Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Melody groans and her cheeks are bright red, and I know what she’s thinking. A deal’s a deal and a girl like Melody won’t back down just because things didn’t go her way. I steer her to our table and we stand there like we’re in a bubble, away from the rest of the world, and I move close. I put my hand on the small of her back. I want her to think about this, to really feel it. She’s trembling, or maybe that’s me. I smell her perfume, and a bit of hay, and a touch of earth. Her mouth opens, her lips flushed red and lovely.
“Ten seconds,” she says. “No more.” Her voice is thick and sultry.
I lean forward, heart racing, thinking about how badly I want to grip her ass and squeeze. My mouth is inches from hers, and I want her taste, want her tongue and teeth and moans, and my lips brush against hers so softly it’s like a breeze, and I keep going, to her cheek, to her ear.
“You want to know why I need the money?” I whisper. “I’ve been cut off. No cash from Mommy and Daddy. I’m all on my own, and I’ve never been good at doing things the right way. Only the fun way.” I kiss her earlobe and pull away.
She’s staring at me, lips parted, looking like sin and sex wrapped up in heaven. “Really? That’s it? What did you do?”
“That’s another secret for another day,” I say and turn away. “It’s late and I should get going.”
“Wait,” she says, sounding breathless. “What about—”
“The kiss?” I look back at her. “Another time, maybe.”
Her face hardens. “This is your one shot.”
“Then consider yourself lucky. Goodnight, Melody.”
She says nothing as I walk away. My body’s ringing, vibrating with need. I wanted to kiss her so badly it was like chopping off a limb when I bypassed those lips. But I can’t rush things, not right now, not when the situation is so precarious. She could go either way at any moment—but if I push too hard, I’ll scare her and send her running for a second time, and she’ll never come home.
And I’ll never get my real prize.
Out in the parking lot, I pause at my car and make a call. Colton Leader answers on the second ring. His voice is a rasp, the last gasp of a man that spent all his life with a thin cigar between his lips and is paying the price. “Warren. How is my daughter?”
“She’s doing good,” I say and glance back at the bar. I wonder what she’s doing alone in there now. Drinking, feeling sorry for herself. Wishing I’d kissed her. “I think I’ve almost got her convinced.”
“Good,” he says with a grunt. “Very good. Keep at it. My offer still stands.” He wheezes like his lungs are leaking. “The Leader Ranch needs a Leader at the helm, and Melody’s all I have left.” He pauses to take a phlegmy breath. “Bring her home. Marry her. Keep her here where she belongs. You stand to inherit a fortune if you can pull this off.”
Chapter 5
Melody
“What do you know about Warren Temple?” I sit with my legs crossed in Ford’s office while a gas fireplace crackles in the far corner.
Ford pours himself a drink and rolls his shoulders. “Not a whole lot, if I’m honest.”
“I thought you two were related?” I shake my head when he offers me a whiskey. A hangover from two days ago still pulses in the back of my skull. I do not go drinking like that anymore, but I was feeling raw and vulnerable, and I wanted to let out some steam, and I went a little overboard.
“We’re something like fourth cousins,” Ford says and sits down across from me in a green leather armchair. “His family was always a little…” He trails off, staring at the fire.
“A little, what?”
“Strange,” he says and gives me an apologetic look. “My family’s always been big and there’s this pecking order, and if you’re not on the inside, you might as well not exist. I think I saw War like three or four times at most growing up.”
“How were they strange?”
“They were always into these business schemes. I remember my father complaining about them once, said that Warren’s dad has a million ideas and none of them are good. I heard a rumor they struck it rich making these rubber reusable pen caps or something like that, but I also heard they went bankrupt because of a Nigerian prince scam, so I don’t really know.”
I sigh and lean my head against the couch. War’s a knot I want to untangle, but there are no loose threads to pull at. He’s got a Facebook page, a Twitter, all the usual stuff, but he’s not active on any of it. His friends are generic, and there’s no information about his family anywhere—no news stories, no obituaries, nothing at all. It’s like the Temples barely exist, and Warren’s practically a ghost.