This man, who is allowing me to barter my body for debt forgiveness, is blindingly hot. In the I’ll-shoot-you-if-you-look-at-me-funny kind of way.
I’m horrified by my body’s reaction to Knox when my mother is standing at my elbow. It can’t be avoided, though. The low, raw tug in my belly. The sudden weighty ache in my sex. Sparkles of heat race up and down my arms, my neck, where I can still feel his mouth.
Knox breezes past us, his aftershave filtering through the air to assault my senses.
Everything about him assaults me.
Even my heart.
Oh boy, am I in trouble.
Knox just blew off me and my mother in the supermarket and all I can think is, I wish it was tonight. I want to be back in his arms. I want him to look at me again the way he does when he’s moving inside of me. Like I’m a miracle. Some spectacular stroke of luck.
He’s mean. Rude. Hurtful, sometimes.
My gut tells me it’s just a front, though.
On the inside, I believe he’s extraordinary.
Isn’t that silly? Aren’t I a silly, stupid girl?
Maybe so. But I’m going to find out for sure. I’m not going to let him scare me off.
“Holy hell, Billie,” my mother hisses, whirling around. Moving in close to whisper against my ear. “That’s him. That’s Knox Morgan. Our landowner.” She pretends to fuss with something in the shopping cart. “I’ve never seen him out in broad daylight before.”
“You know, I’m sure he isn’t all that bad,” I murmur, just as he makes eye contact with me. And scowls. “Maybe he’s misunderstood.”
I’m saying this about a man who murdered another man right in front of me.
A man who was good and ready to take away my family home.
Love is a weird thing, isn’t it?
Oh damn. Iamfalling in love with this rude, complicated man, aren’t I?
Classic Billie. Always falling for the horse that is going to be the hardest to train.
I guess it’s going to be the same with men.
“He’s not misunderstood,” my mother scoffs. “He wants to live in this town and have nothing to do with the people living in it. He doesn’t know the meaning of being a good neighbor. He’s a ruthless bastard is what he is.”
“Mother,” I gasp, never having heard her use that kind of salty language.
She sniffs. “I said what I said.”
“Maybe no one has ever invited him to dinner,” I blurt. “I’m going to be the first.”
“Excuse me?” My mother’s eyeballs nearly pop out of her head. “You will certainly not. I amnotcooking for that man.”
“I’ll do the cooking.”
“Billie.” Her expression is serious now. “Your father and I haven’t told you this yet, but we’re behind on paying him the mortgage and…well—”
“I know, Mom.” I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “I know we’re six months behind. I overheard you and Dad talking last week. But…look, I just have a feeling that everything is going to be all right.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “How? Why?”
I distract her with a dazzling smile. “I’m going to invite him for dinner.”
