Chapter 1
Melody
The early afternoon sunlight pours through the large window of the flower shop I co-own with my best friend. It warms the cozy space behind the counter, and I move away from the blinding brightness to the rows of containers filled with flowers.
Though there are many scents, what I notice most is the sweet scent of gardenias. These are my favorites because they infuse me with peace and I’ve worked hard for that.
Starting with moving to Lucky River years ago. I’m far from the expectations of my rich family and the countless blind dates that hoped for a marriage alignment with wealthy, blue blood generational money.
Those blind dates had wanted sweet, demure women like my sisters. Instead, they got set up with me. And as one of them had said with disappointment, “You’re nothing like your sisters,” right after I’d discovered his true colors.
No, I’m nothing like my sisters. They easily fit into the high-society circles my family lives in. I’m a woman more at home in blue-collar settings. A woman who loves hot, bad-ass cowboys and muscle cars. A woman who’d rather chug a cold beer on a hot summer night sitting on a truck tailgate than hold a glass of champagne at yet another boring party for the well-connected.
I left that lifestyle behind and now I have peace.
Except for today. Peace is elusive and I’m filled with a stabbing discomfort like a sneak attack from a bra’s broken underwire.
And I’m guessing that discomfort will stick with me for an entire week because I’d promised my best friend Raven that I’d watch her kids while she went on a vacation-work trip with her husband, Marshall.
I adore the kids and had gladly agreed to stay with them, but in hindsight, I should have said no. Because I didn’t know Marshall’s brother Jonas would also be there. In the same house.
That cowboy has upended my life since our first meeting several years ago. I hate that he’s tall and ruggedly handsome. I hate that he sports six-pack abs as solid as a brick wall. I hate that looking at him makes me want to serve myself up like a warm all-he-can-eat breakfast buffet.
The day we met turned me inside out because of what I learned about him, and it still has the power to make me cringe and blush even after all this time. And I’m not someone who does either one of those easily.
What I learned is that man is seriously packing. And I’m a good girl thinking dirty thoughts about the things I’ve wanted to do with him since that encounter.
I had taken one look into his addictive dark eyes, and I’d known then I’d better be careful. He held the power to captivate my body.
He didn’t say it. He didn’t swagger. It was just in his eyes.
Together, we’d set a bed on fire. But when the high of orgasms faded, the only thing left would be my regret. And I’ve had too much of that in my life already.
I’d pay a magician every cent I have if he could rewind time and erase how I met Jonas. Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel this pull toward him, this pull that drives me nuts and that I have successfully hidden for years.
The day we met, he called me a thief. And he was right. But it’s not what he was thinking. Before I could explain, his strong thighs had pressed into mine as he’d angrily pinned me to the front seat of his truck. That below the belt contact has since given me a terminal case of horny. I’d tried curing myself with a vibrator, but it hasn’t worked.
I let out a sigh and give myself a mental shake. It’s not like I’ll be stuck together with Jonas forever. It’s for one week. I can spend a week with him in the same house.
“It won’t be that hard,” I say out loud to myself.
Seven-year-old Kaden will be in elementary school and four-year-old Marianna will be in Pre-K during the day while I’m at work. Then there will be after school activities and homework to pass the time. That only leaves a few hours each evening to get through.
The shop door swings open and he’s here as if my thoughts conjured him from the hot, smoky underworld where he resides. Jonas Richford. His Stetson is pulled low shadowing his face, but he thumbs it up as he walks toward the counter.
My heart flutters. Why, why, why does he always have to look so yummy? Like a dessert tempting me to just taste one bite when I know from the start I’m going to eat the whole damn thing.
His dark gaze sweeps the interior of the shop while I focus on him. Neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Well-worn, snug denims. Silver rectangle belt buckle. White fitted T-shirt. Temptation, thy name is cowboy.
His gaze lands on me.
Hating that I was staring, I quickly pretend I’m arranging flowers that are already arranged in a vase. I’ve learned over the years that it’s always best to go on the offensive with him. “Are you here to buy flowers for your girlfriend to apologize for whatever you did wrong?”
His expression doesn’t change. He puts his left index finger up by his ear. I’ve noticed he has a habit of doing that. “You know I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I do know that. Like I know his voice is deep but smooth.
“I don’t know whether you have a girlfriend or not because I try to avoid you. I don’t know much about you at all,” I say but that’s a lie. I’ve mentally marked dozens of Jonas-is-here X’s so I could avoid the places where I knew he’d be.
