Page 2 of Unexpected Sweetheart
"The best you can do?" he scoffs. "The best you can do is honor this contract before I sue you for everything you have and then some. You’ll be lucky if you can afford the sugar you put in your coffee.”
I actually laugh at that, which sends him in to a head-quivering bluster that sets off the loose skin on the bottom of his chin. "Hate to break it to you, buddy. But this place is so deep in debt that my children—God help them if I ever have them—will probably still be paying it off when they’re my age. So, don't threaten me by taking everything away. There's nothing left."
"Nothing left?” He steps back and looks around, up at the house and around the property. The ranch is everything we can currently see and then some. “I saw a For Sale sign on the way in. How about I head back into town and buy this place for myself? I can put the clubhouse here”—he gestures to the house—“The driving range that way, and eighteen holes covering the rest of it. Reckon it’ll be a really lucrative business. Everything you see here will be gone, and as a son who's obviously out here honoring his deceased father, I assume that's not something you want to happen."
I press my teeth together so hard that I think they crack. “Two weeks," I spit, shooting daggers at him with my eyes.
He smiles and I see a flash of gold in his teeth. "Three weeks and we have a deal."
I grit my teeth together and give him a single nod. He’s seen my hand, and he’s got me bent over. As much as I hate this place, there’s no way I can let it become a golf course. “Fine.”
He gives his chauffer a nod then the door to the limo opens and a dark-haired girl wearing head to toe pink steps out–pink leather skirt, darker pink knee-high boots, fluffy pink sweater, and pink-rimmed sunglasses. My body responds.That is no shitty kid.This girl is all curves and temptation, and I want no part of it.
"That'swhat you want me to fix?" I balk, pulling out the booking slip from my jeans and quickly scanning the details. The girl is twenty—thank God—and there’s some special note here about ‘breaking the party girl and producing an executive’.What the actual fuck?“My father ran a camp for troubled teens, not twenty-year-olds. Exactly what did my father agree to do for you?”
“Fix her, of course. My daughter is soon to turn twenty-one, which means she’ll be inheriting a large portion of the family holdings,thatincludes a voting share in the company. She needs to be ready to take on the responsibility, or I’ll be taking steps to make sure she never receives it.”
The girl in question folds her arms across her middle and looks bored.
“Shouldn’t she be at college learning to do that?”
“Rory was kicked out of college,” he states as he swings his gaze to his daughter. She lowers her sunglasses and blows a giant bubble of gum until it pops.Fuck.“Rory, come and meet Mr. Ryan Oakley."
“Why? I’m not staying here,” she says, smacking her lips together as she pulls out her cell and starts searching for a signal—one she won’t get up here. It’s a landline or nothing this high up the mountain.
“Yes, you are. It’s time to grow up, Rory. You’re not a child anymore,” he snaps before heading back to the limo. “Good luck.” He says that last part to me as the chauffeur closes him inside. Then they practically speed off the mountain.
Rory stands there in the middle of her pink luggage and looks at me as she blows another gum bubble. A twenty-year-old who’s acting like a spoiled teenager? I roll my eyes and will my dick to stop its ridiculous interest in the curvy heiress. She’s got trouble written all over her.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Rory
“Rory. What’s that short for?” the filthy-looking guy in jeans and budget flannel asks me, contempt in his piercing blue eyes. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but he’s turning me the fuck on.Hello, Ryan…
“It’s Lorelai,” I say, sliding my sunglasses on top of my head so I can get a better look at him. He’s a solid six-two, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. If I were in LA, I’d think he was an actor walking off the set of a western, because he has ‘hot cowboy’ written all over him. His light brown hair is messy and sticking up like he’s sweaty and tired. And the light smattering of stubble along his jaw tells me he either shaved early this morning, or didn’t bother shaving at all. My ovaries quiver in appreciation.We’re not in New York anymore, Rory.“But no one calls me that, so don’t even think about it.”
“OK, Lorelai,” he shoots back, and I level him with a glare.
“Rude!” I think I see a smirk forming at the corner of those perfectly shaped lips of his. I have a friend who’s slowly transforming himself into the model of the perfect man, and I’ll bet he’d love to show a picture of those lips to his plastic surgeon. I snap a photo of the filthy cowboy to show him later. The cowboy flinches.
“First thing you should know about Sweetheart Ranch,” he says, stalking toward me and snatching the cell phone from my hand.
“Hey!” I object.
“There’s no signal. This thing is useless.” He tosses it to the side, and it landsfacedownin the garden bed. I just about scream.
“If you’ve broken that, I’ll make you—”
“Make me what?” He gets in my face, and all I can smell is animals, hard work, and something that makes my skin tingle.What the hell?“In case you haven’t realized,Lorelai, Daddy just drove away and left you. You’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, and I’m the one in charge. For the next three weeks, you’re mine. You do as I say without complaint, and if we’re lucky, we’ll both get what we want out of this.”
“You have no idea what I want,” I practically whisper, locking eyes with his defiantly.Why am I so turned on by this bully?
“I think you want the same thing I do,” he says, his warm breath washing over me. Images of myself tearing that disgusting flannel off him and raking my long nails down his manly chest assault my mind and I shake them away.
“What do you want?” I ask, sounding way too breathy.
“My life back.” He pulls away, and suddenly I feel a rush of coolness as the heat of his body leaves me. For a moment, I catch myself wishing it would return, and my nipples seem to agree, hardening to points so diamond-hard, I’m surprised they don’t slice through my sweater.Since when did I like roughing it?
