by Kasey Lane
“Are you listening to me?” Her voice was stretched tight, thinning and ready to snap. “I want my farm back and I’m not your wife anymore.” Her voice shook with fury and her pale skin was turning red. Tough shit. He was pissed, too. At her. At this life she’d left him in alone years ago.
“It’s only half your farm now, Kendall. And you’re still my wife and unless you plan on staying married to me I suggest you cut the attitude and stop acting like a petulant, wounded child. Obviously we have a lot to discuss.”
“Funny, you sound just like your father,” she said and threw herself into her car and drove off without a glance back.
*
Kendall Kelly had finally come home.
Damian Sloane watched the trail of billowing dust behind her rental car as it flew up the long gravel and dirt driveway toward the farmhouse. The darkening shadows and the setting sun made it too difficult to see the driver’s face, but he knew who it was. He pulled the tractor into the barn for the night and turned off the motor. The familiar smells of wood, mud, and hay surrounded him. Jumping from the seat he cursed to himself.
He hadn’t known if she would come back here after their altercation in the parking lot. In fact, after a couple of hours of looking out for her car he figured she’d found a place to stay in town.
Kendall. Wearer of rhinestones, singer of songs, and breaker of hearts. His being just the first of many a very long time ago.
He pulled the heavy steel doors shut on the newly constructed barn and punched in the security code to lock it up. Gravel crunched under his work boots and acid churned in his gut as he slowly walked up the path to the dark house. Frogs croaked and bugs sang as night settled over the farm. Pops of light broke through the windows of the weary old farmhouse as she worked her way from room to room. Stepping up the creaky steps and over the porch he suddenly felt almost as old as the house itself, which had stood for nearly one hundred years on that same spot, supposedly built as a labor of love for Kendall’s great-grandmother by her great-grandfather when they’d bought the property years after emigrating from Ireland.
He waited in the entry until she stomped downstairs again and stopped abruptly.
“Damian.” Her voice was soft, with that smoky undertone that had made her a star. It was that same voice that kept him away during her previous visits because it chipped away at his resolve to forget their complicated past, to stay firm in his anger. The same voice that sucked the air from his lungs and made it impossible to breathe. Or speak, for that matter.
“Kendall.” He pulled the hat off his head and held it in his hands as he willed the air back into his lungs. “I should have called you about your grandmother and the will,” Damian said.
And he really should have. He’d meant to…even picked up his phone and punched in the number Sabre had texted him before she’d died. But then the numbness, the cold who-gives-a-fuck lack of emotion he’d attached to Kendall the Star would melt away and all his goddamn feelings would flood back. The ache and the longing would boil up to the top again and then the anger. The inferno in his belly would spread everywhere and take over every calm, rational thought.
Kendall had turned her back on him and what was left of her family the night she’d snuck out of town and hitchhiked to Los Angeles. Sure, he knew she’d come back a handful of times to visit her grandmother, but she usually slipped in late at night when she knew he’d be tucked into the little cottage he’d called home since graduating from high school, and she was gone by morning. She came whenever the old woman had called, probably still holding out hope that her grandmother would show her some semblance of affection or familial love. She never stayed long enough to give him an explanation or even the middle finger. She just didn’t care enough about her old life to give up any part of her new one.
For the first year, he’d written to her and called until she’d changed her number and his letters started coming back unopened. He’d even gone down to Los Angeles to try and find out what happened, bring her home if he could. But she’d been so bright and comfortable on the stage already that he knew it wasn’t his place to interfere with fate. Problem was he thought they had been destined to be together.
So he tried to not give a shit. Tried to be callous and move on like she apparently had, but it had been nearly impossible. How did one move on from their first—their only—love? Lord knows he’d tried with other women. None of them stuck. None of them dug under his skin and stayed there. None of them even made it past the first, chaste date. Only one. Kendall. He’d learned to live with the bitter, grizzled version of himself he’d become. Soon enough it had stopped feeling achy and uncomfortable. Soon enough it began to wear on him, not in a bad way, but more like an old torn-up pair of boots. Worn in and expected. Almost easy.
After he’d impulsively kissed her yesterday and put his hand on her knee for the entire service, he’d wondered if maybe one more time in his bed would finally work her out of his system, turn his bitterness to acceptance. Maybe he could prove she was the devious schemer he knew she was and he could finally move the hell on.
He hung his hat on the dusty rack near the door and crossed his arms against his chest, holding his ground.
She tapped her chipped glittery nail on her bracelet, a habit she’d always had even when she was just a cute little girl begging for a ride on his horse. “Now what?”
“Well, sweetheart, you heard the lawyer. You move in or, if you want out, you buy me out. Should be a fairly simple transaction for a big star like yourself.”
Her pale skin turned pink. Her short temper was a thing of beauty and his dark side yearned to set fire it to it again. “First off, you’re my husband in name only. You don’t deserve even one mud cake of this dirt pile. Second, this is not my home. It never was. You and everyone else have made that perfectly clear.” She kept her hands at her sides, but her fists were balls of creeping rage, white at the knuckles and rolled tight into her palms. But if he looked closely, and he always did look closely when it came to Kendall, he could see the hard points of her nipples through the material of her thin dress and what he knew must be a sheer lacy bra. “But…” she said slowly “…if you’d just agree to sell then we could both move on.”
He took a step toward her. “Damian,” she warned and took a step backward toward the wall. “Please.” Her voice lowered; her expression was almost one of panic. From anger to fear to lust—that was Kendall. One big ball of passion.
“I’m not selling.” He took another step bringing him to within inches of her body. The air around them vibrated with energy, something dark and volatile, yet familiar. Unused lightning in the storm they always seemed to create together. Her moist lips parted and he could hear her slight intake of breath. Good. She should suffer this ache as he had for the last four years.
Hooded sparkling brown eyes looked up into his. “Why, Damian, why won’t you let us move on?” Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper in the quiet evening of the darkening house, and barely recognizable from the husky drawl that had made her famous.
“I’m trying.” And for a second, for some ridiculous reason he couldn’t fathom and really didn’t care to examine, he wanted to reach out and smooth his hand down her now pink-and-blonde-streaked hair, and it wasn’t because of the way she used to smile up at him when he’d do that. It wasn’t because of the weary stare behind her eyes that he hadn’t noticed earlier. It wasn’t even because he wanted to gather her full mop in his fist and tug it under his kiss. It wasn’t for any of those reasons. It was because no matter how selfish and heartless she was, he knew she was grieving—for her sister, for her grandma, for her career, and now for her family home. He knew this unfinished thing that sparked between them terrified her. And he knew she’d lost the only two remaining members in her family in under a year. He was a dick for messing with her. But he couldn’t help himself. It had been years since he’d had her this close and the opportunity was just too good.
Kendall shook her head
in answer to all the unaddressed questions between them. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and she took a visibly deep breath, gulping air down like she was starving for it. “You’re not. Just let me go. We both know you don’t want me. And I don’t want you.”
But suddenly he knew that was a lie. The hitch in her breath, the pink tongue darting out to slide across her bottom lip, and the slight tremble of her body were her tells. Finally, he reached up and smoothed his hand over her hair, gathering the length of the braid in his hand and tugging her head back. “Liar,” he whispered and lowered his lips to hers. He’d intended to play with her. Kiss her dismissively like he had in the church. Instead, a plan began to form in his head. She would stay for a while and eventually he’d buy her out. Divorce her. Let her go like she said she wanted.
But now, he’d take his fill. He devoured her, parting her lips with his tongue, reminding her that this time she’d leave knowing who she belonged to. This time she would leave with the image of his tongue in her mouth and his sex in hers. This time, he would screw her out of his system and he wouldn’t be left with his bleeding heart in his hands. When she left this time, it would truly be over between them.
Find out what happens next…
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About the Author
Award-winning author Kasey Lane writes sexy romances featuring alpha males and the strong women that bring them to their knees. A California transplant, she lives with her high school crush turned husband, two smart, but devilish kids, two dumb-as-rocks Papillons, and a bunch of bossy chickens in the lush Oregon forest. Visit her on line at www.kaseylane.com where you’ll find her swearing too much and talking about hockey, music, and happily ever afters.
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