I can’t question our whole relationship because some guy had a conversation with me that felt good. God, that would be crazy, especially now that I know he and Nathan are rivals. I can’t question my decision to marry a man because he enjoys the finer things in life and wants us to have good memories.
I roll my eyes in spite of myself, suck in a deep breath, grab a rocky road cookie from the basket, and swing open the tall white door, only to see a massive wall of a man standing before me.
He’s well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, covered in tattoos, with a thick, salt and pepper beard. He wears jeans and a black T-shirt, the cuffs on his biceps straining with every slight movement.
My pussy throbs uncontrollably.
Oh my God, why is my pussy throbbing?
My pussy cannotthrob like this!
“Rhett?”
He glances back as though he’s checking for ghosts, then bends forward, hauls me up onto his shoulder, and carries me fireman-style through the service door and out the back of the venue.
I’m kicking and screaming, flailing and cursing, but for the life of me, I can’t get this man to stop, and honestly, I’m not sure I want him to.
Chapter Two
Rhett
“So, you’re a psychopath?” Pepper stares at me from the passenger seat of the old blue Chevy I’ve been cobbling back together for the better part of two decades. It’s not pretty to look at, but it does the job just fine. We’ve been on the side of the road together, hauled more than our share of firewood, and this truck is the only one who’s ever seen me cry.
We’ve got a bond, and if this old girl could talk, she’d surely tell Pepper she’s way off on the psychopath thing. Terrible with emotions, sure. Out for revenge, who isn’t? Psychopath, that’s a little much.
“Tell me you’re not glad I dragged you out of there and I’ll admit to whatever crazy you want me to,” I groan, shifting the truck into drive.
“It’s my wedding day! Do you see the dress I’m wearing?” She runs her tiny hand down over the puffy, white fabric that’s spilled out over the seat like it has a mind of its own. Layers of satin, sparkling gems, and that puffy stuff gathered in her lap as she sits on the duct-taped seat. The hem pools at her feet, catching on the floor mat. The pure white color, now dusted with dirt and hay. “This cost Nathan ten thousand dollars.”
“I’m sure it did,” I shrug, “but I think you’d look better without it.”
She scoffs and twists as best she can toward me, her dress shifting and blooming as my old truck lifts over a bump in the road. “Are you seriously flirting with me on my wedding day, which you just took me from?”
“Not flirting,” I laugh, though I can see her point, “but I do think you look better in jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Well, this is a very expensive dress made by the one and only Calvin Crimsonite. He’s one of the biggest designers in the world. He made dresses for celebrities at the Oscars last year.”
I glance toward her to study the so-called‘expensive dress,’though I’m stuck on her breasts bubbling out of it instead. She’s gorgeous. Long dark hair, hazel eyes, thick, round curves, and a smile that could rival any sunset, any flower, any shiny new truck, any day of the week. The second I saw her, that was obvious, though it’s not smart. I’m on a mission that doesnotinvolve getting rock-hard under any circumstances.
“You’re going off the road!” She points ahead with wide eyes, forcing me to glance away from her. “See, you like the dress too.”
“No,” I shake my head as the valley drops away on the left, “it just… doesn’t seem like your thing. I imagine you in something white, lacy, and minimal.”
“Yeah,” she whispers and stares down into the valley, studying the silver river that cuts through the center like I’ve struck some deeper feeling than a dress choice.
“You okay?” I groan, trying to remove the concern from my voice, though it’s a hard thing to do when she’s looking so damn soft and sympathetic.
“Where are you taking me?” she says, her voice cracking, her gaze still stuck in the sun-soaked valley.
“Back to the lake house.” I nod as I try out a half-hearted smile. “You’ve got painting to do.”
This gets her to glance back at me. “So you took me from my wedding so I could paint? You know there are other painters in town, right?”
“No,” I clear my throat, giving myself time to fine-tune the script, “it was clear after we talked the other night that you’re stuck in some sort of decision paralysis. Finishing the paint job is a perk.”
“Oh!” She pretends to laugh. “If you ask me, I think this feels a lot like a kidnapping! A kidnapping my very rich fiancé would pay a lot of money to see you in jail for!”
I grin and glance toward her pretty face. “I’ll turn around anytime. You haven’t asked yet.”
