting toward them. “Realtor,” I correct with a smile on my face. “He meant realtor.” “Sure, realtor. For now.” Boone seems undeterred. He gestures at one man, then the other. “This is Roberts, and this is Gorham. They’re on the board at Price Brothers Oil. I came out to check on the new rig and dowse for another. Thought I’d bring company with me.” He smiles at me.

He’s the only one. The two men in suits are completely stone-faced under their hardhats, gazing at me with completely blank expressions. I can’t tell if they’re pissed or annoyed or pleased to see me. “I promise not to get in the way,” I say politely, keeping my smile on my face. Roberts nods, and then turns to Boone. “There’s some business we need to go over that came up at the last meeting. Do you have a moment?” Boone glances over at me. “You want to go grab yourself some shoes, baby? They’re inside the trailer.” Both men in suits are staring at me and I’m starting to feel like a bug under a microscope. “Sure.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be in in a moment, then we’ll start the tour.” I climb up the metal steps into the trailer, and as I do, I’m half expecting him to slap my ass. He doesn’t, and then I feel like a jerk, because of course he wouldn’t. He doesn’t need to be a macho

asshole to let the others know that I’m his. Boone doesn’t have to show off in front of anyone. He never does. I feel a twinge of guilt that I’ve been unfair to him, even in my own head. He’s given me no reason to doubt him. I’m just a jerk and keep looking for excuses to be frustrated with him, I guess. Like I want to somehow find this massive flaw so I can be justified in keeping him at arm’s length. I enter the trailer and a wash of cool, recycled air hits me. There’s a window unit chugging away, but the inside of the trailer is empty. It’s a bit of a mess, too. There’s a few maps on the wall that I can’t make heads or tails of, and a corkboard covered with notes, schedules, and other bits of paper. There’s a shelf full of binders behind a cheap desk, and the desk itself is covered in more papers, more binders, and a phone. Everything looks cheap, just a little bit dirty, and cluttered. There’s a row of boots behind the door, along with a few extra hardhats. I pick up one pair of boots

that look the smallest, but they’re dirty and there’s no socks. Erm. Boone enters a moment later, talking with either Roberts or Gorham—I don’t remember which is which. They discuss meters and barrels and I sit in a folding chair in the corner, so I don’t interrupt. The man in the suit hands over stacks of paperwork and Boone signs them even as the two argue about investments and drilling and other things I politely try not to listen to, since it’s none of my business. “That’s the last of it,” Roberts says, closing a folder after Boone signs off. “There’s a meeting with the board Tuesday at ten in the morning—” Boone shakes his head. “Change it to Wednesday.” “Wednesday at ten in the morning,” Roberts amends smoothly. “Will you and your brothers be there?” “I’ll be there. Dunno about them.” Roberts nods at him and heads toward the door. He nods at me as well, and then leaves without a

good-bye. The door shuts behind him. Boone rubs his beard, an irritated expression on his face. “Friendly,” I say to Boone, teasing. Boone snorts. “I didn’t hire him because he’s a nice guy. But he likes to be in charge of all the shit I don’t like to be in charge of, so it works out well.” “I don’t think he liked me,” I point out. “He don’t like anyone,” Boone says. “Even me. You’re in good company.” That makes me chuckle. “And you’re okay with that?” “Long as he spends all day in the boardroom and not me? Hell yeah.” He gets to his feet and comes to my side. “You find some boots?” “Yes, but there’s no socks.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure I like the thought of cramming my foot into someone else’s boot without one.” He laughs and opens up a file cabinet, pulling out a package of socks. “Fair enough. Now, come on. I wanna show you my rigs.”

A few minutes later, I’m wearing new socks, boots, a hardhat, and my hand is in Boone’s as he leads me forward. The work on the rig doesn’t stop as we approach up the ramp, but we also don’t get too close. Instead, Boone pulls me aside and points out how the process works, and I try to follow along. From what I can tell, they constantly add more pipe to the hole as they dig, then someone brings in a chain and wraps it around the pipe to tighten things, and then it all starts over again. I’m pretty sure I’m missing about eighty percent of the process, but Boone seems pleased with how things are going. “See that guy right there?” he tells me, pointing at one with a broom. “The worm?” “Worm?” I ask. “That’s my little brother, Seth. I’m making him work for the summer before he gets his shares, so he knows what this shit is about.” I nod slowly. “So he gets a share of the company?”

“Family share. It’s Price Brothers Oil, and he’s a Price. I have majority, but all of my brothers get an equivalent family share.” “How much is the share?” I can’t help but be nosy. “Right now? Probably a billion or so.” My eyes go wide. I stare at the scruffy, lean guy in a hardhat. He’s the blond kid from before, with the downy beard on his jaw. He’s wearing a dirty jumper and the other guys pause every now and then to give him shit, which he ignores. He’s going to be a billionaire at the end of the summer. I feel like I’ve stepped onto another planet right about now. One summer of hard work and you get a billion dollars. If only it were that easy. Shaken, I turn to Boone. “W . . . which is the job you did? Before you hit oil?” He points at a man standing at what looks like a control panel. “I was the driller, but I’ve worked all the positions and gotten my hands dirty.” He winks at me. “Something you’ll never have to do.”

“Ah.” My stomach tightens. Boone puts an arm around my shoulders. “You want me to go in there and show you how it’s done?” I watch as someone flings a chain around the pipe and all the roughnecks move into motion. Mud sprays and everyone steps backward. “No, I’m good, actually.” He chuckles. “You wanna go dowsing, then?” “Sure.” I pause as he turns away. “Are you going to say hi to your little brother?” Boone shakes his head and leads me back down the ramp. “Nope. He needs to concentrate. Could lose a finger if I mess with his mojo.” I blink in surprise, because that sounds awful. And then I remember that Boone’s missing a finger, too. Is that how? The work seems a lot more dangerous all of a sudden. I look back and watch them tighten the chains on the pipe, all of them covered in mud as the driller shouts at them. I’m rather glad that Boone’s in charge and not on the rig any longer. The thought of him being in any kind

of danger makes me feel . . . nervous and unhappy. I slide my hand around his waist and tuck my fingers into his belt loop. “I’d like to see the dowsing.” “You just wanna see me play with my stick, don’t you?” I snort. *** Several hours later, I feel as if I’ve crawled all over the flats of West Texas. Boone and I met up with another one of his workers, this one with a topography map, an iPad, and two all-terrain vehicles. We’d set off on the vehicles, me clinging to Boone’s back, and then arrived at the spot Boone wanted to investigate. From there, Boone pulled out his dowsing rods and I watched as he moved slowly over the ground, calling out locations for his worker with the map to mark down. It’s the most bizarre thing, but both Boone and the worker took it extremely seriously. Boone

even handed the dowsing rods to me and asked if I wanted to give it a shot. I did, but didn’t feel a thing, and quickly handed them back. Perhaps some people are just better at finding money than others. If that’s the case, I’ll never be able to dowse a thing. Money seems to elude me. By the time Boone seems satisfied, there’s at least twenty spots noted on the map that he goes over with his employee, and the sun feels like it’s baking me to a crisp in my suit. Boone notices I’m starting to wilt and claps the guy on the back. “We’ll finish early today and hit the next field tomorrow.” Then, Boone comes to my side. “You ready to head out, darlin’?” Now I feel guilty. “I don’t want to keep you from working—” “If there’s oil in the next field, it’s been there for sixty-five million years. It can keep for another day.” Boone glances back at his employee. “I’m taking my fiancée home. I’ll see you in the morning. Take the rest of the day off.”

“Will do. You have a good one, boss.” He tips his hat to both of us and gets on his ATV. Boone drives us back to the trailer and I change back into my heels. We get in the truck and Boone looks over at me. “Is the motel okay? Big Lake doesn’t have anything fancy like the place I took you last week.” “If it has a shower, I’m completely fine with that.” I’m sweaty and gross and ready to change out of my clothing. “I don’t have anything to change into.” He grins. “One shower, coming right up. As for the change of clothing . . .” He puts the truck in park and grins at me. “Be right back.” I watch as he races back into the trailer and returns a few moments later with a plastic package. He tosses it over at me as he buckles back in. It’s a T-shirt: Price Brothers Oil. I chuckle. “Perfect.” “It’ll go great with your silky panties.” He winks at me as he puts the truck in reverse. That it might.

The motel is across the street from a truck stop diner, which, Boone tells me, makes incredible hamburgers. It’s a tiny place but the lady at the front desk knows Boone and beams a friendly smile at me as she hands him the keys. The room is small and dark, but the sheets look clean and there’s fluffy towels and a shower that’s practically screaming my name. I pry off my heels and it feels as if a shower of dirt emerges from my shoe even though I wore boots most of the afternoon. “Good god, how is it I got so dirty?” “It’s the wind. It carries the grit and it just gets into everything.” Boone pulls off his cap and tosses it on the king-size bed then glances speculatively over at me. “Thought you liked being my dirty girl.” I giggle and give a small shake of my head, shrugging off my jacket. “It’s amazing how you can manage to make everything sound completely filthy.” “Ain’t it?” He wiggles his brows at me as I toss my jacket onto the bed. “So what’s your plan

now?” “Shower? Then sleep?” I’m exhausted from the day, and I think some of that has to do with all the plasma donations I’ve been giving. I can’t say that, of course. Boone will flip his lid if he finds out, and my story will go bust. He’ll want to know why, and someone giving plasma is downright suspicious, so I know he’d see through it. And . . . I don’t know if I’m ready to be done yet. I keep telling myself it’s a bad idea to be with him, because once he finds out the truth, he won’t want me. But I can’t seem to help myself. “That sounds good,” he says, and pulls his shirt off. “I’ll wash your back.” “You . . . you want to shower with me?” “Fuck yeah, I do.” He grins, all white teeth and gorgeous, smiling face. The idea of a shower is suddenly taking on an entirely new meaning, and I mentally picture Boone naked, his big body towering over mine and his hands moving over my skin. I shiver, rubbing my arms. Why is it that just thinking about the man

touching me makes me go crazy with need? “I do need my back scrubbed,” I lie. I need something, all right, but it has nothing to do with soap. He just gives me another one of those lazy, gorgeous smiles, and his gaze sweeps over my body appreciatively. “You show me what you need done, baby girl, and I’ll get it taken care of.” “Mmmhmm.” I need him to want me for who I truly am, not who he imagines me to be. But maybe, over time, that won’t matter. Maybe it won’t be a big deal if he finds out that although I’m doing my best to reinvent myself, I still grew up in a trailer, my mom’s a deadbeat, and my dad’s in prison. It won’t matter that I’m uneducated and know more about how to run a fry machine than how to host a dinner party. Because he’ll love me and will understand that I’ve worked hard to change who I am, just like he has. But even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. Boone hasn’t changed who he is, one bit. He’s got money, but I suspect that if I went back in time five years, Boone Price would be the same then as he is now

—stubborn, strong-willed, and utterly determined to get what he wants. “You look troubled,” Boone says to me, moving to my side. “What’s botherin’ you?” His rough hand smooths the hair back from my face in a caress. I . . . can’t tell him. So I undo my skirt and let it fall to the floor, and cock my head as I gaze up at him. “I was just thinking about when you wanted that blow job.” His eyes gleam. “You offering, baby girl?” “Would I bring it up if I wasn’t?” I arch a brow at him, trying to be coy instead of sad. Boone rubs his knuckles along my jaw, studying my face. “You’re not too tired? I didn’t bring you here for the blow job, you know.” I laugh. “A turnabout? That’s not what you told me earlier.” “That’s because I play dirty.” He winks at me and then leans in to brush his lips gently across mine. “Doesn’t mean I’m heartless. You’re tired and not feeling well, and the last thing I wanna do

is push you to do something you ain’t interested in.” “Why wouldn’t I be interested?” I slowly pull my silk camisole off, and then I’m only in my panties and bra. “Why wouldn’t I want to touch you as much as you touch me?” I smile. “Actually, you’ve gone down on me plenty of times and I haven’t even returned the favor.” “That’s because I like the feel of your pussy on my lips, and I like the taste of you even more.” His hand drops and he cups the front of my panties, rubbing my folds through them. “Actually wouldn’t mind going down on you right about now, baby girl.” “We are going to shower,” I tell him in my sweetest voice. “And then I am going to give you a blow job. Don’t distract me.” “Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, a grin on his face. I unhook my bra and turn away, removing it with a flourish before shimmying out of my panties. I saunter toward the bathroom, naked, and turn on the shower. The water’s cold, so I wait by the tub a

moment, feeling a little nervous and a lot excited as I hear Boone stripping off his clothing in the other room. Then he appears in the doorway, all tanned skin and rippling muscle, and I lose my breath. The man eats up a room when he enters, and I feel small and fragile as he comes to stand next to me. He drags his hand through my hair, then rubs a handful of it against his face, and for some reason, that’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I gasp at the sight, my nipples hardening immediately. He’s completely naked, his cock thick and erect. I want to touch him all over. It’s my turn to explore. I crook a finger and saunter into the bathroom, toward the spray of hot water. Bathing him might be a pretense, but I’m excited just thinking about running my soapy hands all over him. He’s had his hands on me, pleasured me, kissed every inch of my skin, and now I get to return the favor. The shower is one of those plastic, boxy ones with a rippled door instead of a curtain, and for a moment, I wish it was a sexier,

more open shower. It’ll have to do, though. I push the door aside, step under the hot water, and glance over at him, soaking my hair. Boone is two steps behind me, and his hand skates down my back even as he shuts the shower door behind him. “You are perfection, you know that?” I turn, then slide one wet hand up his chest. “You get under the spray and I’ll wash your back.” “You do know I’d be just fine with dropping to my knees and licking you until you come on my face, don’t you?” Boone strokes a gentle knuckle down my cheek. “There’s no need for being reciprocal or anything, because making you come is entirely my pleasure.” “Not entirely,” I tease. “And this isn’t entirely about you, either.” I let my hand trail down his chest, heading toward his cock. “I want to do this. I want to see how you react when I touch you, when I put my mouth on you.” I press my hands on his hips and then slowly lower to my knees. His back blocks the spray from raining down on me, and I

gaze up at him, feeling powerful and in control despite my vulnerable position. “I might be touching you, but this is most definitely for me.” He groans and his hand moves over my wet hair. “That so?” “It is.” My sassy words fade in favor of a low, tingling excitement that pools between my thighs at the sight of his cock just inches from my face. I examine him before I touch him, just because this is my first time up close and personal with a dick. His skin is a darker shade here, almost plumcolored on the head of his cock, and ruddy along the shaft. A dark nest of curls shields his balls. There’s a vein that dances along the length of his shaft, zigzagging under his skin, and I trace one finger along its path. Boone sucks in a breath, and his hand tangles in my wet hair. For a moment, I think he’s going to force my head down toward his cock, but he doesn’t. He’s determined not to push me farther than I want to go. Luckily for him, I want to go all the way.

I curl my fingers around his length, feeling how thick he is. My fingers can’t quite meet around his shaft, and I squeeze him just to see his reaction. A tremor rushes through his body at my touch, and as I glance up at him, I see his nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches, like it’s taking everything in his power not to disturb me in my exploration. But . . . I kind of want to be disturbed. Not that I want him to pull me away, just that I want him to be so turned on by what I’m doing that he can’t help but intervene. So I decide that is my new goal —I’m going to make him so crazy with lust that he’s going to lose control. I want him as wild as he makes me. So I continue my exploration, letting my wet fingers glide from the head of his cock to the underside of it, tracing along his skin. I caress his shaft as I move my fingertips over it, and then go further down and explore his balls. They’re not the prettiest of body parts, but I like that his skin is incredibly soft here, and when I touch him, I can hear him suck in a breath.

His skin is scorching hot against my hand, the scent of him muskier here, and I can’t wait to put my mouth on him. I extend the tip of my tongue and give him a cautious lick, catching a few beads of water off the side of his cock shaft. “That is the best damn thing I have ever seen,” Boone says hoarsely above me, and I look up to see he’s holding on to the lip of the plastic wall of the shower with white-knuckled strain. “You like it?” I ask, a playful note in my voice. I repeat the action, this time tracing the tip of my tongue all around the head of his cock. Not all of the beads here are water, and I can taste a salty tang of pre-cum. I flick my tongue over the divot to get more of his taste, and I can feel his entire body shudder in response. “Fuckin’ love it,” he grits out. Encouraged, I wrap my hand tight around his length and focus on pleasuring him with my tongue. I try different things to see what he likes and what he doesn’t. The slow drag of the tip of my tongue over his skin makes his body twitch, but when I

lick him like an ice cream cone, he groans and murmurs filthy things under his breath. My lips brushing over his cock make him exhale sharply, and when I pump him with my hand? He ducks his head and the hand on my head leaves my hair and clenches into a fist that he presses against one thigh. Poor thing’s desperately trying to hold on to his control. It makes me grin and feel even more shamelessly wicked, because I want to tear it away from him. I lick the head of his cock again, and then close my lips over him. “Oh, damn,” he breathes. “Oh, baby girl. Have mercy on your man.” There’s not an ounce of mercy in me as I swirl my tongue over him, figuring out how to give him the most pleasure. He likes it when I rub the flat of my tongue against him, and he really likes it when I suck and drag him deeper. I focus on taking as much of him into my mouth as I can, relaxing my jaw and working on him with my tongue. I’m

surprised when the head of his cock bumps against the back of my throat and he hisses out my name between his teeth. “Get up,” he grits a moment later, gently pulling me off of him. I release his cock from my mouth with an audible pop and look up at him in surprise. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He drags me to my feet and pulls me against him in a hard, fierce kiss. “I’m getting a fucking condom because I want to come inside you, not on your mouth.” “Oh.” I watch as he shoves the shower door open and storms out of the bathroom, dripping water everywhere. A moment later he returns with a condom packet, ripping it open with his teeth and then rolling the sleeve of it down his length. It’s amazing how fast he does that, and I barely have time to register that he’s getting back into the shower with me when he pulls me up against him and begins to kiss me again.

I moan against his mouth, because his hand is sliding between my wet thighs and stroking my pussy. There’s no slow build between us— everything seems to explode after a few small touches, and I’m left aching and full of want. I squirm with need when his fingers sink deep between my thighs, pushing into my core. “You’re so fucking wet,” he tells me between wild kisses. “You like sucking my cock, baby girl?” “I love touching you, Boone,” I tell him, feeling shy at admitting such a bold thing. “I wasn’t ready to stop.” “I don’t have the stamina,” he tells me, pressing his face against my neck and kissing me even as he fucks me with his hand. His beard prickles and rasps against my skin, softer when wet. “But I’m more than willing to let you practice on me over and over again, Ivy. But right now? Right now, I need you.” His fingers leave my body and I whimper at the loss, clinging to his wet shoulders. He takes one of

my thighs and hooks it around his hips, and before I realize what he’s doing, he grabs me by my hips and hoists me up the wall, pinning me against the tile, my breasts pressing against his chest. I feel the heat of his cock push between my thighs and then I’m sinking down on his length. I moan, my nails digging into Boone’s back, because it feels so deep like this. Like gravity is shoving me down on his length and all I can do is hold on to him for dear life. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses against my skin. “Wrap your legs around me tight, Ivy. I won’t let you fall.” I do as he commands and then he thrusts into me, my body jolting against the slick tile. It feels as if our bodies are barely moving, but I can feel . . . everything. And the angle he’s pushing into me? I . . . it’s rubbing something deep inside me that is making me crazy. When he thrusts again, a keening cry escapes my throat and I squirm wildly against him, needing more.

“That hit the spot, Ivy?” He presses more frantic kisses to my face and then thrusts into me again, and I claw at his back, crying out his name. “Yup,” he chuckles, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’m about to burst from my skin with need. “Found the spot.” Again, he thrusts into me. Over and over, Boone pumps into me with quick, shallow bursts, and oh god, it feels like I’m a volcano erupting. Orgasm after orgasm crashes through me, my legs like Jell-O. I’m making all kinds of little cries and mewing noises and I can’t find that I give a damn, because he’s fucking any cares I might have had right out of my brain. It’s one endless orgasm positioned like this, and I think he’s coming, too, a moment later, because he presses my body against the tile, hard, and I bite down on his shoulder, trying desperately to unleash some of the madness that’s ripping through me with gale-force pleasure. All I know is that I feel amazing. I’m barely aware as he carries me, still clinging to him like a baby monkey, from the

shower back to the hotel bed. He lies on top of my wet body for a few moments, tenderly kissing me. I cry out in a small protest as he gets up to turn off the shower, because I feel so empty without his body piercing mine. It’s madness, how much I’ve come to crave him in such a short time. I get under the covers and pull a sheet over my body by the time he returns with a towel for me. The hot, smoky look is still on his face, as if he’s ready to grab me and go for another round, and I feel an excited flutter all through my body in response. It’s insane, just how addicted I am to him. “We’re insane,” I murmur as he sits down on the bed next to me. He slides under the blankets and pulls me against him. We’re still damp and the sheets stick to both of us, my skin to his. Boone just brushes the wet hair off of my face and shoulders and studies me, curious. “Insane, how?” I laugh, tilting my head back. “All of this. All of this is insane. We can’t be in the same room

without clawing at each other and orgasming about a dozen times.” “I don’t see how this is a problem,” he drawls, teasing. “You seem to like the orgasms I give you —” “Of course I do!” I trace a finger along his big arm. “I just worry about how fast we’re going, don’t you? It’s only been a few weeks.” He shrugs. “And you keep introducing me to everyone as your fiancée.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “We’re not engaged.” “Not yet, but only because you still aren’t used to the idea.” “And you are?” I ask, amused. The look on his face is utterly serious as he gazes down at me. “Ivy, I knew you were the one for me the moment I laid eyes on you. For me, there’s no one else. Not now, not ever. I knew the second I saw you that you were everything I wanted. Nothing about that has changed.” His big

leg tangles with mine under the sheets, and I feel his knee go between my thighs. “Nothing, baby.” But I’m a little surprised at this admission. “The moment you saw me in the brochure?” “The moment I saw you face-to-face.” He leans in and rubs his nose against mine, then presses a quick kiss to my mouth. “I thought you were pretty when I saw you in the ad, of course. Thought you’d be a good trophy wife. Some nice, classy piece to fuck every now and then and not think about twice.” “Gee—” “But then I saw you in person, and it was like . . . like my whole world lit up.” He grins down at me. “I saw you and thought, yeah, that’s the woman I’m going to marry. That’s the woman I’m going to fall in love with.” I go very still under him, my heart pounding. “Love?” We’ve played at a relationship for weeks now—played hard—but this is the first I’m hearing of the L-word.

He nods, looking down at me thoughtfully. “Thought you knew. I’ve loved you from the moment you smiled at me.” I don’t know whether to cry or smile. “Boone, I —” Somewhere across the room, my phone rings with Wynonna’s ringtone. “Oh, hell. I should get that.” Boone chuckles and begins to slide down my body, pressing hot kisses on my shoulder and then my breast. “Must you?” “It’s my sister—” I lose track of things when his lips close over my nipple and he drags his tongue over the tip. Oh god, it’s sinful how good that feels. He nips at my skin and toys with my breast as I cling to him, my hands in his hair, my phone going off endlessly. Wynonna can just leave me a voicemail. I’ll talk to her later. I’ll— There’s a moment of quiet, and then my phone starts to ring again. Wynonna. She’s not leaving a message. Damn it. Boone’s mouth is doing scorchingly delicious things to my breast, and I’m torn. The last thing I want to do is interrupt him.

His teeth scrape over my nipple and his hand goes between my legs, and I forget all about the phone — Until it begins to ring for a third time. I groan aloud. My annoyance over my sister’s terrible timing is ebbing away and worry is taking its place. “I need to get that, Boone. If she’s not leaving a message, something’s wrong.” He shrugs, but when I tap his shoulder, he rolls to the side so I can get up. I cross the room and fish my phone out of my purse just as the next call comes through. “Hello? Wynonna?” “Reba?” My sister’s sobbing. “Where are you? I’ve been calling and calling!” “I’m visiting a friend,” I tell her, glancing over at the bed. Boone’s sprawled in the mess of damp covers, gazing at me with scorching eyes. “Is something wrong? Did you blow another tire?” “I went and visited D-D-D-Dad in Huntsv-ville,” she sobs. Oh god, was that today? I’m the worst sister. I’ve totally forgotten about it. I turn away from

Boone, because I don’t want him to see the stress on my face. “Oh? And how was it?” “They denied him parole,” she wails. “Oh no. Why?” I keep my voice modulated and calm, though I’m secretly torn. Our father’s a deadbeat drunk and the last thing I want is him coming home to live with me and Wynonna again. But my sister adores him and is convinced that he’s innocent, and that when he comes home, we’ll be a family again. “They s-said he hasn’t learned his lesson.” Her brittle sobs are tearing at me through the phone, and I feel tears of sympathy creeping into my eyes. “Said that because of his priors, they don’t think he’s a good parole candidate. He can reapply for parole in twenty-four months.” She chokes the words out. “Two years, Reba! Two years is forever! He’s already been gone six—” “I know, honey. I know. It’s going to be okay, I promise.” Wynonna’s racking sobs are breaking my heart. “Please, just calm down, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“W-w-where are you?” She hiccups into the phone. “Are you coming home?” “Absolutely,” I say firmly. “Give me a few hours and I will be right there.” “A few hours?” She sounds shocked, and another sob chokes from her throat. “Reba, I need you here. I feel so alone.” She starts to cry even harder, and sounds so much younger than her barely eighteen years. “I miss my daddy.” “I know, Wynonna. I know. I promise I’ll be home as soon as I can,” I tell her. I don’t look over at the bed, because if I do, I’m going to see sexy, warm Boone still sprawled in the blankets, waiting for me to crawl back into the covers with him for another round of lovemaking. Except I can’t, because real life is crashing in and I have to rescue my sister before she cries herself sick, or worse, tries to go back to the prison. Or something even worse than that. “Look, I’ve got twenty dollars on my dresser, all right? Order a pizza and eat something, and I’m going to be home a little while

after that. You stuff your face and then I’ll come home and we’ll talk, okay?” “Okay,” she says, and she sounds broken. God, her sadness is breaking me. “Hurry home, okay, Reba?” “I will, Wynonna. I promise. Just, take deep breaths. Take a nice hot shower”—oh god, that makes me think of the sexy shower I just had with Boone—“and then I’ll be home and we’ll talk.” “Okay.” Sniff. “I love you, sis.” “Love you, too, Wynonna.” It kills me to hang up, because my sister needs me. I slowly put down the phone and look over at Boone. He’s up from the bed, tugging on his jeans. The look he shoots me is worried. “Everything all right?” I nod slowly. “I just . . . I need to go home. It’s my sister.” “Of course. I can get us checked out fast.” He pauses and studies me. “What is it, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

I go still. I . . . don’t know what to tell him. I’ve felt so close to Boone this afternoon. We just made love in the shower. I feel joy when his mouth touches mine. He just confessed that he’s in love with me. He makes me happy. And yet . . . “I wish I could tell you, Boone. But I can’t.” The worry on his face fades a little, and I can see his expression hardening. “Why can’t you tell me?” My back goes up. I grab my skirt off the floor, find my jacket, and start hunting for my bra and panties. “Because it’s personal!” “Oh, well, that changes things,” he says sarcastically. “I guess we’re not at that point, right? Where we share personal stuff?” I’m silent. He’s pissed, and he has every right to be. It feels awful, knowing that I’m in the wrong and I still can’t do anything about it. “Heaven fucking forbid I learn something personal about you, Ivy.” He jerks his T-shirt on over his head. “I mean, I’m just the guy that fucking wants to marry you, right? But it’s fine, we’re not

personal or anything. It’s not like I just told you I’m in love with you. And it’s not like you said anything back. So hey, I guess we’re not at that personal level after all.” I wince, because everything he says is like a dagger. He did confess love and I said nothing at all. It’s because I’m terrified. I’m terrified of exactly what is happening right now. “Please, just take me home, Boone. I can’t talk about this.” “Can’t talk, or won’t talk?” “Won’t,” I whisper. I find my panties and slip them back on, and then my bra. I won’t look at him as I dress. I can’t. “Damn it,” he snarls. “Why is it every time I think I’m finally getting close to you, you push me away again? Why is it that I’m the one that keeps reaching out and you’re the one that keeps running away? Do you fucking care at all about me, Ivy?” Tears burn behind my eyes, threatening to spill. I nod slowly. “I do.” “Then tell me that! Share with me! Something!” He slams a hand on his chest and gestures at the

cheap motel room. “Anything! I keep bringing you into my world because I want you here with me, and every time anything in your world shows up, you shove me away!” “It’s not like that—” “It’s not, huh? Then tell me what’s going on.” His hands go on his hips, and he waits. I feel as if I’m crumbling inside. I can’t. I can’t say a word because then he’ll know what a sham I am. My dad can’t get paroled yet. Oh, and I live in a trailer and have twenty dollars to my name. I’m a big fat fucking lie. But the words won’t come out of my mouth. I’m utterly silent. And even though I don’t want it to, a fat tear rolls down my cheek. I angrily swipe it away. Boone swears. He puts his hands on his head and stares up at the ceiling, then looks over at me. “We can’t go on like this forever, Ivy. You’re gonna have to let me into your life at some point.” “I know,” I whisper hoarsely. “Just . . . just fuckin’ tell me, all right? Why can’t you tell me?”

“I just can’t. I’m so sorry.” He sighs slowly, then scoops his keys up from the dresser. He comes to my side and presses a kiss to the top of my head, and then shoves away. “I’m gonna go check out.” He opens the door to the room and then pauses in the doorway as I stand there, clutching my bra and jacket to my chest. “You know, you say that you’re sorry, and that I mean something to you, but you never change. I extend my hand, and you never take it. At some point, you’re gonna reach out and my hand won’t be there because I’ve given up.” The thought is like a knife in the gut. The door slams behind him as he leaves, and it feels like something in our wild, tempestuous relationship is slamming shut, too. And I feel . . . stuck. Trapped. And aching with misery. The thing he wants the most from me—the truth —is the thing he would hate the most about me.

Chapter Twelve

Ivy It’s the longest, most miserable, most silent ride home ever. I think of earlier this day, when Boone kept his hand on my knee, as if he couldn’t stand to have me near and not be touching me. Now? He keeps to his side of the truck, and his hand remains on the steering wheel instead of anywhere near my leg. And me, I don’t know what to do to cross that invisible boundary between us. Well, okay, I know what I can do to cross it—tell him what’s going on. Except . . . I can’t. And so it’s awful and quiet and tense as we drive back. Boone drops me off at Three Jacks, and I pretend to go into the building to get my things. I

wait until he drives away before going out to my little, broken-down heap of a car, and my hands are shaking as I put the keys in the ignition. I’m crying silently, and it has nothing to do with my father or his parole, or even Wynonna. I feel like I’m losing Boone with my silence, and I didn’t realize until today just how much I wanted him. Right now, everything just feels like such a mess, and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m always a girl with goalposts in mind, but this time, it feels like the goal is unattainable. I drive at a breakneck pace to get home, because I know Wynonna is waiting for me. I’m worried about my sister, but I keep thinking about Boone. I’m so conflicted, and then I feel worse because I know my focus should be my little sister. I know Wynonna should be first and foremost in my mind, but I keep thinking about Boone and his kisses. Boone telling me he loves me. Boone walking away because I won’t share my secrets with him. It’s like a punch in the gut.

When I pull up to the trailer, Wynonna’s sitting on the steps, a few pieces of paper in her hand. It’s late and dark out, and moths flit around the porch light. She straightens as I arrive but doesn’t get up. “Why are you outside?” I ask, getting out of the car and hurrying forward. “The mosquitos are going to eat you alive—” The look on her face is hard and she holds one of the papers out to me. Her cheeks are blotchy and wet from crying, and her eyes are puffy. She looks miserable. She also looks . . . angry. Puzzled, I take the paper from her, squinting in the dark to read it. OVERDUE NOTICE. Oh. It’s our electric bill from last month. “Where did you get this?” “It was in your room. I found it in your lingerie drawer when I went to get the twenty for the pizza.” Her mouth is a hard line. “How was the pizza?” I ask, keeping my tone bright as I fold the paper up and tuck it into my purse like it’s no big deal.

“I didn’t fucking order one. Reba, I found a whole stack of bills in your drawer. They’re all overdue.” “Not all of them,” I say defensively. “I’m paying on all of them. Don’t worry about that. It’s handled.” “It’s not handled. Can we even afford my college?” The look on her face is utterly devastated. “What? Of course!” “Really? How?” “Don’t you worry about that,” I tell her. “Let’s go inside, all right? We can talk about it there. I don’t want you to get bitten—” “I don’t give a fuck about the mosquitos,” Wynonna says angrily, launching to her feet. “How could you not tell me that we’re broke? How can you let me sit there and talk about school when we can’t even keep the lights on?” “It’s just until I sell the next house—” “That’s what you always say! How many have you sold in the last month?”

I’m silent, because I’ve sold none. It’s late summer, which should be a decent timeframe, but the Jacks slide all the clients out from under me and pass me only the ones they feel aren’t worth their effort . . . and they’re usually not. I have more clients fall through in financing than anyone else at the office. I’m working all the time and yet . . . the pay doesn’t show it. Everyone keeps telling me that things are going to improve, but so far, I’m . . . well, I’m still selling plasma for groceries. “That’s what I thought,” Wynonna says bitterly. “Why won’t you let me help? I can get a job—” “And what? Flip burgers all through your college years? Worry about money like I did? Worry all the good, fun years of your life away?” I snatch the stack of bills out of her hand, feeling exposed and miserable. “I want you to have everything I didn’t, Wynonna, and if that means I’m working twice as hard, then that’s what I’m doing.” “But it’s not working,” Wynonna says as I stomp past her into the trailer. “We can’t keep the fucking lights on—”

Something inside me snaps. “The lights are on,” I yell at her. I’ve had enough. No matter how hard I work, it’s not enough for someone. “Are you hungry? Are you driving a car? Are you going to college? Then stop fucking complaining! I have given up everything—and I mean everything—for you! The least you can do is not throw it into my face!” She goes pale, staring at me with big, wounded eyes. Immediately, I feel remorse . . . and a stab of resentment. Here I am, the jerk in the situation. Why am I always the one doing wrong? Why is it that no matter how hard I try, I’m still not doing enough? “Look,” I say slowly, putting a hand on the chipped countertop to brace myself. “I love you, Wynonna. I want you to have all the things I didn’t. I don’t want you to work while you go to college because I want you to concentrate on your classes and I want you to have fun. I’ve got a big client lined up to close on a house this month—” Well, maybe. If Boone ever wants to speak to me again.

“And until then, things will just be a little tight. I’ll manage. We always do. Okay?” “So that’s it? You’ve got it handled, right?” Her laugh is bitter. “Heaven forbid I try to help out. Heaven forbid I worry about my sister. You do know you’re the only person I have left, right? That I need you, too? So fucking excuse me if I worry about you or whether or not we can make the bills. Excuse me for trying to ask questions. I should have guessed that you wouldn’t want that.” “What do you mean, I wouldn’t want that?” Wynonna gives me a hard look. “You never want anyone’s help, Reba. Oh, excuse me, Ivy.” Her voice is scathing. “You’d rather go down as a martyr than have to ask anyone for help, all because you don’t want to seem needy. Well, you know what? Being needy isn’t the worst thing in the world. Being alone is.” She storms away. “Not that you give a shit about that, because you don’t want to want anyone.” Her bedroom door slams shut behind her, and I stare at the grainy wood. Slowly, I collapse into a

chair. Is she right? Am I pushing away everyone because I’m terrified of needing someone and having them leave me? Is that why I’m such a control freak about money and work? If so, how do I change? Or is it too late?

Chapter Thirteen

Boone It’s a fuckin’ quiet weekend. Hate it. Ivy doesn’t call me. No surprise there. She hates confrontation, and the moment someone gets in her face and asks questions, she runs away to hide. So, I can do one of two things. I can wait for her to call me, or I can start my next round of wooing. I think back to our conversations, and decide to go a few different routes. On Monday, I send an entire fleet of roses to her office, enough to start her own flower shop. On Tuesday, I send cupcakes, because I know my baby has a sweet tooth.

On Wednesday, I send her a new Lincoln Town Car. I want to send her pink, but they won’t have one of those ready right away, so I settle for a nice sporty gray and a pink bow. And I wait by the phone to see if she’ll call me. No dice. Between trips out to Big Lake and my fields in West Texas, I ply her with more presents—some big, some small. I almost send a box of kittens, except I don’t know if she’s allergic. I send more flowers, instead, and I try to think of a bigger show. I need something that’s gonna wow her, something that will blow her socks off. The idea hits me on Wednesday afternoon, when I show up at the PBO office for the board meeting. Two of the executives are talking over their coffees about a black-tie charity dinner. The moment I hear that, I picture Ivy in a slinky, backless dress. I’m in. I bully my way into a pair of invitations by signing off on a few projects I’d been on the fence

about, and toss in bonuses for my executives, because why the fuck not. Our new wells are gushers, the job they’re doing is solid, and business is booming. I’ve got everything I want . . . except the woman I want. The charity dinner is Friday night. I figure I should make sure Ivy’s schedule is clear, so I show up to the Three Jacks office on Thursday afternoon with a box full of dresses under my arm. And just to sell things, I run a comb through my hair and beard, and rent a tuxedo downtown so I can look the part. As usual, Ivy won’t see me. Actually, I can’t even get past the front desk to know that she’s even there. The receptionist just gives me a snooty look. “Ms. Smithfield is very, very busy.” There’s no pleasing this woman. I ain’t even dirty this time and she’s looking at me like I’m garbage. “I’ve got a present for her, and one for you if you get her out here in the next five minutes,” I tell the woman, opening my wallet and pulling out a

few hundred-dollar bills and sliding them over the counter. The receptionist gives me a shocked look. She pushes the money back toward me. “Sir, I will not take your drug money!” Drug money? I laugh. “Do I look like I deal weed?” I’m in a fucking tuxedo, for fuck’s sake. “You look like a meth-head,” she hisses. “I don’t know what setup you have with Ivy to find some cheap housing, but I am not in on your games.” She picks up the phone, indignant. “Showing up in some rental tux doesn’t make you legit.” All right, now I’m just pissed. “So that’s what you think this is about?” I drawl. “That I’m having Ivy find me meth houses? Did she not get the flowers I sent? ’Cause I sent a lot of them.” The woman sniffs haughtily. “Or the car?” “Probably stolen.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. I head to the magazine rack in the lobby and flip through until I find the Forbes

with my brothers on the cover. I head back to the reception desk and slap it down on the counter. “Those look like meth-heads to you?” Her eyes narrow and she studies the magazine, then me. After a moment, recognition dawns. “MM-Mr. Price?” “Yeah,” I say flatly. “That’s me. Now, do I get to see Ivy?” She nods, eyes wide, and dials. “Ivy, there’s a client up in the front office for you.” She puts the phone down without waiting for an answer and gives me a dazzling smile. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Price? Perrier? A soda? Wine?” Oh, so we’re fancy enough for her now, are we? “I’m good.” The receptionist gives me another bright smile and continues typing. I hear the sound of high heels clicking on the tile floors and turn around to see Ivy heading in my direction. Her lips part at the sight of me and her gaze sweeps over me, up and down. “Oh. Boone. What is this . . . ?”

“Surprise,” I drawl, heading toward her with the box. “I wasn’t sure if you were gonna call me, so I thought I’d stop by.” Ivy moves toward me as if drawn, and the look on her face isn’t angry, just sad. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.” Her hands go to my chest and she smooths the lapels of my tux. “You look amazing.” “I do, don’t I?” I’m pretty pleased with how the suit fits, even if it’s just a rental. Plus, the sight of me in the tux is probably making her panties all wet, which is a bonus. “I missed you, baby girl.” The look on her face is all soft and wistful. Her hand strokes my beard. “I missed you, too.” “I don’t like it when we fight,” I murmur. ’Specially when I don’t know what the fuck we’re fighting over. “Thought I’d come say I’m sorry in person since the car and the flowers didn’t work.” Her cheeks color. “You spend too much money, Boone.” “Can’t take it with me. Might as well spend it on my lady.” I take her hand in mine and rub her

knuckles before lifting her hand to my mouth and kissing it. “So are you mad at me still?” She shakes her head, distracted, her gaze on my lips. “I was never mad at you. Well,” she amends a scarce second later, “I did get pretty frustrated when you started sending presents. I can’t take them, Boone. You’re going to have to send them back.” “Nonsense.” “You’re so stubborn and pigheaded,” she says, but the words sound like a caress instead of a lecture. “I should be glad it’s not a golf course, I suppose.” I snort, amused. “I got one too many of those, already. Besides, what am I gonna do with a bunch of flowers?” I hold out the box I have tucked under my arm. “Or a bunch of dresses?” She looks at me with a mixture of surprise and worry as she takes the box. “Dresses?” “Yup. There’s a big fancy charity dinner tomorrow night, and I’m taking you. We’re gonna helicopter in just to make a grand entrance.” I push

the box toward her. “I didn’t know what size you wore, so I got the same dress in every size.” “You bought me a dress?” She gives me a curious look. “I didn’t say I’d go.” “Yeah, but you know how pigheaded I am.” I shrug. “It was either a fancy dinner party or I’d try and rent out the Alamo for dinner.” Both of her brows go up. “Rent out the Alamo? You can do that?” “Turns out you can’t, actually.” I shrug my shoulders and give her a sheepish grin. “But can’t blame a guy for trying.” When she laughs, I feel better. Warmer. Like the entire world is fuckin’ better when she’s happy. “Besides. I figured a fancy dress party would be the best place to show off my gorgeous, elegant woman.” The smile fades from her face a little. “Boone —” “Mr. Price,” a booming voice calls out from behind us. “I hear Ivy’s been keeping you all to herself!”

Ivy goes completely still, the expression on her face frozen. Her gaze falls and she stares down at her shoes, and for a moment, I have a weird impression like she’s a little kid in trouble. A man comes down the stairs of the office, extending his hands in greeting. He’s got a big, shit-eating grin on his face and is orange with spray tan, his hair slicked back. Suit’s nice, though. Looks expensive. The hand he shoves into mine has big rings on it. “Jack Jackson. I’m one of the partners here, and I just found out our little Ivy’s been keeping quite the secret, hasn’t she?” He pumps my hand, over and over again. “It’s quite an honor to meet you.” I’m flattered, but I’m also a little confused. “Nice to meet you, too.” I glance over at Ivy, but she’s still got that half-frozen, polite smile on her face, like a mannequin. “This is my boss, Jack,” she tells me in a curiously flat voice. “Heard you were in the market for a new house,” Jack says, leaning in. “You have come to

the right place, sir.” He waves at another man. “Jack, come over here and meet Mr. Price. He’s with Price Brothers Oil, and he’s looking to buy a house in the area. He’s been working with Ivy this entire time. Who knew!” The grin on his face remains friendly, but the words are so pointed even I get the gist. Ivy’s boss ain’t happy she kept a secret. The other man comes forward, and he’s all smiles as well. I feel like I’m being sold a car, and Ivy looks distinctly uncomfortable, even more so when the new man drapes an arm over her shoulders and squeezes her, like he’s holding her in place. “Ivy’s one of our favorite protégées,” the new Jack gushes, winking at Ivy and then at me. “She showing you houses today?” “Not today—” “Because I know this sweet little beauty over in the Dominion that I think would be just perfect for a businessman like yourself—” The other Jack snaps his fingers. “No! There’s a ranch outside of Helotes that I think would be

ideal for a man like you. Fancy a bit of land with your property?” His toothy grin is extra white in his orange face. “I can drive you right on over if you’d like.” Ivy is silent as the other Jack squeezes her shoulders again, all friendly-like. Damn. These men are like a couple of sharks. “Actually, I came to invite Ivy to a charity dinner tomorrow night—” “The black-tie dinner with the silent auction? For the Hawkings Literacy Foundation?” the one man says, winking again. “I guess.” I don’t know much about it, other than the cream of the crop in all of Texas business will be there. “Thought I’d show Ivy off a bit.” “Why, does someone need a burger flipped?” Jack says, and the other Jack bursts into laughter. They crack up, and the handsy one keeps patting Ivy on the shoulder. I glance between them, not sure what’s so fucking funny. I’m about to rip his hands off of Ivy

if he touches her again. “I don’t understand what you’re saying—” “It’s nothing,” Ivy blurts out quickly, stepping forward. There’s a desperate look on her face. “Boone, I’ll just call you later—” “What, it’s honest work.” One of the Jacks smirks. “She probably sold a lot more burgers than she does houses. And I sure hope you’re driving, buddy. Have you seen her car? No offense, Ivy.” He moves to squeeze Ivy’s shoulder again— —And I grab his hand and pry it off her, because he’s been grabbing her fucking enough. That quiets their laughter. The lobby of the building goes deathly silent. I drop the man’s hand and both men take a step backward. Ivy just stands there, an utterly miserable-looking expression on her pretty face. “Listen, Price,” the one with the orange skin says. “I’ll get down to brass tacks. Here’s my card.” He flicks it between his fingers and holds it out to me. “I know a man like you wants quality in

his home purchase, and I know just what you’re looking for.” “Ivy’s selling me a house,” I grit between clenched teeth. Who do these fucks think they are? “Yeah.” He glances over at Ivy, then back at me and shakes the card in my direction. “It’s a big investment, and you’re going to want to do it right. But I’m sure Ivy will be able to tell you plenty about the kitchen.” He grins and shakes the card at me. I just stare at him. I’m not touching that fucking card. Waving it in front of my face like this is an insult to Ivy. They’re deliberately going around her trying to get my business . . . and she’s just letting them. I don’t understand. Why won’t she stand up for herself? Jack flicks it one more time, and then shrugs his shoulders. He makes a phone gesture with his hand, indicating I should call him, and then nods at the other Jack, and both men walk away. I can hear them whispering something about burgers and ice cream and my “type” and I don’t understand what’s

going on. They glance back at us and there’s a smirk across the one bastard’s face that I want to punch right off. I turn back to Ivy. “Who are those dicks? Why didn’t you stand up to them?” “They’re my bosses,” she says in a soft voice, and crosses her arms over her chest. She seems small today, her shoulders hunched. She looks . . . defeated. “Are they crazy?” She shakes her head. “Just arrogant.” Why is she defending them? Why isn’t she standing up to them like she stands up to me? Something about this doesn’t make sense. It’s like . . . she’s ashamed of something. A warning pings in my brain. “What’s going on, Ivy?” “We should talk,” she whispers, hanging her head. She looks over at the receptionist, who’s watching our conversation with fascination. “Not here, though. Outside.” I follow Ivy as she hurries through the glass front doors of the elegant office, my mind churning

with all the nonsense that was just thrown at me. As we get into the parking lot, Ivy hurries along the side of the building, her heels clicking on the sidewalk, and I walk a few paces behind her, scanning the parking lot. One of those dicks said something about cars. Did you see what she drives? There, back by the Dumpster, is Ivy’s sister’s car. I recognize the taped-on plate. And something clicks. I point at it. “That’s not your sister’s car, is it.” She looks over and then sighs. “No, it’s mine.” Anger bursts in my head. I think of those two jackasses back in there, laughing. Laughing at her. Laughing at me. Thought I’d show Ivy off a bit. Why, does someone need a burger flipped? I’m sure Ivy will be able to tell you plenty about the kitchen. “What the fuck is going on?” I growl. In my head, I can hear those dicks laughing. Like they’re too good for me. The one smirking and whispering to the other about how Ivy’s my type.

Why do those dicks get to know the truth and I don’t? Ivy smooths her hair and stares at the sidewalk. “You want to know the truth about me, Boone?” Her voice is sad, defeated. “You wanted to go out with me because you think I’m classy, except I’m not.” She gestures at her suit. “It’s all a show for business. I maxed my credit cards to get a few expensive suits and shoes in the hopes I would attract a higher caliber of client. The truth is, I’m poor white trash. I live in a trailer, just like you. I drive a beat-up car. I’m not elegant. You can’t show me off to anyone because they’ll just laugh in your face.” Now I’m the one that’s silent, because I’m furious. Ivy lied to me. She lied to me and let those assholes laugh at who she is. Who I am. My pride is stinging, and worse than that, I feel betrayed. All this time, she’s been leading me around pretending to be someone she’s not. I’m afraid I like you just for your money, Boone.

I’m okay with that. Except, I don’t think I am. I think all my raw spots have been pricked and now all I can think as she talks in that calm, sad voice of hers is that she’s nothing but a liar. I don’t know who she is, and she’s never given me the chance to know her. She’s just made up stories and let me believe that she was someone else. I told her I wanted someone classy, and she did her best to make me think she was. No wonder she doesn’t want me to meet her family. No wonder she’s always hiding. “Before I got my real estate license, I worked fast food,” Ivy is saying now. “I flipped burgers and served ice cream. That’s why Jack doesn’t think I can sell you a house. But I’m determined to prove him wrong.” She lifts her chin. House? Who gives a damn about a house right now? She’s fucking stomped all over my goddamn heart and let those assholes laugh at me, and she wants to talk about money?

I stare at her for a long moment, and then turn on my heel and walk away. I can’t think. Not with her staring up at me with those big sad eyes. Not with the laughter of those two jackasses still ringing in my ears. I’m afraid I like you just for your money, Boone.

Ivy I shouldn’t be surprised when Boone turns on his heel and just walks away from me. I shouldn’t . . . but it still hurts. “Boone,” I call after him, my voice hoarse. There’s a knot in my throat that feels like it’s the size of Rhode Island. “Wait, please.” “I can’t talk to you right now, Ivy,” he says without turning around. He shakes his head, pulling out his keys and making a beeline for his truck. “I need time to think.”

“I’m sorry I lied,” I call after him. I want to run to his side, but won’t that seem desperate? I don’t think he wants me clawing at his arm, begging for forgiveness. “I wanted to tell you—” He stops, and turns to look at me. There’s a hard expression on his face. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t think you’re sorry you lied. I think you’re sorry you got caught.” I bite my lip because . . . he’s not wrong. I am ashamed of who I am. I hate that I live in a trailer and my dad’s a convict. I hate all of that, and I didn’t want him to find out, ever. I don’t want him to think I’m so desperate for money that I slept with him to try and get a chunk of it. It’s not like that. It’s never been like that. Boone points at me. “See? You got all quiet again. You don’t like it when someone confronts you, Ivy. You don’t like it when someone gets too close.” “I just didn’t know what to say, Boone—” He shakes his head, and his mouth is a firm line of anger. “That’s not the problem here. The

problem is that I’ve opened up all of who I am to you and all you did was give me half-assed lies and a few smiles when all that would have mattered was the fucking truth.” He stabs a finger at the building. “And you’re gonna sit and let those assholes laugh at the two of us? Like they’re fucking better than us?” His jaw clenches and he shakes his head again. “That may be you, but it ain’t me, Ivy, darlin’. It ain’t me.” “I should have said something.” “Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I rub my arms, chilled even though it’s a hundred degrees outside, the sun baking the sidewalk under my shoes. “Because I was afraid of losing you now that I’m in love with you.” “See, that’s the problem with a relationship built on lies. I don’t know when I can believe you.” And he turns and storms away again. I watch him get into his truck, my nails digging into my palms to stop from crying. Please stop, I

mentally beg. Stop and tell me it’s going to be okay. That we’re going to be okay. Give me one of those ravenous, playful looks that tells me you still want me. But he just shakes his head and starts his truck. I watch him leave the parking lot, my hands throbbing and bloodless from clenching them so tight. He drives away and I just . . . stare. He’s gone. I don’t know if he’s ever coming back. He’s furious at me, and he has every right to be. I did lie to him. I did let the Jacks smirk and laugh at him, even though I know that’s the thing that trips his trigger more than anything. I should have said something. I said I was sorry, but we both knew I was lying. He’s right; I’m not sorry I lied, I’m just sorry he found out my secrets. God, I am the worst ever. I dash at the tears rolling down my cheeks, because it’s stupid to cry. I knew this would happen. I knew this would blow up in my face. And yet . . . I keep picturing Boone in the tux, the

sly, pleased-with-himself smile on his face as he greeted me. Like he was being naughty and didn’t care. And the sight of that smile on his face filled me with so much joy and love. This time, I wasn’t going to push him away. This next time, things were going to be different. Except now there’s no next time. Because now he knows I’m a fraud. He wanted someone with class, and instead he got a burger flipper with a redneck name and a dad in prison. After a few minutes of staring longingly into the parking lot, I realize he’s not coming back. I . . . can’t let him walk away. I’ll call him. This time, I’ll go after him. I’ll make him see where I was coming from, and maybe we can start over again. If he truly loves me, maybe he won’t give up on me. I race back inside the office, and stop when I see the box he’d brought in. There’s a pink lid with a jaunty bow. I must have set the box down in one of the lobby chairs at some point, because I vaguely remember him handing it to me. I’m drawn

to that box, and I lift the lid off. Inside, there are black sparkles, and I pull a dress out and hold it up. It’s all spaghetti straps and gauzy skirt, but it’s designer and lovely. Every dress in the box is the same, just a different size. He wanted to see me dressed up and sexy. He wanted to take me out to a nice dinner and show me off, because he’s proud of me. Was proud of me. My heart hurts. “Ivy.” I look up at Janet, the receptionist. She points at the stairs. “The Jacks are waiting for you in their office. They said it’s important and they need to see you right away.” Oh great. I can just imagine. I know how this is going to go. “They’re going to fire me, aren’t they?” Janet practically wiggles in her seat with excitement, the gossip-hound. “They didn’t say, but I heard them talking about how unprofessional it is for you to date a client.”

Oh, please. The only thing they’re mad about is that I had a big client on the hook instead of them, and I didn’t tell anyone so they could steal it. I smile thinly. I’ve worked here long enough to know how the Jacks operate. It has nothing to do with who I’m dating and everything to do with the size of Boone’s wallet. If Boone wanted to buy a house from one of them instead of me? They’d fling me in his bed lickety-split and probably even hand me the condoms. And then I shudder at that mental image. I glance back at the box, and then pick it up and head for my desk. “Ivy,” Janet calls out, a whine in her voice. “They told me you need to go upstairs right away —” “They can fire me,” I call back at her. After all, that’s what they’re going to do anyhow. I take the box toward my desk and study my things. This day is just going from bad to worse. Farah immediately puts down her phone and leans over her desk. “What’s going on, Ivy?”

“I’m getting fired,” I tell her, picking up my day planner and shoving it into my purse. “You’re what?” I nod. “I had a big client and didn’t tell the Jacks about him.” “The guy with the beard?” she asks, surprised. “He’s a big client?” I nod. “Billionaire.” And wonderful. And thoughtful. And funny. And determined. And amazing in bed . . . I sigh. “Anyhow, now the Jacks are all upstairs waiting to have a meeting with me so they can bitch at me about him. I thought I’d save them the trouble and just clean out my desk.” “Good for you,” she says fiercely. I look at her in surprise. “Good for me that I’m cleaning out my desk?” “No! Good for you in that you kept it from them.” She shakes her head. “Do you know how many big clients of mine they’ve stolen over the last few years?” She gestures at the office. “Why do you think they can’t keep any of the talent? They’re poachers, through and through.” Farah

gives me a firm look. “I’m switching in the fall, I think. I have a lead with another real estate place. Might be smaller customers, but at least I’ll get to keep all of ’em.” I smile faintly at her and unplug my laptop. “Maybe I’ll start looking, too.” But my résumé is slim, and I need money now. I’m trying hard not to think about it. Something will come up. Something always does.

Chapter Fourteen

Boone One week later There’s a knock on my trailer door. Third time today. “Go the fuck away,” I groan, rolling over on the couch. Instead of going away, the door crashes open and sunlight pours in. “You still moping like a little bitch?” my brother Clay calls out, entering the living room of my trailer and flopping down in the old recliner. “Seriously? Over a piece of ass?” “Don’t call her that,” I growl at him, shielding my eyes from the sunlight. “And fuck you.”

“Just wondering how long you’re gonna hide in your trailer from the world and let your goons dig holes all over West Texas looking for oil.” I sit up on my couch, reaching for a nearby beer bottle. It’s empty, so I toss it back down. I’m out of beer. Think I ran out of beer yesterday, actually, because then I went to Knox’s trailer and stole his. “I gave them plans on where to dig.” “Yeah, and you also left the suits in charge. They put a company man out on site and let him run the show. Two dry wells this week.” Fuck. I can’t even let up for a damn week and things go to shit. “I’ll talk to ’em.” “I don’t give a damn about the money. We got more than enough. I’m worried about you, brother. It’s not like you to be this messed up over a woman.” “It’s not just a woman,” I point out to him. “I was gonna marry her. Make her my wife. Move into a fancy house and maybe have kids someday.” It’s been days and I’m still empty inside over Ivy. She lied to me, right to my face, so many times.

Shitty thing is, I’m still in love with her. Finding out that she’s a liar hasn’t made me want her less. Now there’s just a lot of betrayal and anger mixed in with all the lust and need. I’m furious at her . . . and I still miss her like hell. “Have you talked to her?” Clay asks, propping his feet up on my end table. “Gotten her side of the story?” “No. Haven’t talked to anyone.” I pick up another beer bottle and shake it. Empty, too. “Don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not in much of a talky mood.” “Oh, I noticed. I was just curious how you feel about her.” I squint at him, then rub my face. “What do you mean?” “I mean, let’s say it’s the worst. She’s a gold digger and a hooker or something—” “She ain’t a fuckin’ hooker—” “I know, I know. Calm down. I’m just saying worst-case scenario. What if she’s, like, the worst

you can imagine. She only wants your money. What would you do then?” I picture Ivy. Smiling, sweet Ivy, with that sleek bun of hair that just begs to be taken down. Ivy with her long legs that go on for miles. Ivy with my hand up her skirt, her pussy soaking wet. Ivy telling me not to take the house we just looked at, because it’s not good enough for me. Ivy standing like a statue, while that buffoon Jack puts his hand on her shoulder and laughs at us. “Don’t know,” I mutter. I do know, though. I still fuckin’ love Ivy. I still want her. If all she wants is my wallet, I’d take that as long as I get her smiles, her laughter, her sweetness . . . and I’d hope that over time, she’d come to love me, too. “I do know,” Clay announces, and tosses something down on the table, knocking over beer bottles. “That’s why I decided to step in.” I lean forward and pick it up. It’s a folder. Manila. There’s several pieces of paper inside. “What’s this shit?”

“It’s about Ivy. I hired you a private investigator so you could find out all the truth about Ivy since she wasn’t keen on sharing it. Find out her dirty secrets and all that.” He grins at me like a loon. “Or shall I say, Reba Lee Smithfield?” “Huh?” “Damn, you are drunk, aren’t you?” He reaches over and bats at my hat, knocking it off my face. “She changed her name, dummy. Her birth name’s Reba, like the country singer. Her sister’s Wynonna. If that ain’t a redneck calling card, I don’t know what is.” Reba? My blonde, elegant Ivy is Reba? I flip open the folder and squint at the documents. Sure enough, there’s a picture of her driver’s license, a duplicate underneath it with a different name. Two years ago, she went from Reba Lee Smithfield to Ivy Smithfield, no middle name. Six months later, she got her real estate license. “Shit’s pretty juicy if you ask me,” Clay drawls, crossing one foot over the other. “Lil’ Reba was an honors student back in high school.

Student council, varsity academics, all that nerdy shit. Then a month before graduation, she drops out. Boom. Just stops showing up to school. You wanna know why?” “Why?” I flip through the papers, curious. “Her parents suck. It’s somewhere in there. Seems like her momma ran off and daddy got arrested at about the same time for robbing a liquor store. Sister was twelve at the time, so I’m guessing Ivy—sorry, Reba—dropped out to take care of her. Her employment history is all there, too. She’s worked just about every shitty minimum wage job there is—usually two at once. Still managed to get her GED and her real estate license.” I flip through the paperwork. There’s her credit history—it’s terrible, and her debt-to-income is through the roof. I pull up a copy of her 1099 from last year. It’s from Three Jacks and she made all of four grand. Jesus. I think of her fancy, elegant suits and her expensive shoes. I think of that beater of a car she drives.

I wanted to attract a higher caliber of client. She wants to make something of herself. She wants a better life for herself. I know that feeling. I know what it feels like to be stuck in a hole and trapped by your circumstances. She’s clawing herself out, any way she can. I keep reading, because I have to. I see her dad’s arrest records. I see Ivy’s current list of bills, all far more than she’s bringing in. I see her sister’s school records and her upcoming schedule for college. I see a list of plasma donations to private corporations in exchange for money, and my stomach clenches. I think of all the marks on her arms, and scan the dates. Some of these are two or three times a week, all at different places, never for more than fifty bucks a donation. That is fucked up. No wonder she was so excited to get my business. I close the folder and toss it aside, rubbing my face. I feel tired. Weary. Defeated. And so damn in love with her I don’t know what to do with myself.

“Well?” Clay demands. “Well what?” “She’s pulled herself up by her bootstraps, just like you,” my brother says. “Well, maybe not like you. You were successful. She ain’t there yet.” I glare at him, because that sounds perilously close to an insult and I’m feeling more than a little protective of Ivy at the moment. I picture her working one shitty job and then turning around to go work another, all so her sister can keep the same roof over her head. I picture her dropping out of high school to go flip burgers, the very thing that those assholes laughed in her face about. “Just wondering why you’re so mad about this shit,” Clay drawls. I don’t even know if I’m mad anymore. I don’t know what to do. “Because she wasn’t who she said she was. She said she was Ivy, and she’s been Reba Lee the whole time.” “You’re wrong. She made herself into someone new. She doesn’t want to be that old person. Don’t see why she’s gotta be tagged with her past for the

rest of her life when she’s working so hard to change things.” He’s got a point . . . but I’m a stubborn son of a bitch. “I picked her out because I wanted a lady. I wanted respect from all those assholes out there that think they’re too good for a few roughnecks that have more money than them.” Assholes like the Jacks. Clay shrugs. “So get a new lady. One with a real pedigree.” “I don’t want a new lady. I want her,” I growl at him. The thought of anyone in my life other than Ivy leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “So go get her.” “I can’t have her and the respect I want.” The Jacks showed me that. “You damn blasted fool-headed idiot.” Clay flings himself up from the chair, irritated. “You gotta decide if this ‘respect’ stick you got stuck up your ass is worth more to you than Ivy. Who the fuck cares if a few dumbasses in suits don’t respect you?” He slams a fist into his palm. “You

make them respect you. If they think you’re trash, buy their businesses and burn ’em to the ground. Show ’em who’s their daddy.” I laugh, because it’s a fuckin’ ridiculous plan . . . and it’s one I’ve already done before. I think about my new golf course, all burned out and nothing but ash and rubble. I have to admit that was mighty satisfying, blowing that shit up. Funny thing is . . . I don’t know if they respected me more when I destroyed the golf course, but it made them realize that I was in charge. Maybe it ain’t about respect as much as showing them I got the balls to back up my talk, then. I rub my beard thoughtfully. I started this whole thing because I wanted Bates to eat shit. I wanted him to realize I was someone to be respected, and I thought I’d do that with a big, showy house and an even more showy woman in my bed. Thing is, though, none of that matters much anymore. I think about Ivy, and she’s really the only thing I want. I don’t care about a house with a pool

and a staircase. I don’t care if I can swan in to a hoity-toity party and Ivy won’t know which fork to use. But I think about never seeing her smile again. Never feeling her soft lips pressed to mine. Never seeing that sweet flush creeping over her cheeks when she thinks dirty thoughts about me. That? I’d miss it. I miss it already. Feels like I’ve been hollow for days. “I want Ivy back,” I tell my brother. “Then go git ’er,” he tells me, like I’m the stupidest man in the world. And maybe I am, because I’m letting her get away. That shit’s about to change.

Chapter Fifteen

Boone “Jack here?” I ask, heading to the front desk. My accountant scuttles in behind me, holding his briefcase. I act like this is normal shit and smile. “Tell him Mr. Price is here to see him.” The receptionist is all fake smiles for me today. “Jack Jackson, Jack Farrington, or Jack Richards?” Like I remember? They’re all the same to me— con men and chauvinist assholes that talked over Ivy and tried to steal her business. I’m going to make them respect her . . . the hard way. I glance around the office, looking for a familiar blonde head, but I don’t see her. “First one,” I say, since I need to pick a name.

She nods and dials a number. “Mr. Jackson? Mr. Price is here to see you.” Before she can put down the phone, Jack’s heading down the stairs toward me, all smiles. He’s even more orange today than last time. “Boone,” he calls out as if we’re great buddies. “I’m so glad you decided to come back.” “Wanted to buy some real estate,” I drawl. “Thought you’d be the man to see.” “I am absolutely the man to see,” he agrees, giving my accountant a curious look. He extends a hand to me and, when I ignore it, gestures at a conference room, his smile growing a little more forced. “Interested in the house I mentioned?” “Actually, I’m wantin’ to buy a business office,” I tell him as we stroll into a fancypants tiny office with a ridiculous table. I look down the hall as we head in, but there’s still no Ivy. God, I miss her. Soon, I tell myself. You’ll see her very soon. My accountant sits down next to me and opens his briefcase, pulling out the checkbook.

“Where’s Ivy today?” I ask. Jack’s smile gets a little thin. “I’m sorry to say that Ms. Smithfield is no longer with the company. We had to let her go.” “I see.” Rage burns in my gut. I think of Ivy— my Ivy—being cast out on her ass by this jerk. Ten bucks says she did nothing wrong. They’re punishing her for something to do with me. I clench my hands under the table. Today, I was just gonna buy this business and give it to her. Now? Time for a new tactic. “I can assure you that this won’t interrupt your business with us in the slightest, Mr. Price. There are many excellent real estate agents here—” “Such as yourself?” I drawl. He grins at me like we’re buddies. “Such as myself. So what kind of office are you looking for?” Jack asks quickly, changing the subject. “How many employees are you looking to house?” “I want this office.” His eyes widen. “This one? But it’s not for sale —”

“Oh, come now, Jack,” I tell him smoothly as the accountant opens his books and poises his pen. “You and I are businessmen. I think we both know anything’s for sale for the right price. And I want this office. Here. Today. Right now.” He frowns at me like I’m crazy. “You want us to vacate the office today?” “I’m willin’ to make a very generous offer for this building and all the furnishings. I’ll even give you an hour to get all your important documents and computers out of here.” And I smile, trying to look like I’m just real focused on owning this particular building, like it’s no big deal. Like I ain’t gonna burn this shit to the ground the moment we shake hands. Because Three Jacks? These assholes are going down in flames, and it’s gonna be for Ivy. All for Ivy. “Now,” I say, leaning forward. “Let’s talk business, you and I. I’m sure we can come up with a number that will make you a happy camper.”

Ivy My phone rings just as I’m scooping a doubledecker cone and getting chocolate ice cream all over my hands. The ringtone is loud and brassy, and I wince as it continues on even as I finish the customer’s order. Over in the tiny cubby that passes as an office at Two Scoops, the shift manager is glaring at me. I wipe my hands clean on a towel and sigh at the stains of chocolate on my white work polo. I can’t afford a second shirt, so I’m going to have to wash this one in the sink when I get home. My phone gives one last buzz and I race toward the back counter where I left it. “Sorry,” I whisper to my boss, and go to turn off the ringer on my phone when a message pops up. Farah: OMG IVY CALL ME ASAP Farah: SERIOUSLY Farah: You need to get down here. It’s important!

I shoot an uneasy glance at my boss, but she’s busy staring at her own phone. There’s no

customers in line at the moment so I type a quick message back. Ivy: What’s going on? Farah: Your boyfriend is at 3Jacks and you need to come get him Ivy: What? Boone? Farah: Yep he’s looking for you Farah: And he says he’s gonna torch the place!!1!! He just bought it and now he’s going to torch it! WTF!! There are firetrucks here and everything1!! I had to clean out my desk!1!!

What? I immediately think of the golf course. This is retribution. Oh my god. He was insulted at Three Jacks and so now he’s going to buy the building and raze it to the ground just like he did with the golf course. I’m alternately horrified and delighted. I hate the Three Jacks for how they treated me, but I’m also tangled up with worry about Boone. Does he still hate me? Is he going to come after me and Wynonna next?

Actually . . . I’d be fine with that, because I could use the money he’d give me for the trailer and pay all the bills I’m behind on. I grab my purse from behind the counter. “I have to go,” I tell my boss. “Your shift doesn’t end for three more hours,” she says, jumping up from her stool with an angry look on her face. “If you leave, you’re fired.” “I know,” I call out, shoving my phone in my pocket as I race out the door. “I’ll pick up my check later!” I have to see Boone. I have to know what’s going on. And, okay, I want to watch Three Jacks burn to the ground if it’s going to go up in flames. Because I’m petty and vindictive like that. My heart hammers as I drive over to the old office. I haven’t been back here in the week that’s passed since I got fired. I’ve been too busy scraping together work to pay the bills. I’m a little nervous that I just also quit my newest job at Two

Scoops, but I’ve got Burger Grill that I start at on Monday, so there’s that at least. Really, I’d drop both jobs if it meant I got to see Boone again. As I pull into the parking lot, I see Boone’s truck and my heart hammers. I called him twice after we parted, and he never returned my calls. It’s a little twist of justice, I suppose, for all the times he called me and I never returned the calls. I should have, because it feels like crap to be ignored. And I hate that I only called twice. I should have called him more. I should have kept trying, tried to explain myself to him. Emailed. Shown up at his trailer. Something. But . . . I was too ashamed. I hated that he’d found out, and I hated that he was so upset by it. What could I possibly say to make it any better? I still mentally cringe thinking of Winky Jack and his shitty comments about me flipping burgers at the black-tie dinner. I hope Boone doesn’t hate me.

I park my car next to his and close my eyes, pressing my forehead on the steering wheel. “Please, give me a chance,” I whisper. “Please let me win you back.” But over and over, I picture him burning down that golf course with the expression of smug satisfaction on his face. And I worry there won’t be forgiveness for someone who tricked him. If there isn’t? I’ll . . . well, I’ll go on. I’ll be sad, miserable and alone, but I’ll carry on because that’s what I’ve always done. I’ll continue to put one foot in front of the other and give Wynonna the best life I can. But for once . . . it would be nice to have something that was for me. Someone that I could love as selfishly and wildly as I wanted. Not just someone. I want Boone. I don’t want anyone else, don’t even want to entertain the thought. I’ve always been a cautious person, and I’ve been flirted with and dated a few times, but no one has interested me enough to want more, to want to rearrange my entire busy schedule just for

a few minutes in his company. With Boone, it’s different. Everything’s different. And I’ve fucked it all up. My phone buzzes with another incoming text, and I’m positive it’s Farah, asking me where the heck I am. I can’t stall any longer, so I take a deep breath and get out of the car. Farah’s there on the sidewalk, a box of desk stuff tucked under her arm, staring at her phone and texting with her thumb. She looks up as I approach, noting my pink Two Scoops sun visor and my chocolate-stained polo. “I’m glad you’re here. The Jacks are freaking the fuck out!” I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do I care if the Jacks are upset?” I’m kind of glad they are, actually. “I don’t work here anymore.” Behind us, a fire truck roars into the parking lot. Farah stares at it, then looks over at me. “You think this is all a stunt?” “With Boone?” I laugh. “No. On our first date he burned down a golf course because someone pissed him off.”

“Is he a pyro?” Her eyes are wide. I shake my head. “He just doesn’t like being ignored or mocked. So he finds a way to get people’s attention. This usually does it.” Funny how I thought this was the most bizarre thing when I met Boone, but now I understand him. He refuses to be treated as if he doesn’t matter, and if it means getting people’s attention in the most over-the-top way? He’ll do it to make his point. It’s all just money to him. Easy come, easy go, just like he said. “Ivy!” Jack Jack crosses the sidewalk toward me and Farah, a weepy Janet in tow. “Thank god. You need to stop this madman!” “Madman?” I ask politely. “Yes! He went in the building with a can of gas and matches, and kicked everyone else out the moment the paperwork was signed!” Jack leans in. “He’s going to burn the place like some sort of arsonist!” “Well . . . did you sell it to him?” Jack straightens, his eyes narrowing.

“Because if he bought the building and you agreed to it, then it’s not really arson, is it?” I give him my sweetest smile. “He owns the place so I’m sure he can do what he likes to it.” “But it’s the heart of Three Jacks,” Jack protests. “I didn’t even get to take all my stuff,” Janet wails at his side. “There are entire file cabinets I didn’t get to!” “He didn’t let you clean the place out?” “He only gave us an hour,” Jack says, indignant. “The other Jacks have their offices locked. Can you imagine the shitstorm when they come in and find out that the place has been burned to the ground?” “So why did you sell?” I ask. When Jack Jack’s face goes purple with outrage, a laugh threatens to bubble up in my throat. “It’s because he offered you an obscene amount of money, didn’t he?” Jack narrows his eyes at me. “Are you laughing at this, Miss Smithfield? Because I fail to see what’s so fucking funny—”

“Ivy, can you please just go in and talk to him,” Farah asks. “I don’t think Jack would have sold the place if he’d have realized that the guy was planning on burning the building down.” “This is an historic building,” Jack agrees, jumping into the conversation again. “It has been completely refurbished under my watch and brings pride to the name Three Jacks and—” “And you sold it,” I butt in. “Which is on you.” Farah gives me an unhappy look and I raise a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll go in and talk to him.” Talking to Boone is pretty much my entire reason for being here. “Thank you,” Farah says. She shoots an unhappy look at both Jack and Janet, and then looks at me, expectant. As if I’m going to fix this. I . . . kind of don’t want to fix it. I want to take one of the gas cans and help Boone light the place up. Is that bad? I’m not sure I care. I open the elegant glass door that leads into the Three Jacks lobby. I remember coming into this office for the first time, and thinking about how

incredibly beautiful the building was, and how they must cater to a lot of high-end clients with such a fancy place. I remember thinking that I’d give anything to work at an office as posh as this one. That all my problems would be solved if I could work here. Funny how perspective changes. I’ve been less stressed working at the ice cream shop for the last week, because at least there, I know my paycheck is guaranteed. I know no one’s going to swoop in and take it out from under me. And really, there are no high expectations I can never hope to fulfill. There’s a faint, acrid scent in the air as I step inside, and it’s silent in the lobby. It’s so quiet that I almost miss the fact that someone’s sitting at the front desk. It’s Boone, wearing a suit, his back to me. His shoulders look broad and gorgeous in the jacket, and I experience a pang of loss so great it nearly brings me to my knees. I had this gorgeous man and I lost him. He turns slowly in the chair, and I see he’s playing with a book of matches. As I watch, he

plants one foot and then the other on the top of Janet’s desk. “Just the person I came here to see,” he drawls. “Do you go by Ivy or by Reba?” I’m momentarily taken aback. We’re playing with all the cards out on the table, are we? Then, I realize there’s nothing else to hide, not anymore. I’m already at rock bottom. “Only my sister calls me Reba, and I’m pretty sure she does it just to piss me off.” Boone smiles a little. “Ivy, then.” “Yes, just Ivy. I’m the same person, no matter what you think.” He nods slowly and studies my clothing. “What is that getup?” “The official employee uniform for Two Scoops Ice Cream and Malt Shoppe. I think I just got fired, though.” “Do I need to go burn it down, too?” For some reason, that strikes me as incredibly funny and I start to laugh. I press my fingers to my lips, because it shouldn’t be funny, and yet I can’t stop laughing. A moment later, though, my laughter

is turning into sobs. “When did everything go to such shit?” “Baby girl, it’s always been shit. You’ve just been too stubborn to notice.” Another laugh hiccups out of me. “I guess you’re right.” “Come here.” He gestures, indicating I should join him at Janet’s desk. I swipe at my stupid, leaky eyes and glance back through the tinted glass windows of the lobby. Out in the parking lot, another fire truck is pulling up, and I see Jack Jack pacing while on his phone. Everyone else is waiting, their boxes in hand, confused and uncertain looks on their faces. No one knows what’s going on. “I came to talk to you,” I tell him as I approach, my steps slow and cautious. I want to rush forward and fling myself in his arms, but I’m not exactly sure how that’d be received, so I play it cool. I’m holding my breath as I approach Boone, and as I do, I wish I had taken off my stupid cap, or not spilled quite so

much ice cream on the front of my shirt. He wants a lady and right now, I’m the furthest thing from it. But there’s no more hiding between us. I have to be who I am—dirty shirt, dirty past, and all. There’s a hint of defiance in my stance when I move to the side of the desk and stand next to him. “Here I am.” He swings his feet back down off the desk. Boone’s hands go to my hips, and he looks at them thoughtfully, as if trying to decide what to do with me. I can feel my body respond just to that small touch, and I’m disappointed when all he does is pick me up and set me gently down on top of Janet’s desk, right in front of him. I look around, because it feels too vulnerable to look right into his face. There’s burned-out matches on the desk, and I pick one up. “What are you doing, Boone?” “Thought it was obvious, baby girl. I’m gonna fuckin’ torch the place.” I give him an exasperated look and point the dead match at him. “You can’t buy and burn down

every building in San Antonio just because the people inside are dicks.” “I,” he says, and pulls the match from my fingers, “am a billionaire. I can do whatever I want. And if they’re dumb enough to sell the place to me, then they don’t get a say in how I treat the building.” I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling, because wasn’t that just the very thing I said to the others outside? Not five minutes ago? “And you’re going to burn this place down?” “To the fucking ground,” he agrees, a devilish smile curving his mouth. His beard brushes against the starchy white collar of his suit, and my fingers itch to touch him. God, I miss him so much. I feel like an addict that’s had to go cold turkey . . . and doesn’t want to. “Just because they’re jerks?” “No.” His gaze moves over my body. “Because they were mean to you.”

My heart seems to stop in my chest. My body prickles with awareness of him, and I’m on the verge of crying again. This time, though, I give in to my impulse and reach out and caress his cheek, letting his beard tickle my hand. “You’re doing this . . . for me?” He turns his face and kisses my palm. “Ivy, I’d do everything for you.” “I thought you hated me,” I whisper. The tears I’ve been fighting against so hard start flowing like rain. Boone captures my hand in his, and kisses my palm again. “I love you, Ivy or Reba or whatever you want to call yourself. I was hurt, yeah, but I think I was more hurt that you lied to me than the fact that you’re not this person I built up in my head. None of that shit matters.” He nips at my fingertips. “You never called me back—” “I was fuckin’ depressed because it felt like I’d lost you, somehow. Took Clay coming over to kick

my ass and make me realize that nothing had changed. I still feel the same way about you.” “Even though I’m poor?” The words feel like they’re strangling me. “I live in a trailer, Boone. My father—” “He’s in prison, I know.” He kisses my fingertips again. “I know all of it, baby.” “How—how did you find out?” “Clay hired a private investigator. Pulled a bunch of records. You ain’t mad about it, are you?” I stare at him. I’m not mad. It just . . . feels a bit like all of my clothes have been peeled off and I’m naked and vulnerable. “I’ve tried really hard not to follow in my parents’ footsteps. Tried to give my little sister the life she deserves to have—” He gently bites down on the fleshy pad under my thumb, sending tingles through my body. “I know, Ivy. I ain’t judging you.” “I’m not classy—” “Baby, you are the ultimate in classy.” He kisses the inside of my wrist. “That has nothing to do with you living in a trailer.” He presses another

kiss on my arm, moving up the soft inner skin toward my elbow. “I know you grew up in a trailer. And I know I said I wanted a classy woman, but I changed my mind. I want one that’s like me.” “You think I’m like you?” “Aren’t you?” He looks up from my arm and grins. “We both come from poor backgrounds, we’re both hard workers, we’re both addicted to each other . . . and we’re both pigheaded as fuck.” I give a little snort of amusement. “Well, you’re not wrong about that.” “We’re the same, you and I. And that’s who I want by my side. Not someone that I can dress up pretty and trot out to parties like a doll. I want a real living, breathing, gorgeous woman at my side, who will occasionally tell me to go fuck myself and maybe let me put my hand up her skirt while I’m driving.” He goes back to kissing my arm. “I love you, Ivy Reba Whoever You Want To Be. And that hasn’t changed.”

“I love you, too,” I tell him, breathless. “I love you so much, Boone. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you —” “I know, baby. I understand why you didn’t.” He kisses the inside of my elbow, and I feel a shiver move through my entire body at the caress. “Took me a few days, but I got it. Will you forgive me for being a stubborn ass?” “Only if you forgive me for the same.” “I think I can manage that.” He gets to his feet and pulls me against him. “Can I kiss you now?” “I think I’d be sad if you didn’t.” “Can’t have that,” he murmurs, and leans in to brush his mouth over mine. His lips and his taste sweep over me and I’m lost again. I lean into his embrace, eager for more of his kisses. I’m hungry for him and it’s been far too long since I’ve felt his touch. His hand cups my cheek and then our lips are locked in a fierce caress, my tongue tangling with his. He groans and his hands slide to my ass, cupping my butt through my cheap slacks. I twine

my arms around his neck and sigh happily when the kiss breaks. “I love you, Boone.” “You are mine, Ivy. Ain’t nothing coming between us, baby.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “I may not be a smooth man, but you will never find anyone more devoted to you.” “I’m not looking for a smooth man. I want my man, beard and all.” Boone growls low in his throat and claims my mouth in another scorching kiss. “This man and his beard want to take you upstairs and go fuck on a boardroom table.” I gasp at the lewd statement . . . but I’m also kind of turned on by it. “The boardroom?” “Right on top of that dickface’s paperwork, if you like,” he tells me, rubbing his beard against my neck as he nuzzles my ear. “And . . . then you’re going to burn this place down? Like the golf course?” He pulls back and grins at me. “You do know I donated that land to the city, right?” “You did?”

“Yup. They’re building a park there. You wanna build a park here, too?” He nips my ear. “I think we could call it the Ivy Smithfield Takes No Shit From Her Bosses Park.” I giggle. “I don’t know if that sounds like me. I took their shit for a long time.” “But that’s why you’ve got me to back you up, baby,” he says, gazing down at me. The expression on his face is completely serious. “I’ve got your back. Right now, and forever.” I tremble with the force of how wonderful that statement is. “I love you,” I whisper again, just because I need to tell him. “I’m the luckiest woman alive.” “Does the luckiest woman alive wanna go find a nice boardroom and get my beard between her thighs?” “Oh god, does she ever.” He picks me up and carries me like a princess, heading up the elegant marble stairs to the upper offices. I’ve only been up here a few times in the entire span of my employment with Three Jacks.

There’s a private bathroom, the three exclusive, swanky offices of the Jacks, and a small boardroom that they liked to hold their meetings in. I point at the door as Boone carries me upstairs, and he kicks it open. “Nice table,” he comments as he sets me down on the beveled wooden edge of it. “Expensive.” “For them, it’s all about looking the best,” I agree, scooting back a few inches to get comfortable. “Maybe I’ll take it with me,” he says, a devilish look on his face. “So every time I lay you down on it, he’s getting fucked over by me.” “Ew. I vote burn it.” “Burn it, it is,” he agrees, his hands going to my nylon work belt and tugging at it. “And let’s get these off you. My mouth misses your sweet pussy something fierce.” I moan at his filthy words, tearing at my belt. The clasp pops off and clinks to the floor, but I don’t even care. I miss him terribly and I want him more than anything I can imagine.

He stands between my spread thighs. His hands drag over my breasts, rubbing them through the thick weave of my cheap shirt, finding my nipples under the layers of fabric and coaxing them into aching little points. My hands tear at my pants, and I manage to work them down my hips, along with my panties. “Look at how sexy and hot you are, Ivy,” he breathes, his hand sliding down my front to caress my smooth pussy. “God, I love touching you.” “Then touch me more,” I encourage, pushing at the fabric of my slacks that’s gathered at my hips. “Get these off of me.” “Yes, ma’am.” He helps me slide them off my legs entirely, and then I’m bare from the waist down. He groans at the sight and puts his hands on my hips, tugging me toward him. I wrap my legs around his hips and reach for his belt. “Your turn.” He undoes his zipper and belt, and then shoves his pants down his hips. His cock thrusts out at me, thick and beautiful and gorgeous. It makes my

mouth water just to look at it. I reach between us and stroke the head, beads of pre-cum wetting my fingers. “Condom?” Boone shakes his head. “Didn’t bring one. Didn’t hope for this.” His hand goes between my thighs and he rubs his thumb over my clit. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “I’m committed if you are.” “Oh, I’m committed,” he tells me, and then drags one of the chairs over and sits down. The moment he does, he pulls me to the edge of the table and his face descends between my legs. “I won’t come inside you, Ivy. I want the time to be right for our family.” “Sounds good to me,” I breathe, and a moment later his mouth is on my pussy and I cry out, arching my hips because he’s not playing around today. This isn’t a gentle tease—this is an all-out assault with tongue and lips determined to make me come fast, and come hard. He strokes a finger into my core even as he sucks on my clit, and then kisses it. “Already wet as hell for me, baby.”

“Always for you, Boone.” He groans and plants another kiss on my pussy, leaving me quivering and aching for more, and then gets to his feet again. A moment later, I feel the head of his cock pushing against my core, and then he’s seated inside me. He leans over me, his body pressing mine to the table. His hand fists in my hair and he kisses me, and then begins to slowly pump inside me. It feels incredibly wicked to be lying on a boardroom table in the place I used to work at, naked from the waist down and being fucked by my lover with no condom. I’m wet and underneath me the wooden table’s getting slippery, my hips moving across the table with every slam of Boone’s hips against mine. There’s something about the shamelessness of it that turns me on, and I moan and writhe under Boone’s heavy body as he pushes into me. “Come for me, baby,” he demands, and his hand goes to my breast. “Let me feel you squeezing tight around me.”

Another moan escapes my throat, and I raise my hips to meet his next thrust. His fingers pinch my nipple hard, and I’m shocked at the tweak of pain —and the rush of pleasure that ripples through me in the next instant. “That’s right,” Boone drawls, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes. “You wiggle that ass for me, baby girl. Come for me.” And when he teases my nipple again, at the same time he pounds into me? I do come, and I come hard. I scream out his name, arching on the table. “Ivy,” he rasps, and then he pulls out of me. I watch, fascinated, as he takes his cock in hand, slick with the juices from my body, and strokes it hard. A few pumps and then he spatters my stomach with hot liquid, his eyes closed, face contorted with the force of his pleasure. I fight to catch my breath, panting, as he milks his cock over my belly and thighs. It’s obscene, filthy, and erotic all at once.

“Damn,” he breathes when he’s finished. He opens his eyes and gazes down at me. “You are the most beautiful mess right now, covered in my cum.” I sit up on my elbows, giving him my best saucy look. “Want me to roll over and get your leavings all over the boss man’s table?” “You filthy little thing,” he says with a chuckle, and leans down to kiss me. “But then we’ll really have to burn the damn table.” I giggle, because it is filthy and I like the idea far too much. I’m turning into some sort of deviant around him . . . and I love it. “You still want to burn this place down?” “Unless you want it?” I shake my head. “I think it will make a lovely park.” His eyes gleam with amusement. “You wanna light the first match?” “Love to.” I sit up and he pulls off his shirt and begins to towel me off with it, a look of intense

concentration on his face. He’s so tender and yet . . . I’m worried. “Boone?” “Hm?” He glances up at me. “Where do we go from here? You and me?” He finishes cleaning me off and tosses his shirt into a wastebasket, leaving me with a lovely view of nothing but deeply tanned muscle. He caresses my jaw and gazes at me thoughtfully. “Well, I thought tomorrow I’d rent out that helicopter again and find us another black-tie party to go crash. Because I still want to show my woman off.” There’s a lump in my throat. “There’s not much to show off, Boone.” He shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ivy. I’d show you off because you’re the thing I’m the most proud of. You’re beautiful, and smart, and funny, and sexy, and way too good for a dumb roughneck like me. I’d show you off because all those other bastards would be insanely jealous they wouldn’t have an Ivy of their own. I want them all to be jealous of my fiancée.”

“You’re the most wonderful, crazy man I’ve ever met, you know that?” Boone just grins at me. “Long as you love me, baby, I don’t care how crazy that makes me.”

Epilogue There’s a lovely little park downtown now, where the Three Jacks office used to be. I like driving past it as I leave my own office, even though it’s several blocks out of the way. I just like seeing it, all sod and baby trees instead of the big glass doors, and Jack Jack’s Viper and Winky Jack’s stupid Lexus that he always parked in the handicap spot even though he wasn’t handicapped. But that’s all in the past. Three Jacks is gone, burned down in a blaze of glory. I’m told that one of the Jacks retired and the others are “working independently,” whatever that means. Don’t know, don’t care. I have my own business now. Price-Smithfield Real Estate is a tiny office, just big enough for me and Farah and an assistant. We don’t need more right now, but I’m hoping in the future we’ll expand to include more people.

Well, after the baby comes, of course. I pat my rounded belly as I drive to the dorms to go visit my sister. I cried buckets when she left for college, but Boone thought it would be good for both of us. Wynonna could have a little independence, and I could have a lot more Boonetime without my sister hovering like a third wheel. I love my sister, but I also love my alone time with my new husband. Plus, it saves my sister an hour drive each way, which gives her more time to study. Two semesters in, and I can safely say that she’s loving college, and I’m loving the fact that she’s there and not living with me. Wynonna’s waiting at the curb for me when I pull up, and she jumps into my Town Car the moment it stops. “There you are! I thought you were going to be late again!” “Just taking the long, scenic route,” I tell her as I pull out onto the road again. I glance over at her, noting her braided, purple-dyed hair. Wynonna’s changed a lot since she went to college—she’s put

on a bit of weight, dyed her hair every color imaginable, and has made a ton of friends. She’s no longer the sad-looking waif sitting on the trailer step. “You look good. Sushi for lunch okay?” “Sushi is always okay,” Wynonna gushes, and then she reaches over to pat my belly. “Look at how big you’re getting! How many weeks are you now?” “Thirty-two,” I tell her. “Not too much longer, now.” I rub my stomach and the baby kicks. “Boone’s already decorating the baby’s room. He’s so excited.” “He’s decorating?” she asks, surprised. “Well, hunting.” I grimace. “He’s dead set on the baby having a few, uh, trophies in his room. We’re discussing it.” “Oh, ewww. That’s gonna scare the baby.” “Or his mommy.” She laughs. “I guess you can take the redneck out of the woods, but you can’t take the woods out of the redneck.” She fiddles with the radio for a

moment, and then turns it off, deciding on silence. “How is that super hot brother of his?” “Which one?” Wynonna shrugs, staring out the window. “Clay?” I prompt. “He’s too old for you. Knox? Gage? Also too old for you. As for Seth? He’s the right age but he’s also lazy. The others are all taking a more active part in the family business, but Seth just wants to go get drunk.” I shake my head, because it’s something Boone has lamented about over and over again. “Only thing he’s good for is worming.” “Whatever that is.” She wrinkles her nose. “Speaking of, summer’s coming up. Can I stay in your guesthouse?” “Of course.” I look over at my sister, surprised. One of the selling points of the “modest” twelvemillion-dollar ranch that Boone and I eventually bought was that it came with a deluxe guesthouse on the private lake, ideal for my sister or any other visitors. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Can I bring a friend?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Me and Stephanie want to hang out at the lake and work on our tans.” I shrug. “You’re an adult. As long as your grades are good, you can do as you please.” “You’re so mellow now,” Wynonna teases. “Is it the baby?” I smile dreamily into the traffic. “Sure.” In reality, the baby’s only a piece of it. It’s Boone. Boone and his endless, enthusiastic loving, his wild ideas, his boyish excitement over anything and everything. He’s changed my world in the short time that we’ve been married. I keep waiting for the fire between us to fade a bit, for us to get sick of each other, but we’re obsessed. I think we’re closer than ever before, with the baby on the way. He’s helped me get my business on its feet and I’ve encouraged him to take a more active role in his own business. We bring out the best in each other —and okay, sometimes the worst with our stubbornness—but we never go to bed without a

round of dirty make-up sex that makes me forget what we argued about. Does he have crazy ideas? Sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. Most people live inside the box, but for Boone, there is no box. That’s as exciting as it is frustrating, but it’s never boring. Actually, Boone is anything but boring. Just last night— “Oh, gross.” Wynonna wrinkles her nose. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” “Who?” “Your husband. You’ve got that dopey, lovesick look on your face like you always do when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about him.” I can feel myself blushing. “Is it a crime to be head over heels in love with your rich, sexy husband?” “I guess not,” Wynonna mutters. “Just . . . quit having sexy thoughts about him. Don’t make me toss my sushi, all right?” “I’ll try,” I say drily. My phone buzzes with an incoming text as I park the car and Wynonna hops

out. I take one look at the screen . . . and my face gets scalding. I press it against my breast. “Why don’t you go get us a table and I’ll be in in a second?” She rolls her eyes, looking so much like a teenager. “So you two can sext? Seriously, Reba. That’s gross. You’re pregnant. Be all motherly!” “I’ll do my best,” I murmur as she heads into the restaurant. Then, when it’s safe, I peek at my phone screen again. My husband just sent me a dick pic and a text. Miss you. Show me ur stomach, baby girl.

Ivy: Don’t most men just want to see a picture of their woman’s tits? Boone: Yeah, but I jerked off on those earlier this morning, so I’m pretty aware of what they look like. Ivy: You should know what my stomach looks like! It sticks out all over the place! Boone: Yeah, but this is my way of saying hi to my kid and to his gorgeous mom at the same time. Boone: I miss you.

Boone: Been hours since I saw your face.

I snap a photo for him, with my hand on my belly, and send it off. Ivy: Better? Boone: You get sexier every time I see you. Ivy: How’s Big Lake? Boone: Hittin’ pay dirt as usual. Seth’s fucking up on the rig. As usual. Ivy: So . . . a good day? Boone: Define good. I mean, my sexy little mama is in San Antonio and I’m three hours west. That’s not good by my standards. Ivy: You’ll be home tonight. I’ll make it up to you. Boone: Now we’re talking. Ivy: Don’t work too late, all right? Boone: Leaving the site in about an hour. I’ll be home to eat. And then we can have dinner, too.

Months later, and the man still makes me blush like a schoolgirl. Ivy: You’re bad.

Boone: I know. But my beard misses your pussy. Rest of me, too, but especially my beard. Ivy: My pussy will make it up to him, then. Boone: My beard likes hearing that.

A hand knocks on the window of the car, and Wynonna gives me an exasperated look. “I’m coming,” I call out at her, texting fast. God, caught red-handed. I’d be a little embarrassed except . . . Boone is amazing. I’m the luckiest woman alive to have him. Ivy: I have to go eat lunch w/Wynonna. Love you! See you in a few hours. Boone: Love you too, baby. Send me dirty pix if you get a chance.

I laugh as I get out of the car, ignoring the squicked-out look on my little sister’s face. Boone’s going to have to wait a while for the dirty pictures. But he’ll get them, just like he got me, and the baby, and the house of our dreams.

I’ve never been able to refuse that man anything.

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