Kaylee Quinn - Ordered -(ang)

ORDERED

KAYLEE QUINN

FAVOR FORD PUBLISHING

Contents NOTE Want To Be In The Know? Ordered by Kaylee Quinn Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Epilogue Bonus Content: Devil In A Suit (Book One) by Ivy Carter Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Copyright © 2017 by Favor Ford Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover design copyright Cover Couture

NOTE

This version of Ordered contains the following bonus material: Devil In A Suit (Book One) by Ivy Carter Ordered is the length of a normal novel and contains a guaranteed HEA.

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ORDERED BY KAYLEE QUINN

CHAPTER 1

DARCY

D o you think he’s going to make me have sex with him?

My finger hovers over the send button to the text as the luxury Mercedes takes another hairpin corner with expert precision. Costly Cupid arranged for a private driver to pick me up at Burlington Airport, and now, forty-five minutes of jawdropping scenery later, Ironstone Mountain and Resort comes into view. Outside the tinted car windows, ant-like shapes of skiers zigzag down steep vertical trails. But unlike the adventurous tourists, I'm not here to be a ski bunny. I hit delete, and my text disappears into the ether. Nope. I've flown to the middle of Vermont for a very different reason. One my best friend Lucy has been trying to talk me out of for the entire duration of the car ride. Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, really sure? I'm worried for you, Darce. I don't respond with the answer screaming inside my head. The one that cries “No! Of course I'm not sure! This is the most insane thing I've ever done!” Because who in their right mind could ever be sure about becoming a mail-order bride? Especially for Thayer Noble, the billionaire resort mogul who just so happened to have graced People Magazine’s list of Sexiest Men Alive last year. I pull up his pictures again on my phone, taking in the chiseled jaw, the smoldering eyes, the broad shoulders. What the hell does he need with a mailorder bride? I wonder for about the millionth time. “Just five minutes more, miss,” the driver pipes up from the front. “As soon as we come around the next bend you’ll spy Equinox Chalet off to your right. I must say, the first sight is rather impressive.” His comment turns out to be the understatement of the year. From the edge of the ridge rises a castle, maybe not in the traditional sense of turrets and moats but certainly something out of a fairy tale. It's a work of art that fits perfectly into the rugged landscape, forged from slabs of stone and thick wooden beams. Below it a frozen waterfall adds to the overall picture of a place that

is raw, primal and utterly forbidding. Thayer Noble reigns as king of this mountain, and Equinox is where he holds court. Except—I am no princess caught in the clutches of an evil stepmother. In my story, I’m running from my own flesh and blood. The thought makes my stomach turn, and I push it out of my mind quickly. “You a friend of Mr. Noble?” The driver’s curious gaze meets mine in the rear view mirror. “Pardon me for saying, but you don't appear the usual type that I chauffeur to the chalet.” “Oh?” Here’s hoping that my noncommittal tone masks my racing heart. Can this guy tell that I'm a phony? I spent the last of my pathetic savings on this belted cashmere jacket and pair of gold-toned Chanel sunglasses. I might be a broke ass twenty-something about to sell my pride and possibly my body to the highest bidder, but that doesn't mean I am going to dress in my usual style...off the Old Navy sales rack. These expensive trappings are meant to serve as battle armor. And to hide the fact that up until a week ago I was plain old Darcy Lawrence, a recent college grad who couldn't get a credit card or apartment thanks to my lovely father’s graduation gift: identity theft. Anger and hurt make my heart pump harder, and the surge of blood whooshing through my ears means it’s hard to hear what the driver says next. “I just mean to say that his usual visitors are generally overseas investors from places like the Middle East or China. Not quite this young or...female.” “Looks as if Mr. Noble is full of surprises,” I murmur before taking a deep steadying breath. Like a billionaire using a modern mail-order bride service for starters. Costly Cupid talked themselves into a twisted pretzel trying to say they weren't in the business of glorified prostitution. “We provide high-end companionship for elite clients interested in the trappings of domesticity without the hassles of commitment,” the recruiter had chirpily explained during our intake phone interview. I’d bitten my lower lip, wanting to laugh out loud. The only good thing my twobit, conman of a father, Lenny Lawrence, ever gave me was the advice that “If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and waddles like a duck, it's a fucking duck.” I was a fucking duck. Costly Cupid might pretend to be a luxury companionship service, but in my head and heart I know it's a mail-order bride service. The question now is would my billionaire pseudo-husband want to claim me as a husband in every last way? And would I let him? I cross and recross my legs. I’d always imagined saving myself for my wedding night. It’s an old fashioned sentiment, but there seems to be something so romantic about losing my virginity to the man I will spend the rest of my life with, a man who has pledged to cherish and adore only me for the rest of my days. Instead, I can soon be expected to service a worldly, devastatingly handsome man who has probably had sex with movie stars and Victoria Secret models.

As the Mercedes speeds past the open gates to Equinox, I pretend that the quivering, unsettled feeling in my stomach is from being car sick. But deep down I know the truth hidden beneath my fancy designer clothes. I'm a small-town virgin who is totally, utterly out of her element. My chest hollows. I'm also out of options, which is how I got into this high-end mess in the first place. The car stops in front of a foyer that is twice the size of the shitty Kansas trailer I fled this morning. Show time. I reach inside my purse and pull out a hand mirror. The face staring back isn't a confident celebrity beauty but a wide-eyed girl from the heartland with dirty blonde hair and a smattering of freckles peppering her nose. Cute. That's the word people use to describe me. Not sexy. Not hot. Cute. I snap the mirror shut and open the door before the driver can let me out. The mountain air is crisp and tinged with a hint of pine. I can do this, I tell myself. He chose me. I posted my profile on Costly Cupid in a half-drunk panic once I realized Dad had gambled away my chance at a respectable future and left me with sky-high debt and ruined credit. I might have been a little hysterical, and the two beers I'd stolen from our fridge had gone straight to my head. But when your own father steals your identity and leaves you flat broke, desperate times call for desperate measures. “I need a different father, a sugar daddy,” I had giggled to Lucy after uploading a headshot snapped from my phone, never imagining the agency would call me back three hours later to say a client was actually interested in my...services. “I'd help you with your bags, Miss, but seeing as you don't have any...” The driver trails off, giving me another curious look. “I'm travelling light,” I say, hoisting my large purse up my shoulder. “Thanks for the ride.” I feel his stare bore into my back as I stride toward the huge front door with a confidence that I don't feel. The wind picks up, blowing my hair into my face before I beat the unruly curls back into submission with a swipe of my hand. “Great,” I mutter as the Mercedes behind me roars to life and drives away. My hair is the bane of my existence on a good day. But with the falling snow and wind it is going to poof into a wild bird’s nest. As I shiver, the reality crashes down around me. There is no choice now except to knock. Otherwise I'll be a human popsicle in another five minutes. I rap the door knocker and wait. And wait. The wind howls. No one comes. But—he’s expecting me. So I knock again. This time the door flies open, and my gaze locks on hardened eyes, a clenched chiseled jaw, and the most sensual, brutal lips I've ever seen. Whoa. Thick. Wide. Edged by dark scruff.

A punishing mouth. One that isn't bending into a welcoming smile but tugging into a furious frown. Despite the frigid temperature, a strange heat flares in my belly, a lick of flame that for some reason makes me grind my knees together. “Who the hell are you?” His baritone voice is raspy, tinged with impatience. I blink, flustered by the unexpected response. “Mr. Noble? Uh. Hi. Hi there! I, well I'm sure you can tell from my picture...I'm Darcy Lawrence.” I throw up my hands in a ta-da gesture while internally groaning. I’m not a cheerleader at a high school football game, and this guy does not look he goes for ta-da. His indigo eyes are a storm of anger. No. Scratch that. Fury. “You ordered me.” My mouth dries. “From Costly Cupid?” “Costly Cupid?” He repeats in a cool, even voice. “Nice joke.” But he’s not smiling. Not only am I not in Kansas anymore, but I have apparently plonked down on the front porch of the hottest guy I've ever seen in real life. And he already hates me. Yes, I think. It is a joke. And fate is laughing its ass off.

THAYER

I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe, giving this delusional young

woman ten more seconds to explain herself. She looks to be in her early twenties, but there is a fresh innocence wafting off her, suggestive of someone far younger. Or more pure. The muscles in my stomach flex into a rigid band as she softly clears her throat. A rosy flush appears beneath the freckles peppering her cheeks. “It’s no joke, sir. Mr. Noble. I mean, Thayer. That’s what I should call you, right? Your first name? Unless you have a nickname or...” She lets out a sweet-sounding laugh. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?” “Yes,” I say. Her ten seconds are up. “You are.” The curly-haired intruder’s eyes widen. They are green, the color of a flawless emerald. Wide, hopeful, and hinting at secret sadness. I slam the door on the unwelcome flash of curiosity about this beguiling woman. Literally. The crack of wood hitting the frame doesn't drown out her sharp gasp, one that chips off a piece of my frozen heart. It's for the best, though. Hope and purity don't mix with my dark world. Walk away, I tell myself as an inexplicable desire to open the door and invite her in flows through me. It’s not like she trekked in off the side of a mountain seeking shelter from a storm. Not in those high-heeled boots. Someone drove her to my door. Whoever

the fuck it was can take her back to where she came from. Except now she’s staring down an empty driveway, biting her full bottom lip in trepidation. And I’m staring out the pane of glass next to the door like I give a shit. Still, despite the falling snow, I wait for her to knock again. It doesn’t take long. “Who the hell sent you?” I demand, throwing open the door. She shivers, pulling the belt on her cream coat tighter. I try and fail to ignore how the skittish gesture emphasizes her waist and the ratio to her sexy as hell hips. She’s all curves and softness, my personal favorite. “I told you.” The tremor in her voice may or may not be from the cold. “C-Costly Cupid. Hang on. I'll show you.” She unzips the bag hanging from the crook of her elbow and pulls out a thin stack of folded papers. “It’s all right here. I can even open the app and with my profile. It says that I’m unavailable for the next six months, which is the term of our contract.” She brandishes the papers at me, and I’ve all but ground my teeth to dust by the time I’m done leafing through them. “There’s been a mistake,” I tell her, pulling out my phone even as I begin to pace. “I’ll straighten it out, and whoever brought you can come back and take to wherever you’re really supposed to go.” She opens her mouth to say something, but I’ve already got the number dialed and the phone to my ear, so I hold up a finger, stopping her before she can start. “Yes, this is Thayer Noble,” I say as soon as someone answers. “Mr. Noble, yes. Thank you for confirming receipt of your delivery,” the annoyingly cheerful voice on the other end chirps. I clench the sheaf of papers in my hand. “I’m not confirming goddamn receipt,” I bark, “I’m confirming a mistake.” The woman mumbles to herself before launching into a litany of crap I’ve already read on the pages in my hand. It’s the last thing she says, though, that keeps me from hanging up. Something that’s not included in the paperwork clutched between my fingers. “Darcy Lawrence. Six months companionship. Able to perform such domestic activities as cleaning, vacuuming, laundry, and cooking. Profile chosen and payment secured by a Mr. Lance Bateman. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?” I glance at the girl still frozen in place in front of my door, her eyes wide. I’m not big on audiences, so I duck around the corner to finish the conversation, which doesn’t take long. When I return to the foyer, my visitor still hasn’t moved. “Here’s what’s going to happen Ms…” “Darcy,” she interrupts. My hand clenches into a fist as I think about what I’d like to do with Lance and how he spends my money. “Ms. Lawrence,” I continue. “There has been a mistake, but I’ve just set it right.

I have no use for a mail-order bride—or anyone in this house other than me. Costly Cupid is sending the car back to pick you up within the hour. You can wait in the—” In an instant, her jewel-toned eyes well and spill over, and the tentative smile she’d been wearing crumples as her face falls into her gloved palms. My hand jerks out on its own impulse as if to comfort her. What a fucking mess this is, the idea of me providing solace to anyone. Instead I ball my hand into a fist and slam it against my leg. “I—can’t—go—home.” The soft-spoken words tumble out of her mouth in between hiccupping sobs. “I—I—can’t—go—back—there!” She tilts her head up, and this time my damn hand won't be stopped. I wipe away a mascara streak, the pad of my finger skimming her impossibly smooth skin. How long has it been since I touched anyone except for the cursory handshake to close another business deal? I've long grown sick of the meaningless one-night stands that consumed my early twenties, each short, urgent encounter always somehow taking more than it gave. Sure sex lets me forget about…the things that haunt me during the roar of orgasm. But afterwards, my world feels emptier than ever. It takes effort not to ask her what she’s talking about, where – or what-- she can’t go back to. But I force myself to look away from her pleading gaze and out the window. The snow has blanketed the roads, and it’s getting darker by the minute now that the sun has sunk below the surrounding peaks. “Fine,” I say, not sure where the words are coming from as I turn toward the wide oak staircase behind us. “The guest room is the third door on the right once you reach the top. In the morning I’ll give you cash to pay for a few days at one of the ski motels. You can figure the rest out from there.” Maybe I sense she is alone too. When I turn back to her, I barely have time to register her movement before she launches toward me. “Thank you!” she cries, arms wrapping around my neck as buries her tearstreaked face in my chest. “Thank you, Mr. Noble.” I freeze, hands clenched at my sides, but I cannot escape the scent of the wild windblown curls beneath my chin. Apples. I inhale a whole goddamn orchard—and then I grip her shoulders and push her away. “Sorry,” she says with shaky laugh that belies the wobble to her lip. “I—thank you. I understand the profile picture doesn’t always match the product. Returns and exchanges are part of the game, I know. I guess I just didn’t expect to disappoint my first client. Again, thank you for letting me stay the night. You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.” She strides past me, back straight and chin up, like she’s had to fake her way through setbacks before. My mouth gives an unwilling quirk, admiring her fortitude.

She has pluck, I'll give her that. “What about your bags?” I ask, and she pauses halfway up the stairs but doesn’t turn around. “I travel light,” she says simply, resituating the oversized purse on her shoulder. Then she continues toward the top. Meaning—she has nothing. Who the fuck is this Darcy Lawrence? My head dips toward the black streaks of mascara she left on my white buttondown, and once again my hands clench and flex. I close my eyes, but with every inhale I’m dragged deeper into the orchard, my mouth watering for a taste of sweetness. “Ms. Lawrence will be gone by morning,” I mutter under my breath. “I’ll make sure of it.”

CHAPTER 2

DARCY

A re you there yet? How is it? Is he as hot as his pictures?

I turn off my phone, unable to summon the heart to text Lucy an update on my situation. What is more humiliating than becoming a mail-order bride? Getting rejected on the doorstep by my pseudo-husband. I find the room Thayer told me could be mine for the night and rest my hand on the cold brass knob. “He is allowed to have buyer’s remorse, Darcy,” I whisper to myself, as if a little internal pep talk will be a Band-Aid to this massive ego blow. But, ego aside, what the hell am I going to do now? He rejected me on no uncertain terms, and I need this gig. Swallowing the lump of panic rising in my throat, I push into the dark room. It takes me almost a minute to find the light switch, and when I do? “Wow,” I whisper. “Wow. Wow. Wow.” This so-called guest room is bigger than my marketing classrooms back at University of Kansas. The bed must be kingsized, with four posters carved from a dark, glossy wood, but it's dwarfed by a floor to ceiling fireplace constructed of what looks like river stone. The hearth is empty, and cold and when I catch my dazed stare in the mirror opposite, the tears return. I sure as hell don't look like a worldly, well-travelled woman befitting the billionaire owner of a famous luxury ski resort. Even in this ridiculous coat, I look exactly like who I am and who I’ll always be...a girl who grew up running through cornfields and laying on her back in prairie grass watching the clouds roll past and dreaming of a better life, far, far away from the one I knew. The strength in my legs gives out, and I sink to the floor. The bed looks inviting, with a thick navy blue covering that must be made of silk. It reminds me of the same rich blue in Thayer’s eyes. But I can’t seem to muster any sort of resolve to climb up into it. A whimper escapes my lips as I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek

on the unforgiving stone. Thayer gazed at me like my mere presence made his blood boil. I don't know what I did to make him angry, just like I never knew what I did to deserve my father’s fists, the ones that fell on me true and hard after he lost a horse race or one of his mysterious deals went south up in St. Louis or Chicago. Tomorrow I will find a silver lining, a bright side to this awful, humiliating situation. But for tonight, when I lack even the strength to crawl across the wood floor and up into the most lavish looking bed that I have ever seen, I am desperate, homeless, and alone. It doesn't take long for the blackness to engulf me. But sleep doesn't bring the blissful relief of forgetting. Instead I am lost in a world of snow and ice. A dense forest rises around me and the cold wind bites at my skin. When my breath comes, it is in short bursts of panicked fog. No one is near. I'm alone. And then I hear it. The crunch of boots in deep snow. The pace slow and purposeful. It's not trying to hide. It lets me know that there is no point. I will be caught. I will be discovered. I can't get away. I am trapped. Still I run, racing through the witchy, dreamlike forest, branches slashing at my cheeks. Up ahead lies a clearing, and I bolt, thighs burning and chest aching. And all the while the footsteps keep their pace behind me. Inevitable as my next heartbeat. There is no escape. On the outskirts of the forest I find myself teetering on the edge of a precipice. My arms windmill in the empty air. Below is an abyss. If I jump I might fall forever. If I don’t, I’ll be caught. There is no retreat. No safe haven. I open my mouth to pray, but the only sound I am capable of making is an earsplitting scream. “Ms. Lawrence!” Firm hands grip my shoulders, and I know it’s already too late. “Darcy. Wake up! It’s okay. You’re safe now.” The male voice in my ear is deep and firm, a tone that commands instant obedience. But even as my eyes flutter open, I swear I’m still in the dream, that I did lurch over the cliff. I am falling, falling, falling into the twin pools of blue, the hooded eyes that stare down at me with a mixture of confusion and something that I’d be tempted to classify as concern until their next blink erases any trace of emotion. I jolt awake, disoriented until I see the opulent bed above me. I'm not in my nightmare anymore. I'm back on the floor of a mansion where I fell asleep earlier, now in the arms of a billionaire who rules these four walls as lord and master. Shirtless arms. And chest. And good God he’s sexier than any magazine spread I’ve ever seen of him. Then I remember that I am the servant he didn't want. The servant who is now reminding him I’m more trouble than I’m worth. “I…I’m sorry. I'm not sure what happened.” I stammer trying to pull away He locks his arm tighter around me and hello, forearm, his sinewy muscle rippling beneath his taut flesh. It's not an arm that sits and grows lazy in a fat cat lifestyle, but one accustomed to wielding strength. My father’s arms were used to manipulate. To punish. But these arms—Thayer Noble’s arms—they console.

Protect. Something no one has ever done for me. An inadvertent sigh escapes my lips, and he recoils. My rib cage squeezes tight. I do repulse him. I know that I am no great beauty, but guys in my classes did ask me out. But with none of them did I ever feel a spark. I'd never experienced any instant attraction to man until now, with the one guy who looks at me like he can't wait to see me gone. Thanks for that, brain. Real helpful. “You’re cold,” he mutters. I don't know why that fact makes him sound so angry. “Why aren't you tucked up in the bed?” I want to lie, make up some dumb excuse to appease him, but his gaze tells me he’ll know if I don't give him anything less than the complete truth. “I just fell asleep here.” My teeth chatter, and I realize that while the parts where he touches me simmer with an unexpected heat, the rest of my body is cold. As cold as that nightmare forest in my dreams. I shiver at the memory of the boots on the snow, and Thayer swears under his breath. “I'm sorry,” I blurt. “For what?” His voice is cool, collected. Even as his eyes flash with some hidden emotion. “For making you angry,” I whisper softly. “Christ,” he hisses. “You aren't the reason I’m angry, Darcy.” His voice is ice and steel. The ensuing silence is charged, humming with a tension that I don't understand but that makes the sensitive skin in my inner thighs tingle. This strange man is affecting me in ways I cannot understand. Just hours ago he was ready to toss me out the door. Now I wake in his capable, soothing arms. None of it adds up. He releases me and stands in a quick movement. “I'm angry at myself,” he mutters, which makes zero sense. Then he reaches for a piece of kindling in a copper box beside the hearth and surprises me even more. “I'm going to build you a fire.” I stand to meet his gaze, my hand gripping his to stop him, but there it is again. A spark igniting. “You don't have to go through all that trouble on my account.” None of this adds up. Why does he act like he doesn't give two about me and yet here he is, taking care of me, building me a fire, making sure I’m okay? He growls in the back of his throat. “I find you alone, screaming, and halffrozen to the bone. I don't like it.” His tone is distant, but I have two working eyes and don't miss the way his hungry gaze feasts over my body. While I might be an inexperienced, Midwestern virgin, I realize with an internal stomach flip-flop that this forbidding mountain king is looking at me with something that could feasibly be called interest. The relief that courses through me at this unexpected thawing in our frosty relationship nearly overrides the unfamiliar pulse between my legs. “Tell me.” I ask shakily. “What do you like, Thayer Noble?”

THAYER

I don’t answer Darcy’s question. Instead I channel my focus on opening the flue,

starting the fire, and ignoring whatever the hell is simmering beneath the fortress of ice I’ve built up so well over the years. But when I turn around, she stands before me with a look of innocence on her face. I let my gaze run up her lush curves, over her ass, her tits. Her cheeks color with desire, as if all she needs is my gaze to get her going. My brain flat lines as pure animal instinct takes over. I might be made of ice, but I'm still a man, and it's been too fucking long since I've been with a woman—especially one who gets me hard just from a teasing glace. I'm not given to impulsive gestures, but I have a long habit of taking what I want. And tonight, I want her. This tiny temptress whose innocent eyes belie the lush sensuality of her mouth. “What do I like?” I growl. “The idea of making you come.” I cross the room to her and unbutton her ridiculous cashmere coat, which, for some inexplicable reason, she’s fallen asleep in. I tug undress her until she’s standing before me in nothing but a sheer cream-colored camisole and panties. The outline of her tits is visible through the fabric of her shirt, and I press my hand to her breast, her nipples two pebbles. I take one between my thumb and forefinger, and there it is again, that undeniable gasp of pleasure. She is so fucking responsive. I nearly groan with pleasure. “More,” she whispers breathily. I pinch her tit harder, my cock thickening beneath the flannel pants I threw on before running in here. She can’t see what she’s doing to me, but fuck if I can ignore what I’m doing to her. “How bad do you want it, Darcy?” I growl. “Tell me how fucking bad you want it.” She moans and the blush on her cheeks darkens, too embarrassed to say anything out loud. I slide the camisole up over her the curve of stomach and off her completely. She arches as if this is what her body was meant to do. Her breasts are lush and big, her gorgeous nipples ripe raspberries begging to be tasted. But I want her to beg for it. I tease her, my tongue swirling and teeth nipping as my palm slides down her hip bone to the wet spot visible at the apex of her panties. She cries out when I stop short of touching her pussy. “Tell me, Darcy.” She whimpers. “Please,” she whispers. She sounds so lost, and I want to be the one to help her find what I know she is looking for, the same thing as me—escape.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” I press one finger against her wetness, her swollen clit pulsing beneath my touch. She gasps. “So bad,” she cries. “I want it so bad. Please, Thayer.” I scoop her into my arms and toss her onto the bed, her full tits bouncing as she hits the covers. I lower myself onto her body, my rock hard cock pressing against the wetness of her panties. Then I claim her sweet mouth, my tongue tangling with hers, and I swear to fucking God she tastes like a goddamn sunrise—warm and bright and full of some sort of promise I know I don’t deserve. But she offers herself up, so I take my fill. I kiss her until she’s breathless and my cock is so hard I’m going to explode. My stubble brushes against her cheeks and I deepen the kiss, going harder, more intense, wanting to leave my mark on that sweet untouched flesh. My lips travel down her neck, her collarbone. I pause to give attention to the breast I’d neglected, and again she rises to my touch, her hands tugging at my hair. “I’ve never—” she says then gasps as I suck her nipple between my lips. She squirms beneath my hips, and I know if I don’t taste her soon I’ll go mad. I rise up on my elbows, edging my body down along hers, kissing her soft skin, moving down over the curve of her stomach until I can smell her honeyed tang. She writhes as I hook a finger inside her panties, right where her thigh meets her pelvis. “Fuck,” I growl as my knuckle brushes against the soft flesh of her mound. “You’re totally bare.” She’s shaved down there, her pussy soft and smooth. My cock pulses. She whimpers but manages to speak. “Did I do it wrong? Is it—not to your liking?” Something guttural escapes from my chest, and I answer her by ripping the panties from her legs, throwing them in tatters to the ground. Then I push her knees open, and with one long, slow, lick begin to feast on that tight little cunt. Her breaths are tiny, delicious gasps. She bucks against me, and my tongue plunges deep between her folds, tasting her, licking her, sucking her. “Thayer!” she cries, squirming beneath me. I use one hand to pin her down on the bed, while the index finger of my other hand fucks swirls around he tight hole, my tongue making soft circles around her clit. I tilt my head up to meet her gaze. Her hands grip the headboard, but her emerald irises lock on mine, pupils unfocused and dilated as if she's drugged from pleasure. I slip a finger into her impossibly tight heat, then open my hand wide, and those gorgeous eyes roll back as she rocks back and forth, riding my palm, slicking my skin with her arousal. Fuck, she is perfect. She’s so snug, almost as if she no man has entered her before. “Again,” I say, my voice rough and insistent. “Tell me, Darcy. Again.” My thumb rolls over her clit. “I want it,” she whimpers, her voice low and breathy, innocence mixed with desire and need. “Please, Thayer, I want it, I want to come.”

Something in the way she says my name—aching with want yet so full of trust— threatens to crack through my icy exterior. “Come,” I command, as I tease her clit some more until she is bucking wildly, pressing hard on my hand and calling out my name amidst sexy, rasping gasps as her orgasm waves and crests. I slide my hand from between her legs and pull her trembling body into my arms. “I’m safe,” she says, realization in her tone as she curls into me. I bury my face in her wild curls and breathe in. “You’re safe,” I say, echoing the words I spoke when I woke her from the dream. “Tell me what you’re running from,” I say, but she shakes her head, burrowing in closer. So I hold her, listening as our breaths form a cadence, our bodies finding a rhythm even in rest. Her hand brushes against my cock, still achingly hard. It twitches against her touch. She tilts her head up, brushes her palm over my cheek. “You took care of me,” she says, her soft voice full of wonder. “I didn’t know a man’s touch…” She trails off. “Darcy,” I say, my jaw tight. “You’ve done this before, right?” But even as I ask the question, I know the answer. She was so tight I could barely insert one finger. I suspected, but now I know. She shakes her head. “I’ve wanted to. But it never felt right.” What the fuck? It’s not like I expected this from her tonight, but I never for a second thought I was dealing with a woman who was…inexperienced. She wanted this. She begged for it. But a virgin? I can't be responsible for her loss of innocence. That sort of thing requires romance, and I just took her pussy like a goddamned animal. She drops her hand between my legs again, palming my erection. “Who takes care of you, Thayer Noble?” My heart beats like a hammer against my ribcage, and just like that I slide her out of my arms. I feel sick. “Good night, Darcy.” And before she even has time to react, I’m gone. Once inside the sanctuary of my room, I slam the door shut and punish the stone wall with my fist. “Fuck!” I shake out my hand and ignore the blood on the split knuckle. Then I bypass the bed for the master bathroom, turning the shower on so hot that the steam clouds my reflection in a few short minutes. Good. I don’t want to see the person who stares back from the glass. He doesn’t deserve her trust, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve what she just gave to him. I drop my pants and climb in, squeezing my eyes shut only to be assaulted by my own imagination, conjuring up images of the innocent girl who let me do what no other man has done.

I grip my shaft and stroke, each pump reminding me of Darcy writhing beneath my taste. Beneath my touch. Another stroke. I do not deserve her trust. A punishing grind. No one cares for me. A violent pump again. And again. And again. I ensured my own solitude, put myself in this prison. To want anything more is beyond my reach. So I grit my teeth and empty myself of the ache, the need, the illusion that anyone—especially her—can fill the void. “You’re not safe, Darcy Lawrence,” I rasp into the echoing space. No one is with me.

CHAPTER 3

DARCY

A shaft of dawn light cuts over the massive king-sized bed, highlighting the

empty spot on the pillow beside me. Thayer didn't return after bolting last night. A sour taste fills my mouth. No doubt my sexual inexperience had something to do with it. God, he literally ran for the hills. I hug the covers to my aching chest, wishing I could hide here all day. He’s probably had countless lovers, and who walks in his door? A complete and utter novice. My sexual interactions have been limited to a few chaste kisses after dates, rarely even including tongue. Just a brush of lips. It never felt right with any other guy I’d dated, so it seemed worthless to let the physicality get too far. Not when I saw firsthand what ending up with the wrong man did to a woman—my mother saddled with three kids and a husband who cared only for the next hustle. I swore I’d never become her, that I’d take be careful when it came to my love life. What happened last night was the exact opposite because Thayer Noble is anything but careful. I slide a hand down and cup my pussy, the bare smooth skin still foreign to me. Getting the Brazilian had been an impulsive gesture before flying to Vermont, but Thayer had seemed to like the result. Dear God. I can feel wetness against my fingers at the memory of his clever tongue. I swirl a finger over my slick clit and gasp, remembering how his mouth had felt down there, sucking, licking, worshipping while commanding me to orgasm. My hand freezes as the rush of pleasure fades. He’s toying with me. That would explain the hot and cold routine. Maybe the serious, stoic billionaire has some twisted kink. Instead of whips and chains and safe words, he enjoys a good head fuck. I throw back the blankets and step out of the bed, noticing a thick white robe draped on a chair. A pair of thick plush slippers lie beneath it. I frown. I slept fitfully last night yet never heard Thayer come in and leave me these small comforts. I sense secrets hidden in the heart of the mysterious king of Ironstone Mountain.

Shrugging into the plush, warm robe, I pad into the bathroom. Here, too, the little elves have been at work. There is a toothbrush and toothpaste on the basin, and the shower is stocked with salon-grade shampoo and conditioner. As I step inside, turn on the spray and flick open the shampoo bottle, I'm surprised to discover it smells of green apples. One of my favorite scents. My resolve strengthens as I lather suds into my wayward curls. I don't need to be Nancy Drew here, discovering the secret to the mystery. I just need Thayer to want me to stay at Equinox long enough to me get back on my financial feet. That means showing him that, no matter how much he thinks he wants to be left alone that he needs a temporary wife. I will make as much as a de facto mailorder bride as I could in two years slogging it out as an entry level PR intern. Then I can—I don’t know, change my name and build my credit back up. I can run so far from my father that he can never fuck with my life again. Mama did. So did my brother Petey and sister Elizabeth. As soon as they were old enough to split, they were gone, too, leaving me my father’s last pawn. Drying off after my luxurious shower, I try to ignore the slight swelling between my legs. It's never known a man’s touch and Thayer’s scruff has marked the innocent skin, a subtle pink flush. An aching need flares in the pit of my stomach. As much as I hate to admit it, especially if he is toying with me, a part of me loves that this man has left this imprint on my body. After I dress in my one change of clothes—a purple satin thong and matching Victoria’s Secret demi cup bra, skinny jeans and a soft turtleneck sweater—I decide on my plan. Before she took off, Mama always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. On Sunday mornings, she'd cook dad a giant pancake breakfast and for an hour we would sit together at the table and pretend to be a normal family. But one hour a week wasn’t enough for Mama, and as much as I can’t forgive her for leaving me behind, I get why she did it. Why they all did. I walk quickly out of the room and down the stairs as if I can outrun the painful feeling the memory evokes. Thanks to helping Mama in the kitchen, I know how to make fluffy hotcakes that could melt the heart of even the iciest man. I hope. I wander room after room looking for the kitchen. This place is huge. Thayer has his own fricking library, office, pool room, and movie theater. And when I finally find the kitchen, no surprise, it looks like something out of Top Chef. State of the art appliances and copper cookware hanging from the ceiling. Thayer is nowhere in sight, so I get to work, cooking as if my life depends on it because in many ways it does. I lose myself in the pleasure of the simple domestic task. Cracking eggs. Mixing batter. The hiss of butter hitting the hot griddle. I've just finished making the coffee when I feel his hot gaze on my back. My shoulders go rigid, and I swear the flush between my legs tingles. Thayer is here. I can tell by the frisson of awareness that slams through my body with

enough force to literally curl my toes. “Good morning,” I chirp in my perkiest cheerleader voice as I turn to face him. This is my big chance for him to see how even if he didn't hire my services, I can be useful. Wanted. “You cooked breakfast,” he growls in a tight tone, casting a cool eye over the pretty table I’ve laid out. A muscle in his chiseled jaw visibly twitches. His dark hair is damp, and a lock hangs over his forehead giving him a surprisingly boyish air, one contradicted by the big, hard body that is all man. “Correction, I cooked you breakfast.” I smile and pour the dark roast coffee like I'm a sweet housewife, not a sex-starved virgin who spent the night frantically grinding on his big hand. “Why?” He crosses the room with a quick, strong grace, lifting my chin and forcing me to make eye contact but not before I see the fresh scab on his knuckle. “Why did you do this?” “What happened to your hand?” I ask, but he just stares at me. His gaze works its usual magic. The one where I can tell no lie. “Because I want to make life easier for you. I can cook. Clean. Make this huge mansion more like a home.” And as I say the words, I know they are truth. Equinox is stunning, but it's neither warm nor welcoming. I could help make it a place that feels like a happy castle instead of a fortress. Even in my shitty childhood Kansas trailer, my bedroom was a sanctuary. I kept it neat and tidy, covered the walls with posters of London and Paris—all the places I swore I’d get to someday. If I play my cards right with Thayer and get back on my financial feet, maybe someday won’t be so far off anymore. But I don't tell him any of that. Instead I swallow hard and gesture to the table. “Have a taste and see what you think.” His eyes burn straight to my soul. “Didn't I do that last night?” Air rushes from my lungs. But I can't let him dominate me like this. I have to give back a little even though my legs are trembling. “And…did you like it?” The lazy smile he gives my sassy reply is wickedness itself. He turns to the table and pours a generous lashing of maple syrup over his stack of hotcakes. Dipping his finger into the golden liquid, he slowly licks his index finger, considering. “You tasted sweeter than this, Ms. Lawrence.” I have two choices. Faint from pleasure or battle wits. I reach for the plate of banana French toast and set that beside the hotcakes. “Guess I'm full of sweet surprises, sir. And if you have a French maid outfit, I'd be happy to get to work polishing the thick, long wood on your bannister.” His full mouth parts in surprise as I do a secret happy dance. Two points to me.

THAYER

W hat the hell is this woman doing? For someone who claims to be sexually naive,

she’s got my cock standing at full attention, and it’s not even 9:00 a.m. “Ms. Lawrence, I can assure you that if I needed a cook or a maid, I would have hired both. I certainly don’t need someone posing as a 1950s housewife.” Her smile fades, so I decide to drive the arrow straight to its target, assuring that she will leave Equinox today. “I don’t need looking after because I’m one man. I can manage to keep myself fed and to keep dirt off the floors. I have everything I need inside these chalet walls. I don’t need anything from the outside world upsetting that balance. Do you understand?” “But I just—” I shake my head. “I don’t need you, Darcy.” “If you would only—” Christ, why is she pushing? “I don’t want you, Darcy.” Her mouth slams shut. Where yesterday she melted into a puddle of tears when I threatened to send her away, now all I see is white hot fury and determination. It’s sexy as hell, which is all the more reason why she has to go. At first I thinks she’s going to storm out of the kitchen, but instead she leans past me, tears off a piece of French toast, and slips it past my lips, her fingertip lingering on my mouth for only a microsecond, but it’s long enough for me to know it’s intentional. She steps back and crosses her arms, and I have no choice but to chew. “Fuck,” I say before I even swallow. “How the hell did you know bananas would be good in French toast?” Her scowl disappears as she bursts into laughter. God how long has it been since I’ve heard anything like it? “Have you ever eaten something that wasn’t prepackaged? Seriously. Your freezer is depressing. Frozen pizza. Frozen pasta. I mean, you’re this ridiculously wealthy man, and there are Hot Pockets in there!” I clench my teeth. “Stay the hell out of my freezer.” She grips my shoulders, pressing me down toward the chair, and though she could not make me budge if I didn’t want her to, I sit. “Eat,” she says. “If you still want me the hell out of your freezer—and your home—when you’re done, just say the word.” Our playful banter has ended. A phone on the kitchen island rings, and Darcy grabs it, blowing out what looks like a sigh of relief when she looks at the number. “Lucy!” she squeals, her face lighting up like I didn’t expect it could. She holds up a finger, signaling she won’t be long, and backs out of the room. Because I don’t want to contemplate the slight sinking feeling I have at Darcy leaving the room, I take advantage of my morning meal not being a Hot Pocket. I devour the French toast. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before, and the

thought brings me back to last night. Darcy is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. If I hadn’t left her room when I did, resistance would have been futile. She gave herself to me and only me. She cooked this meal for me alone. Even as I sink my fork into the stack of pancakes, I know each bite is me letting her slip further past what I thought were impenetrable barriers. Just as I’m about to sink into another bite, a loud crash sounds from outside the room. I bolt into the hallway to find Darcy picking up broken shards of glass from the wood floor—the framed portrait of my sister Ella lying beside her. “I’m so sorry,” she says, those familiar tears staining her freckled cheeks. “I backed into the wall. I didn’t know it was there. I’m sorry,” she says again, and that’s when I see the line of crimson across her palm. “You’re hurt,” I say, but she doesn’t respond, just keeps piling the glass into her hand. “Darcy,” I say louder. “You’re bleeding.” “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I can clean it up. I promise I’ll clean it up.” I squat beside her and reach for her wrist. She gasps and flinches. “Darcy!” I squeeze her wrist gently and shake it so her palm relaxes and she lets the glass fall back to the floor. Then I pull her up and walk her back into the kitchen where I run cold water over her sliced flesh. “Christ, you’re shaking,” I say. “What the hell just happened?” The cut is long but superficial, and soon the bleeding subsides. She stands frozen as I pat it dry and cover it with a large Band-Aid. I cradle her face in my palms. “Darcy,” I say softly when she still hasn’t spoken. “Tell me.” Her lip trembles, but she nods. “He’s looking for me,” she says. “He’s looking for me, and even though I changed my number and haven’t left any sort of paper trail, he’ll find me. He always finds me.” “Who?” I ask, tucking a rogue curl behind her ear. “My father.” The tears start again. “He’s the reason, Thayer. He’s why I ended up at Costly Cupid, selling myself to the highest bidder. He’s—not a good guy. Let’s just say when the going gets tough for Lenny Lawrence, everyone in his radius pays, and guess who’s usually right at the epicenter?” I shake my head. “I don’t understand.” “Just before I graduated, I got a statement from the bank showing that I’d emptied my account. Only I hadn’t emptied it because that was my nest egg, what I needed to finally get the hell out. It didn’t take long to realize it was my dad, that he’d found my Social Security card and had basically stolen my identity.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “I bailed on my last final and walking through graduation because I knew once he took everything, the only thing left would be for him to come for me.” Without even thinking, I pull her to me, kissing the top of her head.

“He’s hurt you before. Hasn’t he?” I ask, realizing that her flinching at my touch before was not a random reaction. She sniffles and nods against my chest, and something inside me burns, a white hot anger I’ve never felt before. I step back and tilt her head up so her reddened eyes meet mine. “You’re not leaving,” I say. “I won’t send you back to that. You can stay here, temporarily. In the meantime, you collect your money from Costly Cupid and figure out what comes next. But that man will not lay a finger on you or step foot in your life as long as you’re here. Okay?” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek, her tears soaking into my skin. “Thank you,” she whispers. “And I’m sorry again about the picture of that beautiful woman. I’m sure she’s very special to you. I’ll clean it up.” I chuckle softly, and she tilts her head back to meet my gaze. “What’s so funny?” she asks. “The portrait,” I say. “It’s my sister. We aren't close. There’s no one special to me.” And just like that the laughter is gone. “Not anymore.”

CHAPTER 4

DARCY

“

ou need clothes,” Thayer says abruptly, his features tense as he changes the Y subject. “I'll have some ordered from the boutiques in Ironstone Village. What are

you? A size twelve?” My jaw hangs open as he nails my clothing size. “That won't be necessary.” He narrows his eyes. “You showed up here with a single change of clothes. And nothing approaching decent snow gear.” The winter wind rattles the window pane as if making a mockery of my fancy jacket. He pulls out his iPhone 7 and taps out a message. After twenty seconds the phone buzzes. “They will be here in thirty minutes,” he says curtly. “Then we go.” “Where?” My head spins from both Thayer's change of heart and physical proximity. It's hard to believe this reserved, stony-faced man handled my body last night with such desperation. “My resort. I have business to attend to, and the outing might distract you from your current...predicament.” My pulse quickens as I try to keep up with this puzzle of a man. First he wants me out of here as soon as possible and now it's suddenly “Take Your Mail Order Bride to Work Day?” True to Thayer’s word, shopping bags are delivered to Equinox in under thirty minutes. I know he is a billionaire, but my hands tremble as I pull outfit after outfit from the designer bags. Not to mention French lingerie that looks as delicate as spun sugar. There are so many outfits that I could wear a different one each day for a month and not repeat a thing. Hope flares in the pit of my stomach. Maybe his idea of temporary is more promising than I thought. Thayer blows so hot and cold. Minutes ago I actually heard him laugh. Now he is all brisk business. His tone to me is nothing but frosty, and yet his mouth last night threatened to burn me alive with pleasure. Which version is the real man? I grab a puffy down jacket from the piles of clothing, the kind of coat that is

sensible to wear on a ski hill. Giving myself a cursory glance in the mirror, it's evident that the emerald green garment is an exact match to my eyes. A jolt strikes my stomach. I can't help but wonder if the choice is intentional. In the next second, I shake the idea off. Get a grip, lady. Snap back to reality. Thayer is the kind of guy who says what he means. And what he tells me is plain. I'm not all that welcome, but he’ll let me stick around because he can't stomach the idea of returning me to a dangerous situation. All that means is that he is not a monster but instead the embodiment of his surname—Noble. It doesn’t mean he has to like me or want me around, only that it is not within his nature to willingly put me in danger. He knocks at my bedroom door. “Ready?” I fling it open to greet him. Whoa. I suspect most billionaires must spend their days in suits, stuck behind a desk in a big city. Thayer might be the king of the mountain, but he also looks like a winter god. Dark wash denim jeans encase his powerful thighs, and his black jacket, the same brand as mine, sets off his broad shoulders and trim waist to perfection. I never got my hands on him last night, and for a moment a wild urge grabs me to take him by the hand and lead him back to the four poster bed behind us. To offer him the gift between my legs that I've been saving my entire life. To my astonishment he reaches out and laces my fingers in his. Maybe he is some sort of fricking mind reader. “Let's go then,” he says drawing me out into the hallway, and I'm relieved he doesn't glance over and see the blush staining my cheeks. He also doesn't release my hand. Instead of heading out to his eight car garage, we go to a door behind the kitchen. He flips up a wooden panel and reveals a key code. After punching in a few numbers, an elevator door opens. Grinning down at my shocked gasp he quirks a single brow in wry amusement. “Ready to go down?” “You have your own personal elevator?” “It leads straight to the heart of the Ironstone Resort. A feat of engineering as it was cut through five hundred feet of solid rock,” he says with a trace of arrogant pride. The ride is short, but the tension is thick between our bodies as we stand side by side. His hand burns hot against my cool skin, his palm against mine the entire way down. Ping! The elevator doors open, and he releases his hold on me in a gesture so sudden that it makes me wonder if he ever touched me at all. “This way,” he commands, striding out into a workplace that fits the same aesthetic of Equinox Chalet—timber, glass, steel and stone. A few impossibly gorgeous women greet him in passing, all blonde Nordic goddesses, who have bodies like Olympic ski champions.

I struggle to keep up with his pace on my own short legs. “Where are we going?” I ask, panting a little. “I'm going to my office.” He veers me down a side hall. “You are going to spend the morning at Ironstone Lodge with Lance.” “Lance? Who is Lance?” “He’s our resident ski instructor. At least I think that’s what I pay him for. Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure what he does. But today his responsibility is you.” “Me? But why?” I question just as a red-haired guy calls out to Thayer. “Morning!” the guys calls cheerfully. “Did it dump last night or what? I made first tracks, and it was so sick. You should be out there shredding like—” “This is Darcy Lawrence.” Thayer pushes me toward the friendly-looking guy who is speaking total gibberish at a mile a minute. “I believe you've met.” Lance looks at me curiously. “I don’t think so. You look familiar, though. Skier or snowboarder?” I shake my head. “Neither.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Are you the new girl who makes those brownies at the patisserie? Because those are, like, whoa. You know?” I open my mouth to respond but am cut off before I can make a sound. “Darcy is from Costly Cupid,” Thayer snaps. Lance’s close-set brown eyes open wide enough that the irises are surrounded by white. “Oh.” He swallows, having the where-with-all to look scared for a moment before he shakes it off and the smile returns to his face. “I forgot about that. Saw this ad in one of your magazines and thought it looked like a sweet deal.” The frank look of admiration he gives me holds nothing perverted. I can tell it is a genuine appraisal. “Guess I was right.” “Guess you are babysitting while I go negotiate a contract deal with Beijing,” Thayer snaps. “Keep her out of trouble.” Before I can say goodbye, Thayer disappears into his office, leaving me standing with the curious stranger. “Well I'll be damned.” Lance chuckles. “My boy likes you.” I snort. “Likes me?” I give him a look that suggests he hit a tree out shredding or whatever he did this morning. “I don't think so.” “Doll, check it out. I've been best friends with Thayer since forever. He likes you, and that's interesting because Thayer likes no one.” He grins and gives me a nod. “It's the whole reason I picked your profile on that app. I know what my boy wants, and trust me. You are just his type.” I cross my arms and take a step back. “Thanks for messing with my life like that,” I seethe. “I turned up yesterday, and he didn't even know who I was.” Lance throws a hand over his heart. “Sorry, dude.” Despite his laid-back skier slang, I can tell he’s being sincere. “You didn't seem real until I saw you standing there just now. But I gotta say I feel smart for once. It's like the end of that one Indiana Jones movie where they look for that Holy Grail and have to choose wisely,

you know? I stare at him, lost. I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I know that technically, I should be raging mad at him. He’s the reason I’m in this situation in the first place. And yet.. if it weren’t for him, who knows if anyone else would have chosen my profile? Like it or not, Lance is the reason I was given a chance to leave home. He’s being nice, and he seems genuine. And if I’m going to survive here, I might need a friend. He chuckles again and jerks his head to a set of double doors. “Thayer wants you to see Ironstone Resort, so guess we better start the grand tour.” We step into a hotel that takes my breath away with its natural beauty and elegance. “What do you think of the place?” he asks after I finish drinking in the impressive five-story foyer complete with a giant chandelier. “Honestly? I'm beginning to see a pattern,” I answer as my gaze travels the stone, natural wood and glass. Lance leads us to a coffee boutique in the corner and orders us two Belgian hot chocolates with extra whipped cream. “Go on.” Lance whips off his wool beanie and scratches his shaggy red hair. “Beauty without warmth,” I whisper. He looks over at me, startled. “I've said the same thing about a bajillion times! Well, not as nice as you just put it. The resort looks awesome. But something is missing. I never put my finger on it until now. I just keep telling Thayer there is something off with the whole vibe of Ironstone. Believe me. I know vibes, but Thayer is resistant to change.” He hands me one of the hot chocolates. I take a sip and have to fight back the urge to moan in pleasure. “Yeah,” I say. “I get the impression your best buddy might be a little controlling.” Lance laughs. “He is set in his ways for sure. Resistant to change but could anyone blame him after. . .” His friendly smile fades. “Anyway, want to hit the slopes?” I want to ask him what he was about to say, but I’m distracted by his change of subject, gripped by the horror of strapping my feet into two skinny sticks and hurling down the side of a mountain. His bright smile returns on seeing my expression. “Okay, okay we will stick to the lodge instead. The patisserie downstairs serves up the dankest donuts you've ever eaten.” I raise a brow. “What about the brownies?” I ask. He shakes his head and offers me his arm. “Nah. You’re not a brownie kind of girl.” He looks me up and down and then nods with satisfaction. “Shall we go find you a caramel green apple fritter, m’lady?” “That sounds like it could become a new favorite,” I admit. We walk arm in arm. Most of what Lance says barely makes sense to me, but one thing is clear. If anyone knows the secrets of Thayer Noble, it is this happy go lucky

ski bum.

THAYER

I find Darcy and Lance in the reception area flicking pennies into the fountain that

serves as one of the walls. Their combined laughter catches me off guard, rooting me where I stand. I may have made her come last night, but I can’t think of a single thing I could say or do that would make Darcy Lawrence laugh as freely as she does with Lance right now. And that knowledge knifes my defrosting heart. As if she can feel me watching her, she turns to look over her shoulder, her eyes locking on mine. Instead of that beautiful smile fading as I expect it would—as it rightfully should—her whole expression brightens as she and Lance head my way. “Thayer!” she says, pure excitement in her voice. “This place! It’s amazing. Did you know that the Belgian hot chocolate at the coffee shop has a real square of Belgian chocolate in the mug?” The corner of my mouth threatens to pull up, but I slam up my defenses. I will not be infected with her adorable exuberance. It's too addictive. Too. . .hopeful. “This place pays the bills,” I tell her. “That’s all it’s good for.” Her smile falls, and Lance punches me playfully in the shoulder. “Aw, come on, bro. You don’t have to be a downer all the time.” I clench and unclench my jaw but don’t give my oldest friend the satisfaction of a response. Instead I turn my attention to Darcy. “You enjoyed the hot chocolate, did you?” She smiles, her eyes closing as she does, and for a flash I’m reminded of a similar expression, one where her ecstasy comes from something much more potent than a square of Belgian chocolate. “I really, really did,” she says. “Well, then,” I tell her. “Wait until you see what Club Ironside serves for lunch.” Lance crosses his arms. “Right on, bro. We never eat in the Club anymore.” I squeeze his shoulder a little harder than friendly. A reminder that this place is mine, that I call the shots. “You’re still on the clock,” I tell him. “Club Ironside is just for me and Darcy.” “Wicked!” Lance says. “You kids have an excellent time. I’m hitting the slopes. Gonna see if I can run down this clock you speak of, Mr. Noble.” He takes off, and a few moments later, Darcy and I are seated at Club Ironside. Charles, the sous chef, brings out the tray of appetizers. “One of everything on the menu,” he says to Darcy. “Our cuisine is international fusion, which means we cook everything, depending on my mood—and Mr. Noble’s, of course—so our menu is constantly changing.” He points toward the first appetizer. “This is a tuna sashimi with wasabi cream. Absolutely to die for.”

Darcy reaches for the food, but Charles interrupts. “And this,” he adds, pointing to a small crescent shaped piece of dough, “is an empanada. A South American delight.” Again Darcy reaches, and again Charlies interrupts. “And this…” he drags out the word. “...is goat cheese and roasted vegetable flatbread. A personal favorite of our very own resort owner. I will leave you to it.” He does a little bow and walks off back toward the kitchen. Darcy raises a brow. “Goat cheese, huh? I don’t suppose any of your hot pockets have that.” Again, my mouth twitches. How easy it would be to smile for someone like her. And how utterly wrong to indulge in such an act. “Try something,” I say instead, stealing my gaze so to one of utter impassivity. With zero hesitation, she reaches for the goat cheese flatbread first. “I want to taste what you like,” she says, no irony or innuendo in her tone. “You know so much about me already. Now it’s my turn to learn one little thing that gives the Ironstone king pleasure.” I cough on my attempted sip of my Pellegrino. Scratch the zero innuendo. My little ingénue is somehow a brilliant tease. She sinks her teeth into the appetizer. Her eyes flutter shut, and she moans, the sound so sensual my cock responds in mere seconds. “I swear to God I have never tasted anything so rich before,” she says. “So wickedly delicious. I can see why you like it.” She licks a crumb from her bottom lip, her teeth skimming the plump, pink flesh as she grins and then appraises me. “Are you—just going to sit and watch me eat?” she asks. “I might,” I admit. “My restaurant, my rules.” She narrows her eyes. A challenge. “I’m beginning to think rules were put in place for one reason and one reason, only,” she says. I take the bait. “And what’s that?” She leans toward me, a dollop of goat cheese on her index finger, and slips it past my lips, her fingertip grazing my tongue. I suck hard as she pulls out, and I know that last night was not an isolated incident. I will have this woman again, my face between her legs, sucking her sweet nectar as she cries out my name. My cock is granite in an instant. I hear a throat clear from behind me, the spell finally broken. “I hope I’m not interrupting an…” He clears his throat again. “...important meeting.” I don’t need to turn to greet our intruder. “Herc,” I say, no pretense of welcome in my tone as Herc stands at the edge of our table, staring at me and Darcy with an assessing expression. “Who let you in?” He straightens his striped silk tie and laughs. “How’s it going, sport? You do know how much I like to visit my properties, and I was in the neighborhood…”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. He wants to play? Fine. We’ll play. “It’s a shame I sold off that property you were interested in to that Monte Carlo real estate mogul then, isn’t it?” I ask. His tanned cheeks redden. “You didn’t sell, Noble.” I shrug. “You didn’t buy, asshole. So let’s cut the shit. What the hell are you doing occupying my air space?” He turns to Darcy and lifts her hand. “First things first.” He brushes a soft kiss across her knuckles, and it takes everything within to keep from snapping the guy’s goddamn neck. “Who is your stunning guest?”

CHAPTER 5

DARCY

I f looks could kill, the smarmy guy with the toothpaste white teeth and gelled back

blonde hair would blow up from Thayer’s bazooka glare. The man – Herd? What kind of name is that? -- plants another kiss on the back of my hand with his wet lips. A shiver of disgust shoots up my spine when the tip of his moist tongue darts out and tastes my skin. He looks up like we share a secret now, and when he winks Thayer emits a low growl. An avalanche of ire takes over my lunch date’s features. Wait, scratch that. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough and taste the tang of blood. He’s not mine. Never mine. “Your date must be so stricken by your beauty that he has forgotten his manners.” The guy’s tone is laden with a calculated laziness. He is good-looking, but not my type at all. He looks like the guy who might play a doctor in a daytime soap opera. His features are well proportioned, but everything a little too slick for my taste. “Hercules Waterson of Waterson and Wheeler Developers.” Now he shakes the hand that he kissed while his free one seems to procure a business card from thin air and slams it next to my lunch plate. “My friends call me Herc, and I do hope you and I can become good, good, friends. Miss...” My Creep-o-Meter on red alert, alarms sound in my head. Still, I don't want to be rude. “Darcy Lawr-” “That’s enough,” Thayer snaps. “Come, come, Sport.” An oily chuckle oozes from Herc’s direction. “What happened when you were a child? Did dear old Mommy and Daddy forget to teach you to share?” I swear to god, the room drops ten degrees at his taunt. Goosebumps pepper my upper arms. “Listen to reason, Noble,” Herc wheedles. Either this guy is oblivious to Thayer’s hand is flexing as if any second it is going to take on a life of its own and choke him to death, or he is a total idiot without a

sense of self-preservation. While the two men trade jabs, I start to piece together what’s going on -- Herc wants Thayer to sell him Ironstone Resort while Thayer seems to want Herc to take a long walk off a short bridge. Throughout the whole tense exchange, I can't stop staring at Thayer’s hands. They are so big. So masculine. Hands that could protect me from an uncertain future and give me pleasure the likes that my untouched body has never known. Finally, Thayer pushes back his chair, stands and reaches for me. As if he is a magnet, I rise too, drawn to his body as if it's a law of physics. “I'm going to give you exactly ten minutes to get the fuck off my mountain,” Thayer says to Herc, his eyes never leaving mine. They seethe with what can only be described as possession, and the hold on my wrist is tense with jealousy. Herc struck a nerve a few minutes ago. Thayer doesn't share his toys, and right now I get a sense that I'm one of them. The thought should raise my hackles or send me off to burn my bra, but I can't deny the undeniable. I want him to possess me for as long as he will. Because I know with as much certainty that the sun will set over the western ridge of the mountains that he would give me more than he would ever take. “My investors and I are prepared to offer you a fair price.” Herc’s voice grows desperate. “1.5 times market value. You’d never have to do a day’s work again. You can crawl off to a cave and be the richest miserable SOB in Vermont.” “I'm not finished.” Thayer’s cold voice is a blizzard, an ice storm, a force of nature. “If you aren't gone in five minutes, you’ll be thrown out. Pay attention, Waterson. I own this mountain, and it will never be yours.” A heavy silence falls. Despite his bravado, it’s obvious that Herc knows Thayer’s word is law. Then we are off and running. Fine, maybe Thayer is walking, but I have to run to keep up with his stride. “What's the matter?” he demands once we’re out of the restaurant. He stops short in front of an elevator in the corner of the lobby, away from the others. “Is the altitude affecting your breathing?” I give a wheezy laugh. “Maybe you haven't noticed, but your legs are almost double mine.” I'm five foot one on a good day, and Thayer has to be pushing six foot three. “I've noticed your legs,” Thayer whips out a black card and presses it to the keypad. “I've been wondering all lunch how they'd feel wrapped around my shoulders.” My throat grows dry, and I swallow hard, trying to regain the ability to speak. “I'd make an awkward necklace,” I say with a nervous laugh just as I feel an ache build in my belly. His hand slides to my lower back as the elevator door opens, and he leads me in. “Ah, but the crown jewel between your legs would make the effort worth it.” The door slams behind me, and I realize the elevator is made of glass, the panes

tinted so it's one way viewing only. We can look out at the hustle and bustle of the visitors checking in or out, but they can't see us as we begin our ascent. “This leads to the Ironstone Lodge Penthouse. Best mountain hotel room in the world. We spared no expense, including the private elevator with astounding views.” Without warning, he hits the stop button, and we jerk to a stop. The snowcapped scenery outside is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. But that's not what has me gasping. Thayer holds one of his hands in front of my face, the look in his eyes one of pure, uninhibited need. “You couldn't stop staring at my hands during lunch. Why?” “You don't miss much, do you?” “My powers of perception are quite acute, especially when a matter interests me.” “And...I interest you?” “Fuck yes, Darcy.” The frank admission holds a tinge of helplessness. Not weakness, but a raw honesty that makes the pulse between my legs beat hot and heavy, undoing me even as I stand. As if I, and I alone, possess a secret power that could bring this ice king to his knees. So with an imperiousness that I in no way feel, I reach for his hand. “You want to know what I was thinking about?” I ask softly, this man transforming me into someone I never knew I could be. The muscles in his neck cord as he fights to swallow. I draw one of his thick fingers into my mouth, sucking it down to the back of my throat, working the length with a skill that no virgin should possess, reveling in the salty spice to his skin, never breaking eye contact. I don't know what has taken hold of me, just that a fire burns in my body, a fire that can only be extinguished one way. By melting Thayer Noble.

THAYER

A low growl seeps from my lips as her wet mouth slides up from my knuckle to my

fingertip, finally releasing me. “You make me bold,” she says, standing on her tiptoes so she can nip at my bottom lip. “I want to taste you.” She speaks the bold words with a sort of breathless innocence. “I want to know what it’s like to have a man’s cock between my lips. To have your cock between my lips.” “First things first. Take off your shirt,” I command, that cock she wants between her lips so goddamn hard I can barely think straight. “Now,” I add. “But—” she stammers. “The glass—”

“Is one way,” I remind her. “You saw before we entered. No one will see you but me.” I spin her so she’s facing the lush, snow-capped peaks of the range as I slowly lift her sweater over her breasts. “I’m going to make you come with the whole fucking world at your feet.” Her breath hitches as my thumb grazes her nipple, pebbled beneath the cup of her bra. “Do you want the world at your feet, Darcy?” She nods, her head lolling back to rest on my shoulder. I flick open the bra’s front clasp, and her tits spring free. I cup each one, pinching her hardened peaks, and she cries out, the sound so exquisite. “No man has ever touched you like this?” I ask. The fact threatens to undo me. “No,” she says with a soft moan. “Not before last night. But..” She trails off. I lift the sweater over her head, and she raises her arms for me to pull it off completely. When I do, I close my hands around her wrists, keeping them high above her, and then I press her naked torso to the cool glass. She gasps as I dip my head and nip at her shoulder. “But I what?” I whisper in her ear. “Tell me what I do to you.” My cock throbs as I press it into the small of her back. “You make me ache,” she says, rubbing her ass against my length. I clench my teeth to keep from bursting into an all-out roar. “What else?” I ask. She writhes where she stands. “You make me wet, Thayer. God you make me so wet.” “I make you wet where?” “Down…between my legs.” Her voice is breathless, so shy and innocent. “Where?” I press my cock harder against her. “My pussy.” “Again.” “You make my pussy wet.” “Good girl.” I let go of one wrist, sliding my hand down her arm, her breast, and then stopping at the button of her jeans. My fingers tease just beneath the band of her panties, and I nearly lose it as they graze the bare skin of her pussy. “You tease me,” she says with a whimper. “Why do you tease me?” I sneak the tip of my finger into the top of her fold, and she hums the most delicious moan. “Because,” I whisper, planting kisses across her neck and shoulders as I let my other hand wander down to greet it’s partner. She keeps her palms pressed against the glass above her head. “I don’t want to make you come too quickly.” I yank her jeans and panties to her ankles, and she yelps. “And I want you to beg me for it.” “Please,” she says without hesitation. “Please make me come, Thayer.” I stay on my knees, my hands slowly sliding up her calves and then her thighs. I can smell her, sweet and tangy, and my mouth waters at the memory of her taste. “Are your eyes open?” I ask. “Thayer.”

“Open your eyes, Darcy. I’m about to give you the world.” My hands snake over her ass to her pelvis. I press my thumb against her clit, and her knees buckle. “Please,” she whispers. “Thayer, please.” I stand and rub her folds. I wrap my free arm around her waist, supporting her feather light weight as her knees give way again. Christ, she is so responsive. She cries out as I twirl my fingers over her swollen bud. “Your pussy is fucking drenched,” I say with a growl, pressing her harder against the glass. “I want to fill you up,” I add. I want to lay claim to her body in a way no one ever has or ever will. Her breaths are coming out in wild pants. “I thought—” She gasps. “you didn’t want—” She takes another shallow breath. “Me to come too fast!” I spin her so she’s facing me, a slight twist of my wrist allowing me to keep my rhythm. “Correction,” I say, my eyes locking on hers. “I’m going to make you come now. And then again after that.” I swirl my thumb over her slick clit, and she bucks against me. “I knew it the moment I saw you,” she says, briefly regaining composure. My brows furrow as my gaze locks on hers in silent question. “Even if you don’t want me, you won’t abandon me,” she adds. “I can trust you.” I kiss her then, deep and fierce, my lips conquering hers, and I feel something inexplicable shift in the air between us. “That’s the problem,” I admit when I come up for air. “I can’t remember the last time I wanted something more.” I free my hand from between her legs and drop to my knees, praying to the altar of Darcy Lawrence before I sip the nectar of the gods. “Hang on, sweetheart,” I say, pulling off her shoes. Then her socks. Her jeans. I stare up at the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Then I close my eyes and breathe in, the scent of her sex unleashing a hunger that demands satiation. So I throw her legs over my shoulders, press her ass to the glass, and lick that tight, sweet pussy until I get my fill.

CHAPTER 6

DARCY

I lose track of how many times Thayer makes me come with his demanding mouth

and clever tongue. My legs are boneless and my lungs breathless when suddenly the elevator jolts back into motion. I didn't even notice he'd hit the button. “Don't worry,” he drawls, noticing me startle. “We’re not returning to the lobby. We’re going up. To the penthouse.” “Why?” I ask, not wanting to pause for even a nanosecond. “Because when I own your sweet pussy the first time, Ms. Lawrence, it’s going to be with you sprawled in the middle of a king-sized bed.” The bulge in his pants is huge – I could feel his hard cock against my ass, huge and made of granite. I’m not sure I could fit his length into my mouth. How will I ever take him inside me? His hands are one thing, his strong, masculine fingers stretching me to the brink. His cock might very well have me bursting at the seams. He presses his lips to the furrow in my brown, giving me a gentle kiss as the door opens behind him. “No more thinking, Pretty Girl. I have one rule for the next hour.” He leans down and breathes the word into my ear. “Feel. I want you to feel every last god damn thing I do to your fucking perfect body.” I gasp as he sweeps me literally off my feet and carries me to the softest, most comfortable bed that I've ever been in. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows the world has disappeared in a flurry of snow. Fitting that I'm here in the high tower of the cold mountain king who kneels over me with, his scorching stare melting every last one of my worries away. There is reassurance in those smoldering eyes. And confidence. I've never known a man’s touch in my most intimate places, but I know Thayer will attend to me with the same care he gives to his vast real estate empire. He skims the seam of my pussy and growls his approval. “You are certainly wet enough. I've never seen a woman so responsive to my touch.” I blush. “Sorry.” He tips my chin so I have to meet his stare head on. “Never apologize for your pleasure, Darcy. It's a gift. An honest reaction in an often too phony world. The

body never lies.” I nod hesitantly, trying to understand the riddles of this perplexing, beautiful man. He unbuttons his jeans and lowers the band on his black boxer briefs. His cock springs free and he strokes it idly. “What I have to give you is right here, but not until you are ready.” My lungs constrict, and I have to remind myself to breath. “I need a few more minutes.” My stomach flips upside down and turns inside out. It's finally happening. I'm losing my virginity. Today. In the next few minutes. Too the most gorgeous man I've ever seen in my life. But his shaft is so thick, the head glistening with his arousal, and two strong veins running down the hard length. It's beautiful, but I don't tell him that because I'm not sure he'll understand my meaning, that his cock is a work of art. I might be soaked between my legs, but my mouth is drier than Death Valley. Fear threatens to subdue me, but I want to give him total satisfaction. Plus, I’m not blind to the dark storm that rages behind those ice blue eyes, and part of me longs to be his refuge. Thayer’s hand goes unsteady as he continues to stroke himself. “I'm going to make it so good for you that no one else will ever compare.” His voice is a hoarse promise. “Now,” I say. “I’m ready.” But his wish is foolish. Wasted. I can't imagine ever offering my body like this to another man. I know next to nothing about Thayer Noble and yet my very soul seems to recognize his as a kindred spirit. He kicks off his pants and fists his shirt over his head before crawling over me and spreading my thighs as wide as they can go. His perfectly carved eight-pack is rigid with tension, and the dark line of hair beneath his belly button points right to...wow. I've never seen a man with a body like this anywhere but the movies. I want to travel each hard ridge with my mouth. Taste each muscle. A foil packet appears in his hand like a magician who’s just pulled a coin from my ear. “Put it on me,” he says, holding it out. “But I...I’ve never put a condom on before.” My cheeks burn. For each new experience he offers me, I continue to remind him how little I know. He tears open the package and rolls the condom just over his tip. “Do the rest,” he says. “Put your hands on me, Darcy.” It’s not just the authority in his voice that makes me obey. It’s the sheer, unbridled need for me to wrap my hand around that magnificent length. The second I do, he releases a sound so feral that my core tightens as a new ache builds between my legs. “I want you, Darcy. Fuck, I want you. But I'm going to take my time,” he says, positioning his head against my petal-soft opening while supporting his weight with a splayed hand right above the top of my head. “Give you all of me, inch by slow inch.”

The first two of those slow inches slide in easily. I am so wet, my dew dampening my thighs. I feel stretched but reassured. I can do this. Become a woman. With him. Then it happens. He nudges up to an internal barrier, and there is no way around it but through. I suck in my breath, tensing. A sharp throb spreads down my thighs and radiates to the pit of my stomach. “This hurts?” His voice is soft. “A little,” I admit, silently relishing that I have an effect on him. “Maybe more than a little.” The pain is sharp, and panic rises in me. My worst fear is coming true. Thayer is too big. Too masculine. Too much for an inexperienced girl like me. “Do you trust me?” His gaze locks on mine, and something wordless passes between us with an intensity that sends a tremor through my whole body. “Y-yes,” I stammer. “Pain can be a source of pleasure if harnessed in the right way, Darcy.” “I don't understand,” I whisper, my fingers digging into his back. “But I want to. I want to know everything you can teach me.” There is something almost sweet in his gaze, an understanding. Gone is the severity, the stoicism, the barriers. I'm looking at him, at the real Thayer. “I have much to show you about pleasure, pretty girl.” I slide my hands down to his lower back and pull him closer. A new urgency bubbling inside my core. “I want to learn. Please teach me. Please show me how. I trust you, Thayer.” The answering groan comes from the back of his throat. “Tell me again.” “I trust you,” I whisper with absolute conviction. His lids flutter and his hips tense before he slams through my barrier with one sure thrust that sends me arching off the bed. He cuts off my cry with a deep kiss, and before the searing pain fully registers, he pumps me full again. And again. Stars dance in my vision, but not because he’s hurting me. No. He is filling me up in a way that shouldn’t be possible between two strangers. “Fucking Christ,” he groans. “You are so goddamn tight.” “No one has ever been here,” I tell him as the pain retreats into a distant memory, a new dark pleasure taking its place. “No one but you.” He is less careful now, losing some of that famous control, and I love that I am the one taking it from him. “Deeper,” I plead, wrapping my legs around his narrow hips to slam him home. “I want to feel you everywhere.” “Gonna make you regret those words,” he rasps as he begins to rail away at me, harder, faster, deeper. “You’re going to beg me to slow down.” “Never.” I shake my head. “Take me, Thayer. Claim me.” He throws back his head, watching my tits bounce as he fucks me, the vein in his neck beating a mad tempo. “I'm going to come in you so hard you’ll feel the

memory of me in your pussy for days.” “Do it,” I command. “Mark me, Thayer. Make me yours.” Slow and gentle are a thing of the past. This is fast urgent fucking. Yet somehow my body is made for this. As if God designed me for one thing in life, to give this man absolute pleasure—and to take it for myself. He laces his fingers with mine and angles up without mercy, grinding his granite shaft over my swelling clit. I moan and writhe with wild abandon. How? How have I waited? But then, I know the answer. It’s only like this because it's Thayer giving this precious gift to me. After a life of nothing but pain and abandon, Thayer has given himself to me. I teeter on the edge of the biggest orgasm in my life, in a fancy hotel penthouse, in the arms of a beautiful billionaire. This is nothing short of a fairy tale, the poor serving girl who gets a chance to play princess. I gaze to the place of our joining and find him buried all the way inside of me, his cock deep in my pussy. It’s almost impossible to tell where I end and he begins. “That's it. Watch me come inside you. Watch while I make your pussy mine.” He rocks his hips, and the sight of all those muscles flexed with tension makes my mouth water. “Yes!” I cry as the orgasm slams into me, forcing my inner tunnel to milk Thayer's shaft. His answering shout and surge of warm heat lets me know he is finding his own release. But as his mouth takes mine, I realize we aren't lost in our own individual bodily sensations, but joined together, each pushing the other to the furthest most reaches of absolute pleasure. It seems impossible to feel this known, but I swear he and I are one. Thayer Noble hasn't just taken my virginity. He has obliterated my heart. I'm officially ruined for all other men. Forever.

THAYER

F or three hours, Darcy sleeps, and I take advantage of the penthouse office to

return phone calls and make sure Herc Waterson has left the property. Not knowing what she likes to eat, I order half the room service menu, sure that after our performance in the elevator and then the bed that she’ll be as ravenous for food as I was for her. As I still am. Christ. This is ground I’ve not walked before. I’ve had my share of pleasure. Despite my preferred life of solitude, I am no saint. But Darcy. God, Darcy. I don’t know how to define what’s been happening since I brought her out of her nightmare last night.

So I don’t. Instead I busy myself with drawing her a bath when she begins to stir. And when those green eyes flutter open and lock on mine, I tell myself it’s the altitude that makes it harder to breathe. “Good afternoon, Sunshine,” I say, and the endearment elicits a smile I don’t expect. She props herself up on her elbow and yawns, stretching her free arm above her head so that her breast peeks out from under the sheet. My mouth waters, this hunger of mine growing more insatiable each minute I’m with her. “What time is it?” I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans, the only garment I threw back on before heading to the office. “Just past four,” I tell her. She breathes in deep through her nose. “Do I smell—bacon?” I uncover a silver-domed plate that sits atop a rolling cart, swipe a crispy piece of bacon and sit on the side of the bed. “Hungry?” I ask, breaking off the end and offering it to her parted lips. She flicks her tongue out, stealing the food from my fingers, and I bark out a laugh. “Let me rephrase,” I say. “Starving?” She nods vigorously and sits up straight, her curls sleep tousled and her body just the way I like it—naked. “More.” I feed her strawberries. French fries. Another piece of bacon, holding back a groan every time her tongue brushes my fingertips. “You trusted me,” I say after she swallows her next bite. “Why?” She crawls into my lap and kisses me, all of it so wholly unexpected that I freeze. “Because,” she says, unaffected by my defense mechanism. “You let me see you,” she says. “You can’t keep up the pretense around me.” “What pretense?” I ask, snapping when I shouldn’t. She—laughs. She fucking laughs. “That, Thayer. That silly wall that you built around yourself to keep everyone out. For one brief moment you let me see that you hate your prison as much as I hate to see you in it.” “That’s it,” I say, my jaw tight as I scoop her into my arms. She yelps, but I don’t sense fear. It only takes a few strides to transport her to the suite’s master bathroom where I lower her into the whirlpool tub, overflowing with bubbles. “You ran me a bath?” she asks, eyes wide. “You fuck me to within an inch of my life, order me bacon, and then draw me a bath. If you keep this up, I may never leave you.” My chest seizes, and I push back the ridiculous notion of hope. People always leave. But she’s here now, and for the time being I can give her this. I lose the jeans, my cock hard again, and climb into the tub behind her. I reach for the small pitcher on the ledge of the tub and fill it. “Tilt your head back,” I say, then drizzle the water over her damp curls. She hums a soft moan. “I don’t know how to handle this,” she says as I lather

the shampoo in my palms and massage her scalp. “Handle what?” I ask, somehow maintaining control even as her breasts float above the surface, her nipples hardened pink peaks. “Being taken care of.” Her voice trembles slightly. “And God, that shampoo. It’s —” “Apples.” I cut her off. “You love apples.” She lets out a sigh. Her eyes are closed, her face relaxed, and the sight of it somehow removes a weight that has been pressing on my chest for so long. “I do,” she says. “And you noticed. I’m not used to being noticed.” On instinct I pull her to me, wrapping her in my arms so I can kiss her temple. “You were made to be noticed, Darcy. Christ, what did your father do to you?” Even though she glistens with the bathwater, I don’t miss the tear leaking out of the corner of her eye. “Too much,” she whispers. “Can we not talk about him? I don’t want to let him intrude here, on this perfect place.” I spin her slowly so she faces me, her green eyes glistening with tears that asshole put there. My palms cradle her cheeks, thumbs swiping the tears that spill over. “He will not get to you here. Do you understand?” She nods meekly. “But he’s looking. And when he looks, he finds me. He always finds me.” I kiss her, my mouth claiming what is mine for the time being, and she gives it freely. For so long I’ve not let myself care for anything other than the resort. But the need to keep her safe overwhelms me. The need to touch her ignites something deep within, and as if she can read my mind, she inches closer, her legs over mine, sliding her sweet, swollen pussy up my rigid length. “Do you have another one of those packets?” she asks, and I growl, nipping at her bottom lip with my teeth, thankful to once again concentrate on the physical. “I have a whole fucking box if you want.” I take her mouth again. “Tell me what you want, Darcy.” She snakes her arms around my neck, her wet, firm breasts flush against my chest. “You,” she whispers in my ear. “For as long as you’ll have me.” That’s just it. We aren’t meant to last. I’m not built that way. But I’ll live inside the illusion for now. Soon, though, she’ll see. All she’s done is run from one monster to another. I can keep her safe from that bastard of a father. But what happens when she runs from me?

CHAPTER 7

DARCY

That night I go to bed wrapped in Thayer’s powerful arms in the Equinox guest

room assigned to my use. He doesn't issue an invite for me to join him in his inner sanctum, the master suite. I don't question why, sensing that he has already ventured far out of his comfort zone with me as it is. Early in the morning, I wake, blinking groggily into the dawn light and the panoramic mountain views out the window. My stomach drops to discover the goose-down pillow beside me empty. But before I have time to start freaking out, worrying if Thayer is going to send me away, the door opens. My mouth waters as if on cue, and not just because Thayer Noble is standing there shirtless, his low slung dark wash jeans held up by the thick cut slabs of vline muscle framing his hips, but because of the silver tray he carries. On it are mugs in all different sizes, the mixed aromas making the room smell incredible. “Morning, Sunshine,” he says with a radiant smile that dims the sun lighting the tall peaks outside. “I wasn't sure what type of coffee you drink, so I called down to the best coffee shop in the resort and asked them to prepare half the specialty menu.” Hot tears prick the corner of my eyes as he sets the tray down on the nightstand. Each cup looks like a work of art. A few have foam designs, complex images worked through the frothy milk in the shape of flowers and hearts. “I’m actually not sure what I like,” I admit helplessly. I'm lost in the sensation of being protected and cared for and don't know the first thing about drinking gourmet coffee. “Growing up I only ever tried what my mama made in our machine in the trailer, and it was usually burned so bad that no matter how much milk or sugar I added, it really wasn’t palatable. In college my scholarship money only went so far. I didn’t want to squander it on luxuries I didn’t need.” He stares, disbelieving as if I'm not from rural Kansas, but Mars. “You've never had a cappuccino? Gone to a Starbucks?” I shake my head. “I’ve been to coffee shops,” I say. “But when a black coffee is a buck and a quarter compared to three times that for a latte or a mocha, a girl who

pinches her pennies—and has them pinched by her own flesh and blood—learns to settle for what she doesn’t know she’s missing.” He growls low in his throat. “There is so much I want to give you, to show you, to watch your face as you experience it for the first time.” He seems to get hold of himself, coming back to control even as his eyes flash with pent up emotion. “But for now let's start with the basics.” He points out each cup. “Cappuccino. Non-fat latte, plain. Vanilla latte. White chocolate peppermint mocha. Carmel macchiato. Chai latte–” “Stop!” I laugh. “You are making my head spin. Please. You choose.” I blush so hard my cheeks burn. “I think you know what I like.” His nostrils flare as he gives me a wolfish once over, and I realize that I’m sprawled in front of him buck ass naked. I have no idea what happened to the modest girl who never even wore a bikini. Thayer has unleashed a part of me that I didn’t know existed. Or at least tried to ignore. The part that wanted to be loved and give love. That part that could trust another with my body and heart. Whoa. He bought me coffee. A little too early to start thinking the “L” word. I need to slow down. For once he is oblivious to the inner workings of my mind. Instead, he channels all his impressive focus into selecting me the absolute perfect coffee. At last he nods, satisfied, and points. “This one.” I take the warm cup in my hands and breathe in the decadent steam. “Smells too good to drink,” I gasp. But since I’m unable to resist any pleasure Thayer Noble offers me, I sip, moaning as I swallow the salty sweet liquid. “You like?” He sounds pleased. “I adore.” “It’s a salted caramel mocha.” “You mean a taste of heaven in my mouth,” I mumble, wiping a gob of whipped cream off my lip. “Missed a spot,” he says hoarsely. “Really?” I bat at my face. “Where?” “Right here.” Quick as a flash, he dips his thumb into the tower of whipped cream crowning my drink and smears it over one of my bare nipples. Immediately the soft flesh puckers, straining hard at the surprise attention like a flower reaching toward the light. “Fuck,” he leans in and licks me clean. “I’ve never seen any woman even half as responsive as you.” I set down my coffee as a flood of hot possession rises from deep within me. I’ve never thought jealousy looked good on anyone, but the idea of any other woman being worshipped by Thayer Noble sets my blood boiling. I sink my hands into his glossy hair and pull him up to my mouth, nipping his lower lip before kissing him long and slow. I want to leave my mark on him. I need to, somehow. I’ve never known any man

but him, and right now I want him to forget that he has ever had another woman in his bed. This time our love-making is slower. He senses my body is willing, but sore, and takes his time. It’s sweeter, softer. Less urgent and more tender. Again, he drops the wall, not all the way, but enough for me to see that Thayer Noble doesn’t just know how to fuck a girl’s brains out, but to make passionate, worshipful love. And when I gasp out my pleasure and fall apart, he is right there with me. Later, as he unrolls the condom from his still hard shaft, I think I hear him mutter, “Sunshine, how will I ever let you go?” And for the next few days, I take that question as a challenge. Equinox might be clean and impressive. But it’s sterile. More a museum than a home. That all begins to change. Thayer gives me a credit card to take care of my needs, but my need is him. So I put the money where it matters most, showing Thayer how much he needs me. I make sure that delicious baked goods are stocked in the kitchen, ordered up daily by the patisserie. Fresh cut flowers are flown in from all corners of the globe, lending color and beauty to every room. Fires crackle in the hearths while sultry jazz plays on the state-of-the-art sound system. I study YouTube cooking videos and whip up delicious home-cooked meals. Bourbon chicken. Oven roasted Greek potatoes. Salisbury steak. Spinach salad. None of my fare is fancy, maybe not fit for a billionaire who, at the snap of his fingers, could order up the finest cuisine the world can offer. But what I make for him is cooked with loving care. And every night Thayer eats like he hasn’t eaten in days. Then he feasts on me like a man who’s been starved for years.. And just like that. The first week passes. But it’s not all roses. Despite our deepening connection, I’m afraid to ask how long he means to keep me. Every morning I wake up to a cold flash of fear, unsure if today Thayer will announce that he has finally had enough with the growing intimacy and is going to send me away for good. “The meal was delicious,” he tells me one night after dinner, pulling me into his lap right there at the dining room table. “But you always taste better.” And tonight, the night that marks the anniversary of me showing up on his doorstep, he kisses me goodnight. “I haven’t slept through the night in years,” he admits as he dozes in my arms, and I watch him sleep, a peace falling over him that wasn’t there when we first met. Even as I see him easing into a life that includes me, I can’t help but always notice the growing uncertainty I see each day. “What is going on in that mysterious brain of yours?” I want to scream. “Tell me your secrets. Trust me, Thayer. Let me in. Let me be more than your mail-order bride.” But the words jam in my throat and remain unspoken. In the morning I clean out the fridge, humming to a Beyoncé song, taking pleasure in making the stainless steel gleam to a dull shine.

My phone rings on the counter. For a moment, I smile thinking it’s Thayer. Maybe he is calling me from his big office to get some much needed stress relief. But my bubble of happiness deflates when I see the name. “Lucy,” I say, pressing the phone to my ear. “How are you?” I should be happy to hear from my friend, but on instinct, a well of panic rises. “He hasn’t given up the search, Darce.” She says, her words peppered with shortened breath. “Your dad. He’s called me twelve times in the last two hours.” My throat tightens. “He must be desperate this time.” I try to calm the tremble in my voice. “I can't believe your own father is your worst enemy.” Lucy begins to cry. “I’m scared of him. I’m scared for you. This isn't right. Not by a mile.” “It's not,” I tell her. “But I'll figure something out.” Bold words for a girl without a plan. As I hang up, I catch my reflection in the large window across the million dollar kitchen. The girl staring back doesn’t look like the lover of a sexy billionaire. Or the queen to Equinox’s king. She looks like a fraud. Like she is playing pretend in a complicated house of cards that any second could come crashing down around her head.

THAYER

I stop home for lunch -- though it's not food I'm after -- only to find the chalet

empty, the alarm disabled. No fires burn. No food warming in the oven. No Darcy. “Fuck!” I growl, and the word echoes through the empty space as I think the worst. I told her she'd be safe here. I promised her father couldn't get to her. But what if he has? What if I've failed her already? Throat tight, I tear through the guest room, looking for something to assure me that she's not gone. Her clothes are still here. The silk bra I tore from her breasts just last night lies strewn at the foot of the bed. I pick it up, burying my face in her orchard scent, trying not to think the worst. She always calls when she leaves the chalet, and even then it's usually just to run to the local market. Other than that, she doesn't know the area. And she wouldn't leave without locking up. Just as I'm about to assume the worst, I hear the sound of laughter coming from below. I bolt to the top of the staircase that looks over the foyer to find Lance and Darcy in full ski gear kicking off their boots and brushing snow onto the rug. “Where the hell have you been?” I ask, storming down the stairs.

Lance pulls off his hat and shakes out his shaggy hair. “Lighten up, bro. Your girl here is a natural on the hills. Took to snowboarding like she was born to do it. Totally righteous.” I run a hand through my hair, while the other squeezes into a fist at my side. “You were—snowboarding.” Darcy’s smile beams brighter than the midday sun. “It was incredible!” She bounces on her toes. “I mean, I fell a million times at first, but once I was able to stay up for the full ride down the bunny hill—” “I knew she was ready to hit the lift and catch some serious powder.” Lance finishes her sentence like the two have known each other since kindergarten. “You've never snowboarded before today?” I ask, the true reality sinking in. Darcy has experienced a new first. With Lance. She shakes her head. “I've never felt so alive, Thayer. Oh my God. It was incredible. Will you come with us next time? Lance says I'll be just as good on skis.” I grab my coat from where I’d thrown it over the railing at the foot of the stairs, not bothering to actually put it on. “I've got to get back to the office,” I say coldly. “Thayer stays far, far from the slopes these days,” Lance answers for me, but neither he nor Darcy move from blocking the door. Darcy laughs with disbelief. “You run one of the most successful ski resorts in the world but don’t actually ski?” “I’m late,” I say, shouldering my way between them and out the door. “Aw, come on, man,” I hear Lance mutter before pulling the door shut behind me. Before I can press the automatic start in the Tahoe, the rear door opens, and Darcy drops into the seat diagonally behind me. “Out,” I say. “I have a meeting.” She leans back, crossing her arms as best she can in the puffy ski jacket, and narrows her eyes. “No. You don’t.” “Darcy. Get the hell out of the car.” She reaches forward and locks the doors. Pulls off her hat. Unzips her jacket. Then she grabs one of my hands and presses my palm to her breast, and Christ I can feel her nipple harden beneath her sweater. My jaw clenches as I bite back a groan. “I checked your schedule. I always check your schedule, Thayer. That’s why I told Lance I had to be home by lunch. This is why you’re home. Isn’t it?” I rub a thumb over her hardened bud, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving.” I pinch, and she whimpers as she presses into my touch. “I needed to get out,” she says. “Lucy called to tell me my father is still looking, still asking around about me, and I thought if I could get away for a few hours I could forget who I really am—forget what’s waiting for me after I leave Vermont.” “Shit,” I whisper. “Shit.” I pinch again, harder, and she throws her head back,

her wild curls flowing behind her. I let her go long enough to climb over the center console so we sit together on a leather seat big enough to qualify as a couch. “You can make me forget,” she says. She pulls her sweater over her head, flicks open the front clasp of her bra letting her tits spring free. “Make me forget, Thayer.” “Where the fuck is Lance?” I demand, and a devilish smile spreads across her face. “I told him there were snacks and a stack of new PlayStation games in the theater if he disappeared for a while. He said you never used the theater, that he’d be happy to brush off the dust for you.” She lifts my palm to her lips and kisses it softly. “Why don’t you use the theater? Or light the fireplaces? Why don’t you ski on these gorgeous mountains?” I shake my head. If she gets to forget, we both do. “Why aren’t you sprawled across this seat so I can make you scream?” I counter. “First things first,” she says, using my own words against me as she palms my cock through my jeans. She lowers her hand, cupping my balls, and gives a soft squeeze. “Jesus,” I hiss. She might have been a virgin a week ago, but my Sunshine is one hell of a quick learner. “I want to know what you taste like,” she says, her voice hesitant. “But I’ve never—” “You’ve never what?” I press. “I’ve never…” she swallows, knowing I like when she’s says the words. “I’ve never had a cock in my mouth before.” Maybe I missed out on her first time on the mountain, but not this first. It may be thirty degrees outside, but I could fucking burn down the world with the heat between us in here. I unbutton my jeans, and she pulls down the zipper. “Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” I tease her. She bites her bottom lip and smiles, then shakes her head. “No.” Her boldness makes my cock twitch. “Good dirty girl,” I say. She climbs over so she’s on her knees, straddling me, her bare breasts exactly where I want them. I take her into my mouth, and her back bows as I suck and nip, as I press my rock hard cock against her pelvis. “Off,” I growl. “Take the fucking pants off. I want you naked while I watch you suck me off.” She wriggles out of her boots and skiwear, and I vow to thank Cadillac for building a vehicle such as this. Beneath she wears a pair of black leggings, and when I press a finger between her legs, it comes away wet. “Where the fuck are your panties?” I ask. She shrugs. “I was hoping you’d come home for lunch. So I decided not to wear

any.” In a flurry of movement I kick off my own boots and slide out of my pants just as she loses the last garment that keeps her from baring herself completely. She slides to her knees on the vehicle’s floor before I have a chance to touch her. She pushes my knees open and kisses the length of my thigh. When she reaches my balls, she flicks out her tongue and gives them a lick. I hiss in a breath between clenched teeth. “Do you like that?” she asks, peering up at me. “Fuck yes,” I growl. She strokes a hand up my length, slow and controlled, and when she reaches the tip, her finger swirls in the precum, spreading it over my skin. My cock pulses at her touch, at her curious exploration. She dips her head and licks, and my fingers tangle in her hair as she lingers, tongue swirling as moans. “You taste so good,” she says. “Like a salty sexy popsicle.” I tug at her hair, and she peers up at me once again as she fists a hand over the wet tip and slides down it with a slow twist. “Jesus.” I buck into her. “I thought you said you’d never done this before.” She licks her bottom lip and then, without further warning, she grips my shaft and takes me into her mouth, taking my down as far as she can, and despite the chalet’s seclusion on the mountain, I swear the entire resort must hear my primal roar. Again and again she takes me inside her, cheeks hollowing. Each time she slides back up her hand follows along her warm, wet trail. “You’re beautiful, Thayer.” She says as she comes up for a breath. “So thick and beautiful. Now let go for me.” My hands drop from her hair and instead reach for the headrest behind me, leaving her unencumbered. Relinquishing control. She slides a hand beneath my balls, cupping them as she licks me from root to tip. Then she grips me up top, squeezes tight as she pumps me hard before taking me into her mouth one final time, deep as she can go, until I finally let go, a feral sound tearing from my chest. She tilts her head up and I gaze down at her. “Swallow,” I say, watching as she obeys me, watching as she swallows every last bit of come. “Ah. There he is,” she says, and she climbs back into my lap, her wet pussy pressed against my still throbbing cock. “Who?” I ask, my voice hoarse and hardly recognizable. She cups my hand in her palms and smiles. “The man behind the mask.”

CHAPTER 8

DARCY

M y snowboard carves through fluffy, fresh powder. It's as if I'm flying in a cloud. My turn is a little wobbly as I hit the half pipe, but I keep my knees bent and loose, just like Lance instructed, and make it through the run without a single fall. “That was epic,” Lance cries, launching off a jump on my left, pumping his fists in the air as he turns in a 360. His hair has escaped his wool beanie and the color matches his red cheeks. I wipe my nose, realizing that while it's runny, I don't care what I look like. I am having a blast. Lance brings out the kid in me who never got to have this kind of fun. We come to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and he gives me a high five beneath the gondola. “Dude, you are a natural shredder. Born to it.” I shake my head. “I don't know. You seem like the real prodigy.” I'm being totally truthful. Lance moves over the mountain slopes like it was the only thing he was ever meant to do. “Me? Nah. I'm good enough but nothing like Thayer.” He startles as he realizes what he has said. “Shit. There I go, shooting my mouth off when I’m not supposed to.” My eyes widen. “Wait a second. Back up.” I'm not letting him off the hook, not when he is dangling a tantalizing bit of information about Thayer. I'm hungry for any bites of intel I can find. “Thayer Noble used to snowboard?” “Ski,” he mutters with a grimace. “I can't talk about any of it. I will say, though, that even if he wants to walk away from all his freakish talent, it doesn't mean the rest of the local grommets should suffer.” He groans. “The Eastern Competition used to be the crown jewel of the ski and snowboard competition circuit. It was every local shredder’s dream to win the gold. But Noble won't listen to reason. Too fucking stubborn.” “Thayer doesn't want to hold a ski competition here at Ironstone?” I’m confused. Looking around all I see is world-class snow and state-of-the-art infrastructure. This mountain is incredible. Why would he not want to see racing happen on these amazing slopes? Surely it would be good for business, and Thayer

Noble is a talented businessman. A self-made billionaire under thirty. Turning away such a venture is wholly against his reputation. Lance whips off his ski hat with visible agitation. “Shouldn't have mentioned that either. But what can I say? You have a face that's easy to talk to. No wonder he likes keeping you around.” I cross my arms. “Thayer Noble is a fricking Russian doll of mysteries.” Lance barks out a laugh that seems to agree with me, but his response doesn't clear up anything. “My boy has his reasons for what he does. I can accept a lot from him, but not closing the competition. The younger local skiers could really use the opportunity to shine. Get sponsorships. Start their career. Hell, we could have future Olympians on the mountain if they could get a lucky break.” “I could talk to Thayer,” I venture. “Maybe he isn't looking at things that way. I can't imagine him ever wanting to deny a young person a chance to live out their dream. And I have a marketing and public relation degree that so far has done nothing but gather dust bunnies since graduation. I could plan everything. He wouldn't have to lift a finger.” I love being Thayer’s pseudo wife and get great satisfaction from making him feel cared for and nurtured, but I also have my own career ambitions. This could be a way to help Thayer and me pursue a common goal. Lance’s face lights up. “You'd really do that? Talk to him about starting the competition back up?” I nod. “I think it's a wonderful idea.” That night, I prepare a dinner of pesto pasta with sundried tomatoes and goat cheese and pair it with a fancy white wine from New Zealand. I know as much about wine as I do coffee, but the sommelier at the lodge’s gourmet food shop assured me it was delicious. There is so much about the world that I don't know. But I can't let my lack of sophistication get the better of me. By the time Thayer saunters through the door, loosening the grey silk tie around his neck and setting down a thick stack of financial documents on the kitchen island, I am back in control. “Welcome home, darling,” I say, handing him a wine glass. He takes a sip and grunts with approval. “This is great. I needed it after today.” “Sit down. The garlic bread should be ready to come out of the oven any second now.” The timer dings on cue. As I slather even more butter on the bread, I take the chance to butter up Thayer too. Ask questions about his day. Tell him how I conquered the half pipe with Lance. “I love to see how much you enjoy my mountain,” he says as I serve him a plate laden with angel hair pasta. “There is so much opportunity everywhere I look.” I take a seat and lean in on my elbows across the table. “And so many amazing young skiers and snowboarders on the runs.” He nods. “The local kids around here have a great deal of talent. Some learn to

ski as they walk.” I want to ask if he did too, if he was really as good as Lance says. But instead I switch gears. “I hear there used to be a famous event held at Ironstone. The...uh…” I snap my fingers. “The Eastern Competition.” Just like that, all warmth is sucked from the room. Thayer's glare is icy cold, chilling my blood. “Lance put you up this this?” I straighten in my chair. “No,” I try to lie, flustered that this man can read me like a book. “Well maybe he mentioned it. In passing.” He straightens too, sets his jaw. “It will never happen.” “Why?” I bristle at the finality in his voice. “Why won't you even entertain the idea?” “Why don't you stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?” he snaps back, muscles cording in his neck. I recoil in my seat, confused at the fury that comes from nowhere. “You don't need to get nasty. I just want to help.” “You can't help me, Darcy.” Thayer stands up so fast his chair topples over and cracks against the wood floor. His face is a mask of conflict, as if he is at war with himself. “No one can. Get it? No one.”

THAYER

She should run. She should leave this place and never look back just like she left

her own flesh and blood, but instead she stands, the picture of calm, and places a hand on my cheek. “Thayer,” she says softly. “Tell me what happened to you.” On instinct I press into her palm, her skin hot against mine. There has been a fire blazing between us since the moment she walked through that door, but she’s gotten too close—so close she cannot avoid getting burned. “You can tell me anything,” she whispers. “It won’t change how I feel.” At this I shake free of her—of the hold she has on me. “How you feel?” Forget the fire. My voice is ice. “There’s nothing to feel. This is all an illusion. A con. And you should know that better than anyone.” She stumbles back at my cruel words, and I can’t watch. I won’t watch her crumble. So I leave her there, mouth hanging open, whatever she’d planned on saying next caught in her throat. But I should have known she’d follow. She’s stronger than she gives herself credit for. That’s the part she still doesn’t see. The scared innocent from the Midwest was her mask. What lies beneath is a thing of beauty. Beneath mine lies a beast. She charges up the stairs behind me, but I don’t turn around. Instead I head straight for the guest room, then stop in the doorway as I remember that it’s not

my room. I’ve gotten so comfortable with our routine, sleeping with her in my arms night after night. But this was never permanent. It was always going to end like this. I was just the asshole who thought it wouldn’t happen that fast. When I turn back to the hallway, I nearly knock her over. “What the hell was that?” she asks, arms crossed and green eyes blazing. “I mention a great business opportunity for you, and you talk to me like I’m nothing more than hired help?” She reaches for me again, but this time I recoil. Still, she doesn’t give up. God, Darcy. Please give up. “You have been so close to letting me in. I feel every night we’re together. I feel it every morning when I wake up with you still wrapped around me. All you have to do is let me fill in your cracks. Wherever you’re broken, let me fix you—just like you’ve fixed me.” My throat closes, and I can barely breathe. “No,” I force out. Then I grab her shoulders and move her out of my way, but she retaliates by wrapping her hand around my wrist. “Thayer, come on,” she pleads. “This isn’t you. You’re not the asshole you want everyone to think you are. I don’t care how much you’ve been hiding from me. I still see the real you.” She squeezes her hand around me. “I see you, Thayer.” I whirl on her, and she flinches. God it fucking kills me to see her react to me like she probably does with that shit of a father. But this has gone far enough. “You see me?” I ask, a cold fury filling my words. “You see nothing. And that’s what this is.” I motion between us. “Nothing. You flinch at me treating you like hired help? That’s the thing, Darcy. You are the hired help.” Cruel words. The cruelest I’ve ever spoken, and they hit their mark. She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. And those eyes that seconds ago burned with a determined fire now brim with tears. “You don’t mean that,” she says. I nod slowly. “You were never permanent in my life,” I tell her. “It was a mistake to ever think that you were.” It was my mistake to ever wish that she was. “I see,” she says, straightening her back and jutting her chin in the air. My fearless, beautiful girl. No. Not mine. Because that’s what I fucking do. I ruin all that is good in my life. And now I’m ruining her. “Yes,” I say. “I hope you see clearly now.” Then I leave her standing there, the image of her stricken expression and the tears streaking her cheeks forever burned in my memory to remind me not to want what I don’t fucking deserve. Once inside the master suite, I head to the dry bar and pour myself a shot of Macallan. Then another. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a text from Lance. Bro. What did you do? Darcy just called. The girl was crying so hard I couldn’t

understand what she was saying. I don’t bother answering. He knows the answer. Knows better than to have baited her like that with the fucking Eastern Competition. I betrayed her. I told her I’d keep her safe when I knew I never really could. Come on, man. Lance won’t let up. You don’t fucking deserve her, but for some reason she wants you. Rise above the pain, bro. It’s time to rise the fuck above. I throw the shot glass against the stone wall and watch it shatter. There are more where that came from. There’s more of everything because that’s who I am— the prick who can waste good crystal. A four thousand dollar bottle of scotch. Or a good woman. Because I can always buy more. I drink until I can’t see straight. Until I forget the things I said. That look in her eyes. But when sleep and the drink finally pull me under, I find anything but peace. Instead, I dream. I lie in the snow, close to freezing. Later they’ll tell me I was in shock. I suck in a breath, and pain, white hot radiates up my side, shoots down my leg. No one hears me cry out. No one sees me or even knows I’ve gone down. That’s when I remember the radio. The failsafe. I call in to let them know I’m hurt. Listen to reassuring words. Then black out when I can’t take the pain any longer. I wake to the sound of the chopper, roar as they slide me onto the stretcher. But the real pain comes after they’ve set my leg, after the morphine drip kicks in. I know it the second my sister Ella enters the room, eyes puffy and red. They’re gone. Because of me, they’re gone.

CHAPTER 9

DARCY

I am crushed. Utterly destroyed. Once I read that the more joy something brings a

person in life, the more sorrow can fill the space in its absence. Thayer's words have hollowed me out into an abyss of pure pain. “Stupid,” I say to my reflection in the bathroom mirror before bending over to splash more water on my blotchy, tear-stained face. I cried all night alone in my bed. “I'm a stupid, naive girl who has orbited so far from my comfort zone that I might as well be Pluto.” I wince at myself in the mirror. The movies are so full of crap. No one looks pretty after a good cry. And I’ll be surprised if Thayer didn’t hear the hiccupping sobs coming from my room last night. He, though, probably slept more soundly than he has since I arrived now that he has me out of his hair. It hurts too much. I punch the marble sink counter, and pain shoots up my arm. But at least it lessens the ache in my heart. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and straighten, drawing a shuddering breath. No more time for crying. I need to get out of here. But I can't go home to Dad and whatever terrible plot he is concocting that involves me. My stomach gives a sickening lurch as I slowly nod at myself. There's no choice. I have to make a call. “Hello and welcome to Costly Cupid, where high-end discretion meets old-time values,” a customer service representative chirps. I bite my bottom lip before diving into my spiel. “Hi. This is Darcy Lawrence from Corn Rose, Kansas? I am, or at least I was, assigned to Thayer Noble here in Ironstone, Vermont and well...it doesn't look like he needs my services anymore.” Or me, full stop. “Darcy Lawrence you say?” The operator puts a peculiar emphasis on my name and my throat tightens. Oh shit. Dad must have found me. I'm about to hang up when the perky customer service representative says,

“Well this must be your lucky day.” I frown. Luck? My dad. This situation. My broken heart. None of it feels even remotely lucky. “I just had another gentleman request your services by name. He called only a few minutes ago. You’re quite popular, Ms. Lawrence.” “Someone requested me by name?” I look around the empty guest bedroom, confused and growing more so by the second. “Yes! And oh, he was so charming and sweet. His name was...let me see...I just had it written down here on a pink sticky note so I could call you. Ah, here we go! Herc Waterston.” My stomach roils. “Herc?” The image of Thayer's smarmy nemesis pops up in my mind’s eye. I think fast. He must have done some digging on me. He seemed rich in his own right. Wealthy enough that a few hundred bucks shelled out to a private investigator wouldn’t even make a dent. This request is probably part of some master plan in the long-standing alpha battle between Herc and Thayer. Had this woman called me with this information two days ago, I’d have gone straight to Thayer and betrayed Herc’s plans. But now? Why should I be loyal to Thayer when he wasn’t to me? “Can you do that? Transfer my contract to Herc?” I ask. “Just like that?” “Hmm…” she says, and I can hear her fingers tapping away on a keyboard. “I’m just reading your contract with Mr. Noble. Mmm-hmm. Yes. Yada, yada, yada. There it is—the option clause for either party to cancel should the match be unsatisfactory. You will have to forfeit payment for the remainder of your contract, but it looks like Mr. Waterson is quite generous. He’s booked you for six months and has thrown in a personal expense account for you.” She giggles. “If his voice is any indication of what he looks like, I think you’re really going to enjoy yourself, Ms. Lawrence.” Well. There you have it. My match with Thayer is most definitely unsatisfactory. “I'll take job,” I announce firmly. No hint of quaver in my heart even as my stomach muscles clench. Nausea threatens. “I'd like it to be effective immediately.” Sure. I'll be a mail-order bride to Herc Waterson. I'm ready to cook and clean and offer him all the comforts he desires. Maybe he is kinder than the frozenhearted man I was foolish enough to think I could fall for—or to think he might actually care for me. I'll perform every wifely duty for Herc but one. He will not touch me. Of that I am sure. “I'm afraid I can't make it effective immediately,” she says apologetically. “I need a few days for payment to clear. Then Bingo, Bango! You will be reassigned. I hope you are happier in your new position.” “Me too,” I whisper even as I know happy is not a possibility. Hurt as I am, the thought of not waking each morning in Thayer’s home slices me right to the core. And though I said I was through, the tears silently fall once more. I wrap up the call and go to meet my soon-to-be former employer, not to

mention lover, and tell him that he has won his strange, sick little game. I barge into his home office without knocking. “I quit,” I snarl before our eyes even meet. “I put in my resignation with Costly Cupid. In a few days I'll be moving to my next position. Until then I'll keep a low profile, not exactly tricky to do in a giant mansion.” My voice is hard and sharp, unrecognizable. But I don't kid myself that I could hurt Thayer Noble with mere words. His heart may be impenetrable, but at the very least I may be able to wound his pride. Deep down, wish for him to beg. To fight for me. To stand up and loosen that necktie and toss it to his desk. Tell me I am his. That I can never leave. That he loves me too much to ever allow me to walk away. But just like every other dream I have had, this one crashes and burns. “Very good, Ms. Lawrence,” he says in a stiff voice. His face a mask of a man who doesn't care. Who doesn't love. Who doesn't experience a single human emotion. But his eyes—his eyes give a flash of weariness. “Now please close the door on your way out.” Now I see it, that despite the finely tailored suit, he looks a mess. It’s not just the eyes. He is unshaven, his hair still bed-rumpled, his skin pale as if he has suddenly grown ill. Even still, he’s beautiful, and despite my resolve, my heart squeezes in my chest. But I’ve learned well enough from the master of masks, and I put my own on as well. “Will do,” I say in the same empty voice. “I'll make sure to give your regards to Herc Waterson.” His eyes flash dangerously. “What the fuck does Herc Waterson have to do with this?” I shrug. “He’s my new boss,” I tell him. “I'm going to be his mail-order bride now. Make all his fantasies come true. Do you think he will be happy with my services? As I know they weren't up to your exacting situation.” “This is a fucking joke, right?” he snarls, wincing as if he has a painful headache. As if he can feel anything. “Joke? The only joker in this room is you.” My voice rises. I don't mean to shout, but I am. I’ve had enough of being the docile homemaker. That wasn’t good enough for Thayer Noble. “Guess I should be grateful that you revealed your true colors. Here’s hoping that Herc Waterston is twice the man you ever were.” He stands up but stays behind his desk. “Herc Waterson is a shady asshole who only cares about one thing, himself. He’s not fit to lick your boots let alone hire you on as his supposed bride.” “I'll be polishing his boots,” I taunt, trying to get under his skin. “Maybe I'll polish more than that. Really put my experience here with you to the test.” The twitch in his jaw is the only reaction my sass is able to get. I have hit a nerve. Somewhere. I don't care two shits for Herc. But nothing I say or do seems to make a difference to Thayer. That leaves me one choice.

“Well. Guess I'll go pack.” I whistle with a happiness that I don't feel as I make an attempt at sauntering. One thing is for certain, if Thayer cares so little for me, then I can't fake indifference for much longer. I need to escape. Spend the next few nights at a hotel. It will be lonely, but not as lonely as being stuck here with this hard-hearted king.

THAYER

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.” What the fuck is she doing? I may have been a

monster to her last night, but she has no idea what the hell she’s getting herself into. I storm after her, our roles from last night now reversed. When I get to her room, she’s pulled out that poor excuse for a bag she showed up with. She whirls when she hears me at the door. “I’ll be quick,” she says, eyes blazing. “I’ll leave with the few things I came with.” I cross my arms and grit my teeth. “Then I’ll call for a car right now. No sense wasting any more of your precious time.” She steps closer. “Perfect.” Then she pulls her sweater over her head. “What the hell are you doing?” I growl. She unclasps her bra and shrugs out of it, letting the undergarment fall to the floor. “I’m not taking anything with me that wasn’t mine when I arrived.” My head throbs, last night’s drinking binge still not letting go. “What am I going to do with a bunch of women’s clothing?” She raises a brow. “I’m sure Lance can order you a new play thing. Just make sure she’s a size twelve.” She unbuttons her jeans. “Stop!” Fury rises from deep within, threatening to unleash everything I’ve kept locked away for years. “Keep the goddamn clothes, Darcy.” She wriggles out of the jeans and balls them up in her hands. “No. Thank. You,” she seethes. “I’ve had enough. My whole life I’ve been taken advantage of by those I trust. By the men I trust. So call your stupid driver. Send me anywhere but here, and you can go back to the lonely brooding you seem to love so much. I’m done, Thayer. I’m fucking done.” She shoves the jeans at me, pushing hard against my chest, and something in me fucking cracks. I grab her wrists. She sucks in a sharp breath, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t protest. Her nipples pebble under my gaze. “You’re not leaving,” I say, my voice hoarse.

She juts out her chin, her eyes burning with challenge. “The hell I am.” I slide my hands up her arms until my palms cover both of her breasts, and I do not mistake the slight way she arches her back, responding to me even in anger. My restraint wears thin. I take a chance and give one of her tightened peaks a sharp pinch. She whimpers, then grits her teeth. “Fuck you, Thayer.” She goes to push me away, but I hold her tight, then lift her in my arms. I let her thrash for a moment until she wraps her legs around me. Then I back her toward the bed, throwing her down on it, those big full tits bouncing the same way they did that first night. She reaches for my tie, yanking me to her with such ferocity we almost knock heads, but I brace myself above her just in time. “What the hell are you waiting for?” she asks, loosening my tie with nothing of the gentleness I’ve grown to love from her. She undoes the top two buttons of my shirt and then fucking rips the rest free, and my restraint is nothing but a faint memory. I drop to my knees and push her legs open. Then I turn the lace panties she’s still wearing into a faint memory as well. I slide my palms up her thighs, the movement swift and urgent. I don’t fucking pause when I reach the top but instead run my tongue between the folds of her pussy in one desperate, aching attempt to claim what no other man will ever have. She cries out, bucking against me, and I lift my head. “Mine,” I growl, slapping her pussy with the flat of my palm. “Do you understand?” She nods. “Then give me what I deserve.” I know she means more than this moment, but right now I can only focus on showing her that I can do for her what no other man can. I let my ruined shirt fall to the floor, then pull the tie over my head. In seconds I’m bare, my cock pulsing, aching for the tight, warm pussy that fits me like no one else ever has. “Top drawer of the nightstand,” she reminds me as she writhes on the bed. I pull out a condom, tear it open like my life depends on it, and roll it down my length. Then in one long movement, I sheathe myself inside her, all the way to the root. “Fuck,” I groan, trying to keep it together as she wraps her legs around me and arches clear off the bed. “Oh my God, Thayer. Oh my God.” She reaches for me, wrapping her arms around my neck so I’m practically holding her up with my goddamn cock. I grab her ass and thrust into her again and again as I take her mouth, take all that I need because fucking hell I need this woman. I roll onto my back, and she takes the movement in stride, arching up above me, her hands tangling in her wild curls. I grip her thighs, letting one hand travel between us so I can swirl my thumb over her wet, swollen clit.

She gasps again and again with each movement of my thumb, each thrust of my cock inside her, her tight walls clenching around me until I almost can’t see straight. “Tell me you’re mine,” I command, my hands back on her ass, spreading her as I gain enough leverage to lift her off me so I can tease her entrance once more. “I’m yours,” she says amidst tiny, sexy gasps. “And I don’t care what you’re afraid of, Thayer. Because you’re mine, too. You’re mine.” “Yes.” I sink in with one final punishing blow and watch her fall apart above me. But I don’t hold back. I fall the fuck apart right there with her. She collapses over me, and I kiss her, my movements soft and tender now. “I’m not letting you go,” I tell her, tucking her curls behind her ear. She kisses me again, the scent of apples surrounding me with an unexpected warmth. Her lips are soft yet insistent, drinking me in like she’ll never be able to get enough, and for the first time I admit to myself that it’s I who cannot get enough of her. “I need you to know it’s not because of Herc,” I say. Her finger traces lazy circles on my stomach. “Why then, Thayer? For once I need total honesty. Prove to me that this is real.” “Okay,” I say, kissing her forehead. “There’s so much I need to tell you.” And because she deserves everything, that’s exactly what I will give her.

CHAPTER 10

DARCY

I roll over and face him. For once our nakedness isn't sexual. It's honest. Here in

the quietness of the bedroom, truths can finally be told. “The hurtful things I said to you, no apology will ever undo them.” He kisses my forehead, then the soft skin between my brows. “But know this. I'll never speak that way to you again.” “I will hold you to that,” I say, pain lingering in my tone. The memory of the hurt he caused me still stings, even as I forgive him. “I want you to stay. Stay with me here at Equinox, Darcy Lawrence. I want to work every day at Ironstone and come back every night to your bed.” “I'm good for more than sex.” Our sexual connection is amazing. Inexorable. Powerful to a toe-curling degree. But I want him to value me as more than a paid plaything, and when he takes my hand and presses it over his pounding heart, I find the answer I'm looking for. “I know that. You are changing me, Sunshine. In here. Melting away all the ice and snow. The frozen wasteland inside me.” “Thayer.” I sigh, unable to say anything else, swept away by the dark velvet in his voice, tender and husky. “I don’t care how much he was willing to offer you. I never would have handed you over to Herc.” “I’m glad you fought for me,” I can freely admit now. “I wanted you to fight for me.” A silence settles over us. “He's really that bad, huh?” I ask finally. “Yes.” His hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. “But like I said, it’s not about him. What we have, Darcy? No one can take that away. I am not used to caring for another person on such a deep level. Not since...not since...” I wait, knowing better than to push. “My parents,” he says at last, in one fast exhalation. “Your parents. Of course you should care for your parents. Where are they? You’ve never mentioned them.” I feel his pulse race beneath my palm “They are here. On the mountain. Or

rather what's left of them. I scattered their ashes off the Heaven’s Door Chairlift, the one that goes to the summit of Mount Ironstone. It was their favorite view.” My mouth tastes bitter and dry. “When did you lose them?” “They were taken from me,” he says in a voice that could be a thousand years old, so great is its loneliness and regret. “I have my sister still, but we aren't close. We haven’t been since then. My mom and dad were special. They loved me before I was who I am now. They loved me back when I was just Thay, a sixteen-year-old with an appetite that could sack away six Hot Pockets in a single sitting.” I gasp, and a rumble of I twirl my finger through his chest hair, trying and failing to imagine him as a teenager eating Hot Pockets. “I lived to ski. It was all I thought about. All I ever wanted to do. I was well on my way to competing in the Olympics.” Something starts to click. The reason he lost it when I came home from hanging with Lance yesterday. “What happened?” I ask even as realization dawns. “The competition I suggested you bring back to Ironstone. That’s it?” “Yes,” he says ruefully. “My hatred for the Eastern Competition wasn't something that I wanted to discuss for a long time. That day was a nightmare that wish I could forget, but instead I see it in my mind's eye like a horror movie unfolding in slow motion. Again and again.” He is quiet for a long time. So long I think he’s not going to tell me anymore. But then he begins again, and it's like a dam bursting, words coming fast and urgent. “Before the accident, I skied, hung out with friends. Dated a little. Had fun and made trouble, but not too much. My parents were avid skiers. My sister hated the snow and cold, but I loved it and so it drew me closer to Mom and Dad. They came to all my events. Bragged to strangers at the grocery store. Talked to me about future Olympics like it was a given that I'd go. Their confidence gave me confidence. Everyone acted like my future was carved in stone. Leave town. Medal in Olympics. Turn pro. Do the professional circuit. A life of hard core skiing and adrenaline. I was a junkie for it.” He pauses for a quick breath. “I went off trail so many times I thought I was invincible. But one day while getting ready for the Eastern Competition, I fell. It was bad. I lost balance in a chute right as the weather changed. An ice storm blowing in. Broke several ribs and my left leg. Compound fracture. I had my radio and was able to get in touch with ski patrol. But my parents had friends on the patrol, so it didn't take long for them to get a call that I was in trouble. And they didn't sit tight like advised. They got in our van and drove up, to save me.” He clears his throat a few times. “But the roads were so icy, too icy even for people equipped for mountain driving. The police say it might have been a deer or a falling rock, but something drove them off the road. They hit a tree and...and...were dead on impact. Both thrown from the car.”

He inhales, a heartsick, shuddering sound. “It was my fault. Plain and simple. If I hadn’t been so cocky—so goddamn self-assured, they’d still be here.” I brush away the unexpected wetness from under his eye, but he shakes his head at my touch. “Don’t you get it? I destroy anyone I care for. I’ll destroy you, too.”

THAYER

She rises up on her elbow, tears glistening in her eyes.

“God, Thayer. You were a kid. With parents who loved you more than their own safety. They would have come for you no matter the reason you ended up where you were. I bet they were proud of your confidence—of who you turned out to be.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I still wonder how I got here sometimes. Their deaths fucked me up good. I couldn’t go back to school, so I dropped out and ended up crashing with Lance for a few years while we worked at the lodge. I got lucky. The owner liked me, thought I had a knack for business. He took me under his wing, and it turned out I did.” I shrug. “So I have a shit ton of money and own half the village. Doesn’t change anything.” She tangles her leg with mine, something so intimate, so comforting. “I don’t deserve any of it,” I tell her. “I don’t deserve you.” She kisses my forehead, my damp lashes, and finally my lips. I have ruled this mountain for years, yet I am powerless against her touch, so I give in, letting her tongue tangle with mine as her hands cradle my face. “They made a choice,” she whispers. “A choice to put themselves at risk, to be vulnerable for someone they loved.” She kisses me again, so soft and gentle. “You didn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do.” “Yes, but—” Her lips silence mine until she knows she has control again. “Yes, but nothing,” she says. “If they loved you as much as it sounds like they did, it would break their hearts to see how you’ve cut yourself off from the world, letting your guilt eat away at you for all these years.” Another kiss, one that has me aching for more of her tenderness, for something I’ve not allowed myself to want, let alone need, for over a decade. “It breaks my heart, Thayer, that you’ve lived like this for so long. You gave up skiing?” I nod. “Then you gave up a part of who you are.” She burrows into my side, pressing her lips to my neck. “Forgive yourself, Thayer. Forgive yourself and let me in for real.” I pull her to me, our naked bodies fitting together like they were born to do so, in mind blowing ecstasy as well as a loving warmth I don’t yet know how to handle.

But maybe if someone as good and full of love as her can see something good in me, I might be capable of giving her more. I open my mouth to tell her as such when I hear loud voices below in the foyer. “What the hell?” I say as her eyes widen. “My dad.” Her voice is trembling. “He probably found me.” I scramble out of the bed, find my pants, and throw them on. “Stay here,” I tell her. I promised her she’d be safe with me, and fuck if I’m going back on that now. I storm down the stairs, recognizing Lance as one of the voices, and relax for a fraction of a second. Then I see who he’s talking to, and I almost miss the last step. “Who the fuck let you into my home?” I ask, snarling at the intruder. Herc Waterson pushes Lance aside, which is his second mistake—in line behind stepping foot beyond my front door. Lance, in his North Face fleece and ski pants, shoves his forearm against the knot of Herc’s tie, forcing him against the wall. “Sorry,” Lance says to me in his easy, Zen-like voice. “He followed me over from the lodge when I told him you were working from home today. Didn’t think the shithead would barge right in.” Lance looks me up and down, and I remember that I’m barefoot in nothing but my suit pants. “Nice look, by the way.” Herc tries to clear his throat and coughs. “You’re cutting off his air supply,” I tell Lance. He shrugs, then grins. “That’s kind of the idea.” I wave a hand in the air like I’m swatting away a gnat, and Lance lets the asshole go. Herc gasps for air, his face red with fury as he steps into my personal space. Third mistake. I clench my teeth and lurch forward, enough to make him flinch, and that satisfies me for the moment. “You better have a good goddamn reason why you are standing inside my front door, Waterson. And this should be interesting because there is no good goddamn reason. Still, I’m in the mood for a story.” Herc composes himself, the picture of calm now as a shit-eating grin takes over his features. “I’m coming to collect what’s mine,” he says. Then he shakes his head. “Pity you’ll be all alone in this monstrosity of a house once again.” He straightens his suit jacket. “I know how damn pesky paperwork can be, which is why I threw a bit of extra cash at Costly Cupid’s contract supervisor.” Footsteps pad down the wood staircase behind me, and I turn to see Darcy wrapped in nothing but her plush robe, her gorgeous curls tumbling over her shoulders. “No,” she says. “They told me it would be a few days before the contract took effect. And I can cancel this one just as easily as I canceled my contract with Thayer.” Herc laughs even as his eyes rake over her, and I’m ready to lunge at him again. The look in his eyes tells me Lance is too.

“Oh, darlin’. Don’t let the fancy house fool you. You’ve been slumming it,” Herc says to Darcy. “It’s time for you to see what a real man can do for you. And judging from your attire so early in the day, I’m guessing I’ll be most pleased with what you can do for me.” That’s all it takes for me to lose all semblance of control. In a flicker of movement, I slam Herc Waterson against the wall, my fist drawn back and at the ready. “Give me one goddamn reason why I shouldn’t level you right now, you sick fucking bastard.” I expect him to cower, to beg me not to bloody him right here and now, but all he does is laugh. “Lenny Lawrence,” Herc says. Darcy gasps. “What the hell did you just say?” I ask, giving him a strong shake. “Lenny. Lawrence. Oh, come on, Noble. You didn’t think I’d dig deep enough to find out she was a hired whore and not wonder why.” My hand curls into a fist, and I summon my self-control, knowing that if I touch him, if I punch him, I may not stop until he’s dead. “The way I see it,” Herc continues, “is that you both have important choices to make. After all, I’m a fair man, and I’m prepared to make you an offer.” “You’re a monster,” Darcy says. “That’s all you are.” He clucks his tongue before setting his gaze on me once more. “Sell me the resort, and you can keep your whore.” He looks back at Lance. “And your sorry excuse for a bodyguard. Also, I’m only offering market value, now, as I do believe I have the upper hand.” He runs a hand through his gelled hair. “Refuse to sell, and she’s mine for six months, the terms of our agreement—unless you want me suing her for breach of contract. Oh, and informing her poor, worried father of her whereabouts.” “Thayer, don’t,” Darcy pleads. “Don’t let him win.” “There’s gotta be another way, man,” Lance says. But there’s only one answer, and that’s Darcy. Here with me. Safe. I let Herc go. I rush to Darcy and squeeze her to my side. “The resort’s yours,” I say with zero hesitation, but Darcy pulls away from me, turning so she’s standing side-by-side with Herc. “No,” she says firmly. “You’ve lost enough already. I can’t let you lose more.”

CHAPTER 11

DARCY

The room is so silent that I can hear my blood pounding in my ears. And it sounds

like a war drum. I point at Herc as if I'm casting a curse. “I will fight you and my father until there is nothing left of me. But you will never take Thayer's resort. His dream. His everything.” Herc smirks. “Sounds like you two have some decisions to make. Twenty-four hours and I win either way. Either I'm the new CEO of Ironstone Resort or I have the hottest piece of ass east of the Mississippi warming my bed.” Thayer makes a guttural noise that would scare any sane man shitless. The look in his magnetic eyes is pure murder. Lance takes notice and steps in, his hand raised in warning even though his laid-back smile remains plastered on. Still, Herc is big, but too soft. One glance reveals he prefers easy living. Lance is on the mountain every day while Thayer—Jesus—Thayer is a mountain. Granite hard. A force of nature. “Twenty-four hours, Noble.” But Herc senses that he is physically outmatched and bolts for the door. When I turn back to comfort Thayer, he has vanished into thin air. “He does that,” Lance says with a shrug. “Has a hard time dealing with big emotion.” “So I've noticed.” My tone is wry enough that he chuckles. Somewhere deep in the house comes the beat of heavy metal music. “Hoo boy, here we go.” Lance pushes a dread out of his eyes and shakes his head. “What?” I ask as the music shakes the geometric modern art paintings hanging on the wall. “He’s locked in the boxing room down in the basement. Probably pretending that one of his punching bags is Herc’s orange face.” Lance glances out the window. “Looks like another bluebird morning. Why don't you grab your gear and we’ll hit the slopes for a few hours. By lunchtime Thayer will be ready to talk. There

is a big blizzard due in by noon. Might as well make a break for it while the getting is good.” “Will Thayer be all right?” I frown at the heavy sound of his punches, which resonate above the loud music. “By then he might have knocked down the house.” “Nah, he’s just making a plan. The punching helps him think.” I want to say that's barbaric. But the throbbing need between my legs says otherwise. Thayer would have murdered Herc to protect me. I saw it in his eyes moments ago. Not that he is a killer or crazy, but he won't let anyone fuck with his inner circle, and I have to admit I love being part of it. “All right. Let me just get dressed.” I look down at my robe, my only attire, and let out a nervous laugh as I blush. “I could use some fresh air.” And maybe it will give me a chance to gain some much needed clarity and help with the plan, too. Two hours later, I still don't have idea for how to defeat Herc, but I'm having a blast with Lance. A strange confidence is growing inside me. Thayer and I have something special. Something that can't be bought and sold. The winds pick up. Black clouds gather on the high peaks and begin to spill ominously into the valley. “Crap.” Lance pulls up short on his board. “Storm got here an hour early.” My heart flutters. “Are we in danger?” He gives one of his infectious laughs. “Hell no, Kansas Girl. This is just a run-ofthe-mill garden variety Vermont mountain storm.” The trees overhead rock in the gusts, and his brow furrows. “Fine, maybe a little worse than usual. Tell you what, follow me down the next run and I'll show you a shortcut.” He glances behind us through the patch of trees. “Some random dude’s coming up on our heels. Let's bounce.” He is off before I have time to regroup and adjust my goggles. I follow in pursuit, but the trail forks up ahead. One way looks less tracked up. Must be the shortcut. It takes me about two minutes before realizing I've made a seriously wrong turn. I'm in the trees and out of my depth. “Lance!” I yell, but the wind snatches my words as if they are a child’s toy. “Hello? Anybody?” A shape careens through the trees. Relief shoots through me, and for a moment I believe it's Thayer, back on skis at last and here to rescue me from becoming Darcy the Snow Woman. But the hope in my stomach turns to cold lead. The face peering down at me belongs to a guy who I want to punch not pounce. Herc. Ugh. “What do we have here?” He preens. “A damsel in distress?” “I'm fine,” I lie, not wanting to admit I am lost in the trees and unsure how to get back to a run. “You don’t look fine. Lucky I've been watching over to keep you safe, unlike your boyfriend.” He spits the last word as if it tastes bad. But as he skis toward me, one truth is apparent. The dude knows how to move

on a mountain. He might not be world-class, but he is competent while I’ve barely graduated from the bunny hill. “Watch how I do it,” he orders. “Point your skis down the hill and plant your poles. Turn! Turn! Turn!” He speeds past me. Is this a joke? I'm on what looks to be a black diamond out of bounds area covered in trees, and he wants me to magically learn how to ski like an expert just from watching him do a few turns? He is nuts. The visibility is dropping by the second. I've seen my share of winter storms back in Corn Rose and can tell this blizzard is just getting started. “Hurry the fuck up, Darcy,” Herc yells. “Before my nuts freeze and break off.” “Stop trying to tempt me,” I mutter. Pointing my skis downhill, I try to make a tight turn like Herc but whoosh! I'm off at an alarming pace. I duck, branches whipping at my face. Arm wind milling, I shoot past Herc who is yelling something that sounds like, “Not that way! Cliff!” And heart in my throat, I realize he is right. The trees thin. I can see the edge to a steep gully, and I'm barreling straight forward the lip. Throwing myself to the ground, I roll and tumble and come to a shuddering halt with one ski hanging off the edge of what I can now see is at least a two hundred foot cliff. “Give me your hand!” I hear Herc yell, and I reach for the man I swore I would never touch. But he can’t get close enough to reach me. “I can’t!” I cry, gripping a rock, the only thing giving me purchase against the violent, icy gales. My head swims. I must have bumped it, and all I can focus on is not letting go. “Darcy, if you don’t grab my hand, you’ll go over the edge!” Herc is yelling, his voice panicked. But even so, he’s afraid to get too close to me, to risk himself going over the edge with me. So he strains to reach me, but not enough. There is fear and panic and, yes, cowardice in his eyes. If I could just reach my boot and release my ski, but every time I try to pull my leg back over the lip, the wind threatens to tug my body straight over. I will die here. And everything I’ve done to get my life back will be lost because of my stupid, spiteful wish to get back at Thayer after all he’s already lost. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, freezing before they have a chance to fall. I squeeze my eyes shut in a last ditch effort to protect myself from the piercing ice, and that’s when I hear it. “Darcy!” The deep voice cuts through the storm’s wild scream, and when I lift up my dazed head, a figure skis toward me with such skill and power that I can't look away. It's not Herc… It's Thayer. On skis. Coming straight for me. He skis past Herc, stopping with expert precision. Crack! The sound is as sudden as thunder. I whip my head up the mountain. A wall of snow gives way on the cliff. I cry out at the top of my lungs. “Look out! Avalanche!”

THAYER

Snow gives way beneath Darcy’s legs, and she screams, the sound a knife to my

very core. If I don’t get to her— Fuck. Focus. I inch even further from the cover of the trees, taking care to keep my skis pointed to the side so I don’t go over before reaching Darcy. “Help us!” Herc cries, his voice high and desperate. But fucking hell. He’s not dangling over a goddamn cliff. And he’s too goddamn scared to help either of them. “Darcy!” I call out. “Don’t let go, okay ? Whatever you do, don’t let go.” “I’m scared, Thayer! And my hands are so cold. I don’t know how much longer I can do this!” Another step sideways. The relative safety of the trees is a thing of the past. “You can do this. You can do anything, Darcy!” I yell above the unforgiving whip of the wind. If I can keep talking—keep her talking—then her fear won’t get the best of her. Her best chance is staying calm. I hear another crack, and seconds later a branch soars past my vision, a sharp sting spreading across my cheek. “That tree behind you, Noble!” Herc cries. “It’s not gonna last. Please, hurry, you need to get us out of here.” I ignore him. There’s no time to look back. Only ahead. To Darcy. A few more steps, and I’ll be there. “Thayer!” There is desperation in her voice, and I know I don’t have the luxury of time. I can’t think about being careful anymore. I point my skis forward and let the wind take me, skidding to a stop just before her hands. I unlock my boots and kick my skis to the side. I’m not going to pull her back only to send both of us tumbling over. “I’ve got you, Sunshine.” I drop my poles and wrap my hands around her wrists. “You can let go now!” I say, trying to tug her back over the lip. She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “I can’t.” “Look at me!” My gloved hands grip her tighter. “Look at me, Darcy!” Her eyes open at the sound of her name, her tear-soaked gaze locking on mine. “On three, okay?” I say, and she nods. “I’m not letting you go, okay? I’m never letting you go. You have to trust me now.” She nods again, and I can feel her whole body trembling in my grasp. “One!” I bend my knees, planting my boots firmly in the snow. “Two!” The wind pulls at her, and it’s a game of tug-of-war, Mother Nature determined to be the victor. “Three!” She lets go, and I yank her back with everything I’ve got. We did it. She’s in my arms, safe, but only for a matter of seconds.

“Noble!” Herc yells, and there it is, a violent tearing sound as the tree at the edge of the woods loses a branch the length of a goddamn canoe. I throw Darcy behind me to where Herc still cowers in the snow, and then I brace myself for impact. It almost misses me. Almost. But the thick end catches me in the right side before the wind takes it clear over the cliff. I’m thrown to my back, and my vision darkens at the edges. “No!” Darcy shrieks, but she sounds a thousand miles away. I wheeze in a breath after the air is knocked from my lungs, white hot pain searing up my side. I know this pain, the memory as fresh and as clear as the first time it happened. I have no idea if it’s one rib or three. All I know is that staying down isn’t an option. I push myself onto all fours, and for several seconds I’m sure I’ll black out if I try to stand. But if I don’t make it out of here, neither does Darcy. And there is no fucking way I’m letting that happen. I struggle to stand, biting back a growl. “Are you okay?” I ask her, pressing my hand to my side. Herc holds his right hand in his left palm. “I think I sprained my wrist.” Darcy reaches for my cheek. “You’re bleeding,” she says. Then her eyes fall to the hand hugging my torso. “You’re not okay.” Her voice trembles. “I’m fine,” I lie. “But we aren’t skiing out of here,” I tell them. “I know this area. There’s a safe house just east of here. Patrol keeps it stocked. No one’s going to get to us tonight, but if we can make it there, we’ll be safe until morning.” I reach out my free hand for Darcy and pull her to her feet, not able to hide the wince as I do. Herc pushes himself up and whimpers as he puts weight on his injured hand. Christ. The thought of Darcy out here alone with him, even for a second—I’m lucky she wasn’t dead before I got here. “How did you find us?” she asks as we all start walking, heads down, against the wind. “Lance,” I say. “He made it down to the bottom and told me he’d lost you. I was out the door as soon as I knew.” She wraps her arm around me, pulling me close, and I let out a strained breath. “It’s okay,” she says softly, loud enough for only me to hear. “You don’t have to hide your pain.” And with that I let my body lean on hers, let someone else carry the weight. No, I finally realize. I don’t have to hide from her. We walk for several minutes, the safe house—a small cabin—exactly where it’s supposed to be. We burst through the door, and Herc drops onto a dusty couch and cries. “You saved us, Noble. We were going to die, and you saved us.” I grit my teeth and don’t respond to his sniveling. Instead I throw open a cabinet in the makeshift kitchen where I find a first aid kit and a half-drunk bottle of

whiskey. I storm over to Herc and thrust the bottle into his chest without a word. His eyes widen, and he immediately unscrews the cap, taking a long, slow pull straight from the bottle. “Come here,” I say to Darcy, grabbing her arm as I head back to the kitchen. “Why? I’m fine.” But I shake my head. “I didn’t want to frighten you while we were out there, but you’ve got a nasty gash on your temple. That rock that saved your life is probably to blame.” She comes to me but ignores the gauze and cleaning supplies I’m readying on the counter. She takes my face in her now ungloved hands, her cold skin somehow infusing warmth into my own, and presses her lips to mine like it’s the first and last time she’ll ever do it. “You came for us!” she cries between breathless kisses. “You came for me.” Her tears run freely now, and I brush them away as they stain her cheeks. “I will always come for you, Darcy Lawrence. Always.” I kiss her again, desperate not to ever let her go. “Nothing—and no one—will get between us again.” Herc holds up the whiskey bottle in a gesture of cheers. “You win, Noble,” he says, his words already slurring. “Fair and square. You saved my life, so I guess that means I have to leave you alone.” He takes another swig from the bottle. “Keep drinking, asshole,” I say, resisting the urge to kick his ass back out into the snow, then turn my gaze back to Darcy. “I’ll always be safe with you,” she says with a new realization in her tone. “You’ll always take care of me.” I nod, and she brushes a thumb over my cheek. I wince, the adrenaline wearing off and finally letting me feel the full extent of my injuries. “Then it’s time you finally let someone take care of you.” She runs her hands through my hair, and I close my eyes, soaking in the nearness of her, of this woman I love. This mountain took my parents and got the best of me once, but it’s finally lost its hold on me. Her lips brush against the corner of my mouth, and I open my eyes. Then she gathers the first aid supplies and leads me into the only other main room. The bedroom. She closes the door behind us. “It’s time for Nurse Darcy to tend to your wounds.”

CHAPTER 12

DARCY

Thayer makes a strangled noise as he sits down on the bed, and I grin because that

isn't a sound of pain. I know him well enough to have a sense when I've brought him to his knees. “You like the idea of me playing nurse?” I ask, batting my lashes innocently. He chuckles and winces, and I know he’s hurt more than he’s letting on. “Wish you had a uniform. Little. White. Tight.” I purse my lips and make a tsk-tsk sound. “Didn't know you harbored a dirty nurse fantasy.” “I harbor a dirty you fantasy.” I giggle and unzip the top of my fleece top where my sports bra is giving me rather fetching cleavage. He makes a throaty noise of approval. “More,” he orders. “Guess you don't hold much to the old expression ‘good things happen to those who wait.’ Patience is a virtue, Mr. Noble.” “I'm an impatient man. And it's served me well this long. I get what I want. When I want it.” “Well, tonight you’re going to get what I give you,” I shoot back, hardly able to believe my sass when all I want to do is throw myself at this beautiful man who faced his greatest fear and regret to save my life. He chuckles, and I realize he likes when I’m feisty, so I decide to save the emotional gratitude for later and thank him in a way he will not likely forget. I like this feeling—being feisty. Confident. Empowered. Feelings Thayer helped me experience for the first time in my life. I don't miss his wince though. My good humor fades. He must be in so much pain and the first aid kit isn't stocked well enough to deal with more than a mild cut or burn. I get out a bandage and help him undress down to his boxer briefs. My eyes grow hot with unshed tears as I see the mottled bruises on his body. So much for keeping my emotions at bay. “Oh, Thayer,” I say, reaching for his bruised ribs but not touching. “I'm sorry

for the hurt you experienced.” I whisper. “You protected me.” “I'll always protect you, Darcy,” he mutters. “You know that, right?” “But who protects you?” He jerks his gaze up to meet mine. “I don't need protecting.” He is all muscle. Fierce as an ancient knight. But even still, I know an undeniable truth. “Even the strongest hero sometimes needs saving,” I tell him. “He just has to let himself be saved.” He doesn't answer, his brow furrowing as he turns inward and thoughtful. I bandage his ribs as best I can to make a brace, anything to avoid further damage, and rub Tiger Balm on his shoulders. I dab hydrogen peroxide on the gash in his cheek, knowing it will leave a scar if it’s not stitched up soon. He reaches for the next cotton swab I douse and presses it to my temple. I hiss in a breath. “Sorry, Sunshine. I can’t stand to see you hurt.” I shake my head. “You stepped in front of a falling tree for me. And for Herc. Don’t you for one second worry about my silly little cut.” He opens his mouth to protest, but I silence him with a soft kiss. Then I clear away the mess, setting everything on the small night table beside the bed. There are no pain meds, but I have an idea that should at least distract him. Licking my lips, I drop to my knees between his open legs at the end of the bed and ease his cock over the band of his boxers. He is hard in an instant. Every beautiful inch of him. All for me. Not so long ago the sight would have struck fear in my virgin heart. But I’m an innocent no longer, and I hunger for everything Thayer can give me. And this should take away his pain. Taking hold of his base, I lick the tip with the flat of my tongue, swirling his head before tracing the thick vein that runs the length of his shaft. He is wet and glistening in the lamplight, utterly delicious. “I love sucking you,” I whisper. “I love watching you suck me,” he replies. As I take him down to the back of my throat, I let my gaze rise up over his hard, flexed abdomen to the painful bruises on his ribs to his smooth hard chest. At last I lock in on his face and his eyes don't leave mine. This is intimate. I'm not on my knees to simply service him. I'm here to take some of his pain away. To show him the best way that I can how much I want to take care of him. Make him feel cared for. Worshipped. I suck him harder, as if I need to pull something out of him. His darkest secrets. His most depraved fantasies. I am inexperienced but learning that a man is never more honest then when he is in a woman's mouth. When he is trusting his most important body part into her care. Pulling back all the way, I let my hand stroke his cock as I decide to try a new trick. Leaning in I blow hot air over his sac. He smells like cedar soap and man. One whiff would make any woman wet. But then I smile to myself, knowing that every

part of Thayer—his body, his scent, and God, I hope his heart—is mine alone. His thighs tense and his breathing grows more ragged. “Am I hurting you?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Killing me. But there is a difference.”

THAYER

She licks the tip of my cock again, teasing me more, and I suck in a breath, pain

and pleasure in one single instant. “Stop,” I growl, and her head shoots up, a look of panic in her eyes. “I am hurting you,” she says, recognition painted on her face. “I want to lie down,” I say. “And I want to see all of you.” She stands, kisses me, and helps me ease onto my back. “And maybe we should make sure your husband-to-be is taken care of out there?” I raise a brow, hoping she knows I’m kidding, but her smile fades. She backs toward the door, spins to pull it open enough to peek out, then closes it almost as quickly. “Whiskey bottle’s empty, and he’s out cold. That’s gonna be a mess in the morning.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I never wanted to go with him. You just—” “I hurt you,” I say, finishing the words she doesn’t want to utter. She nods. “But then you finally opened up to me so I understood.” She climbs onto the bed, straddling me. “And now you’re hurting because of me. I think we’re more than even, and I think you deserve something to make you feel better.” She pulls my boxer briefs all the way to my ankles and then off completely. I am completely exposed, every broken part of me and all the pieces she’s starting to put back together. “Take off your shirt,” I order. “Let me see you.” She nods, losing the fleece and then the sports bra. Her full tits do that sexy bounce they always do as she tosses her bra to the floor, and I can’t help but reach down and give my cock a pull. It’s still wet with her saliva, and I stroke it as I watch Darcy shimmy out of her ski pants so she’s in nothing put a pair of tight leggings. Her nipples pucker and peak, bright pink against her creamy skin. “You’re so goddamn beautiful,” I say. “God, Darcy. You have no idea what you do to me.” “I’ve got somewhat of an idea,” she says breathily, then lowers herself over me, her breasts on my chest, warm and firm, as she slides down to where her lips meet the tip of my dick. She kisses me, flicks out her tongue and hums in satisfaction as she starts to blow me. “Fuck,” I say. “I could listen to you make those noises all day.”

She tilts her head up and gives me a wicked grin. “You think you could last that long, mountain king? Because I’d sure as hell like to see you try.” Then she grips my balls, giving them a soft squeeze as she licks me with the flat of her tongue. I grit my teeth, try not to writhe, knowing it will fuck up my injuries even more, but right now the pain doesn’t register enough for me to behave. And when she takes me between her lips, deep as her mouth will allow, I have to grip her hair for purchase. I tug at her curls as I push her down, making her take it, and she moans, the sound vibrating over my cock, and making my blood boil. “Jesus,” I hiss as she strokes her hand up my slick length, pumping hard as she takes me in again, sheathing me in her warmth. “I want you to come in my mouth,” she says, coming up for a breath. “I want you to fill me with everything you have.” My brows raise, my virgin no longer an innocent but now a dirty temptress. And I want nothing more than to give her what she desires. “Then get your mouth back on my cock, Sunshine. Suck me until I explode down that pretty little throat.” She does as she’s told, burying me deep as she cups my balls, and devouring me with a ferocity only a true lover can. She may think me a king, but I bow to her. The queen of my fucking soul. “Come for me,” she begs, her voice filled with need. “Please, I want to feel it hit the back of my throat.” Her fist pumps in time with the rise and fall of her mouth, and I watch her, her tits bouncing, my hard cock disappearing down her throat as she licks and sucks. Something fierce and primal rips from my chest, and Darcy rises above me, her eyes closed and head tipped back as I shoot a load into her. She swallows every last drop as I reach for her breasts, twisting her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, and she gasps, her back arching as she does. She whimpers. “I need you inside me, Thayer. God, I need it so bad I feel like I’m falling apart at the seams.” I lower my hand, pressing my thumb between her legs. “Christ,” I say, running my finger over the seam of her leggings. “I can feel how wet you are.” She sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t suppose there are any condoms here.” I shake my head. “No condoms.” She grips me and presses into my thumb. “I meant what I said.” Her voice is soft yet sure. “I want you to fill me. Wholly and completely. I don’t want there to be anything between us.” My eyes widen. “Darcy...” I know what this could mean. Only days ago I would have refused her, yet right now I have no doubt that whatever happens after tonight, Darcy and I will embrace it together. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.” She slides off the bed to remove her leggings and panties.

“Wait,” I say, stopping her before she climbs over me again. “Just let me look at you for a minute.” She dips her head as a flush runs from her breasts, up her neck, and to her cheeks. “This is no time to be shy, Sunshine. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I only wish I could make love to you properly, that I wasn’t stuck here like this —” “Shh,” she says, a soft smile spreading across her face. She is a painting, her golden curls tumbling over her shoulders and resting above her perfect breasts. She is a work of art, and for some unexplainable reason, she is mine. Without a word, she is on me again, sliding up my length, warm and wet, and so goddamn sexy it hurts. She pauses at my tip, letting me nudge her opening with the head of my cock. “We don’t have to, Darcy. But I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m all in.” Her emerald eyes shine, and a tear streaks down her cheek. Then she sinks over me, sliding herself down on me, and I fill her as we both cry out. Nothing—no one—has ever felt like this. “You’re perfect,” I say. “You are my salvation.” And then I lose the ability to speak all together because there is nothing else to describe what it feels like to be inside her. Nothing other than this. She leans down to kiss me, careful not to put her weight on my ribs, and then whispers in my ear. “Thank you for letting me save you.”

CHAPTER 13

DARCY

W hen I wake, the sun shines through the cabin window. The world has fallen

curiously silent, the way it does when covered by a thick blanket of snow. The pine trees bend with the weight on their boughs, but the sky's a deep and perfect sapphire, as if yesterday’s violent storm never happened. Thayer doesn't stir when I wiggle reluctantly from our cozy bed nest and pad barefoot over the cold floor to the bathroom. There I wash my face and finger comb my curls. The face that looks back at me could belong to a stranger. She looks like Darcy Lawrence, except fundamentally changed. My shoulders are pushed back, my back unbowed, my expression confident. I’m not that scared and skittish girl anymore. Someone who has been betrayed by her family countless times and who doesn't have a clue where she fits into this mad world. Instead, I see something that hadn’t been there before. It doesn’t matter that Thayer hasn’t said the words. What happened between us last night could not have taken place under any other circumstances. The blush in my cheeks and brightness in my eyes hint at a night filled with love and passion. I know my worth now. And it's high. I tiptoe to the kitchen to see if there is any coffee. I'd like to treat Thayer to a warm cup in bed. Herc comes in through the front door, looking an unhealthy shade of green. “Thought fresh air would help,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But all that bright light just made the headache worse. And don’t even get me started on the nausea.” I bite back a laugh, not wanting to laugh at anyone’s misfortune, even his. “I think all the whiskey you pounded last night might be too blame. Just a wild guess.” I fold my arms, though, not ready to deal with Herc or his bullshit this morning. He tried to buy me like a prostitute and could have gotten Thayer killed

with his incompetence. My memory is long and my forgiveness is short. Herc makes a terrible face, his eyes bulging from his head, and he bolts for the front door once more. I shudder at the sound of him retching and turn my attention to the kitchen. The power is out, but the oven is gas, so I can boil water. There are some old coffee beans in a cupboard so I get to work making a cowboy coffee that's thick as mud. It's no cappuccino or fancy latte. But it should wake Thayer up all right. Herc comes back in, and I don't flinch when he walks closer and towers over me. “We need to talk.” “No.” Thayer stands in our bedroom doorway, hand pressed to his right side, his voice hard as steel. “You don’t say anything to her unless I’m present.” “Fine.” Herc’s pallor is still pale. “What I have to say isn't something that comes easily. But you've left me with no other choice...” “Spit it out.” Thayer sounds like he doesn't need much incentive to toss Herc off the mountain. In fact he just might relish such a course of action. “I'm—sorry,” Herc mutters to the floor. Thayer and I exchange surprised glances. “Come again,” I say, a triumphant grin spreading across my face. “I said I was sorry!” Herc sounds annoyed but also genuinely apologetic. “Christ, yesterday my life flashed before my eyes. I'm only thirty-two. I'm not ready to meet my maker.” “So what exactly are you sorry for?” Thayer asks coolly, padding into the room. His eyes are hooded, and he could appear almost lazy or disinterested, except I see the vein pulsing in his neck and the way his muscles cord. “For everything. Trying to strong-arm you into selling me Ironstone. For how I treated your woman. For getting involved with the walking bag of slime that she calls her father. No offense,” he tacks on hastily. “None taken.” I'm sure I've said far worse about my dear old dad. The bastard. “I've been given a second chance,” Herc breathes. “How many people get that chance? A whole new lease on life? I'm not going to fuck over karma. She's a bitch. So all I can say is, Thank you for my life, Noble. I hope we can call this a truce.” One of Thayer’s hands clenches into a fist, and for a moment, I think he’s going to punch Herc right in the face. But then, slowly, he nods. “You don't show your face on my mountain again.” “Scout's honor.” Herc stands at attention and raises his left hand in a mock salute. Then his shoulders slump. “Glad we got that out of the way. I need to be sick again.” “Get yourself sorted out and fast,” Thayer orders without much sympathy. “I was able to radio into the lodge after the storm let up last night. A chopper’s meeting us in the clearing in less than an hour. We’re going home.”’ “We are?” I ask, after Herc shuffles to the bathroom. “This is for you, by the

way.” I hand him the coffee. “Smells fucking awesome, Sunshine.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I spent all last night dreaming of being inside you with nothing between us. It felt incredible.” I shiver down to the tips of my toes. “That wasn't all a dream.” “Sure it was, just part of it I had the privilege of being awake for. God, you are gorgeous.” Good lord, he looks like he could take me here and now. Right on the kitchen floor with Herc sick in the bathroom. “You are a bad influence on me,” I murmur. “And you need to behave. You’re injured.” “That a fact?” Thayer sips his coffee. A thick wave of hair tumbles over his forehead, and the sight is so disarmingly boyish. My heart almost breaks. Thayer was so young when his life changed in such a cruel and unforgiving way. I've never known the true sweet love of a parent, and for him to have been adored and then forced to live in a loveless world threatens to undo me right here. I never stopped to ponder what a billionaire might need. Heck, if I ever heard of Thayer Noble without knowing him, I might assume that he had everything his heart desired. After all, he owns a freaking mountain. But what good is it to be the king of you don't have anyone to share the kingdom? A flash appears in my mind's eye. Of Thayer and me lounging at Equinox in the not-so-distant future. He is laughing, and I'm next to him on the couch, my feet resting in his lap. A fire roars in the hearth as three small children play and laugh on the rug before us. The idea fills me with such yearning that it's hard to draw my next breath. So I turn and pour myself a cup of the mud-like coffee and take a deep swig. Could that be my future? Could Thayer want to make our fantasy real? Herc comes out of the bathroom. “I'll go rest for a few. But when I get back, I'll contact Costly Cupid and drop my claim on Darcy.” I don't thank him. I'm happy for the fact he is making the right decision now, but that doesn't change the fact that he screwed me over. Possibly tipped off my father. Fear sinks cold and unforgiving into my bones. What if my dad was ever to get to Vermont? To Ironstone? To make trouble for Thayer? The idea makes me queasy. But then Thayer wraps me up in his big strong arms, and it feels like the two of us are untouchable. Like nothing could hurt us as long as we are together.

THAYER

“M r. Noble,” the chopper pilot calls into his headset. I nod to let him know I’ve

heard him loud and clear. “Orders are to take you three to the hospital to get checked out before you’re cleared to go home.” I don’t need a diagnosis and sure as hell don’t want anything other than my own space and Darcy there with me. “Who the hell’s orders are those?” I ask. The pilot chuckles as pulls higher into the air, the mountain that seemed such a threat last night now a peaceful blanket of snow beneath us. “Your orders, sir!” he yells loud enough that I pull off my own headset before he ruptures a goddamn eardrum. “Any skiers lost off trail in perilous conditions need to be cleared by medical personnel so as not to later hold Ironstone resort liable for injuries determined after the fact.” I groan, and Darcy squeezes my hand, pulling her nose from where it’s been pressed against the window to face me. “You got leveled by a branch as big as a boat yesterday.” She nods to where Herc sits behind us. “And he could probably use some fluids and a bandage for his wrist.” I roll my eyes. “Let him have his little injury. It’s you I’m worried about.” For now, I silence her with a kiss, and she doesn’t argue anymore. That is, until the nurse pulls back the curtain in the ER to discuss my X-Ray results. The doctor is still closing the wound on my face with surgical glue, but that doesn’t stop her from interrupting. “Mr. Noble.” Her words are strong and stern, as is her appearance. “Two cracked ribs. Two. You’re lucky you didn’t puncture your lung. I don’t know what possessed you to head out onto the mountain during an ice storm, but I’m grounding you for eight weeks at which time you need to come back for a follow-up X-Ray before we clear you to head out onto the range again.” “Ow. Ow. Ooow. Shit. I’m gonna be sick again.” The whining and follow-up retching come from the other side of the curtain. Darcy bites back a laugh where she sits next to my gurney. “That,” I say, raising my brows indicating the curtain—and the wincing as the doc finishes with my cheek, “is what possessed me to head out in an ice storm. That sniveling idiot who almost killed my girl.” “I can hear you, Noble,” Herc says from the exam station next door. “I know, asshole.” The nurse—Brenda, her tag says—opens her mouth, possibly to reprimand me, but then turns to Darcy, whose cheeks are adorably flushed. “Are you—the girl?” Brenda asks. Darcy looks at me, uncertainty flashing over her features for only a second before she stands, shoulders back, and says, “I am.”

Nurse Brenda hands Darcy a small piece of paper. “Here. His prescription for a narcotic pain killer. Make sure he doesn’t lift anything more than a couple of pounds, that he goes from prone, to sitting, to standing with slow, controlled movement. Ice the wound three times a day, no more than twenty minutes at a time, and—” The doctor backs away to admire her work on my face, and I clear my throat. “I’m right here,” I say. “I can handle my own post-ER instructions.” Nurse Brenda, old enough to be my grandmother, give me a pouty smile as she raises a hand to my chest. Then her brow creases, and she crosses her arms, all sternness again. “It’s always the tough guys who need the most care,” she says under her breath to Darcy—as if I’m not still a foot away. “Can you get him to behave?” she asks. Darcy winks at me, and I can’t help but smile. “Oh, I think I have a few tricks up my sleeve to keep him in line,” she says. I raise a brow, and she grins. And even after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, she’s stunning. “So...am I free to go?” The doc signs a few papers on a clipboard and hands it to Brenda. “All clear,” she says. Brenda lays the clipboard on the gurney next to me. “Sign and initial wherever you see an X on each page, and we’ll bring the wheelchair around.” She disappears through the curtain just as I hop off the bed. “Wheelchair! I’m —” But the word dies in my throat as I hiss in time with the searing pain. Darcy takes a step toward me, pushing me gently back toward the bed. “Sit,” she says. I sit. “Kiss,” she says, and then her lips are on mine. She tastes like coffee—and complete and utter perfection. “You’re trying to distract me,” I say, then slip my tongue past her lips. We taste each other, and I can barely contain my hunger for her. “Is it working?” she asks, her voice high and breathless. “God, yes, Sunshine. I don’t even remember where we are.” The sound of a throat clearing makes Darcy yelp and jump away. “You’re in a hospital,” Brenda says. “Now get your keester in the wheelchair so I can take you to your car. And you!” She points to Darcy. “I thought we were on the same page. He. Needs. Rest. Not another round of tonsil hockey unless you want this man to puncture a lung.” Darcy and I avoid eye contact while Brenda pushes me in the damn chair to the ER entrance where Lance waits in my car. “I’m so glad you’re okay, bro,” he grins as he bounds around to the passenger side of the car. “I’m guessing you want to sit in back with the little lady.” While Lance anticipating my need to be taken care of annoys the fuck out of me, I relent. Because the last thing I want is any more distance between me and my

Sunshine. I grunt an incoherent response, grit my teeth, and climb into the SUV. “Behave,” Brenda warns before I pull the door shut behind me. Seconds later, Darcy slides through the other door, scooting all the way over so our legs are touching. “Home, M’ Lady? M’ Lord?” Lance asks with a toothy grin as he puts the car in drive. “Home,” Darcy says, and there’s a realization in her tone. Or maybe it’s something more like an expectant hope. So I answer any question she might have by pulling her to me and whispering to her. “Home.” And then we play tonsil hockey the whole fucking way there.

CHAPTER 14

DARCY

“

'm instituting a twenty-four hour recovery plan for you,” I announce as I pour I Thayer a glass of water for his pain meds in Equinox’s giant kitchen. Lance wanted

to stick around and play videogames, but I shooed him off. Thayer cocks a sleek brow. “Does this mean Nurse Darcy is back on duty? Because if I make a few discreet phone calls I should be able to have a uniform couriered to the property in under forty minutes.” I hand him the glass and two pills before crossing my arms with a mock glare. “No more funny business, mister, and I mean it. You need to rest.” “There’s nothing funny about our business, Sunshine.” “Before we left the hospital, your doctor pulled me aside and said these pills will reduce discomfort but might make you a little loopy.” Thayer just finishes swallowing them. “I don't do loopy.” “I'm sure you don't, but I pretty much took a Hippocratic Oath to keep my paws off you and let you get some sleep today.” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Modern medicine can go get fucked. You can tell the clinic that I'm not paying for their new wing if they’re going to be such buzz kills.” I smile, happy that while he might be grumpy about the short sexual break that he is able to retain a little of his salty good humor. Thayer isn't the kind of guy anyone would describe as cheerful or laid back. In fact, if you looked up intense in the dictionary there might be a picture of him with his customary thoughtful frown and sharp gaze. But I wouldn't have it any other way. He isn't able to complain about his sexual fast for long because I soon have him tucked in his king-sized bed in the master suite. I don't give a second thought about if I should remain here. I feel so connected to Thayer, as if he is a part of me and I him. For the next twenty-four hours I make sure he is kept well dosed on medication and direct his office not to disturb him on pain of death. Whenever he stirs, I'm there with homemade soup or to place a cool towel on his forehead and sing until he drifts back asleep.

True to his word, he never gets loopy, but he's definitely out of it. I'm not sure when I finally doze off myself, but when I wake up it's to a lovely, warm feeling pulsing between my legs. It doesn't take long to figure out why. Thayer nibbles my neck, right in the spot where I love it the most. I offer up a little moan. “I listened to your directions. Twenty-four hours without you,” he rumbles. The hard bulge pressing into my thigh indicates he is impatient to rectify the situation, and so am I. He makes quick work of my clothes, and even though I know he still has weeks of recovery time, he is strong and single-minded. This big rest has given energy back to his reserves. “How would you like me?” I giggle. He sits back and surveys my naked body as if I'm some rare work of art. “Normally I'm a decisive man,” he says ruefully. “But when every choice is fucking delectable…” We exchange hot glances. I don't know what it is about Thayer that makes me feel so protected even when I want him to use me in ways illegal in some states. Even when I can tell he wants to ride me ragged, I know he still adores me and wants only what I want. Pleasure. I trust him. And I've never trusted anyone. And I can think of no better way to show him how much. “I want you do to it,” I whisper, running a hand over his thick hair. “Do what?” He kisses my temple. “Take my last virginity. Take me in every way a man can take a woman.” He sucks in a breath, his gaze darkening with lust. “Are you sure?” I nod. “Reach into my nightstand, Sunshine.” I wiggle up and do as he commands, privately loving that he doesn't try to ask me if I'm sure. He trusts my judgement, and that lessens my nerves. Inside the drawer is a bottle of lube. “I'll need to use a lot of this,” he says, unsnapping the lid and pouring a thick dollop onto his fingers. He leans in and touches me in a place I never expected a man would ever dare. My whole body stiffens. “Breathe,” he says as he rubs more firmly. With a free hand he moves to my clit and begins to treat it to slow, careful attentions. As pleasure builds, his fingers in the back begin to sink inside my ass, a pressure unlike anything I've ever known. It's not bad. Just different. “Love this ass,” he tells me. “I've wanted to love you here since the moment I saw it. The very first time.” My breath hitches. Partly from his surprise confession and partly because the head of his cock is now there. Right between my cheeks. He presses his forehead to mine and keeps on hand working my pussy as he pushes his way into my last secret

space. I cry out but not from pain. There is a strange fullness but pleasure too. It's almost unbearable. “Trust me,” he whispers, rocking into me gently. “Trust me to make you feel good.” “I do, Thayer.” I wrap my legs around his narrow hips and let him fill me in the final place. He has taken all of my innocence, and I give it to him freely, willing him to take it again and again. His breathing grows hoarse, but he doesn't quit the rhythm of his fingers, and soon my thighs tremble. I'm so close. Right there. “You come when I say you can come.” His bossiness is so hot, yet I almost disobey because I can't help myself. My center is molten lava, and all this strange pressure is...good. Better than good. This is Thayer and me, and together we are urgency, sweat, and passion. His fingers on my clit finally coax out an orgasm augmented by the pressure of his cock inside my ass. I could be quieter, but it's just the two of us, so I don’t hold back, not one little bit. And when I come, it hits me like a mountain storm. He is there too, muscles flexing in his abs as he thrusts and holds himself in me, buried root deep, shooting into me, claiming my ass as he’s claimed every other part of me. Afterwards, one hundred percent against doctor’s orders, he carries me to his giant bathroom and draws a tub. “Careful.” I smile as he adds in a generous dollop of bubble bath. My whole body tingles with a newness I can’t articulate. “You’ll hurt yourself even worse. Besides, you are spoiling me.” “I've just started,” he says as he helps me into the tub. He climbs in behind me and begins to gently soap and lather my hair. “You’ve given me the gift of trust, and it's more precious to me than gold. You will never know what that means.” And while I can't put it into words, I think I do know. Because it means so much to me. I've made myself as open and vulnerable to him as I can be to a person, and he acts as if I’ve given him a precious gift. Which I have. But now I have something I want from Thayer. I want to know where we stand. What am I to him? I've given him everything, and I need him to give me that much in return.

THAYER

I feel her still between my legs.

“What is it?” I ask, and she straightens, turning to face me.

Her emerald eyes sparkle, but then I realize it is something else. She’s crying. “Did I hurt you?” I ask. “What we just did...Dammit! I hurt you. Darcy, I didn’t— you could have told me to—” But she cuts me off with a shake of her head. She straddles her legs over mine and cups my face in her hands. “There is only one way you can hurt me, Thayer Noble, and it all depends on what you say when I’m through.” I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, and wait. “When I came here, only a couple short weeks ago, I was running from my life. You were just another place to hide, even if you didn’t want me.” I open my mouth to protest, but she presses her finger to my lips, silencing me once more. It takes everything in my power not to nip at her, to feast like I want to every time I see her, broken ribs be damned. “My whole life I’ve tried to please others. I thought if I did everything he asked —and even anticipated his needs before he had the chance to even do so—that my father would stop stealing. Or scamming. Or raising his hand to Mama. To me and my siblings.” Ever muscle in my body contracts. “Jesus, Darcy. If I could get my hands on that man…” She shakes her head and forces a smile. “I’m not finished.” So again I wait. “What I’m trying to say is that all my father ever taught me was that I wasn’t good enough. And when Mama left, I knew it was more than that. That I wasn’t enough.” She swipes at the tears falling down her cheeks, and I have to grit my teeth to force myself to stay silent. To stay still while she uncovers the horrors of her life before she ended up on my doorstep. I’ve been so frozen inside my own grief and guilt that I couldn’t see what she had buried beneath her own mask. She lets out a bitter laugh. “I thought it was the same with you...at first. But I think—” Her breath hitches. “I think after the thing with Herc, and the storm, and just before in your bed, the one place we’ve never...I know I’m worth something to you, Thayer. But I need to know how much.” “Come,” I say, and I stand—not without difficulty, but this cannot wait. I climb out of the tub, not giving a shit that my cock is ready for round two. There will be time for that later. We will have nothing but time. “What are you doing?” she asks, but she follows me onto the rug where I wrap her a plush towel that’s been warming on a heated rack. “Oh my God,” she says, humming with pleasure, and I cock an eyebrow. “Focus, Sunshine. This is important.” I wrap a towel around my hips and take her hand, pulling her back out to the main room. I nod toward the bed. “You are the only woman to have ever spent the night in that bed. You are the only woman at all who has even stepped through the door to this suite.”

Her mouth falls open. “You mean…?” “I’m not an innocent, Darcy. But you are a first for me.” I tug at her hand and pull her down the long hallway to the guest room that was hers. “When you cried out in your sleep that first night, I ran to your door. Fucking sprinted like a madman because I thought you were in danger. And when I realized you were haunted by your dreams, it took everything in me to leave you there alone once you’d calmed down.” She smiles softly. “I haven’t had a nightmare in over a week.” I understand the implication. But it’s Darcy who needs to understand now. “We’re not done,” I say, and I lead her down the stairs to the foyer, to where she stood just inside my front door that first night. “Here,” I say. “Here is where you turned my fucking world upside down, standing there in that ridiculous coat without an ounce of luggage.” “I didn’t—” I press a finger to her lips, just as she did me, and she rolls her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Do you know why I wanted you out of her so goddamn quickly?” She gives a small shrug. “Because the second I saw you I knew you’d fucking ruin me.” Something in my chest constricts, and it’s suddenly harder to breathe. “And I didn’t think I was worthy.” I pull her into the kitchen. “I know what you’re thinking—that I let you stay because you emptied my freezer of Hot Pockets and had a home cooked meal on the table each night.” I narrow my eyes. “You have to know that I could have hired someone to cook for me. To clean my appliances. To keep a fire warming in every hearth. But I didn’t. Because those aren’t the things that matter. Those aren’t the reasons I come home before dark—or work from the home office instead of traveling to the resort at all.” Her eyes widen, but she remains silent, so I take her to our last stop. “Your—office?” she says, and I can see the wonder in her eyes morph to confusion. “Sunshine,” I say, taking her face in my hands. “You want to know your worth? You want to know how much you fucking mean?” I kiss her, my lips firm and insistent on hers, hating for one second that she could doubt me, yet realizing I’ve given her nothing to prove otherwise aside for coming for her in the ice storm. “I’m in love with you, Darcy Lawrence.” Then I leave her there, stunned, as I round the corner of the desk to where a safe lies hidden behind a piece of art on the wall. Inside there is nothing of value to anyone but me. Just my father’s favorite cuff links. His wedding band. And my mother’s engagement ring.

CHAPTER 15

DARCY

I watch as Thayer rummages around inside a safe vault not having the first freaking

clue what he is up to. I can't concentrate on what he’s doing because my brain just exploded with his last sentence. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you. Thayer Noble...loves me. Me. Plain old Darcy Lawrence from Corn Rose, Kansas, a girl who grew up in a trailer next to a soybean field. But then he didn't grow up surrounded by mind-boggling wealth either. He created all of this for himself. And now wants to share it with me. He shuts and locks the safe and turns, one hand going behind his back while offering me the other. “Let's go.” “Where?” I murmur, still dazed. “To the top of the world,” is his cryptic answer. “What?” he asks, noting my narrowed gaze. I clear my throat and look him up and down. His eyes follow mine, skating over his bare torso to the towel hanging on his hips. “Okay, fine,” he says with a crooked grin. “You have exactly three minutes to get dressed, and I’ll do the same.” He nods for me to leave the room. “After you, of course.” I don't ask for more details but simply do as he says. In two minutes and thirty seconds—because yes, I counted—we are at the foot of the stair case. I barely have time to admire him in his jeans and tight fitting fleece. Instead, he kisses me quickly, takes my hand, and leads me around the corner and down a long hall. And then we venture downstairs to a part of the chalet I didn’t even know existed. “The tunnel is this way.” It's as if he reads the question in my mind. “Tunnel?” I repeat. “Who are you, Batman?” That earns me a quiet chuckle. “It's the private tunnel that leads from Equinox to the lodge. I use it when I don't feel like taking the elevator.”

I want to ask more but I'm distracted by the sound of video game noises. Blips and bleeps pour from an open door up ahead. “What the hell?” Thayer growls, increasing his speed. But then he stops short in the doorway and shakes his head. “You’ve gotta fucking be kidding me.” “Dude, hey! Check it! I just rescued Princess Peach!!” I recognize Lance’s voice—because who couldn’t?—and when I get to Thayer’s side my eyes widen. This looks like it's supposed to be a storage room, but it's been tricked out into something approximating a college dorm. An empty mattress sits on the floor covered by a red sleeping bag. A TV hooked up to an old Nintendo game system nestles in the corner. Snowboarding gear and old fast food bags litter the floor. “Have you been living here?” I ask in disbelief. “For sure,” Lance answers with a nonchalant shrug. “For how long?” I press. He squints and tilts his head up. I watch his lips move silently. Then he smiles and nods. “Guess it's been a couple years.” “Years?” Thayer seethes. “I pay you a good salary. I’m not even sure what for, now that I think of it.” He shakes his head. “Years?” he asks again. Lance grins. “Yeah, remember when my apartment got condemned over in town? And you said I could stay here?” Thayer frowns. “Vaguely.” “I stayed.” I giggle. “You mean to say you have been living in this house for two years, and no one knew?” Lance raises a brow. “I thought everyone did. I just crash here and hit the slopes sun up every day. And I'm gone most of the summer chasing winter in New Zealand or Japan. Just seemed kind of a waste to get a place that would sit empty most of the time.” His hand extends in front of him making a wave as he looks off into the distance. “I go where the snow takes me.” Thayer rolls his eyes with good humor. “You are a dumb ass,” he says. “Says the guy who didn't realize that his best friend lived in one of his hundred rooms for two years.” Lance is amused but not surprised. “He has you there,” I say with a laugh. Thayer’s eyes widen. “Jesus! You’ve been eating all the goddamn Hot Pockets. I thought I was going fucking nuts!” Lance stands and bows dramatically. “What brings you down here to this part of the house anyway? I never see you here.” “Tunnel.” Thayer doesn't elaborate. “Cool.” Lance returns to Mario and Luigi. “And while you at in the resort, can you nab me an apple fritter?” “Hell no, and clean up this rats nest. If you want to live here, then you can have the apartment over the carriage house, but I don't want you down here like a mouse in the damn wall.”

Lance laughs. “I like mice.” “You would.” Thayer’s terse tone is undercut by humor in his eyes. I can tell that even though his best friend exasperates him that he is very important in his world. Lance keeps him light, a reminder not to always be so serious. I wiggle my fingers goodbye to Lance before we head into the well-lit tunnel. It's a short walk through carved stone, and it feels as if the king of the mountain is taking me into his stronghold. At the bottom of the tunnel he turns left and pushes through a red door. There is a bearded ski lift operator sitting next to a large cable car reading a newspaper. When he hears our approach he slams to his feet in surprise. “Mr. Noble!” Thayer nods. “I am calling in my privilege as Ironstone CEO today.” His tone is all business. “I want the top cleared. I'll be taking my companion up in my personal gondola.” The lift operator nods and gets on a wall phone speaking fast and in hushed tones. “What is all this?” I ask. “As CEO and majority owner of Ironstone Mountain, I have exclusive access to shut down the top of the mountain once as year at my pleasure. And have my own personal gondola to ferry me up.” “So once a year you do this?” “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Okay I'm confused.” “I've had the right, but I haven't exercised it. Not until today. Not until you.” I press a hand to my red cheek. “I don't want to cause a lot of fuss or trouble.” His eyes darken. “You deserve to take up space,” he says, staring at me as if he could never look his fill. “You deserve to have the world set down at your feet.” When he looks at me like this, I know his words are true. He does love me. It's impossible and true and the best thing that has ever happened to me. The lift operator calls us into the gondola. It's lined with pine planks and plush benches. Once we take a seat, he returns with two complimentary hot chocolates seemingly procured from thin air. It’s delicious. Thick and dark with a hint of salt and caramel. The liftie shuts the door, and we are up and on our way, heading out from our place inside the lodge and up the mountain. I've been in ski lifts at Ironstone but never the gondola and never the private gondola. I'm pretty sure the one allowed to the public doesn't come loaded with hot chocolate and classical music. “You really are the king of the mountain, aren’t you?” I ask him, unsure of his reaction. He chuckles. “Guess so if that makes you the queen.” I blush at the strange intensity in his voice. Is he waiting for me to say ‘I love you’ back?

Because I do. With every cell in my body I love Thayer Noble. I've loved him since the first time he opened the door to me, alone and scared in his front step. And now here I am traveling up to the top of the mountain. His mountain. When we get off the gondola on the peak, the air sings in a hushed tone. It's a place for whispers and awe. The whole town rolls out below us along with valleys uninhabited by man. The view is perfection. “You like this?” he asks. “I love it,” I reassure him. “The same way that I...love you. I love you, Thayer Noble. I love you and your big, beautiful mountain.” I want to say more. I want to tell him just how much I love him when he falls to one knee in the snow and silences me with the quiet gesture. “Darcy Lawrence. I never understood the expression ‘’my other half’ until I met you. You are the part of myself that I didn't know I was missing. You have made me so happy that I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.” He reaches for my trembling hand. “Marry me, Sunshine.” I open my mouth but no sounds escape. “It's not a giant, fancy ring,” Thayer says, suddenly unsure. “It's my mom’s and while Dad worked hard, he wasn't a billionaire. Not even close.” My throat opens, allowing me to finally make a sound. “That ring is the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen.” He grins, his momentary uncertainty disappearing. “So you answer is…?” “Yes!” I stretch out my hand to receive the small, beautiful, perfect ring. “Yes! I want nothing more than to be your wife.” It fits as if it was made for my finger. “Nothing will ever be the same for us again,” Thayer says.

THAYER

The gondola carries us back to the lodge, and I don’t take my lips off hers until we

come to a complete stop. When we do, the lift operator opens the door and I help my fiancée out. My fiancée. She said she loved me. She said yes. And for the first time in nearly a decade, I believe I’m deserving of someone such as her. “Your carriage awaits, Mr. Noble,” the operator says. Darcy turns to me, eyes full of wonder. “There’s more?” I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, and then her lips. “For you, Sunshine? There’s everything.” I lead her to the circle drive in front of the resort’s main entrance, and there it is, right on time, a grand sleigh with a horse, white as snow, ready to take us on a private tour of the grounds.

“Thayer!” she says, but no other words come. I grin and wait for the footman to open the door, then lead her inside. She twists from side to side, eyes sparkling. She stares at me, mouth in a perfect O, and then she bursts into a fit of giggles. “This is all yours,” I say, gesturing out the small window. “Ironstone. Equinox. Even this state-of-the art heated sleigh. It all belongs to you, my future wife.” I tap on the wood panel over my head, signaling for the driver to shake the reins. And just like that, we’re off. “We’ll tour the whole property,” I say. “Anything you want to see. Any place you want to go. Just say the word, and we’re there.” Darcy bites her lip, and her cheeks flush pink. “What is it?” I ask. She raises a brow. “We’re in this beautiful, private sleigh, and you want me to press my nose against the glass and peer out the window?” “I thought you would like—” “I love,” she says. “I love everything you’ve done for me today. But you just proposed. And I said yes. And I can tour the grounds any day, but the only thing I want right now—is you.” I scoop her into my arms, and she yelps with laughter. “Like I said, anything you want, Sunshine.” I lay her across the leather bench that runs the length of the sleigh. She doesn’t waste a second, shimmying out of her sweater. A low growl rumbles in my throat. “You’re not wearing a bra.” She grabs my hand, places it over her breast. “You gave me three minutes to get dressed. I only covered what was necessary.” I look down at her jeans and raise a brow. She grins. “I was appropriately attired for the gondola.” “But you weren’t wearing any panties when I proposed?” I brush my thumb over her nipple, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “Nope,” she says with a teasing tone. I lift my fleece over my head, and she stares at me reverently. “You’re mine,” she says softly, and we’re no longer playing. “I’m yours,” I tell her. “Wholly and completely.” She unbuttons my jeans, and I kick off my boots. In less than a minute nothing stands between us but the warm air of the sleigh. She lies beneath me, her milkwhite skin streaked with the sunlight that makes its way in from the tiny window. My cock nudges her entrance, and it’s warm and wet. I hold her gaze, waiting for her to make the final call. She snakes her fingers through mine and squeezes. “I want nothing between us, Thayer. Not now. Not ever again.” “Nor do I,” I say, then sink in to the only place I’m meant to be. She gasps. “We fit,” she whispers. “We’re a perfect fit.” I lean down and kiss her, my touch soft and tender even as I feel her pulse

around me. “I love you, Darcy. You are my whole goddamn world.” I kiss her again. “I’ll plant my seed, and someday not too far off, we’ll create a world of our own.” She clings to me, and what I know are happy tears fall from her eyes. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” I whisper as I kiss her tears. Her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck. I lean back on my ass, pulling her onto my lap so we are eye-to-eye on the same level. “You let me love you,” she says simply. “And then you loved me right back.” Her body bows against mine, and I fall deeper into her, deeper than anyone should be able to go. There is no place where I end and she begins. There is only us. There is only now. There is only Darcy. Silently she rises over me, tiny sharp breaths escaping her lips with I grip my shaft and tease her clit with my tip. “Can he hear us?” she asks, and I know she means the driver. I give her a self-satisfied grin. “This compartment might be sound proof. I haven’t tested it yet. But I’m guessing we’ll give these walls a run for their money.” She falls back over me, letting me fill her as she takes me all the way in. I roar. “I guess you’ll be the first test subject,” she says, her voice high and breathless. I slide a hand between us, circling her clit as I pulse inside her. She cries out, throwing her head back, and I am exultant. “I will never tire of how you react to me.” Her forehead falls to mine, and her hands rake through my hair. “If I had known it would be like this, I would have torn your pants off the second I walked through your door.” I laugh, pressing down on her swollen center, and she lets out a delicious whimper. “It will always be like this,” I tell her. “Because we’re us. Because I love you.” She rides me slowly, each lift of her body making me ache for her to close over me once more, and each time she does, I grow closer and closer to coming undone. She smiles. “And because you let me love you back.” And then she takes me over the edge with her—-the resort, the snow, the fucking world rolling by beneath us as the mountain thunders with the cries of its king and almost queen.

CHAPTER 16

DARCY

F or the next six weeks my life plays out in fast forward. Thayer doesn't want to

wait to get married, and neither do I. He tells me to plan my dream wedding, that nothing is out of bounds. If I want to get married in a spaceship orbiting the Earth? He’ll call NASA. If I want to get married on an iceberg in Greenland, we’re on the next private jet. But the only place I want to say “I do” is right here at the chalet. My first true home, a place where I will always belong. And hopefully soon, a place where we will fill the rooms with children who will be as beautiful and intelligent and kind as their father. The doorbell rings, and I bound down the stairs. Throwing open the door, I shriek and fall into Lucy’s arms, my best friend from Kansas, the only person from my past that I would want at my wedding. My marriage to Thayer Noble is about the future. Corn Rose, Kansas is my past. “Maid of honor in the house!” Lucy pumps her hands in the air before cocking a brow. “Although this doesn't really count as a house, right? Maybe a castle. Holy crap how many bedrooms are there?” “Fourteen,” I answer. “Come in and let me show you around!” But before I can lift her suitcase, Lance strides into the room with a top hat set at a jaunty angle and humming the wedding march. “Dude. Who’re you?” “I'm Lucy, dude.” My friend sets a hand on her hip and eyes him up and down. “And just who are you?” He dips into a bow. “The best bro in all the land as well as grandmaster of the sickest ski competition in Vermont.” I push Lance playfully on the shoulder. “That’s best man and lodge contest coordinator in non-ski bum speak.” Lucy clasps her hands. “Well, I’m the maid of honor and that suitcase isn't going to move itself.” Lance stares at her a long time before looking at me. “Is she always like this?” “Bossy?” I shoot back. “This is just a warm up.”

Lucy is great, but she sure as hell has opinions. Lots of opinions. Basically, Lance’s polar opposite. To my surprise, he picks up the bag. “Right this way,” he says, walking up the stairs. “He’s a bit of a fixer-upper, huh?” Lucy mutters under her breath. I'm about to laugh, but then notice that she is checking out his ass. And while no one beats Thayer in the sexy male butt department, Lance is built. I think of him as a brother, but maybe Lucy could whip him into submission during her trip. It would be amusing anyway. I'm about to laugh when a hot sweat breaks out across my back. My mouth waters. “I'll catch up with you in a bit,” I call before literally running for the closest bathroom. I get inside, slam the door and fall to my knees, puking my guts out. I know I’m nervous about the wedding tomorrow, but this is a bit extreme. Even for me. Or maybe it's the Eggs Benedict that I ate for breakfast while I was snuggled in bed next to Thayer. Or—shit—it might have something to do with the fact that my period is officially two weeks late. And I'm on a clockwork cycle. I stand up shakily and rub my belly again. The image of little Thayers causing havoc in the hallways is beginning to feel scarily real. Am I ready for such a big life change? More importantly, is Thayer? I splash water on my burning cheeks and rinse my mouth out. When I step out into the hall a parade of flowers and food greets me. People say hello and good morning, staff from various boutiques at the resort who have quickly become friends. Who love seeing their beloved boss happy. Who credit me with healing his broken heart. But how healed is that heart? And are those cracks enough to withstand the pressure of becoming a father? And what about me? The fantasy of starting a family with Thayer someday is one thing. But fantasy might already be reality. My throat tightens. I know zero about raising kids. My mother left me with a criminal who beat me and my siblings like it was a hobby. We all got out when we could, but I was the youngest. The last to go. The one who bore the brunt of his every frustration until I walked out the door. Not exactly Parenting 101. My hand rises to my belly again as I lift my chin. If I am pregnant, then I swear to that little spirit that I'll do better than deal it the hand I was given. It might be a baby billionaire, but its real riches will be in love. A tender word. A kiss goodnight. I'll always check the closest for the bogeyman and cook blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings. I'll give this baby the life I wanted and the life it deserves. If...I remind myself. I'll need to scoot down to the lodge pharmacy and buy a test without my

husband-to-be getting a sense of what I am up to. Because I suspect that I know the answer, and if my hunch is correct, I need to be able to break the news in a special way. As I tiptoe out into the hall, I hear shrieks of laughter from upstairs. I smile. No one has a belly laugh like Lucy except for Lance. It sounds like the two of them are hitting it off. My friend might be a Type A physical therapist in St. Louis, but I have another hunch that a dread-headed ski bum from Vermont might be about to rock her world. I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror. My eyes shine. I look radiantly happy. And why shouldn't I? It is very possible that all of my dreams are about to come true. The front door opens, and Thayer calls my name. My feet move forward with a life all their own, but my head overrules the motion, and I sneak down the stairs in the direction of the tunnel. Thayer reads me too well. One look at my face, and I bet he'd guess all my secrets. Better I get answers before he assumes them himself. My simple but elegant engagement ring flashes in the chandelier light. A smile fills up my face. I am the luckiest girl in the world. No shadow can touch me now.

THAYER

I t’s four o’clock when I finally find my fiancée, and we have to be at the rehearsal

by six. For several long seconds I stand in the doorway of our master suite, watching her as she sits at her vanity table putting on mascara. It’s moments like these I love most, when she lets her whole guard down and can simply just be. These past six weeks have been a whirlwind, not just the wedding but Darcy sliding into the role of Chief Marketing Officer for the resort. She’s barely stopped to breathe. The strap of her camisole falls down her right shoulder, and I can stay put no longer. “I’ve been looking for you all day,” I say, my voice low and rough as come up behind her and rest my hand on her shoulders. Something in my chest squeezes as our skin touches, and I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that this woman possesses every part of me. I kiss her cheek, let my teeth tug lightly on her earlobe. She gives me a small shudder in response. “I’ve missed you,” I say. She puts down her make-up and snakes her hand around my neck. “I missed you, too,” she says, but there is a hint of questioning in her tone. “But there was so much to do—tending to the flowers, the caterer, the musicians. I had to oversee the construction of the tent in the back garden, make sure the pavers

from the gate to the tent weren’t iced over.” She stands and stands and begins pacing, rattling off a list of errands she ran, local vendors she spoke to, then stops short and gasps. “Your sister!” she says. “Ella, I was supposed to send a driver, but I got caught up—” I chuckle and move toward her, but she takes a step back. “Ella is in the kitchen sharing a bottle Cristal with Lance and Lucy. There’s a second bottle ready and waiting if you want to have a private celebration before the main event.” She shakes her head, and takes another step back, and that tightness in my chest turns to something more like a weight. “Darcy are you—are you having second thoughts about this? About us? Because there are fifty people showing up in less than two hours, so now would be a good time to tell me if you’re calling off the wedding.” The words come out harsher than I intend, and I expect her to shrink back even more. Instead she bursts into a fit of hysterical laughter. Then she pads away on her bare feet, wearing nothing but her silk cami and panties, to the dry bar on the other side of the room. For a split second I think she’s completely lost it, and that’s when I see the champagne bucket, brimming with ice and the top of a bottle peeking from the lip, sitting on the counter. She grabs two flutes, though I’m not sure where they came from. The only barware I have up here are rocks glasses. “Are you going to explain what’s up with you?” I ask. “Because if this isn’t what you want—” She turns to face me, flutes in hand, and her eyes are brimming with tears while the most radiant smile lights up her face. “I don’t understand…” I start, but she hands me a glass, and that’s when I see it’s engraved. “I don’t want out, Thayer,” she says shakily. “But I also don’t want to go downstairs and celebrate.” I shake my head. “You’re not making any sense.” That’s when my thumb brushes over a rough spot on the glass, and my eyes dip down. “Do you know your gift shop does crystal engraving on the spot? Well—if you’re the CEO’s fiancée, they do.” I read the etching that wraps around the bottom of the flute. Thayer, Darcy, and ? She pulls the bottle from the bucket, and I see that it’s not champagne at all but a bottle of sparkling grape juice. I just stand there, first staring at the glass, then at the bottle. My eyes volley back and forth, but no words seem to come out in response. “I don’t want to celebrate with your sister and Lance and Lucy because I can’t celebrate with them. At least, not with a glass of Cristal.” I set the glass on the counter, my hand not steady enough to hold it, then take

the items from her shaking hands and do the same. When I step toward her this time, she doesn’t back away. “That whole cold feet spiel you just gave me was what I planned to say to you. Because if this is too much too soon—if this isn’t what you want…” she says. I reach out my hand, hesitating long enough for her to push it away if she wants. When she doesn’t, I rest my palm on her flat belly and take in a shaky breath. “There’s a baby in there?” I almost whisper. She lets out something between a laugh and a sob as she nods her head. I drop to my knees, lift up the camisole, and press my lips to her stomach. “Too much?” I ask, my throat tight. “Not what I want?” I scoop her into my arms, and she yelps as I twirl her around. Then I set her down gently on the side of the bed. “Shit. Is that bad for the baby? What about you? Are you sick? Did I just make you sicker?” I’m on my knees again, and I drop my head in her lap. “Christ, Darcy. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “But are you—happy?” I lift my head to meet her gaze, then I cradle her cheek in my palm. “You’re carrying our child,” I say, my voice steady now. “Nothing other than you marrying me tomorrow could make me happier.” I rise up to kiss her tear-soaked eyes. “I love you, Sunshine.” “I hope my waterproof mascara is doing its job.” I kiss her cheeks. Her lips. Her neck. I leave a trail of feather soft kisses all the way down to her stomach. “I love you both,” I say, lingering with my lips on her belly button. “You’ve given me everything,” I tell her, my eyes meeting hers again. “And I will spend the rest of my life thanking you for that.”

CHAPTER 17

DARCY

Thayer’s reaction to my secret has me over the moon. I feel at peace. Safe. Secure.

So very much in love. And so, so, so tired. Good lord, I could sleep for weeks. I yawn in Thayer’s embrace and he pulls back, looking at me with concern. “It’s not you. Trust me.” I hold out my arm and show off the goosebumps peppering my skin. The same ones that I always get when he touches me. “It’s this little peanut inside me. I don’t know how it’s so powerful when it’s the size of a blueberry, but I feel like I could sleep for at least the next seventeen hours. Not that I want to because—you know—wedding!” Our party is in just a couple of hours. A night dedicated to celebrating Thayer, me, and our life together. The house is starting to fill with the smells of delicious foods being prepared in the kitchen and the soft music of the jazz band setting up in the living room. But the little blueberry gets the best of me, and before I can blink my eyes three times, Thayer has sweeps me into his arms once again and deposits me in the love seat opposite the bed. He pulls a warm, soft blanket up over my shoulders before perching at the end of the couch. “What are you doing?” I murmur groggily, barely able to keep my eyes open. “Letting you relax before the party but making sure you’re not so comfortable in bed that you do sleep for those seventeen hours.” He lifts one of my bare feet into his hands. “Also...foot massage,” he says, kneading the ball of my foot with perfect pressure. I moan out loud it feels that good. “Good lord, you have such magic hands.” “Glad you appreciate my handiwork.” I chuckle at his small joke. “He’ll be here all night, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, hearing my words slur. “It’s probably good if I close my eyes for a little bit. That will let me be fresh and perky for the party.” He kisses me on the forehead. “You do exactly what you need to do to take care of yourself and her.”

That stirs me. “Her?” He nods. “It’s a girl.” “How can you know something like that?” He rubs my heel with his thumbs. “Sunshine, I know so much about you just by looking at your face. Call it a gut instinct, but I’d bet you a billion dollars that child is a girl. A daughter,” he whispers the words as if in awe. “Our daughter.” Sleep drags me down to the comforting blackness. “Guess you have a fifty-fifty shot of being right,” I murmur, unable to resist the fight against my heavy lids anymore. For a little while my sleep is like the last hour. Perfect. I’m safe, rested, and cared for, vaguely aware of Thayer still rubbing away at my feet. Then a chill rushes through me. I’m not alone. But Thayer is no longer here. I’m not safe. Someone is coming. A footstep, a vague crunch like a boot sinking into snow. It’s furtive, like a sound trying not to be a sound. “Who is there?” I call out, not using my mouth, but in my dream my thoughts have a voice. There is no reply. But I hear breathing. Slow. Measured. Inexorable. Someone is coming. Someone is coming to hurt me, and I can neither scream nor move. I can barely even breathe. My feet are rooted in place. Sweat slicks my back. I want to cry out. To scream. To ask for help. To give warning. But it’s too late. Someone is coming. And they are here. Their breath hot on my neck. I close my eyes and wait for my doom. “Darcy! Open your eyes, Sunshine. Jesus. Darcy! Can you hear me? Babe!” I blink. The deep voice ripping me from the nightmare’s powerful grip. He kneels next to me, eyes wide with worry. “Thayer?” It takes me a moment to reorient myself. I’m not in a haunted wood being stalked. I’m in Equinox Chalet, my home, preparing to attend a night of festivities before marrying the man that I love with all my heart and all my soul. “You were crying out,” Thayer says with a frown. “A nightmare?” I nod. “Like the one I had my first night here,” I say with a rueful smile. “Just a silly dream. I’m not afraid anymore. Not now that I’m here with you.” “But why?” Thayer seems to want to push the point. “Why now? When

everything is so good.” He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling his perfect dark locks. “You’re not having second thoughts about this? About us?” I shake my head vigorously. “Of course not! If anything, it’s just the opposite. I don’t think my brain is ready to relax. To accept that finally I have everything that I could ever want. To accept that at long last my life is working out the way that I deserve.” Thayer gathers me into his strong arms and pulls me tight against him. I let my fingers steal over his flexed biceps, then run over his powerful forearms to hold his masculine hands. “That’s right, beautiful.” He kisses me slow and with aching tenderness. His lips are so warm and strong. My whole body burns from his touch and craves more. “From here on out, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.” And I want to believe him. I almost believe him. I know he means it and need to hug his words to my chest. Pray that they are the truth, the whole truth and— But when I hear a creek, I glance over to find Lucy standing in the doorway to our suite, a look of sheer horror stamped on my best friend’s pretty features. She tries to speak a few different times, but each attempt her voice dies, as if her vocal chords have a hole drilled into him. And that’s when I know that the monster from my nightmare is real. That even here among this wealth and privilege and power, I am vulnerable. That I can be hurt. That the people I love can be made to suffer. “He’s here,” Lucy says in a hoarse whisper. I nod once. “Where?” “The foyer. I don’t think he’s just dropping by to give the bride and groom his blessing.” I give her a bitter smile. “No. He’s here to pick up a package.” Thayer glances between us. “What are you talking about?” he demands, “My father,” I say. “He’s found my location and has finally come to collect.” “What?” Thayer demands. I give him a small sad smile. “Me.”

THAYER

D arcy is in her dress and heels before I have time to register what is happening.

“What the hell are you doing?” I finally ask as she checks herself in the mirror and then heads toward the bedroom door. She just out her chin and sucks in a shaky breath. “He’s here to ruin my life,” she says. “The least I can do is face him instead of running. I’m done running, Thayer. I’m just—done.” She storms past Lucy and toward the stairs. For a woman who couldn’t keep her eyes open just short while ago, she moves like she is on borrowed time, like she

won’t make it to her destination on time. And that’s when I realize that is exactly what she must think, that this bastard has the power to take away from her what she so rightly deserves. “Darcy!” I growl after her, even though I know she’s not listening. So I take the stairs two at a time. There’s no way in hell she’s facing this man alone. But I stop at the foot of the steps to find her standing there, hand outstretched to keep me from coming any closer. My jaw clenches as I think back to a similar scenario, Herc Waterson here to claim what he thought was his. “I’m right here,” I say, trying to remain calm. “The second you need me, I am right here.” She nods and then turns to the man in the foyer. He’s barely an inch taller than Darcy and nearly a foot shorter than me. A small man but a big presence. At least for her. He scratches his bald head and gives her a smile that is more like a sneer. “I’ve missed you, baby girl,” his words are like the hiss of snake. “Come on, now. Time to go.” “Go where, Dad?” she asks, and I can hear her trying to stay in control. He steps closer to her, but so do I. She flinches slightly but stands her ground, and it takes everything in me not to slam this guy up against the wall like I did Herc. He brushes the back of his hand over her cheek. “So, so beautiful,” he says. “Yet so disobedient. Do you know I almost lost out on a deal because I couldn’t find you? But when I promised the boss my young, innocent daughter? Well—he was very interested in that.” Darcy takes a step away, her back now pressed against my chest. “I am not yours to do business with.” I rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder, so proud of my Sunshine. But her father grabs her wrist, wrenching Darcy forward. She yelps and stumbles but does not fall. Because I catch her. Because I will always be there when she is in need. I plant myself between Darcy and Lenny Lawrence, then turn to Lucy. “She’s pregnant! Get her the hell out of here. Now!” Lucy’s eyes widen, and she takes Darcy’s hand, but my beautiful, stubborn fiancée will not budge. Her hand trembles as she places it on her belly, but her voice is calm even as if wavers. “I’m not leaving, Thayer. I...I can't keep running. ” Lenny must take advantage of my lack of focus, because when I turn back to deal with him, he surprises me with a left hook to the jaw. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks as I shake my head clear. “You the guy who made my daughter spoiled good? I bet you’d pay a pretty penny for one more night with her, huh? Better because you lost me a shit ton of money popping her cherry.” I lick the corner of my mouth, taste the tang of blood, and then slam the asshole

so hard against the door that I knock the wind out of him. I want to smash in his vile mouth. He gasps for breath, and I pull my fist back, ready to strike. To end him once and for all. “Thayer!” Darcy cries, and I turn back to see her, Lucy, Lance, Elle, and a handful of party workers ogling the scene. I turn back to Darcy’s father whose breathing is still ragged, but his menacing eyes now hold nothing but fear. “You don’t get to ruin this for her,” I say. “You don’t get to ruin anything for her ever again.” I yank him by the collar of his jacket and throw open the door. Then I drag him out into the cold, slamming the door shut behind us. “Is that what you did to Darcy?” I ask, knuckles turning white as I grip him harder. “Is that what you did when she didn’t want to be a part of one of your schemes? You raised your goddamn hand to her?” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “You want to know who the hell I am, you sorry fucking excuse for a human being? I’m the guy who’s going to marry your daughter and keep her as far away from you as she’ll let me. I’m the guy who has no problem ruining you. I’m the guy, Mr. Lawrence, who’s got enough in the bank to put every PI and ex-cop on your trail for the rest of your sorry life, and it won’t even put a dent in my wallet. The way I see it, you have two choices here. Walk away from her for good. And if she ever wants to make contact with you again, that’s her call, but as far as I’m concerned, this is over. Or, keep playing this game of yours, and I’ll make sure you’re so busy looking over your shoulder that you’ll never have the chance to bother Darcy again for the rest of your pathetic life.” I shove him away from me, then swipe the back of my hand over where he took his cheap shot. It comes away with a slight streak of blood. I let out a bitter laugh. “Clock is ticking, old man. What’s your decision?” He looks down at his shoes, scratches his head, and then looks back up. He’s scared. I can tell. And he should be – it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to kill him with my bare hands, to pound his face until it’s unrecognizable pulp. Darcy is the only thing stopping me – it would be more trauma for her, and I swore I would always protect her, keep her safe, and I intend to honor that promise until the day I die. “Can I talk to her?” her father asks, his voice weak, his face pale. “One more time?” I can’t take it anymore. I curl my hand into a fist, ready to pound it into his face. “It’s okay, Thayer.” I hear Darcy’s voice from behind me. “This has to happen.”

CHAPTER 18

DARCY

M y nightmares are no longer just in my dreams. They are real. They are this man

standing before me—a father willing to sell his daughter’s innocence to pay off his debts. He does not deserve such a title. Father. My stomach shrinks and hardens like a walnut. My chest stings as if a wasp is in my shirt. He doesn’t even deserve being called a man. He disgusts me. It’s one thing to tell Thayer about where I come from, but for him to see it—to see him. Thayer was never meant to see this part of my world. My ugly past has reared up to shit all over my perfect shiny future. But then I see the way Thayer watches me. There is no pity in his eyes. Or uncertainty. He believes that I can tell my dad to take a long walk off a short plank. And his confidence gives me strength. Or maybe I've had this strength all along and just never fully believed that it existed. I take a step closer to my dad. Then another. And the world doesn't end. The only thing that changes is that I can smell the fear on him, the sweat from the exertion it must have taken for him to hit Thayer. The onions he must have eaten on a greasy burger. The old, familiar, sweet stink of cheap bourbon. He doesn't look like a monster anymore. He looks like a greasy old man with a bad comb over and red nose who is a serious candidate for a heart attack. His eyes are dull and mean. And for the first time in my life I hold his gaze. “Tootsie,” he says, using the nickname he used for me when I was little. When I used to think he was a normal dad. Because I didn't know all dads didn't slap their kids. Kick them in the stomach. And then buy them waffles the next day at a cheap diner once they sobered up. “You don't get to talk. You don't get to say anything more to me unless it's an apology,” I say quietly. But there is steel in my voice. Iron that can't be bent. “I am getting married, Lenny. And renouncing you as my father. I've learned

what it means to have the love of a good man. A man who respects me. Adores me. Would endure physical harm to keep me safe and protected. I know what it means now to be beloved. The child that is in my belly will grow up with a gift that I never had. A father who puts him or her first. Who loves his child unconditionally and doesn't consider them a pawn in his lose—not to mention illegal—schemes.” “So...you hate me?” He actually frowns. “No.” I shake my head, suddenly weary beyond all measure. “I don't want to invite those negative feelings into my life. But I don't want you bringing me down. You had your chance. I wanted to be your daughter. But you were never there unless you needed to take your anger out on me or use me to make a quick buck. And now I know you were willing to sell me off to your boss so he could take the one thing from me that should be given in love to a man that I adore.” My breath is ragged, but for the first time in a long time, tears don't come. “I don't hate you. But I am disgusted by you.” His eyes widen, and I see a first for him, too. Lenny is...shocked. Chagrined even. As if my harsh but honest words have sunk in. “I don't know what to say.” “An apology might work for starters.” He swallows hard and shifts his weight. “I am. Sorry, that is. I always say I’m sorry.” I hug my arms around my torso. “Yeah, when you’re sober and realize you’ve done wrong. I’m not talking about one of your empty apologies, though, Lenny. That’s not what this is about.” He nods. “You were the last one,” he says. “I tried to hold on to you. To all of you. The best way I could, but my best was never good enough. You all left.” “Because you hurt us,” I say, voice like steel. He scratches the back of his neck and looks down. “I got selfish. I—I tried one of those programs, you know. To sober up. More than once.” He looks up at me now. “I know I lost sight of my family. What mattered. Chasing stuff that didn't. But I couldn’t give it up. Not the drink...or the next job.” “That's exactly right.” I push my shoulders back. “Look at your priority list, Lenny. Booze and cash. What a shame, you know? Because you had all that time with me and never really cared about anything more than what I could do for you— and punishing me when you didn’t get what you wanted. Guess what? I'm worth getting to know. I'm worth caring about.” And there it is. Another first. Because I know those words are true. I have value. I have worth. And this is me, reclaiming myself from the man who made me so, so lost. Soon I won't be a Lawrence. I'll be a Noble. I walk to Thayer, who’s been standing behind me just outside the door, and I realize he’s been standing behind me all along. I have someone in my corner. I don’t have to run anymore. I take his hand, setting my free one over my belly in a protective display. I’ll be called mommy, too. I am the mama bear. Thayer will be a true father. And this baby

will want for nothing. We are three against one—against anyone and anything that gets in our way. “Goodbye, Lenny,” I say. “I trust you can find your own way out of the village.” “I am sorry.” He mumbles, and while I think he might really mean it, I am not able to do more than forgive. “Goodbye.” My words ring with a finality I’m not used to. I will work hard to forgive. But I'll never forget. I can't forget the years of sadness and hurt and abuse. I can't forget the nights I cried myself to sleep in the crummy trailer wishing that someone, anyone could save me from my living hell. That I wished on a star every night to be rescued. Nor will I forget that Thayer Noble is the man in my life who values me. The man of my dreams and future phenomenal father to my child. Lenny shuffles down the driveway. Not scary. Or menacing. Just an old, mean, selfish man. And then he's gone. I turn to the good, kind, protective man beside me, and know that he might have seen my messy past and imperfect present, but he will walk beside me toward our brighter tomorrow. We step back into the foyer. “Are you okay, Sunshine?” he asks as everyone who must have been listening at the door discretely shuffles away giving us much needed privacy. “I actually am.” The front door slams, and my body feels light as a feather. “I faced down my fear and realized that's all it was. Fear. I don't have to let it rule me. Not anymore. You taught me that, Thayer Noble. You gave me that gift.” The love that shines from his eyes takes my breath away. Squeezing my hands, he lifts them to his lips and gives them a soft kiss. One on each thumb. “I have another gift to give. I've been saving it as a surprise.” “What is it?” I ask. But he just smiles a mysterious smile and leads me back into the house.

THAYER

The dinner goes off without a hitch in the dining hall I’ve never used. Fitting that

this should be the first time—the first party I’ve ever thrown. The wedding in the tented garden tomorrow night the second. I laugh quietly to myself as I watch Darcy flit about the room, the new darling of Ironside Mountain who is now carrying the Noble heir. “Who’d have ever guessed you’d come out of hiding?” Ella drops into the chair next to me. “Let alone come become a socialite?” I chuckle. “You’ve got Darcy to thank for that,” I say, my smile bittersweet. “She brought me back to life.”

Ella rests her hand over mine, and it’s no longer the hand of my baby sister. It’s a woman’s hand, and I realize how much I’ve truly missed. “I’m sorry,” I say. “For the accident. For not being there for you after—” “Thayer.” She rests her hands on my shoulders. “I’ve been trying to tell you this for years, but you never wanted to listen. Maybe now you will.” I swallow and nod. “Mom and Dad? What happened to them? I never saw it as your fault. Because it wasn’t. You were a kid doing what you loved, and you got hurt. Badly. They were your parents. And you know how stubborn they were. Especially mom. There was no way they were going to wait for someone else to get to you.” I laugh softly, not at the memory of that day but at the memory of them. Of who they were. Of what I miss. “I think there might be a little of mom in me,” I say. Ella snorts, her dark bob bouncing against her chin as she does. “Big brother, I think she left all her stubborn to you.” She pats me softly on the cheek. “But I also see Darcy has broken through all that. And I will thank her.” I lean forward and kiss my baby sister on the cheek, an she surprises me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I freeze for a second but then let the last of the fear and self-blame go. “I love you, Thayer,” she says, and I can hear the tears before I pull back to see them. “I love you too.” I brush away the wetness under her eyes. “We’re okay, aren’t we?” I ask She nods and smiles. “We were always okay. You just took a while to get to that conclusion.” The music stops, and I realize that’s my cue. I kiss Ella on the forehead and stand. “I have to do something,” I say. She grins. “Okay. Maybe later I can tell you about Tom.” My eyes narrow. “Tom?” But I don’t have time to interrogate her now, which she knows. Which is why she brought the guy up. “They guy I’ve been living with. He’s coming to the wedding with me tomorrow.” I open my mouth to say something, but Lance materializes at my side and presses a microphone into my chest. “This is your big moment. You sure you’re ready for it?” I grab the mic and point an accusing finger at Ella. “This conversation isn’t over,” I say. She giggles as Lance ushers me to the front of the room. I look toward the string quartet who’s played us through dinner, and all of them nod, laying their instruments down. I clear my throat into the already hot mic, and every head in the room jerks in my direction.

“Hello,” I say, “Sorry to interrupt the music, but I have something to say that I’d like all of you to hear. But I need to find Darcy first.” She stands slowly from where she was sitting and talking to Lucy. I watch as Lucy squeezes her hand and then urges my fiancée toward me. It’s not easy to miss my beautiful girl in a dress as green as her eyes. She is stunning. Perfect. And mine. “Thayer? What are you doing?” she whispers when she’s finally at my side, but because the mic is on, everyone hears and laughs. She throws a hand over her mouth. “I told you,” I say for her and everyone else to hear. “I have one more surprise.” I slide the mic into the stand, then thread my fingers through hers, kissing both of her hands and then holding them tight as I begin. “When you came here, just a couple of months ago, my first instinct was to push you right back out the door.” She looks at our adoring audience and then back at me. “Um, thanks?” Everyone laughs again, even me. But while I love that she is the star of the show, I need her to hear it all. I need everyone to know what she’s done for me. “No more interruptions,” I say raising a brow. She sighs. “Okay.” The laughter dies down. “I wanted to push you out the door,” I say again, “because the moment I saw you I knew something was about to change. And anyone who’s known me for the past decade knows I don’t do well with change.” She bites her lip and smiles, her emerald eyes starting to shine with the threat of tears. “You were an earthquake, upsetting the balance that was my carefully isolated life, and that scared the shit out me because I always thought if I let anyone in, I’d lose them.” My throat tightens, but I keep going. “And the more you burrowed your way in, the more I knew it would ruin me to lose you.” I cup her face in my palms. “But you’re still here. My beautiful, courageous, soulmate. You pushed through every barrier and took up residence in the deepest recesses of my heart, and now that you are there, I will spend the rest of my life making sure I’m worthy of that kind of love.” The room is hushed silence now. Even Darcy seems to be holding her breath. “You saved me from myself,” I say. “You brought me back to life, and for that I am forever grateful. You are more than my sunshine. You are the whole goddamn sun, shedding light wherever you go. I love you, Darcy. Thank you for giving me a lifetime to show you—” I slide a hand onto her stomach “—and our child how much.” She sucks in a sharp breath, and then I kiss the love of my life. I taste the salt of her tears, the sweetness of her lips, and the promise of the future. And still the room doesn’t make a sound. Finally, after we’ve put on the utmost of public displays, Darcy tilts her head

away but pulls me into a warm embrace. The band begins to play again, and the guests return to their food and conversation. And then I let Darcy lead me out of the room and into a quiet corner where she can kiss me hungrily, where I let her take her fill, and I realize this is only the beginning.

CHAPTER 19

DARCY

W e kiss for what seems like forever. But I want more. I need more.

“Sunshine, where are you taking me?” Thayer asks as I drag him along a back hallway in Equinox. “Right here.” I open up a door and drag him inside. It’s a linen cupboard. One I’ve never seen, but I’m getting more familiar and comfortable with this house that I’m soon going to call my own as well. He looks around with a raised eyebrow. I reach down and undo his belt, undo the top button on his trousers. “I didn’t know where we were going. I just knew that I needed you alone. That I needed you inside me. That I want to be full of you. That what you said back there was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. I love you. I love you so much.” I grind down his zipper, groaning as he sucks in a ragged breath of unadulterated desire when the closet door flings open. Busted! Wait what’s going on? Lance and Lucy fall inside, already making out and oblivious that they aren’t alone. Lucy has Lance’s shirt half off, and I see some ginger chest hair and an impressively carved six pack. Thayer clears his throat loudly as I giggle, pressing my fingers to my lips. Lucy whirls and gasps, her cheeks flushed. “Oh my God! What are you two doing in here?” “Uh—same thing you’re trying.” Thayer chuckles. “But this is my house. Get the hell out and find your own love nest.” “Whoa, sorry, bro,” Lance says, tugging down his shirt and hauling Lucy to his side, a possessive arm wrapped around her waist. “Didn’t mean to kill your mojo.” “Trust me,” Thayer gives me a look that burns me up between the legs. Slicks my panties. “You have in no way have killed my mojo.” “Rock on,” Lance pumps his fist and backs out as Lucy flashes me a sly thumbs up.

My heart feels so full. Looks like I’m not the only one finding love on Ironstone Mountain. As soon as the door slams, I glance up at my husband-to-be. “Now where were ” He cuts me off with an urgent kiss. His tongue slides through my welcoming lips, and we both sigh. The way our bodies fit together, it’s like jigsaw puzzle. I have found my other half, and we won’t ever be driven apart. Closer. Closer. That’s all I can think. I might even be murmuring it like a chant. But even when he hikes up my dress, shoves my panties to the side and buries his cock into me, it’s still not close enough. I need more. I dig my hands into his rock hard ass and urge him to take me fast and ruthless. “Easy, Sunshine,” he breathes, a bead of sweat visible on his temple. He is holding himself back. Why? As though he hears my silent question, he makes an adorably worried face “I don’t want to hit the baby.” I giggle. Loving him more than he could possibly understand. “Trust me,” I tell him. “That’s not possible. There is only one thing you need to worry about.” His expression relaxes. “What’s that?” I wrap my legs around his perfect body “Giving the mama exactly what she needs, and right now she wants it hard and fast and full.” And he gives me exactly what I ask for, just like I knew he would. When we return to the party, the music is playing, and everyone is dancing. To my surprise, Thayer leads me right into the center of the dance floor and shows he can cut a serious rug. He is so good at everything, even swing dancing. We close down the night and are the last people swaying to the music. “This is where I'll leave you,” I whisper, kissing him goodnight on the side of his cheek, inhaling his sexy spicy after shave. “Do you really mean to sleep alone?” I nod even as I regret my choice a little. I want to be with Thayer in bed tonight and always but don't want to jinx anything either. An it's bad luck for him to see me before the wedding. It might be a silly superstition, but I don't care. I’m not jeopardizing our big day. No way. When I go back to my old room, the guest room, it's filled with wall to wall sunflowers. I love you, Sunshine reads the giant balloon attached to a big stuffed teddy bear. There is a plate of delicious chocolates and a pair of scandalous pale blue French underwear with a small sign that says, To wear under your dress. Your something blue. ;) I smile at my perfect fiancé and crawl into the big soft bed. Cradling the stuffed animal, I drift asleep whispering “Mrs. Thayer Noble,” over and over. Have I finally arrived at my own happy ending?

That night I don't have a single nightmare. Only good dreams. The best dreams. It's just me, in Thayer's arms, lying in a quiet mountain meadow and smiling up at a perfectly blue sky, the sun warm on our cheeks.

THAYER

“Stop fidgeting,” Ella says as she reties my bowtie. “Honestly, Thayer. You could

probably buy the state of Vermont, but you are helpless with a bowtie?” I growl at my sister, but she just laughs. “I missed you too, big brother.” She nearly chokes me, then pulls the knot tight, pats me on the chest, and backs away. All her teasing dies away as takes a step back and her hand flies to her mouth. “What?” I ask. “Jesus, Ella. What is it? Did you smear that red lipstick on my collar?” She backhands me on the shoulder. “No, asshat. You just look so—happy.” I raise my brows. “And here I thought you were going to say something about my roguish good looks.” She laughs. “You’re still impossible, you know.” I turn toward the hallway mirror and double check for that lipstick smear, and I barely recognize the man staring back. “See?” she says softly. “Happy. They would have loved to see you like this, Thayer. Mom and Dad. God they’d be so proud of you.” I nod once, my throat suddenly tight. And I think maybe my sister is right.

The maid of honor and best man—Lucy and Lance—are the only wedding party to

walk down the aisle. It is a small wedding party, but quality is better than quantity. Not that I have any clue when they’d have been able to slip away, but I swear Lance’s euphoric grin means he’s either high or freshly fucked. For the sake of him making it through the best man speech, I hope for the latter. When he comes to stand beside me, I chuckle softly when I smell no trace of marijuana. But it’s when I catch my buddy looking longingly at the woman standing only ten feet away that I realize there might be something more going on than just sneaking off to a pantry for a quickie. “You like her?” I ask under my breath. “Bro,” Lance says, exhaling. “I have been shot through the heart, and she’s to blame. I want to lay her down in a bed of roses.” He takes a small step closer. “Dude...she’s bad medicine, and there is no cure for what ails me.” I roll my eyes but keep facing forward, waiting for the music to begin. “Did you just—express your love for Darcy’s best friend with Bon Jovi?”

Lance laughs. “What can I say? She brings out my poetic side.” And then the violins begin. Pachelbel’s Cannon in D. Everyone in the heated tent stands, and I lose the ability to breathe. Because there she is, the most beautiful woman—inside and out—whom I’ve ever had the privilege to know. And she’s here for me. She strides down a white aisle framed in red rose petals, her simple yet elegant beaded gown hugging her curves from the strapless bodice to where it fans out at her knees. She is every bit a queen, and I am humbled to be her king. She stops in the center of her journey, and Lance leaves my side to greet her and escort her the rest of the way. When she finally stands before me, the justice of the peace speaks. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Darcy bites her lip, giggles, and dips her head behind her bouquet. “I do!” Lance announces, then holds out his top hat as he makes an exaggerated bow. When he straightens, Darcy kisses him on the cheek. Lance blushes, then holds out his arm, her elbow crooked in his, and offers her to me. I take Darcy’s hand in mine and squeeze. She steps before me, and I dip down, pressing my forehead to hers. “This is your last chance to run for the hills,” I whisper. She laughs and shakes her head. “Not a chance.” “Good,” I say. “Because I’d have run right after you, Sunshine.” The justice of the peace clears her throat. “Are you two ready to begin?” The guests laugh. I squeeze Darcy’s hand once more, and she sucks in a shaky breath. But her smile is unmistakable, one of pure joy. It’s the same one I wear. “We’re ready,” we both say. For this. For whatever comes next. For the rest of our lives. Together. That night I pull her close, our naked bodies entwined in the afterglow of making love. She rests her hand above my heart and lets out a sweet sigh. “I can feel it beating,” she says. “I can feel your whole life right in the palm of my hand.” I lay my palm on her belly and shake my head. “No, Sunshine. My whole life is here. In my arms. And inside you.” A single tear trickles out the corner of her eye and down the side of her face. “Thayer,” she says, but her voice breaks on my name. So I kiss her. “Yes, wife?” I tease, and she laughs even as more tears fall. “You’re happy, right?” I ask.

She cradles my face in her palms. “The happiest.” She kisses me back. “Husband.” I laugh even as my chest constricts and my throat tightens. “I love you,” I tell her. “Last night?” she says. “At the rehearsal?” “Yeah.” Not the response I am expecting. “You said I saved you. But Thayer, you saved me right back. I came here to run from my life, and you gave me a brand new one. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to tell you what that means to me.” I cover her body with mine, nudge her open and sink inside. Again. I have a feeling we will not sleep much on this, our wedding night. She arches into me and cries out my name. “Just say you love me, Darcy.” “I love you,” she says, and I rock inside her. “Then I have all I’ll ever need.”

EPILOGUE

DARCY

“

oom service,” Thayer jokes as he enters the room. He holds a tray laden with R Doritos, pickles, chocolate ice cream, and orange juice. I'm four days overdue and

my cravings are through the freaking roof. Last night all I could think about was ham and pineapple pizza. The day before that, enchiladas and vanilla milkshakes. But Thayer sees to it that my every whim is catered to. No craving is too impossible to source for my attentive husband. “Thanks,” I say, trying to sit up in our bed. I look so silly amid the goose down pillows, like a bowling ball with legs. But when Thayer bends to kiss me it's as if I'm the most beautiful creature that he’s seen on the face of the earth. And he makes me believe it, too. That I’m valued. Prized above all things. “You okay?” he asks, frowning and peering at me more intensely. “Yeah.” I wince, curling my toes in as I grip my belly. “Just a little cramp.” As I rub the side of my bump it fades away. “All better,” I say. “Especially now that you are here. I missed you while you were at work, babe.” “Not as much as I missed you.” We might make strangers gag with our antics but whatever, we are two broken people who came together and were finally made whole. I think that gives us a hall pass in the lovey-dovey department. My little cramp comes back, stronger this time. Enough that I suck in a sharp hiss of air. Wow. I expected discomfort, but this is a whole other galaxy of sensation. “Sunshine.” His brows knit. His face is a mask, which means he is trying to hide deep emotion. But I can read him like a book. “Do you think it's time?” My heart pounds. My suitcase sits packed by the door where it's been waiting for weeks. For now. For this very movement. The next cramps grab me so hard that I double over and a moan pushes out of my chest. It's hard to breathe. Or blink. Or do anything at all. It's as if I am on fire. “What's happening?” I cry out. “Aren't they supposed to start slow?

Contractions every five minutesaaaaaaah!” More pain. Like I'm being torn in two. But despite the torment, there is still a sense of giddiness. The baby is coming! I'll get to meet the new precious addition to our perfect family. “I’ve got you. Hear me? I'm not letting you go. I can't carry your pain, Darcy Noble, but I can carry you.” Thayer sweeps me off my feet, and in his arms I know that even though I'm scared and unsure how this whole birthing a baby thing is going to go, that I have him here to lean on. And like always, that fact gives me strength. He carries me and my suitcase to the garage and loads me in the Tahoe, his biggest, safest truck. “Ready to meet our son?” I joke. “It's a girl,” he says with his usual cocky certainty. We elected to be surprised by the results, but I have to tell him now the additional surprise. “If it is a girl,” I pant, practicing my breathing. “I want to call her Charlotte.” He freezes. “Charlotte?” His voice is thick with emotion. “After your mother.” I grip his hand and squeeze through my next contraction. He kisses my forehead. “I love you, Sunshine. You are a hell of a woman.” His voice is raspy, husky with emotion. “I love you, too. But I won't love having this baby on the side of the road, so put the pedal to the metal.” He backs out with a screech, and we speed off into the night. He drives fast, fast enough that a siren starts up behind us. “Thayer!” I gasp. “The police.” I shriek more from my next contraction than fear of being ticketed. I was joking about having the baby in the car, but it might actually happen. “I'm calling your doctor and taking you to the mountain clinic,” Thayer says, not elaborating, but I know what he means. He thinks I can’t cross my legs long enough to get to the hospital, and the scary thing is, he might be right. This baby is definitely his father’s kid. It does what it wants, rules be damned. I'm dimly aware of Thayer calling the police over Bluetooth and explaining our unusual situation. The cops must get the message because soon the car is speeding past us, lights flashing and acting as an unofficial head of our strange little motorcade. Our arrival the clinic passes in a blur. But then I'm ushered into an examination room, and the last of my coherent thoughts are gone. My body wants two things, this baby out and Thayer squeezing my hand while I do it. And because I'm the luckiest girl in the world, I get my wishes.

THAYER

or several minutes I watch my wife sleep, my awe at what she endured less than an hour ago still overwhelming me. Our little Charlotte was in too much of a hurry to meet her brave mother that she didn’t even give Darcy the chance to ask for an epidural let alone get one. I’ve never seen anyone so brave in the face of fear. I’ll never know strength like hers. And I’ll never see anything as beautiful than our baby taking her first breath outside the womb or taking her first bit of nourishment from her mother’s breast. The door opens, and a nurse pushes through it with the glass bassinet that’s carrying our daughter. I hold a finger to my lips to shush the nurse. She smiles and nods, rolling the bassinet next to Darcy’s bed. “Everything looks good, Mr. Noble,” she whispers. “Enjoy the quiet…” She winks. “...for now.” As if breaking the magic spell, as soon as the nurse leaves, Charlotte begins to whimper and stir. On instinct, I scoop her into my arms and realize that other than showering her with kisses as she laid on Darcy’s chest, this is the first I’ve held her. And nothing could feel more natural. I take her to the window and draw the curtains so she can see the sky lit with stars and the whole village below. “Do you see that?” I whisper. “Everything out there and beyond is yours, Starlight.” I test the nickname, glance back at my still-sleeping wife. My sunshine and starlight. The beginning and end to my days. I can’t think of anything more perfect. “I’m going to give you the world,” I say softly, and her blue eyes open wider, as if she understands. “Where is she?” Darcy’s voice is scratchy and still full of sleep. I spin away from the window so she can see us both, and she holds out her arms. “Please?” she says. “I miss her already.” I grin and take the few steps to her bed, carefully laying our daughter on her chest after kissing her softly on her brand new baby cheek. With very little coaxing, Charlotte begins to nurse, and I am at a loss for words. “I love the way you look when you hold our daughter,” she says, looking up at me. I scoot onto the side of the bed, and Darcy nestles into my side. “I love everything about this exact moment,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “I get it now, you know,” I say, and Darcy’s brows crinkle. “What do you mean?” “Why my parents drove up that mountain even though they knew it was dangerous. Why they risked their lives to save mine.” She sucks in a ragged breath. “I know.” “There is nothing more important than this,” I say, tucking her hair behind her ear so I can press my lips to her cheek. “Nothing more important than you and

F

her.” She nods. “I love you both so much it hurts.” “I love you, wife,” I say, and kiss her once more, then realize what I want for my daughter has already been given to me. “Thank you—for giving me the world.” THE END Want to know as soon as the next Kaylee Quinn book is released and get alerts about the hottest deals in publishing? Want to get alerted to the hottest deals in romance from Favor Ford Publishing and learn as soon as the next Kaylee Quinn book is out? Sign up now to the Favor Ford Romance newsletter! Or turn the page to read DEVIL IN A SUIT (Book One) included here as a bonus book absolutely free!

BONUS CONTENT: DEVIL IN A SUIT (BOOK ONE) BY IVY CARTER

CHAPTER 1

E veryone wants to fuck Jared King.

It’s all I’ve heard about for the three weeks I’ve worked at King Advertising. My co-workers talking about how they want to sink to their knees beneath his desk, be pressed up against the back wall of the elevator, or frisked against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. There was even a particularly dirty conversation involving what they imagine he might do to them with his expensive silk ties. That one made me blush so bad I had to run to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. Not that I blame them. Jared King is probably the sexiest man on the East Coast, and a billionaire to boot. He’s dark and broody, with smoldering brown eyes and broad shoulders. But as I’ve also learned while covering for his assistant, Jared King is cold and calculating, a complete and total jerk. Every day from noon until 1pm (when Alec is at lunch) I answer phones, take messages, and pray that Mr. King doesn’t return from lunch before Alec can relieve me. “Jared King’s office,” I say now, only half-achieving the smooth-as-butter professional phone voice that I’ve been practicing since I started at King Advertising. Of course, I was hoping to use that voice with my own clients or in pitch meetings, not answering the CEO’s phone. But as the lowest level copywriter, I’ve been tasked to take all the jobs no one else wants, and that includes covering Jared King’s assistant’s desk when he’s out of the office. I doubt even the women who want Mr. King to ride them like show ponies would want this assignment. But as a newly minted business school graduate with only two suits to my name, I can’t be choosy. I can’t just take opportunities, I have to make them. Of course, I didn’t account for the fact that Jared King would barely look at me, much less speak to me. I’ve been here three weeks and the only word he’s said to me so far has been, “Messages?” And not in a friendly tone that said he was grateful for my service.

More in a cold, distant tone, somewhat irritated tone that implied that he wished he could just train a Labrador to do my job and be done with me entirely. Every day I’d hand him the printout of names and phone numbers I’d taken down during the last hour, and then, without ever pausing to even look me in the eye, he’d disappear behind his office door. Which he’d then slam shut. Hard. Thinking about my oh-so-brief and not very friendly encounters with the elusive billionaire makes me shiver as I come back to the present. As much as I’m intrigued by Jared King, I can’t wait for the lunch hour to end, so I can scurry back to my typical role, tucked safely away from any possible interaction with this intimidating person. “Jared King’s office,” I repeat into the receiver. There’s a low, crackling buzz underlying the connection that spikes every few seconds, completely obscuring the words of the person on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, Mr. King is away from his desk at the moment. Can I take a message?” I can’t tell if the sound coming through the phone is more static or an epic sigh. “Tell him … Rochester … version two … needs approval account immediately … version one … Dubai … 417-620.” It takes me a beat to realize that he is attempting to tell me a phone number, so I quickly scribble down the numbers I can make out. “I’m sorry sir, your phone is cutting out, can you please repeat that?” I ask, gripping the pen so hard my knuckles turn white. “Flight to Dubai … unreachable for the next 12 hours … 176 … 32…” I’m frantically trying to piece together the numbers. Was the 176 part of the 417-620? And did he mention a name even? “Can you please repeat that?” I ask again, my voice rising over the static like I’m yelling through a tin can and a string. But then the static disappears. There’s a moment of blessed silence, nothing but a slight ring in my ear from the earlier connection, but the peace is quickly overtaken by complete and total dread. Shit. I replace the handset on the cradle and stare at the phone, like I can will the guy to call back and fill in the blanks. I glance at the computer where I’d attempted to take a message, but all I have are fragments that look more like clues to catch a serial killer than a coherent phone message. Shit shit shit. The glass door of the suite flies open, and a tall figure in an impeccably tailored black suit strides through it. The heels of his large, polished leather shoes — probably Italian, but what do I know from designers— clack menacingly on the tile floor. Just the sight of him standing there, broad shouldered and brooding, his jawline so sharp it could cut glass, makes my eyes go wide and my stomach flip. Jared King. Fuck. My stomach does an epic drop, twisting and turning, feeling like it falls out my

feet and through the floor below. He crosses the pristine white rug covering the reception area in just three long strides, and then he’s next to the desk, towering over me, but gazing down only at the phone in his hand. “Messages?” he says, his voice gravelly, yet cold, his eyes never moving off the tiny screen. “Actually, there was one, but—“ Before I can finish, he holds out his hand, still not looking at me. I click a button and the printer spits out a paper. I pass it to him, and his eyes immediately go to the one at the bottom, the serial killer jumble of words and numbers. His eyes flick from the paper to me, and the heat behind them roots me to my chair. “What’s this?” he asks in that way someone might ask a dog what the giant puddle is on the middle of the rug. I try to fix a sweet smile to my face, my one and only weapon in my arsenal. It doesn’t work. It only makes his eyes narrow further. I struggle to find my voice. “That one just came in. The connection was terrible, and we got cut off before I could get the number down.” “This is from David Rochester?” Rochester. Ok, so not the city in New York. I nod. “Yes, that was from him.” Jared’s eyes narrow. “Did he give approval?” “I, um—” I pause, trying to bring back the memory of the call. Did he say anything about approval? He definitely mentioned an account, but I don’t think he said anything about approval. Or disapproval? “Did he or didn’t he?” Jared’s voice is quiet, but there is venom behind every word that sends a chill straight through me. My smile is all but gone now, and I’m simply trying not to cry. Not in front of him, anyway. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get anything from him before the line went dead,” I practically whisper. He stares at me, his chocolate brown eyes suddenly icy. I expect him to start yelling, or to say anything actually, but instead he just stares at me. For the last three weeks I’ve wondered what it would be like to have Jared King look at me, but this is not in my fantasy. The longer he stares, the colder I feel, all the color draining from my face. “Maybe he’ll call back?” I say, my voice thin. And as if I can’t get any more pathetic, my shoulders gave a tiny shrug. I see something flash behind his eyes, and I swear there’s the tiniest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. Like he is enjoying this. “No, he won’t call back,” he says, his voice like ice cubes running up and down my spine, “because he’s getting on a flight to Dubai, where he’ll be unreachable for the next 12 hours, the one thing I see you actually managed to write down.” Jared flicks the paper at me, and it flutters down into my lap. “Your inability to complete the one task assigned to you has just cost this company hundreds of thousands of dollars and potentially an entire account. So my question is, why are you even

here?” He doesn’t wait for a response. Apparently the question was entirely rhetorical, because he turns on his heel and disappears into his office. I don’t know how long I sit there staring at the discarded message log in my lap, my hands clutching the armrests of chair. Maybe it’s a few seconds, maybe even a few minutes. But when I feel the tears start to prick my eyes, I know I have to get myself together. I will not let Jared King make me cry. At least not out here where everyone can see. What I need is a release, and that’s what I have Janet for. Janet and I were roommates freshman year at BU, and have been best friends ever since. She recently started her first job as an assistant at a gallery in the South End, and she too has a dragon boss. To cope with our respective indignities, we’ve taken to firing off epic screeds to one another detailing all the things we wanted to say to our bosses but couldn’t. I open a new email, my fingers itching to tell her about the mixed up message and the way Jared tossed the paper in my lap like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. As I type it, I feel myself getting more and more heated. How dare he treat me like a screw up? I work my ass off, not that he’d know anything about that because he hardly bothers to look at me, let alone notice that I’m an actual human being trying my best. I type my thoughts down, enjoying the catharsis of saying exactly what I feel, almost as if I’m saying it to him. Right to Jared King’s smug, cold, arrogant face.

M y boss thinks he knows it all, clearly. But actually the man is blind.

His arrogance is keeping him from seeing that he has an amazing employee right under his nose, and his reign of terror only serves to silence people and thwart their true potential. And by people I mean me, and by potential, I mean that I am almost certain I could do his job if I was given the chance. He has had opportunities, he’s had people treat him with respect, but he can’t be bothered to do the same for someone like me. But of course, no one has ever or will ever call him on being so cruel and coldhearted. When you’re rich and sexy you can get away with treating people like servants or scum. When your employees spend their breaks talking about you bending them over the copy machine, you will pretty much always get your way. I can’t believe I let myself think that this job would actually be good for me. That I’d learn something and show people what I could do. Instead it’s just another company where the CEO treats everyone like shit and we all creep around pretending it doesn’t suck.

B y the time I get to the end of the email, I can feel the heat start to recede. The truth is, Jared pays so little attention to me that he’ll probably forget all about the botched phone message by tomorrow. I bet if I cut my hair, he’ll think he’s gotten a new temporary assistant, for all the notice he gives me. I decide to add that part in for good measure, smiling to myself as I sign off and hit send. The little whoosh sound of the email pops through the speakers, but before I can sit back in my chair, my eye catches on one line in the disappearing email. One little bit of text in the “To:” field. No. I couldn’t have. I didn’t. I pull up my sent mail, my eyes frantically searching for Janet Kinney, but it isn’t there. The last email in the queue, the one that opens with “You will not believe what my flaming asshole of a boss just did,” was not sent to Janet Kinney. It was sent to Jared King. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Goddammit.

CHAPTER 2

M y stomach immediately leaps into my throat and then plummets into my toes

for the second time this day. Five minutes ago my biggest concern was crying at my desk, but now I’m worried I might actually vomit. Right onto the white carpet. And I had tomato soup (standing up over the sink in the break room) for lunch. Panicking, I stand up, like I might actually just flee the building and never return, but instead I clutch the desk, take a few deep breaths, and then sit down at the computer. I let my eyes skim over the offending email, opting to open a new one instead. My fingers are shaking, my breath coming in rapid bursts, as I type.

M r. King,

Please disregard the previous email, which I sent to you in error. I would appreciate it if you would delete it upon receipt. Sincerely, Quinn Carson

I send it, and then I wait.

It feels like two eternities pass, but really it’s just a few moments during which I have to stop myself from chewing my fingernails down to ragged stubs. The reply dings in my inbox. I don’t even have to open it before my heart drops. I can see the that the body of the email is blank, the subject line simply reading, “NO.” My first thought is that I need to go empty my mailbox, pack up my desk, and get out of here before this gets any worse. Sure, I won’t be able to make rent this month without a paycheck, but I could go live with my parents out in Worcester while I search for something new. Of course, if Jared King decides to give me a bad recommendation or blackball me entirely, getting another job won’t even be an option. I’ll have to leave the state. Probably the entire east coast. Or I could go back to school, maybe get my teaching degree like mom. I don’t even really like kids, but maybe I could learn …

“No,” I whisper to myself, feeling the sudden swell of the ego and pride that got me a 4.0 at BU. I’m not a quitter, never have been, and I’m not about to start now. “This is ridiculous. You can fix it. You will fix it.” I can’t leave the state. Or go back to school. I don’t want to. I love business. I worked my ass off all the way through school, and then worked my ass off to get this job. I will not let one jerk of a boss and one accidental email take all that away from me. When I’ve managed to talk myself up into something resembling courage, I rise from the desk and move to his office door, which is firmly shut. I raise my hand, but it takes me a good ten seconds before I can bring myself to knock on the door. When I do, it comes out quick and staccato, like machinegun blasts. Every nerve ending in my body feels electrified. Calm. Down. I tell myself, but it’s not working. I can feel my heart rapidly doubling its pace. “Come in.” His voice is low, the command practically a dare. I step into his office and find him behind his desk, a shiny black pen in his hand that probably costs more than my monthly rent. His gaze is on the stack of contracts he’s signing. I wait a beat for him to acknowledge me, but he refuses. I’m standing there on the rug like a first grader who’s been called before the teacher. He’s going to force me to say something, to start this conversation. I take a deep breath, hoping my voice will come out without a quiver, but knowing that’s mostly a losing battle. “I just wanted to say that I’m very sorry about the email,” I begin. I channel the professionalism that got me through three interviews and a presentation to get me this job. “I was blowing off steam to a friend, but it was unprofessional and out of line. I was really frustrated with myself for the message error, because I work very hard to avoid mistakes, and missing that message was definitely a mistake. I am deeply sorry, and it will not happen again.” There’s a long silence, during which he continues scrawling his name on documents. “For the email or the message?” He still refuses to look at me, and I can tell now that it’s purposeful. “Both,” I reply. “And you try very hard not to make mistakes, you say?” His voice is still low, gravelly and — I can’t believe I’m thinking this — sexy. He’s starting to sound almost amused. “Yes,” I say. “So then you weren’t mistaken when you called me, what was it again?” And then his eyes flicker up to mine, his gaze intense, pinning me to my spot on the carpet, “Ah yes, cruel and coldhearted.” Oh. My. God. I feel like all the air is getting sucked out of the room, which is the only excuse for what comes out of my mouth next. “Hey, it wasn’t all bad,” I say, almost certainly oxygen deprived, the only excuse for me right now. “I also called you sexy.” I meant it as a joke. At least, I think I did, because if the feeling of heat spreading between my legs is any indication, I also think I meant it for real. But those eyes —

those gorgeous, cold brown eyes — betray no laughter. The joke, if that’s what you could call it, lands with a thud and a whimper. For a girl who tries not to make any mistakes, I sure am racking up my fair share today. Gee, why don’t you just lunge across the desk and take your top off while you’re at it? Dear God, please let this floor open up and swallow me whole. I try desperately to recover, to salvage this rapidly disintegrating encounter. “Again, I’m so sorry. I was — well, there’s no excuse. All I can say is that I’m having an unusually bad day, and if you give me a chance, I think you’ll find that I can be valuable to you,” I say, then realize what I’ve said, my cheeks flushing. “I mean, to the company.” He drops his pen and sits back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, which is broad and defined, even in a suit. He cocks an eyebrow ever so slightly, and I feel my knees quiver beneath me. Thank god I’m standing on carpet, because my heels would probably audibly click on the bare wood floor with all the trembling. “Actually,” he says, his voice still full of gravel and sharp edges, “there is something you could do. For me.” “Of course,” I reply. I wish my voice didn’t sound quite so eager. “I need you to make a reservation for two at Renew. 8pm.” I nod, a feeling of relief sweeping over my trembling body. This I can do. No problem. “For tonight,” he says, that touch of amusement back in his voice, like a panther playing with a baby deer before he devours it. My heart sinks. This is going to be no easy task. Renew just opened last month, and thanks to rave reviews in both the Globe and The Times, it’s been the hot reservation in town. I’ve heard the waiting list is weeks long, if not months. And he wants a reservation for tonight? Would he also like a golden chariot and a seat in the dugout for the next Red Sox game? But of course I can’t betray a hint of nervousness. I told him I was valuable. Capable. I can’t show him that I’m already going back on my declaration within ten seconds of uttering it. And from the way he’s staring me down from behind that desk, I know he’ll be watching every move I make for even the slightest hint of a misstep. Well he’s going to have to look hard. “Of course,” I say. And then I turn on my heel, glad I’m wearing new, scuff-free patent leather heels that I found for 75% off at the outlet mall instead of the morecomfortable black clogs that I usually wear. Not that I should care what I’m wearing around Mr. King. Or that he cares. Or notices. Dammit, Quinn, get your head in the game. You have a Herculean task to complete As soon as I’m back at my desk, I pull up the phone number and dial. This is my chance to put the awful last few minutes in the rearview mirror and convince Jared King not to have me fired, for he surely has every right to do so.

“Renew,” the clipped voice of the restaurant’s hostess says. Her accent is something Russian or otherwise Cold War-era, and it gives me a shiver just listening to it. “Yes, I’m calling to make a reservation for two. 8pm,” I say, then swallow to make sure my voice is appropriately authoritative. “For tonight.” There’s a beat of silence, during which I half expect her to start laughing. Instead, she says simply, “We are completely booked.” “Is there anything —“ I try, but she cuts me off with a simple, unsympathetic no. I sit back in my chair wondering how much of the paltry sum of cash in my bank account that I would have to offer this woman and still make my rent when my eyes land on a framed article hanging on the opposite wall. It’s the cover of Boston Magazine, featuring none other than my boss, Jared King, in a black pea coat, the collar popped, his gaze a picture of smoldering sex. Alongside his chiseled features are the words “Boston’s Most Eligible Billionaire.” I can feel myself smiling as I lean my elbows onto the desk, preparing to lay my trump card. “The reservation is for Jared King,” I say, and that’s all it takes. Suddenly the hostess’s tone isn’t so clipped. I wouldn’t call it warm, because warm is just not done in Boston’s trendiest restaurant, but it’s definitely accommodating. By the time I hang up I not only have a reservation, but the promise of one of the best tables and a personal welcome from the chef. It sounds like it’s going to be an incredible night. I don’t let myself wonder who else is going to be eating with him tonight, sharing this incredible night with him. That’s not my job. I work for Jared King, and whatever beautiful model or actress he is courting at the moment, I needn’t give it a second thought. What do I care? I don’t. I got the reservation. That’s all that matters. And yet I do find myself picturing them together, and feeling a surge of inexplicable jealousy at the thought that I can’t be her—whomever her is. I don’t qualify. But maybe if I were just a few inches taller, and thinner, and able to afford the best clothes and the best trainers to get my body tight and toned…maybe I would qualify. Maybe I would be worthy of his time and attentions. But I don’t qualify and that’s why he doesn’t even see me. As much as I want to march back into his office and declare mission accomplished, I don’t want to risk another crash and burn like I had earlier. Instead I fire off an email confirming his reservation, closing with yet another apology. His response is swift, and surprising. My office is all the email says. No please. Not even a complete sentence. Just a fragment of an order. And as much as I want to be angry, there’s a flutter inside me that has me standing from my chair, pulling my shoulders back, and striding into his inner sanctum once again. This time he’s waiting for me, his elbows resting on his glass-

topped desk, his hands clasped beneath the subtle cleft in his chin. My mind immediately goes to Caitlyn’s assertion that Jared King could bend her over the copy machine, and I think about sinking beneath that glass-topped desk of his. Thank god he can’t read my mind right now, or I’d be both fired and facing a sexual harassment lawsuit. “I assume you’re still feeling the need to prove yourself?” Jared asks. My heart catches in my throat at the gravelly tone in his voice. “What do you need?” I can see that my determination is surprising him. I’m sure I look like a girl who should be in a puddle of tears right now. I’m cursing my choice of baby pink cardigan over a white oxford and a knee-length black skirt. I look more librarian than head bitch in charge. But I will not let my wardrobe define me right now. I imagine myself wearing the slim black suit I saw at Nordstrom’s that I was too afraid to touch, much less try on. That’s probably what the woman dining with Jared King tonight will be wearing. He nods. “There’s a little shop on Newbury Street. Délicat.” His French is flawless and sounds like rich butter melting on a baguette. “Are you familiar with it?” “Yes,” I reply, though familiar is about all I am with it. Délicat is an upscale boutique selling dainty, yet dangerous, lingerie. Beautiful and expensive and meant to be ripped from your body, preferably by someone’s teeth. I’ve walked past it on my way to brunch, peered through the window as I passed, trying not to get caught staring in at the little pieces of lace and satin. I’ve never worked up the courage to go in, not that I could afford anything in there to begin with. Or that I’d wear anything in there. Twenty-two-year-old virgins have no reason to wear anything sold in Délicat. “Excellent. I’d like you to pick up a gift for my date,” he says. He taps his toe beneath the desk, somehow both impatient and a dare. When he says the word date, I get another furious twinge of jealousy and my stomach clenches. Ok, so I guess I’m finally going in Délicat. If that’s what he wants, I’m game. I nod at him, but before I can go, I see the corner of his luscious lips turn up into a hint of a smile. He’s not done. Not even close. “My date is about your size,” he says, his eyes roving the length of my body leaving a trail of heat wherever they land. “I’d appreciate it if you could try it on to be sure it’s right. If you don’t mind, of course.” Right? Right for what? This I don’t ask, because now I know he’s playing with me. He’s like a big game hunter cocking an enormous rifle, the sight set squarely on me. This is a game, and I can’t lose. I refuse. Still, just the thought that I am even the same size or general shape of his future date tonight has me on pins and needles. It makes me feel warm all over to know that he has seen my body, evaluated it, perhaps not found it totally and completely lacking.

I square my shoulders and nod. “I can do that,” I say. And then, I screw up my courage and dish a little back at him. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?” But Jared King is ready. As if he was hoping I’d ask, he casually bites his lower lip, then leans back in his chair, now openly staring at my figure, which is successfully hidden beneath the aforementioned baby pink cardigan. I vow to burn the thing as soon as I get home. But I should have known that billionaire Jared King possessed a sixth sense or Xray vision, because without skipping a beat he says, “Let me guess, you’re currently wearing underwear that’s one hundred percent cotton?” Despite my best efforts to remain composed, I feel all the saliva retreat from my mouth. He has me dead to rights. I don’t really wear sexy lace underwear, thongs, or any of that kind of thing. I drop my gaze to the floor as my cheeks flush and the heat rises to my face. When I finally look at him again, he’s still staring at me. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and his smug smile would be maddening if it wasn’t so goddamn sexy. He shakes his head. “Maybe you’re not the right person for this job.” “I can do this,” I say, too quickly for my liking. But suddenly I want nothing more than to prove myself to him. And if that means buying sexy lingerie for whatever blond trust fund case who will probably only push her food around on her plate (despite the fact that Renew is known for spicy steamed pork buns and a crème brulee so rich it could stop your heart), then that’s what I’ll do. My insistence seems to only fuel Jared’s fire. He arches an eyebrow and nods towards to the door. “Then you’d better get going,” he says, suddenly back in boss mode, ordering me around like a poorly trained puppy. “My car will be waiting for you downstairs.” Back in the lobby I grab my purse and start to swap out my heels for flats before I remember that I’m going to Délicat. Those saleswomen will probably toss me out for wearing anything with less than a 4 inch heel, so I leave them on. Downstairs, a shiny black Mercedes is waiting, the rear passenger door held open by an older man with gray hair in a black suit and tie. “Mademoiselle,” he says. I instantly flush with the realization that this man who just called me “mademoiselle” is driving me to try on slutty lingerie for my boss. I wonder if this is a task he takes on frequently. While I’ve never seen Jared with a woman in the office, he’s nearly always photographed for the society pages standing next to this supermodel or that heiress, all size negative with smokey eyes and bored-looking smiles. Those are the women for whom I’m purchasing this lingerie, who are supposedly my size (though, with my full breasts, curved hips and even fuller backside, I’m skeptical). I climb into the car, the door shutting behind me, and within moments we’re speeding through Fort Point towards Newbury Street in that fast-yet-controlled way that only luxury cars seem capable of. I spend the short drive trying to

mentally prepare myself to walk through the door at Délicat, but I don’t have nearly enough time. In a matter of minutes my driver is opening the door, and I have no choice but to climb out onto the sidewalk. The store is quiet, not even a low ambient classical soundtrack playing in the background. It’s cold and quiet like a fine art museum, the garments hung like works of art along the pristine white walls. There are no other shoppers when I enter, leaving the two saleswomen, both in little black dresses that definitely don’t look like they came from an outlet mall, to focus only on me. They observe me from behind the gleaming white counter, no sign of a cash register in sight, of course, because that would be gauche. At most stores, a salesperson practically leaps on you as soon as you walk in, offering assistant and guidance and potentially even best friendship. But here, in this gleaming white tomb-like shop full of underwear that makes me blush just looking at it on hangers, I feel like I should be greeting them. Get it together, Carson, I tell myself, and then stroll as confidently as I can towards the nearest rack. I flip through the satin-covered hangers and, as discreetly as I can, flip over a price tag. $650. For a lace thong. I stifle a gasp, which would certainly echo across the bare marble floors. I guess this is where billionaire money goes. “Can I help you?” The salesgirl appears as if by apparition, sounding incredible skeptical that she has anything resembling assistance for me. “Yes. I’m looking for, um, something?” I clear my throat and try it again, as a statement this time. “I’ve been sent here to pick out something for a date this evening at Renew.” The name of the hottest reservation in Boston serves as a starter’s pistol, and before I can tell the girl I will not be going on the date, and that the something isn’t for me, she’s reached for something black and almost completely see-through. Then she turns on her heel and crosses the store in loud click clacks and plucks what I think is underwear but bears a closer resemblance to a tangle of ribbons. She doesn’t ask my size or what colors I like, just begins shopping for me. And I follow her around the store like a lost kitten while she picks items and hangs them off her razor-thin arm until we stop in front of a velvet curtain. She sweeps it aside with a loud whoosh and gestures me inside. I step in, and the curtain shuts behind me. Suddenly alone staring at the delicate, lacy, mostly black items hanging on a hook against the wall, I realize what I’m about to do. Try on six hundred dollar lingerie. For my boss. Holy shit. This is not how I expected today to go when I woke up this morning. “Do you need help getting into anything?” comes the voice beyond the curtain. “No!” I say. And then I hustle out of my oxford shirt before she can come in. I start with what looks to be the tamest item, a black lace bra and panty set with mesh along the hips and bra cups, delicate lace flowers just barely hiding my

nipples. “You have something on?” “Yes!” I say, hoping to keep her out, but either she doesn’t hear me or decides I need her assistance regardless, because the curtain flies open and she steps in. I take a step back, using my arms to cover myself, doing only slightly better than the black mesh lingerie. If she notices my shyness, she chooses to ignore it, stepping forward to adjust cups and straps, spinning me around and falling into an effortless squat to tug at the elastic around my thighs. When she’s satisfied with the fit, she stands up and steps back, appraising me up and down. From the tiny scrunch of her perfect ski slope of a nose, I can tell it’s not right. “Not that,” she says. She reaches for a pair of hangers hidden in the back of the pile, the items I’d been most frightened of and confused by. It’s black lace and mesh with delicate silver flowers sewn throughout. The bra is a simple bandeau, but it’s merely ornamentation. The silver flowers will hide nothing, and there’s a wide swath of lace that I have no idea what to do with. “This. I’ll help you,” she asserts. As much as I do not want to get undressed in front of this woman, I also know that I will not survive an attempt to put that on my body without assistance, so I decide to acquiesce and accept her help. It takes about ten seconds before I realize that I don’t need to cover my bare breasts or worry about keeping my knees closed in front of this woman, whose name I do not know. I’m nothing more than a mannequin to her. I lift my arm when she tells me, and otherwise give her hands free access to my body. I bend over and let her tuck my breasts into the bandeau and try not to flinch as her fingers brush my inner thighs. I discover that the swath of lace is actually a corset, and I suck in as the salesgirl laces it up the back. I sit as she helps me roll on a pair of nylons, a delicate seam up the back, and I watch in wonder as she expertly snaps the garters. When she steps back, I see myself in the mirror for the first time. “That is what you wear to Renew,” she says as she steps back, her arms crossed over her chest. I know nothing about lingerie, or dates at hot restaurants, but when I look in the mirror I know for sure that she’s right. This is what’s under all those designer dresses in the society pages. This is what Jared King sees when he slowly lowers the zipper on a woman’s dress. This is what makes him hard. And that thought makes me very, very wet. “Regina, you have a phone call,” says a bored-sounding voice from beyond the curtain. “Be right back,” she says, and then she disappears, leaving me alone in the dressing room in sexy lingerie that I have absolutely no idea how to remove. My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out to see a text from a number I

don’t recognize.

How does it look? I t’s him. Jared fucking King, texting me!

I don’t even know how to begin to reply to that, but suddenly I’m starting to worry about another woman wearing these panties after me. Because this text is twisting my mind into knots of desire that may just be leaving its mark. Still, I don’t want to say anything stupid like I said in his office, so I stick with a mostly benign response.

The salesgirl says it’s perfect. His response is immediate. I don’t care what the salesgirl thinks. A nd then: Tell me what you picked. I look

in the mirror, trying to imagine how I could describe this without embarrassing myself, but nothing comes to mind. He seems to sense my problem, because his next text takes it a step further.

Send me a picture. Y es, these panties are definitely going to need to be washed.

I’m simultaneously turned on and frightened. He wants me to text him a picture? Of me? Wearing this? Suddenly we’ve gone beyond playful. Now we’re entering more dangerous territory. This isn’t just some assignment to prove that

I’m worth keeping around the office. This is something else. This is something more. And I know this must be a mistake, because not only is it stupid and wrong to talk like this with your boss—but I am so not even in the same league as the kind of woman Jared King is interested in. And yet…here he is, texting me. Why? Just because he can? I look at myself in the mirror again, at the way the lace hugs my hips, the curve of the little booty shorts hugging my butt just right. I look at the way my breasts heave, full and round in the bralette. And I look at my nipples, firm and at attention. He wants to see me like this. Me. He asked for it, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I want to. It’s a want so clear and so deep that I don’t even have to question it. He may be daring me just for a fun diversion, but it’s me who won’t back down. I listen to make sure Regina isn’t clicking her heels back here, then I point my phone at the full-length mirror, turn my right hip out and pop my knee. I focus in on my hip and the curve of my butt, the milky white of my thigh, and then I snap the picture. It’s not exactly what he asked for, but it’s a taste. Heart pounding so hard that I can hardly hear myself think. My body is shaking with adrenaline, and I feel almost dizzy. My phone buzzes in my hand.

I ’m impressed. Wear it tonight. I didn’t think it was possible for him to surprise me further, but here I am, nearly dropping my phone onto the marble floor in my shock.

Tonight? I respond. His follow up text comes just a split second later. To Renew. 8pm. My driver will pick you up. I sit down on the cold bench in the dressing room and stare at my phone, trying to process what’s happening, how I went from majorly screwing up at covering for

Jared King’s assistant to trying on slinky lingerie to accompanying Jared King to dinner. Because apparently tonight the woman in the expensive lingerie at the hottest restaurant in town with the most eligible billionaire? Will be me. And then comes the final text of the day.

D on’t be late.

CHAPTER 3

I charge the lingerie to his account, trying to overlook the fact that Jared King even

has an account at Délicat. That perhaps he’s done this before. In all likelihood with another employee, someone I know or have seen around the office. I don’t care. Tonight he’s doing it with me. And the thrill it gives me both turns me on and frightens me. Because what exactly are we doing? That’s the question that keeps running through my head on a continuous loop while Mr. King’s — Jared’s — driver takes me back to my apartment to “get ready.” I have a black bag perched on my lap, my — my — new lingerie folded in tissue paper and tucked into a gold box inside, a black satin ribbon so soft it looks likes blank ink, tied around the top. The final total? $1,250. Which is exactly what I pay for my not-very-nice studio apartment. The car glides to a stop in front of my apartment in Somerville, a shabby building with peeling white siding that does not look a like a place where a luxury car often stops. Even though I reach to open my own door, the driver is out of the car and opening it for me before I can make it. “I will be back to pick you up at 8pm, Miss Carson,” he says, his face professionally impassive. “Thank you,” I reply. I climb the four flights to my apartment with my shoes in my hand until I reach the door of my tiny studio, which faces an alley. Even with the walk-up and the dank, dark view, I can still just barely afford. Sure, my salary at King Advertising is decent, but it’s still an entry-level job, and I’ve just begun starting to pay off my massive student loans from Boston University. I toss my purse on the floor near the door and gently place the Délicat bag on the card table in the kitchen. The clock on the oven reads 5:30pm, giving me just over two and a half hours to “get ready,” per Jared’s instructions. Whatever that means. I glance at the black bag and realized it might take me that long just to get back into the bra, panties, and corset. But there’s something I need to do first. My laptop is sitting on my coffee table, a scratch-and-dent purchase from IKEA, sitting in front of the shabby floral couch from my parents’ basement in Worcester.

I open it and pull up a fresh Google search page and type in Jared’s name. For having such a common name, he comes up immediately. The first page of search results are all him. I guess that’s what comes of being a billionaire bachelor. No one is going to mistake you for Jared King the plumber from Nebraska. The first hit is the company website, which of course I’ve scoured top to bottom. I’d done my fair share of research on the company before I interviewed for the job. Founded four years ago and quickly grew to be the biggest firm in Boston, third largest on the East Coast. Specializes in luxury brands and high-end corporations. Has an entire division devoted to low-cost assistance for nonprofit organizations specializing in children and families. All facts that had made King Advertising my dream company from the time I started job searching during my senior year. And because I’d graduated at the top of my class in the business school, with internships in Boston and New York and stellar references from faculty and supervisors, I’d had no trouble landing the job. But in all my research, I’d paid very little attention to the company’s founder, Jared King. It didn’t seem necessary, when my interview was with HR and I was applying to be a junior copywriter. I didn’t expect to ever see Jared King, much less work with him. And besides, what did I care about some rich playboy anyway? I knew his reputation, and that seemed enough. He would be my boss’s boss’s boss, so his personal life didn’t seem like much of my concern. But now I’ve got a bag filled with over a $1,000 worth of lingerie and instructions to wear it on a date tonight for a meal that will probably cost just as much, with a man who has a photo of my lace-covered ass on his phone right now. Suddenly Boston’s Most Eligible Billionaire seems very much my concern. So I skip the King Advertising website and pull up the profile from Boston Magazine, the very one that’s framed across from his assistant’s desk. It’s not very long. Apparently being eligible doesn’t make him very forthcoming. Four years at the Naval Academy, where he graduated first in his class. Four years as a commissioned officer in the Navy post-graduation, yet despite a bright future in the military, he left as soon as his commission was up to start King Advertising at the age of twenty-six. According to the reporter, Jared had been linked to several prominent names in the last four years, from supermodels to CEOs to heiresses to daughters of revered political families, but none of the women stuck. It seemed they served mostly as arm candy, and then he moved on. After reading the article twice, I click on an image search and feel my stomach instantly bloom with desire. Photo after photo of Jared King, almost all of them showing him in an impeccably tailored suit. There’s one of him shaking hands with the President at his Naval Academy graduation, Jared looking dashing and sexy in his dress whites. There are several of him in a tuxedo at various charity functions looking like a dirty Disney prince with his dark, smoldering eyes and light stubble across his

chiseled chin. And buried far down the search page is one photo of him wearing swim trunks, a vintage cut that make him look like a classic Hollywood movie star, his skin tan, his abs rippling into a perfect six pack. I swear to god just looking at it makes me come. What could he possibly want with me? I glance around my apartment, the walls mostly bare save for a bulletin board and a couple of movie posters that had migrated over from my dorm room. All my furniture came either from the side of the road, my parents’ basement, or an IKEA special. None of the clothes in my closet were purchased at full-price, and the only store on Newbury Street I frequent is H&M. My parents aren’t politicians or professional rich people. My mother teaches kindergarten at a Catholic school in Worcester, and my dad is a mechanic for the MBTA. The most exotic place we traveled was Bar Harbor for a week every summer, where we feasted on lobster rolls and tried to convince ourselves that the water wasn’t too cold for swimming. But none of that even compares to the biggest barrier that stands between me and Jared King. This sexy, chiseled billionaire photographed with beautiful women, who buys them expensive lingerie and speaks in that liquid growl, whose employees fantasize about getting bent over his desk, is not going to want anything to do with a virgin like me. Twenty-two and a virgin. I did not have sex in college, when everyone else was busy getting it on. My virginity has nothing to do with a religious preference or any of the scared straight lectures we got at my Catholic high school. It doesn’t even have anything to do with lack of opportunity. I dated a few guys in college, most of who kissed like a wet vac and groped me like they were trying to perform a TSA strip search. Every time I’d come close to getting naked with a guy all I could feel was massive amounts of disappointment coupled with extreme awkwardness, so I’d stop them, fake a headache or plead an early exam and say goodnight. They never called again, and I never much cared. Instead I spent my Friday and Saturday nights studying or working in the library, trying to earn as much as I could to offset my student loans and studying hard enough to make them worth it. But something about Jared tells me he’ll be anything but a disappointment, which means I can only be a disappointment to him. I have no idea what to do with a man like that. I don’t know where to put my hands, or what to do with my hands. I lean back on my couch and let my mind wander for a moment, from the photo of his tanned body on the beach to the man himself sitting behind his desk daring me to try on lingerie for him. Perhaps even now looking at the picture I texted him, a picture that I never should have sent. What was I thinking? With only an hour left until the car comes — and Jared’s warning not to be late ringing in my mind— I jump up from the couch and start to get ready. After a

shower, where I carefully shave my legs and make sure my bikini line is in shape, I spritz myself with the ocean water body spray I got in a gift bag at work. I dry my shoulder-length hair into loose, beachy waves (my only runway-ready feature) and dig through the drawer in my vanity to pull out all my best makeup. Then I retrieve the Délicat bag from the kitchen table and slip into the lace and satin. I adjust my full breasts into the bra, snap the elastic cupping my ass, and then carefully tug at the strings on the lace corset, just like Regina showed me back at the store. When I feel the corset pull at my skin just beneath my breasts I feel a burst of heat rush through me. Good lord. This underwear has already gotten me closer to an orgasm than any man ever has. I give myself a few moments to stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if maybe, just maybe I could be the kind of woman Jared King would want in his bed. I shake my head, my long bob brushing my bare shoulders, to let go of that idea. I have no idea what tonight is — a date, a punishment, a delicious torture, a prelude to being fired — but I can’t let myself think about Jared King’s bed. I go to my closet and pull out my one and only cocktail dress, a short silk number in a dark plum color with a deep v-neck and a full, flouncy skirt. I found it at a consignment shop, a steal thanks to a tiny pull along the hem, which my mom happily repaired for me. I figured working for a company like King Advertising, with their top-shelf clients, I’d need something for the inevitable work event. This was not the type of work event I had in mind. I step into it and carefully zip the exposed gold zipper, then slip on a pair of black peep-toe heels, another consignment store purchase. I step in front of the mirror and give myself a final once-over, practicing the kind of bored, distracted look the women Jared is known for dating wear all the time, but it doesn’t look right. No one has ever described me as sexy. What I get called most often is “sweet,” with my blond hair, blue eyes, and pink lips that are most often curved into an eager smile. And I’ve always been happy with that. I’ve never been down on the way I look. So instead I look at myself in the mirror and smile the smile of someone who looks amazing, who’s wearing $1200 worth of lingerie, who works at a top advertising firm and is eating dinner with a billionaire. And that’s when I realize I look fucking great. Whatever is happening tonight, at least I look the best I’ve ever looked. I can take whatever’s coming. I hope. A horn honks outside my window, two short, polite blasts, and I peer out the window to see the Mercedes waiting on the street below. I take one final deep breath, dab at my lipstick with my pinkie finger, grab my purse, and hustle out the door to meet my fate.

CHAPTER 4

The car takes me straight to Renew, located in a refurbished brownstone in the

South End. Though the street is narrow, unassuming, and mostly residential, several chauffeured cars like mine idle outside the restaurant. The driver once again opens the door for me, and I only wobble slightly on my heels as I step out. Inside the restaurant, the walls are dark, the restaurant lit only with exposed Edison bulbs casting the tables in a warm glow. The restaurant is crowded, but thick oriental rugs layered beneath the tables keep the conversations from bouncing around the room. Everyone leans across flickering candlelight to speak in hushed tones to speak to their companions, as if everyone is participating in something elicit simply by ordering dinner. I stop at the hostess stand, a sleek black pedestal with a single rose in a clear case perched atop it. “I’m meeting Jared King,” I say. The hostess, a tall, lithe woman whose white blond hair is pulled into a high, severe ponytail, gazes at me with a question on her face, but it remains unasked. Instead she eyes me from my head to my toes as she cocks her head towards the back of the restaurant. I follow her. I want to stop her and say, Don’t worry, I have as much idea about what I’m doing here as you do. Or, Just wait, I’m probably just here to be fired, and then you can go home with him. She leads me to a table is near a back window looking out onto a garden lit with tea lights and covered in early spring flowers. Jared is already seated, his gaze out the window, but when he hears me approach he turns and lasers his focus on me so fast I swear I feel the heat of it in my bones. I have to force myself not to wobble in my heels at the sight of him. He stands from his seat while a maître d' appears and pulls out my chair. He looks tall and broad in his dark Armani suit — the only thing he wears, according to Boston Magazine. He didn’t shave, either because he was late at the office or because he somehow already knew my weakness for a strong jaw with a five o’clock shadow. Either way, it definitely gives him an upper hand with me. My inner thighs quiver as I move to take my seat. His eyes roam the length of my body, but his face betrays nothing. If he’s

impressed with me, he doesn’t show it. “Quinn,” he says simply by way of greeting. “Mr. King,” I reply, because even though he’s seen my ass in the underwear I’m currently wearing, he’s still my boss. We sit, and he leans forward on his elbows. “I think Jared will be fine.” “Okay,” I say. Okay?! Dammit, why can’t I be sophisticated? Before I can open my mouth and say something else pedestrian, a waiter appears with leather-bound menus, but Jared waves him off, instead ordering an array of food that I assume is for both of us. Whether these items are actually on the menu or not, the waiter doesn’t say. He simply nods. He’s used to giving people what they want, which is good, because one thing I know about Jared King is that he’s used to getting what he wants. Jared orders a bottle of wine, something French and likely very expensive. He pronounces perfectly and sends my mind spinning as I think about the things his tongue could do. Jesus, Quinn, calm down. When the waiter disappears to put in our — his — order, Jared turns his focus back to me, and I’m instantly pinned to my chair. “So Quinn,” he says in that deliciously gravelly voice, “tell me about yourself.” “What do you want to know?” I ask. He pauses for a beat, never taking his eyes off mine. “Everything.” I inhale sharply, feeling myself starting to get nervous. Ok, more nervous. But the sommelier appears tableside with our wine bottle and a corkscrew. He uncorks the white with a satisfying hiss and pop, then pours Jared a taste. Jared brings the glass to his nose and inhales deeply, leaving me imagining his breath on my bare skin, then expertly swirls the wine in the glass and takes a sip. He lets the wine rest on his tongue in a way that once again sets my mind to thoughts of the filthier persuasion, then swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. How does this man make tasting wine into a sexual act? Jared gives the sommelier a brief nod, and he proceeds to fill first my glass, then Jared’s. I reach for mine to take a sip — anything to calm my nerves — but Jared holds up his glass. “To new experiences,” he says. “To new experiences,” I repeat, the words feeling hot on my tongue. Then we clink glasses, and I take a long pull from my own. The wine is spicy and smoky and tastes expensive. It warms me immediately, like a cashmere blanket being pulled over my bare skin. I take another sip, and finally I feel ready to have a conversation with Jared King. “Let’s start with where you went to school,” he says. “Boston University. Summa cum laude,” I add, for reasons I can’t explain, and I hate myself for blushing when I say ‘cum.’

He cocks an eyebrow at me that sends my stomach flipping. “Impressive. And you studied business?” “Yes. I focused on advertising.” “Why?” “Why not?” I ask, firing back a little too quickly. Jared scoffs. “That’s a little girl’s answer. You strike me as a woman who knows why she does things,” he says, and suddenly it’s not just the wine that’s making me feel hot. But I like the challenge, that he makes me think about it, because when I answer, I know it’s true. “Because I love business, but I also wanted to be creative. I like design and writing, and advertising encompasses both.” “Then why not go into the arts? Write and illustrate children’s books? Or edit them?” Jared asks, and when I don’t answer, I see a spark in his eye, the hint of victory on his face. “Ah, because you also like money.” “I don’t —“ “You wanted more than what your parents had, what you had growing up. You chose advertising because you want,” he says, his voice practically a growl, and I honestly don’t know if he’s talking about business or lust. “Let me guess. Western Mass? Your mom’s a teacher, your dad does something with his hands?” I nod, feeling pulled along on a string. “Kindergarten. And a mechanic,” I reply, then shake my head. “But you’re wrong about the money. I don’t care about that.” “Then what do you care about?” “Respect. Working hard and achieving something,” I say, then pause before adding, “Being the best.” “But you don’t care about the money,” he says, cool yet skeptical. “I’m not wooed by wealth,” I reply, finally finding some courage and sass within me. I can’t let him run this table. I cross my legs beneath the table and feel my toe connect with his calf, which is rock hard with carefully sculpted muscle. Jared leans forward, his face lit by the glow of the candle in the delicate glass bowl in the middle of the table. “Then tell me, Quinn, how does that lingerie, which I assume cost more than your rent, feel on your body? Do you like it? Are you wooed by it?” I sit back in my chair, sure that even if I wanted to get up and run, my legs would not allow it. My entire body feels like it’s filled with hot lava and expensive wine, but I don’t think it’s the alcohol that’s making me woozy. The food arrives, cutting off my answer, though I have no idea what it would have been. Atop my plate is something that looks like beef, though it’s architecturally arranged with vibrant colors of sauces and vegetables such that I couldn’t even begin to name the dish. For himself, Jared has ordered a steak, and when he cuts into it, I see bright red. We eat in relative silence, exchanging only furtive glances across the table as we sip our wine. I’m trying desperately not to think of the lingerie, growing wetter by the

minute as I repeat his question. Do you like it? Are you wooed by it? I keep hoping he’ll say something more, ask me a question, or tell me what the hell is going on here, but he seems to be controlling me with nothing more than silence and a few devious looks. As I finish the last bite of my meal and place my knife and fork on the plate, I see Jared with a Cheshire grin. He’s enjoying this, taunting me. The waiter comes to offer dessert menus, but once again Jared waves him off, and then we’re alone again, only without food to distract us from the intense gazes across the table. This is a game, and I’m losing. He has the upper hand, and he’s using it to toy with me. I can’t just sit here and let him win. When I can’t take it anymore, when I feel like I’m coming to come from the force of his gaze alone, I finally crack. “What am I doing here?” I ask him, the words coming out with a force I didn’t know I had inside me. “You are my date,” he says, my stomach flipping on the word ‘my,’ because I get the sense that Jared King is used to possessing things. And tonight he’s possessing me. “But why?” “What do you mean why?” “Why me? After that email I sent you? I was half-thinking you were inviting me here to fire me in the most elegant ways. But so far it seems you just wanted to dress me up, feed me expensive food and wine, and then re-interview me. I don’t understand what’s going on. What is it that you want?” As soon as I ask the question, I know it’s the one he’s been waiting for, and I’ve phrased it in exactly the way he hoped. He smiles, a knowing, Cheshire grin, and I brace myself for what’s coming next. “Because of the email, Quinn,” he says, my name rolling out of his mouth, an exquisite torture. “From the moment I read it I knew I wanted to fuck you.”

CHAPTER 5

I knew I wanted to fuck you.

The words echo in my head while I sit across from him, totally stunned and completely turned on. I want to speak, but I have no idea what to say, or even if I could summon a voice to say them. No one has ever said anything like that to me. Ever. My speechlessness pleases him, I can see by the way the muscles in his jaw flex at the hint of smirk. He signals the waiter for the check with a flick of his hand and lays down a black credit card. Moments later Jared leans back across the table to me. “After I tip this waiter handsomely, you and I are going to get in my car, where I will take you back to my penthouse apartment, lay you out on my bed, and see what $1,200 buys me at Délicat.” Oh holy god. I can feel my chest heaving, my breasts rising and falling beneath the deep V of my dress. His eyes flicker south, and I know he sees it too. I let myself imagine what it would be like to let him have his way with me. Certainly nothing like I’ve ever experienced before. No cold pizza. No stale beer. No pot smoke or the sound of some rented action movie in the background. I’m fairly certain there would be no disappointment from me. He stands and comes around behind me, pulling out my chair. I stand on shaky knees, and he offers me an arm. At well over six feet tall to my five two, he towers over me. His arm slides around my back, his large hand resting firmly on my hip as he guides me away. We start to make our way through the restaurant, heads turning as we go. Even at the hottest restaurant in the city filled with the upper crust of Boston society, everyone wants to get a glimpse of Jared King and the woman on his arm. Half the people in this restaurant wish they were him, and the other half wish they were with him. Everyone here wants a part of the fantasy I’m living. Except that this fantasy could quickly turn into a nightmare if I’m not careful. I want to say something. I know I should say something. Anything. Shouting I’m a virgin seems like exactly the wrong thing, like it might scare him off. And it scares me how much I

don’t want to do that. Jared was right about one thing. I want. I want him. I just don’t know if I’m ready. Ready for a man like him and all he could do to me. Ready for what comes after you let a man like Jared King have his way with you. Ready for what happens if I’m then discarded like all the other women. Ready for him to break me in the most wonderful, terrifying way. It all starts to build, rushing over me like a great wave, thoughts of what could lie ahead of me. All the different things that could happen and the disasters that could follow. And the biggest one that won’t leave me is the image of me disappointing him. Of not being able to please him. Of not knowing how to kiss him or touch him or move beneath him. Or worse than all the others, thoughts of boring him. And that — more than heartbreak or workplace disaster — is what stops me dead in my tracks. We’re nearly to the door when I make a sharp turn. I feel his hand slide away from my hip, my skin tingling from the loss as I retreat further from him. “Excuse me,” I say, and then I rush through the restaurant, dodging a waiter carrying a silver bucket of champagne and another with a tray of lobster, making a beeline for the restroom. Inside, I lean over the marble counter, staring at myself in the mirror as I try to catch my breath. There’s a crimson flush creeping up my neck, and I know right away that the only thing holding me up is my grip on the sink. “Calm down,” I tell my reflection. “There’s nothing to be scared of. You can say no.” The redness recedes, but only slightly, and my chest is still heaving, though in a slower, deeper rhythm. I’ll just tell him no. I’ll tell him I can’t, not tonight. I’ll offer to pay for the lingerie (though I’ll be eating Ramen for the next four months), and I’ll even offer to split dinner with him. I’ll take the T home, I’ll put on my pajamas, and I’ll hide under my bed until I’m not afraid anymore….which should take only a week or two at most. After a few minutes of pumping myself up for what awaits me back in the restaurant, I wash my hands with the coldest water, dabbing a wet towel across my chest. Then I try to stroll with as much confidence as I can muster, back towards the dining room. He’s waiting for me right outside the door in the little vestibule between the bathrooms. As soon as I’m out of the door, he places a hand on my hip, not possessive this time, but steadying. Without a word, he guides me gently through the restaurant out the door. The cool spring air sends a shiver through me, but invigorates my lungs and clears my head. Jared sees this and pulls me into him, warmth radiating through his body and into mine. He leans in close and whispers in m ear. “It’s okay. My driver will take you home,” he says. “I can wait.” I look up at him, now closer than I’ve ever been, and see the softness in his eyes for the first time. I see a tiny scar just above his lip, faded and nearly invisible

except when this close. I see the way the fingers on his right hand flutter on his muscled thigh, like he’s so full of restrained energy that he can’t manage to be completely still even for a second. I see all these tiny vulnerabilities, and I suddenly realize I’m not scared anymore. “No,” I say, surprising even myself, but knowing it’s right. “No?” He cocks an eyebrow. “No. I can’t wait. Not another time,” I say, my need growing desperate as his grip on my waist tightens. “Now. Please.” I see something inside him buckle when I say ‘please.’ The limo pulls up the curb and Jared opens the door for me. I watch him watch my legs as I slide in, a feeling of heat starting to move through me. He shuts the door firmly, like he does everything else, then comes around the other side and takes his place on the seat beside me. “Home,” he says, the word an order, then hits a button to raise the privacy screen between us and the driver. Suddenly, speeding through the South End towards the Harbor, we are completely alone. “Come here,” he says, reaching a firm hand to the back of my neck. Without waiting for me to comply, he pulls me towards him, my hair tangled in his fist, and then his lips on mine, hard and wanting. I let out a sigh into them. His tongue parts my lips and invites mine in, his other hand snaking around the small of my back, and my body explodes into a summer storm of heat and lust. I have never been kissed like this. I never imagined I could be kissed like this, like I’m being devoured and yet it’s still not enough. I let out a tiny moan into his mouth, and his grip on me tightens, a growl escaping his lips. We kiss like we’re melting into each other, his tongue gently leading, guiding mine, and I am all too happy to follow. And then his big, strong hands begin to roam. First down to my ass, caressing my thigh where the hem of my dress has ridden up, then up to the deep V of my dress. The back of his fingers caresses the space between my breasts, teasing, and then they move inward. He cups my breast, the weight of it nothing in his firm palm, his thumb moving lightly around and over my nipple, which is hard at his touch. I shiver each time it passes, a flood of wetness welling between my legs with each touch. And then his hands move back to my waist, then down to my thighs, this time moving inward until his fingers are creeping up my inner thighs. He brushes so lightly, just barely a whisper against the fabric of my panties, which are damp with my desire. I shiver and swallow a scream. He moves his lips to my ear, his tongue playing against the soft skin for a moment, and then whispers, “I made you wet.” A statement, not a question, with a hint of victory. He’s pleased, and that pleases me even more. This time the moan that escapes me is not small. He covers my lips with his and the sounds I make fill his mouth as his fingers swirl and tease, the thinnest barrier of lace between him and my orgasm. I’ve never felt anything like it. This is a man who seems to know my body better than I do, and I’m more than happy to give

myself over to him. It’s so good I’m not actually sure how I’ll survive sex with him. Emboldened by my lust, I place my hands firmly on his chest, feeling the cut of his pecs beneath his shirt and tie. My fingers flex, my nails digging into him. He hisses in a breath. “Fuck, Quinn,” he says, his voice ragged. I instantly like what I can do to him, that I can make him sound like that. I move my hands lower to his belt, then lower still until I can feel him in my hand, rigid inside his pants. I gasp as I attempt to wrap my fingers around him, the size of him shocking and filling me with desire. I’ve never spent much time thinking about cocks, imagining myself as more of a size-doesn’t-matter kind of girl. But feeling what must be somewhere around nine inches in my hand, I know that I’m excited by his enormity. And a little scared of it, too. But I still want more. I slide off the seat and sink to my knees on the floor of the car, reaching for his waist, the platinum H of an Hermes belt standing between me and my first real cock. And that’s the moment where the craziness of what I’m doing hits me, and I hesitate, ever so slightly. I have no idea what to do with a nine-inch cock, and I’m nervous. I try to hide it, but because his eyes are trained on me, his gaze never wavering, he sees it. “Wait,” he says, and I look up questioningly. Am I doing something wrong? But as if sensing my worry, he smiles down at me, a wicked glint in his eye. “You first.” He lifts me back up onto the seat in one effortless motion that betrays the muscles hidden beneath his suit. Then he takes my place on the floor. He plants gentle kisses on my knees, nuzzling them apart, opening me to him. His hands move upward, gently guiding the hem of my dress up around my hips. For the first time he sees the gift he’s bought me, the silver thread weaving through the black lace but hiding nothing, and he lets out an animal growl. He kisses up my inner thigh, first the left, then the right, connecting the trail with the tip of his tongue. I immediately search for something to grab onto to keep myself from achieving liftoff. I can’t believe my legs are spread in front of the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and all I want is for him to touch me oh my god stop teasing and just do it already! As if he can read my mind, he gazes up at me with a wicked grin, a devious spark in his eyes. He reaches up and grabs a fistful of panties in each of his strong hands right at my hip. Then he pulls. The fabric gives with almost no effort, and then there’s nothing between his lips and me but the cool night air. I moan as he blows a little burst of air right at my pussy. He leans down until his lips are nearly touching my body and whispers, “Say please.” I let out a long moan that I’m sure the privacy screen of the limo doesn’t conceal, but I don’t care. I want him his lips on me now. “Please,” I whimper, my inner thighs throbbing and slick with my desire. “Please.” His lips hit me the same intensity he brought to that first kiss, like he wants to devour me, and I scream out. My hands go to his hair, thick and wavy and perfect

for grabbing onto. I pull him to me, wanting him closer even though there’s no daylight between us. His tongue dives into my folds, making long strokes up and resting for a beat on my clit before starting again. One of his hands snakes up my thigh, and he slips one finger inside me, then two. I brace for pain, but there’s only pleasure, and I’m shocked to realize I’m grinding into his hand. I want him deeper, harder, and more. His tongue is now working fast on my clit, circling and flicking. He stops for a moment and breathes into me. “God, your pussy tastes fucking amazing.” And then he redoubles his efforts, and the heat that washes over me is beyond intense. I can’t believe I can feel this good, still nearly fully dressed in the back of a car. Every part of me feels alive, from my head down to my toes. I feel sweat prickling as the heat builds, higher and higher with each stroke of his tongue, each thrust of his hand. How can this only be the beginning? How can there be more? And that thought coupled with his growl into my pussy sends me right over the edge. My orgasm hits me in waves, my fingers tangling in his hair as I pull him towards me and moan like a woman possessed. I come harder than I thought possible, and when he sucks me into his mouth one last time, I swear to god I come again. As the car begins to slow, he sits back on his heels and gazes up at me. His fingers lazily brush across my soaking wet, swollen clit, making me shudder with each movement. He reaches for the ripped panties lying in a puddle on the seat next to me. “I’m afraid these are beyond repair,” he says. “Good thing you won’t be needing them.” More. There’s more. The car slows to a stop in front of a large brick building that was once a harbor factory. “I’m at the top,” he says, cocking his head towards the window. “Color me surprised,” I reply, my voice still breathless from the orgasm. “I do plan to surprise you, Quinn,” he says, that devious grin back on his face. The cold, distant, demanding Jared King from earlier is gone, and in his place is a man who wants nothing more than to possess and please me. “I plan to do quite a lot to surprise you.” He sits back up on the seat next to me and begins to brush his hair back into place with his fingers, and after a few seconds, he looks more than perfect again. Grinning, he gives me a quick wink. Though I feel wrung out from the orgasm, I also feel an energy coursing through me. I know exactly what’s going to happen when we get upstairs, and I want it. I want him. I want him to do whatever he wants to me, and if it’s even half as good as what just happened, I may not survive the night. I want to surrender myself to him for as long as he’ll have me. I want him to show me what I’ve been missing all this time. I stuff the remains of the panties in my purse and adjust the neckline of my

dress to avoid a wardrobe malfunction between the car and his bed. But before he can get out of the car, I feel him stiffen beside me. I watch his face harden back into that mask of stoicism and frustration from earlier today at the office. In an instant, he’s gone. I want to reach out and grab his arm, shake him and ask: Where did you go? I follow his gaze out the passenger side window of the car. I see a man standing at the entrance to his building. He’s similarly tall and broad, though nearly three decades older. His hair is gray and buzzed close to his head in a military style. He’s wearing a navy suit and standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his feet slightly apart, like he’s standing sentry at the building. I turn back to Jared, but his face is a mask, his eyes narrowed, the little muscle in his jaw jumping as he tenses. I open my mouth to say something — I don’t know what — but he cuts me off with a quick shake of his head. “The car will take you home,” he says, and then nothing more, because he’s already out of the car. I hear a thump on the roof, and then we’re pulling away. I didn’t even say goodbye, but then again, neither did he. I turn in my seat, watching out the rear window of the limo as Jared steps up onto the curb, standing face-to-face with the man as if to square off. Jared pulls keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, holding it open for the gray-haired man as he strides through it like he’s walking the deck of a naval war ship. I’m still in shock as I lose sight of them. What happened? Who was that man in front of Jared’s building and why did everything suddenly change? My body is still excited, revved up from what it’s been through, and needing even more. But my mind is reeling, and the disconnect is jarring. I feel a little sick. What just happened? I ask myself again. And then I realize. Jared King has toyed with me, and I’ve fallen for it.

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