Simon began to thrust, retreating a bit and pressing back inside. She soon understood the cadence and tried to match it, her body falling into a rhythm she instinctively recognized. The sound of their increasingly labored breathing resonated in her head, and the texture of their melding skin registered on another level.
He moved more freely and something deep within her channel responded, adding another layer of pleasure to their joining. It was more of a comforting sensation that rapidly built into something different and Simon worked above her, his features tight with exquisite suffering.
She reached for it, abruptly shattering and bearing down mindlessly around his shaft. He shouted her name and shuddered, and she held tight, prolonging the connection.
He eased away, carefully withdrawing, clearly watching her for any signs of discomfort. She didn’t feel any, unable to describe herself as anything other than satisfied and complete, as she lay, splayed and boneless.
One big hand resting possessively on her abdomen, he murmured, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world, the way things turned out.”
“Love changes everything,” she whispered back.
The End
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
A FAR CRY FROM HOME
Peri Elizabeth Scott
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
The lawyer’s pronouncement hit her like an actual blow, the shock of his words coming way too soon after her father’s untimely death for her to process rationally. The room grayed out and she had to grasp the arms of the uncomfortable client chair to keep her seat.
“Miss Ferguson?”
Old Mr. Murphy peered at her over his wire-rimmed glasses, his pale-blue watery eyes reflecting concern.
“How…” She cleared her throat. “How could this happen?”
“My dear, your father wasn’t exactly … worldly, when it came to business matters.”
And didn’t she know that, having taken on the bulk of the running of The Inn since she turned sixteen, hell, even earlier. Yet the loan was something she knew nothing about, had never seen any paperwork pertaining to it. “But this seems medieval!”
Even as she announced the proclamation, she recognized the absurdity, but having her power wrested away made her feel in the middle of a historical romance.
The man sitting on the left bent an assessing stare on her. He’d already been in Mr. Murphy’s office when she arrived, a tall, broad-shouldered male in the prime of his life. Despite the circumstances of her visit to the lawyer—reviewing a will had unspoken implications—Regan had taken in his handsome appearance.
Even seated, he radiated a presence, and at first, she thought he was a lawyer. Learning he was a Ferguson had thrown up a huge, red flag, overriding her involuntary feminine reaction to such a specimen. A cousin she’d never heard of?
His dark gaze collided with hers and she wondered what he saw. Regan was fit. She had to be, what with the amount of physical work required of her. But being in shape didn’t negate her size. She wasn’t a dainty, anorexic example of her gender, her breasts were more than a handful, and her hips and ass made a statement. She’d taken some pains with her appearance that morning, pulling her boring, brown hair up into a semi-formal twist, donning clean, pressed khakis and the only floaty, feminine top she owned. Shades of blue to maybe match her eyes. But her scratched and calloused hands loudly proclaimed she made her living at difficult physical work.
A spark of something flickered in his eyes for an instant, too quick for her to read it, and then his whiskey-smooth tone filled the room. “It’s not like property being handed down to the first son. It was a business loan, if between families, as I understand it.”
“Did you know about this?” She wasn’t normally demanding, but she wanted to turn her shock and ire on someone.
His stare blanked before he shook his head. “I didn’t. I didn’t know about you. Not until Mr. Murphy called me.”
“I had to call, Regan. It was in your father’s papers, listed as a debt. I recall urging him to make the loan a priority…” The elderly lawyer shuffled those damning papers on his desk.
“You aren’t responsible for Dad’s affairs,” she quickly reassured him. Mr. Murphy looked so distressed her instinct was to soothe him. Then she got to the matter at hand—best to rip the bandage off quickly. “So, what’s the expectation?”
“You own half of The Inn. Mr. Ferguson, the other—he inherited his father’s estate. David Ferguson, your father’s older brother, and his only sibling.”
A deceased uncle she’d never met either. Uncle David. Yet her father had gone to his brother years ago to borrow money for the only place she’d remembered as home—and apparently hadn’t ever paid it back.
“Why now?”
“Excuse me?”
She faced her cousin, Maddox Ferguson. His name was as remarkable as his appearance but she focused on the immediate. “Why are you here now? If you didn’t know, haven’t missed the money…”
She trailed off, her comment lingering unpleasantly in the room. How stupid, and … and unprofessional. People simply didn’t leave money on the table, especially not when it was theirs, free and clear. It was just that he didn’t seem to need it and she had no way of buying him out. And she was grasping at the proverbial straw.
Her throat burned with shame and grief. “Excuse me. That was … irrational.”
Maddox nodded gravely, dark eyes gleaming with sympathy. “You’re under pressure.”
He spoke so kindly and was so handsome with his impeccably barbered hair and heavily lashed brown eyes that her turmoil was momentarily eased before she unwillingly told him the truth. “I don’t have the money.”
A slow nod acknowledged her confession. “Perhaps I can buy you out.”
She stilled, her nails digging into the arms of the chair again. Leave her home? Move to where? The Falls? What would she do there? What about Oscar? The questions tumbled through her brain, overlapping one another. The edges of her world crumbled inward and she struggled to take a full breath.
“Of course I’d want to see the place, get an appraisal,” he continued, watching her closely.
She wondered how he’d see The Inn through his big city eyes. Rural Vermont was a long way from Boston. She could admit her home was a little shabby, even to her biased appraisal. It all became too much. She had to get out of there.
“Is there anything else I should know?” She eased her chair back. Maybe her father had left additional horrid surprises in store.
With an embarrassed glance toward Maddox, Mr. Murphy said, “The bank account is freed up, my dear. I’ve filed the necessary paperwork. I imagine you have bills to take care of.”
She only hoped there was enough to cover them, grateful her father had prepaid his funeral expenses. Maybe around the time he’d borrowed enough money to put her in this untenable situation. Forcing her trembling fingers to gather up the proffered paperwork and shove it in her bag, she gained her feet.
“Thanks, Mr. Murphy.” With a hesitant lift of her shoulder, she managed another glance toward Maddox before stumbling toward the door. “I’ll … um, I’ll call you, cousin.”
“Can I follow you?”
“Excuse me?” She turned to find him right behind her. His scent enveloped her and she instinctively inhaled deeply. His fragrance suited him, a confident bouquet of spice and leather that sparked a flutter in her belly, a flutter that vied with all her other confused emotions. She caught herself—her future was in this man’s large, presumably capable hands and it was not the time or place for fanciful thoughts.
“If you’re heading back to The Inn, I’ll fol
low you, because we need to talk.” A rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And you don’t have my number.”
A minor detail. “Leave it with Mr. Murphy.”
“Perhaps we can get some lunch first?”
Regan shook her head. She should be thinking of him as the enemy and hardly wanted to break bread with him. “I need to get home. Oscar will be waiting.”
A curious expression passed over his features. “Your husband? I’d have thought he would have accompanied you.”
Despite the fact they were on opposite sides, she couldn’t help but laugh. Waving her work-roughened left hand, ring finger conspicuously free of ornamentation, she said, “Oscar’s my cat. But he missed breakfast. I left before he came home from his morning tour, and an unimpressed Oscar is a difficult Oscar.”
“Are you going to make lunch there? As well as feed your cat? I’d like to see the property.”
His persistence felt out of place, but it would be petty to refuse him a meal, and she had to eat too. She made herself ask, wondering at the way her perception of him kept changing. “Would you like to come for lunch?”
“Thank you.” His smile became a thing of beauty if one could apply that adjective to a man. It certainly appealed to her, even as her mind jumped to inventorying the pantry. He probably was accustomed to five-star meals…
The light pressure of his hand on the small of her back as he walked her to her vehicle felt proprietary and curiously comforting, at least until he gave the car the once over. Her small SUV had a lot of years and many miles on it, but it was what she had. She bit her lip to avoid apologizing for it, a wave of resentment shoving him back into enemy territory.
The door cracked open before his determined grip and made the usual creaking, wrenching sound. Thank goodness the front seat was clean. The rest of it, not so much. She hauled stuff in the back because the U in SUV stood for utility. Hers wasn’t like the four-wheel drive vehicles city folks bought, maybe imagining themselves in a situation where they’d need one. Like driving through a lump of mud and snow left by a semi on the freeway.
He waited until she settled herself and fastened the seat belt before he shut her in. She kept an eye on him as he strode toward his own vehicle. His suit fit admirably and moved right along with his fluid stride, the expensive fabric showcasing his muscular frame.
Regan sighed. She was so outclassed. And of course the Mercedes he unlocked and slid into made her American-built Ford look even shabbier. She was glad he didn’t hear how rough the engine ran, but a tune-up simply wasn’t affordable right now.
True to his word, he followed her back to The Inn, pulling up beside her in the wide drive. She chose to use the front door, the back being a trifle muddy after the recent rain and the plugged downspout.
Studying the façade, forcing herself to see it through outside eyes, she winced. If a house could look scruffy, this one did. Not the greatest first impression for her guests—or for her cousin. She told herself there were good bones behind the cosmetic and knowledgeable people would see it, but right now it appeared clunky and unkempt.
When Maddox met her at the foot of the stairs, his stern visage gave away nothing but she sensed his assessment wasn’t at all favorable. Was it her imagination or did the porch floor feel a bit soft? The repairs never ended.
Working the big key into the lock, she pushed inward and felt the cool, welcoming interior envelop her. She hoped Maddox experienced it as well, and that it made up for the outside. Thank goodness she’d cleaned only yesterday. The woodwork gleamed from the care lavished on it, and the scent of the wildflowers she’d cut for the entrance table filled the air.
Of course, once a person got closer to the furniture, the age and wear were apparent, but antiques should look old, even if they weren’t particularly attractive antiques. That was her story and she was sticking to it.
“You’re very proud of it.” His tone was conspicuously free of any inference.
She thought she was, but in trying to view it through his lenses, objectively, it wasn’t as impressive as say, it would have been a hundred years ago. “It’s home.”
A caterwaul emanated from the direction of the kitchen and Maddox stared. “Mountain lion?”
“Maine Coon.”
“Ah, an admirable breed.”
And she was back to feeling comfortable with him, regardless of the fact they’d only just met and the fact he held the fate of The Inn in his hold. Perhaps it was the familial connection. Or maybe she was coming to accept the inevitable—except she wasn’t a quitter. Shrugging at her ambivalence, she led the way to the heart of the home.
It too showed signs of wear, but the huge butcher block island, scarred surface and all, was mute testament to countless meals prepared there over the years. She hustled to the corner cabinet and found a tin of cat food, Oscar fixing her with a malevolent stare.
His wealth of gray and silver fur made him look even larger than he was, although he was a hefty armful without it. “We have company, animal. Try to remember your manners.”
To her astonishment, the big cat turned his attention from the food container and sauntered over to Maddox and sniffed his shoes. Likely it was a case of two alpha males positioning, but her cousin allowed the scrutiny and didn’t seem to mind the careless sweep of Oscar’s tail over his pant cuff. Regan made a mental note to find a fabric brush.
“He doesn’t care for people much, so aside from the sunroom and in here, he doesn’t go where the guests are. If anyone’s allergic they don’t stay at The Inn.” She knew she was shooting herself in the foot, but since her father died, Oscar had been the only living thing in her life—until today. She searched for another accolade. “He takes care of the mice. And he never goes on the counters or the table.”
Maddox merely nodded, and she thought he saw more than he let on.
She set out the food and her cat fell to, clearly ravenous. The mighty hunter tended to turn his nose up at his fresh kills, preferring the slop she provided. Washing her hands, she crossed to open the huge fridge, speaking over the smacking and gobbling noises. “He eats a lot.”
“I can imagine.”
“A sandwich or an egg casserole?” She brandished a loaf of bread in one hand and held out a dozen eggs in the other.
He slipped his jacket off and laid it over the back of a chair. Rolling his sleeves up, he said, “What can I do to help?”
Dragging her stare away from his thick, tanned forearms, she stuttered, “Um… Depends on what you crave.”
Had she made a double entendre? She looked away, but not before she caught the quirk of his brow—and a flare of interest in his eyes.
“There are a few things I crave, Regan, but we don’t know one another well enough to discuss those.” He flashed her a smile. “If we put together an egg thing you can take me for a tour while it bakes.”
We. A gorgeous, sexy man who was at home in the kitchen, talking about cravings. Under other circumstances, she might be seeing this as some kind of sign. But she had to keep her eye on the prize and not be diverted by something as mundane as … lust. Somehow, she had to find a way to persuade Maddox to let her keep The Inn, and that meant not treating him like the enemy, but not as an … object of interest, either.
Out of necessity, her libido had been in hibernation for a long time. The Inn being her love concern, it was trying that this man—her cousin—had piqued her interest in that regard. Inconvenient and bizarre, though she’d have to be blind not to notice his appeal.
He efficiently chopped scallions, peppers, broccoli, and mushrooms while she heated butter in one of the big copper skillets. Her father had been the chef, if without the letters to his name, who kept the paying guests happy with his food, but she could put together a tasty breakfast and cook most basic meals well. If she had the time.
She softened the vegetables in the hot pan while she beat several eggs with a hit of cream and seasonings. Maddox grated sharp cheese at her request. A few slices
of country ham lined the bottom of a glass baking dish and he layered the mushrooms and scallions over them before she poured in the eggs. They worked well in tandem, like a pair of horses newly harnessed, and it fed her sense of unreality.
As the cheese alternately sank and floated in the mixture, she dotted in some breadcrumbs and surveyed the results. Maddox loomed beside her and she felt, more than saw him nod, intensely aware of him. “Looks great.”
The dish went in the oven and she set the timer. An hour seemed an eon away, seeing as Oscar wasn’t the only one who’d missed breakfast. Except hers had been skipped because of a tightly drawn stomach. And hadn’t she been right to be concerned?
Adopting a formal tone, trying to build a little distance, she said, “I’ll show you around.”
She started with the sunroom, off the kitchen. There was a seating area for guests, but she used it primarily to dry herbs and such from the vegetable gardens, and the air was redolent with their aromas, from savory to earthy. The afternoon sun slanted through the old glass panes, the heat absorbed by the flagstone floors. Somehow, all the glass had survived but the frames sagged, and the floors dipped in the center of some of the slabs.
“Do your guests spend a lot of time here?”
He was trespassing into her space again. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his fragrance, and she hastily stepped away before she did something rash, like stroke one of those firm forearms. “A few. Mostly older guests. They like to read out here.”
He didn’t have a clipboard or notepad but she knew he was making notes. She hoped there were more pros than cons.
Next was the dining room, all dark wooden paneling, and heavy furniture. It was an imposing room with the tapestry-like draperies drawn back from the tall windows, their wavy glass freshly washed, but maybe it looked depressing to him. She could admit it was dated and not in an appealing, historical way. Maddox looked around but said nothing.
The stairs creaked as they climbed them and she hoped he didn’t feel the tremor in the banister.
Love Changes Everything Page 5