There was a time when Lainey had perfected her right hook to the extent that she’d managed to give her brother a black eye. There was another time, shortly after that, when she’d actually knocked out a boy who was trying to get a little too friendly with her underwear.
Her blood went from a rapid simmer to a full-on, about to overspill from the pan, boil.
Two steps later she was at the fence. Jake still wore that slight smirk, the one that was like a fire under her boiling blood right now.
The slap she administered to his face made him stumble backwards, his hand coming straight up to where she’d hit him, the sound still reverberating through the otherwise still air.
“What the fuck?” Jake’s brows raised up high, crinkling his forehead.
“However pissed you are that I bought this farm instead of you, however much you think you should be standing where I am, does not give you any fucking right to ever try to insult me like that. The next time a word comes out of your mouth that tries to put me down it won’t be a slap, it’ll be a fist and I won’t be responsible for the damage it does.” She spat the words, tiny bullets targeting any sense he might possess.
Jake dropped his hand, a red mark colouring the skin where she’d made contact.
“I was trying to give you a friendly tip.”
“You were trying to piss me off. Guess what? It worked.”
“Maybe try to be a little less sensitive.”
“Maybe try to be less of an arsehole.”
They were nose to nose over the fence. Lainey resisted the urge to slap his other cheek.
“I’ll let you fix your own fence.” His words were hissed.
Not that she was really hearing them. Instead, the blue of his eyes had caught her attention, and the slight woodsy scent from the soap he’d probably used that morning in the shower, mixed with the smell of the outdoors.
Something caught in her chest.
Probably anger.
“And get a barrage of criticism from you when it doesn’t meet your clearly astronomical idea of your standards? No thanks. Fix it yourself. Your animals broke it, and while you’re doing it, make it higher so I don’t have to see your face!” She poked her finger in his direction, half expecting him to try to bite it.
The thought of it didn’t make her want to run. She’d just bite back. Harder.
“You don’t want to see my face? Not half as much I don’t want to see yours! You’ve stropped in here with a couple of horses and your designer boots, thinking you can make a success of this place when all you’re going to do is run it into the ground, because clearly you don’t take any fucking help off anyone!” His fist punched the fence, breaking straight through one of the pieces. “I assaulted someone last night to try and help you out…”
“And you assumed I needed saving! Why do men always think the little woman needs saving? That bloke was a jerk – believe me, I’ve met several of them before – and he wouldn’t have been standing if he’d tried putting one more fingertip on me.” This was true. She’d guessed that Jake had thought he’d saw panic on her face, but he’d misread what was actually fucking fury. If he hadn’t come over, she’d planned a knee to the balls, followed by a nice upper cut. Nice for her. Not for the dickwad who was trying to get fresh.
Jake didn’t say anything. He took a step back and shook his head. “I’ll finish this later.”
He walked away, leaving Lainey watching his back.
Three minutes later, she heard the sound of an unfamiliar horse whinnying, followed by hooves thumping against the sodden ground. As much as Lainey would’ve liked to ignore Jake, she couldn’t ignore a horse, and this animal wouldn’t let anyone ignore him.
He was the definition of majestic, dark chestnut and carried himself as if he was a king, which he probably was.
Her attention on the horse lasted all of about five seconds when she realised that Jake was bareback, clearly not bothering to take the time to saddle him up, yet he looked as if he’d been born up there; confident, in control. Dominant, even though the horse thought he was king.
Which probably made Jake Maynard God.
Soft footfalls inched up behind her. “You need to stop staring. You’re burning a hole in his back.”
Lainey turned round to her slightly younger sister, Imogen. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans that Lainey knew had come out of her own wardrobe at some point in the last couple of days.
“At what point do you stop stealing my clothes?” She glared at Imogen, just as she’d done all the time they’d been living together when they were teenagers.
Imogen shrugged. “Your neighbour’s hot.”
