Chapter 1
Bree
Music pumps through the club’s speakers, the beat pulsing through me as I dance with my girls. We’re two shots in, the energy around us electric. Somewhere behind the music, the city hums, alive and buzzing beneath us.
In Austin for my annual girls’ trip, I’m so grateful for the break. There’s eight of us sharing a house on Lake Travis for the long weekend, with this night being our only one out.
The club is all exposed brick and dim Edison bulbs, the kind of trendy spot where craft cocktails cost twenty dollars and the DJs actually know what they’re doing. Bodies pack the rooftop dance floor so tightly I can feel the heat radiating off the crowd.
This year, I invited my Texas bestie, Hannah, to join us, and she fit right in with my Nashville friends. I grew up there, attending Vanderbilt with Serena and Natalie, our other friends joining in over the last couple of years. Tonight is Serena’s dirty thirty celebration. Her husband and two kids are back in Tennessee, having celebrated her birthday last weekend.
Hannah grabs my hand, twirling me around. “Want some water?”
“Yes!”
She leads me through the packed crowd toward the bar on the left. Someone’s elbow digs into my ribs as we squeeze through, the music louder here, almost deafening.
Rule of thumb on girls’ night out is stay in sight of your dance partner at all times. Hannah’s single like me and looks hot. She’s in a fitted off-white mini with a drop-waist and a bubble hem skirt. It really sets off her tan skin, drawing looks from everyone we pass. Mine is a sleeveless slate-gray mini with simple lines and a two-inch side cutout that lands just above my waist. Metal rings hold the pieces together. Although I’m curvy, my breasts are smaller than Hannah’s, so the cutout is subtle unless I move my arms.
“Check out the hottie at nine o’clock.” Hannah leans over as the bartender pours our waters.
“Can you just say left or right?” I have a terrible sense of direction. It’s true. Give me directions that I can write down? Don’t need them anymore. Read the directions on the maps app before driving? I’m good. But expect me to understand north or nine o’clock? Never going to happen.
“To the left. Can’t miss him.”
I dance in place, turning my head to the right and slowly panning the outdoor space. I gulp, the bar blurring at the edges, sound dulling and my mouth dry as butterflies stir at the gorgeous, rugged man staring at me.
His deep brown eyes watch me underneath dark brows and dark lashes, his short beard accentuating his hard jaw. His long-sleeved white tee hugs his strong shoulders and arms, his biceps bulging, the two buttons at the neck sexy as hell. Heat floods my cheeks, my palms suddenly damp as his gaze holds mine.
He’s got to be at least 6’3”. I didn’t know I had a thing for the lumberjack-type, but here it is. He looks like he could build me a cabin with his bare hands, then wreck me inside it. I hold hiseyes for the longest time, the shots and music fading into white noise as the room shrinks to just us two. I finally look away, taking Hannah’s hand and leading her back to the dance floor.
I’m used to being around beautiful men. I work at Sun Ridge Records, an indie label owned by Alexandra Tate and Nash Rivers, country music’s golden boy and Hannah’s older brother. I worked for Alex in Nashville before joining her here in Indigo Hills, a small Texas town where Nash grew up and owns his famous ranch, Twisted Whiskey. Hot guys are a dime a dozen in my line of work, and I learned early on that flirtatious guys want one of two things: my connections or my body.
I’m not looking for anything serious. On the contrary, my dad has made it abundantly clear that I am to marry someone in our social circle. I’m a fifth-generation Winthrop, after all. I spent years learning which fork to use and how to make polite conversation with senators and CEOs. Winthrop Enterprises is one of the top U.S. conglomerates with vast holdings. Which is why I’m not getting married any time soon. Not interested in that life.
My younger sister, Izzy, married into the Pembroke-Walsh family, making Dad proud. She’s madly in love with her husband, as he is her. She would have married him if he’d been penniless.
I want a love like hers. And like my parents. My dad didn’t marry into another wealthy family. He married a forensic botanist-turned-writer. She became an author only after marrying my dad, who encouraged her creative endeavors. That’s how I know, no matter what, that I have to marry for love. The way he watches her when she’s not looking is what I want after thirty years of marriage.
The song switches to a sexy Rhianna song, the beat low and slow. Hannah and I down our drinks and head to the dance floor, holding hands and dancing our butts off. People crowdtogether, bodies bumping and grinding against each other, the vibe exciting and hot.
As I pivot, hands in the air, the sexy lumberjack from the bar dances inches away, his smouldering eyes locking with mine. My pulse hammers in my throat, and something coils tight in my belly, hot and insistent.
Like magnets, our bodies move together, dancing in perfect rhythm. The floor is slick beneath our feet, sticky with spilled drinks and good times.
After a minute, he spins me around, his torso molding to mine, his hips moving against me. His body is solid muscle, his grip on my hip is firm, almost rough, his palm wide enough to span my entire waist. His heartbeat thuds against my spine, fast and steady, and I feel small and delicate against him. It’s heady, delicious… forbidden.
The song changes into Harrison’s “All the Things She Said,” its hypnotic beat slowly wrapping around us like a spell, my head falling back against his shoulder. The stranger’s lips graze my neck, the air thick with tension, and every nerve in my body lights up at his touch. “Tell your friend we’ll be near the trellis.”
Goosebumps race down my arms where his fingers trail. The trellis is within eyesight, so I do exactly as he commands, letting him lead me through the crowd to the empty spot away from the lights and the crowd.
Hannah catches my eye and mouths, “Omigawd.” My eyes widen in agreement. Never have I ever felt this raw, this wanting. I point to where we’re headed, making sure we see each other.
The man pins me against the stone wall, his fingers tracing my jawline as he tilts my head up to meet his hungry gaze. The music dulls here, muffled and distant, replaced by the soft night breeze sliding over my overheated skin.
The multi-colored lights reflect off his shirt, his citrusy, woody scent overtaking my senses. Our hips sway to the muted beat as we stare at each other, his right hand on my hip, his left against the wall.
“I need to kiss you, beautiful.” His beard scrapes against my cheek, deliciously rough.
