I know I’m nothing like my mother. That’s actually been my goal pretty much my entire life. Don’t turn into Mama. Don’t turn into Mama.
When I really stop and think about it, money has always been an abstract to me. I’ve experienced having a lot of it and having none of it. But it hasn’t been something tangible to me, something I can see and hold in my hand every day, so it doesn’t always seem real. How much you have of it can fluctuate day to day. So, it’s foolish to ever get comfortable with a certain lifestyle or way of living, in my opinion. To me, it’s always been something that could disappear in the blink of an eye, and for us, it did.
I need it to survive, yes. I need it to finish grad school and keep a roof over my head. But aside from that, money doesn’t hold a lot of importance to me. It doesn’t occupy a large portion of my thoughts on any given day.
And if I don’t give it much priority in my life, then why do I care so much about Carter’s?
I don’t.
Not giving a guy a chance for the sole reason that he has money is basically the same thing as wanting a guy for the sole reason that he has money. Right? It’s like the exact opposite of being a gold digger.
I don’t know what you call that, but I know I don’t want to be that.
I hand my champagne flute to Daddy and push to my feet. “Um, I’ll be back.”
He frowns. “You okay?”
I feel my giddy smile stretch wide. “Yeah, great. I just remembered I need to take care of something real quick.”
And in order to do that, I have to go track down my divorce attorney.
But in order to track Carter down, I have to get past the gatekeeper.
AKA, his bulldog receptionist.
“I just need to speak with him in person,” I frantically try to explain as I drive aimlessly around Charleston. “It’s very important.”
I can practically hear her scowl over the line. “Ms. Westbrook—”
“Williams.”
My name has been legally changed back to my maiden one. I never want to be called by Grant’s surname again.
She sighs. “I’ve already told you that Mr. Van Gordon is currently indisposed. If you’ll leave your message with me, I’ll be sure to pass it along to him.”
I have no idea what currently indisposed means, but I’m not sure I like it. Of course, my mind immediately goes to a woman. If Carter bounced from me to someone else in less than forty-eight hours…
Well, I guess he’d only known me for a little over forty-eight hours when we kissed.
My stomach turns at the thought of him even shaking another woman’s hand.
“That’s attorney-client privilege,” I tell the difficult woman. “If you just tell me where he is, I promise you’ll never have to hear from me again. Just do me this one favor. Please.”
“I swear, it’s always got to be now, now, now with you young ones,” she mutters under her breath, though clearly not trying hard to lower her volume.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her exactly what I think of her kind, the curmudgeons of the world. But I bite back my insults because it won’t get me anywhere, and I really need to make this right with Carter.
Miraculously, after doing her haughty sniffing thing, she actually gives me my information. “Mr. Van Gordon is at the Southernmoss Golf Club. I imagine he’s probably somewhere around the ninth hole by now.”
He golfs? I can see that.
Spirits buoyed, I suck in an excited breath. “Thank y—”
Click.
Not even the cranky old bat hanging up on me can bring me down right now.
This must be what it feels like to be a hopeful romantic instead of a hopeless one. Because I swear, there are no fears or concerns in my consciousness right now. As I follow my phone’s GPS to the golf club, all I see through my car’s windows are exuberant colors and a bright future. Anticipation—not anxiety—consumes me, filling me with optimism and…promise.
Ever since I realized Grant and I were just another statistic, I’ve felt like I’ve been running away from something.
This is the first time in a very long time I feel like I’m racing toward something. Someone.
I whip my rickety car into the club’s parking lot, possibly double parking but not sure.
Don’t care.
Don’t know if I lock my car either. If some richie at this club is deranged enough to want to steal this rusted scrap of metal, they can be my guest and save me the trouble of taking it to the car doctor to put down myself.
I see the entrance to the golf course and run—yes, run—in that direction. You’re probably supposed to go through the actual club to get onto the green, but I bypass that roadblock entirely.
When I reach the line of golf carts, I hear a frantic voice behind me. I look back to see a fresh-faced teenager with big eyes and acne waving his arms at me. “Hey! You can’t go that way! You have to go through the members’ entrance! Club rules!”
I throw my hand up and wave. “Sorry, family emergency!”
And with that, I hop behind the wheel and take off.
Jesus, I just stole a fucking golf cart.
I might have officially lost it.
Eh. Carter can be my lawyer if I get arrested.
The receptionist said he’s probably around the ninth hole somewhere, so that’s where I head, recklessly speeding along the path. One particularly stubborn guy has to practically dive into the trees when he won’t get out of my way, sending balls and clubs flying through the air.
“Sorry! Emergency!”
I finally reach the eighth hole and spot him huddled with two other guys as the fourth stands bent over a club, about to take his putt.
I’d recognize Carter anywhere because he’s the most commanding of the four men. He stands there like he owns the ground he walks on—and probably does—with his signature air of confident masculinity that first attracted me to him. He’s just so comfortable in his body, so in control of every part of it, making every action he takes appear casual and effortless.
That’s a man right there.
The guy who’s putting rears back to take his shot, and I choose that moment to open my big mouth.
“Carter!”
Four heads snap in my direction. I can barely make out Carter’s expression, but I know it’s full of recognition, shock, and most definitely…relief.
I’m waving wildly at him and smiling like a complete dork.
Which is why I don’t notice the sand trap.
Before I have time to turn the wheel, the cart pitches forward and careens down the slope.
Taking me and my dignity with it.
“Sloane! Holy shit, are you okay?”
Oh, just peachy. Except that I want to die.
I hear Carter approach me from behind as I carefully inch my way out of the cart. Thankfully, it just took a nosedive into the sand pit, rather than turning over or flipping upside-down. Other than some sand in my ass and a tiny twinge in my ankle, I’m right as rain.
“Yeah, I’m fabulous,” I answer when he reaches me, assisting me out of the cart.
He’s clasping my hand tightly, as if I’ll crumble to pieces in front of him. “Are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t sprain anything?”
I roll my ankle from side to side, testing the movement. It already feels better than seconds ago, so I think I’ll be fine.
“Yes, I’m sure. No permanent damage.”
I can’t meet his eyes as he helps me maneuver up the grassy hill. I’m still too embarrassed. If only that sand pit was an actually pit in the earth that had opened up and swallowed me into its dark depths.
And since I can’t look him in the eyes, I take in the rest of his body instead.
I want to climb it like a jungle gym.
His white polo with a bright green stripe across his chest highlights the definition of his torso. The sinewy muscles of his arms, the sharp angles of his pecs, the way his waist tapers down into a beautiful “V” that
frames his abs and hips. Even his legs are evenly toned, from thighs to calves. Tan skin, light brown hair smattering each leg.
I lick my lips with my gaze centered on the very present bulge between his legs. It’s a wholly unconscious action, but his body tenses when he notices it.
“What are you doing here, Sloane?”
I swallow, working to find both moisture and courage. “I need to talk to you.” Laughter bubbles out at the ridiculousness of the situation. “This isn’t exactly how I saw this going.”
He spreads his legs wider, crossing his arms over his chest. “And how did you see it going?”
I flick my wrist in the air. “Oh, you know. I’d gracefully leap from the cart like a gazelle, run into your arms, and tell you how sorry I am for running off the other night. I’d tell you that I’m willing to give this a shot if you are. And then I’d kiss you because I’d have lost all self-control by that point.” I shrug. “It was all going to be very dramatic.”
A few seconds tick by before he reaches out and tips my chin up. Our gazes clash in a collision that would have caused a fifty-car pileup with multiple casualties.
“Not bad,” he says in a low voice. “But how about we just skip to the end?”
I nod, barely aware of the movement. “I’m good with that.”
With the golden summer sun shining on our faces and vibrant green grass beneath our feet, our mouths meet underneath a clear azure sky.
Our lips meld together, the grooves of our mouths sliding against each other in a sensual, insistent rhythm. The contours of his are so soft and firm at the same time that I’m too focused on savoring their taste to open my mouth. I nibble lightly and suck deeply, devouring him everywhere because I can’t get enough. He does the same to me, mimicking my movements.
But he must get impatient because he releases a guttural groan and yanks me to him.
My mouth opens on a gasp when I feel his hardness through his shorts, which he uses as his opportunity to thrust his tongue inside. I meet it with a need I didn’t realize was being restrained by such a thin thread. Because when it snaps as he starts to ravage my mouth with his hungry tongue, I lose all control over my desire and passion explodes.
I take his face in my hands and mash our mouths together harder. He groans again, hands lowering to cup my ass. His kneading fingers make me moan, sending my leg wrapping around his waist. By the time we start shamelessly grinding against each other, there’s a round of applause accompanied by several masculine “whoops!” and catcalls.
“Give it to her, Gordon!”
“That’s right, man, make it dirty!”
Carter slowly pulls his mouth away, ignoring his golf companions. “I think we still made that work, don’t you?”
My tongue glides along my bottom lip, tasting him there. “Even better than my original plan.”
Our arms are still wrapped around each other. I don’t think either of us want to move, or are physically capable of it.
“I thought we already covered the laws against stalking?”
My fingers lightly run through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I just took my cue from you.”
His forehead falls against mine. “We can take this as slow as you want, darlin’. But let’s just take it somewhere.”
“After that kiss, I don’t know how slow I can go.”
“Fine by me.” His grip tightens. “But I need you to talk to me when something’s bothering you. Don’t close me out. Don’t shut me down. You’ve got to keep me in the loop. That’s all I ask.”
It’s not hard to figure out where that’s coming from. I don’t want to remind him of his ex-wife in any way, so this is an easy request to agree to.
“Demanding, aren’t you?” I ask, smiling.
His answering grin is wiped away when the three men start whistling again.
He closes his eyes, his head rolling back on his neck. “Jesus Christ.”
I wince. “Please tell me those aren’t clients or colleagues.”
He grunts. “No. Just a few of my dumbass friends. Who need to get goddamn lives!” He yells the last part loudly enough for them to hear.
“What the hell do we need our own lives for when yours is so entertaining?” one shouts in response.
“We don’t mind a show if she doesn’t mind an audience!” shouts another.
Carter growls, the sound coming from deep within his chest. “Over my dead fucking body.” He glances over my shoulder and pulls on my hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“The show must go on, right? But there won’t be a fucking audience for the big finale.”
My toes curl in my heels.
The sand chafes against my skin, but it’s no worse than the throbbing ache in my core. I’m so turned on right now I’m seconds away from tackling him to the grass. That kiss sent my body’s temperature skyrocketing up into the hospitalization with lots of fluids level. No wonder I’m trembling like I have a fever.
I see where he’s headed when a small shed that’s partially hidden by the trees comes into view. It barely looks big enough for two people to even fit inside, but I guess that’s the point. Not like we’ll need much space anyway. Just enough standing room for—
Oh, God.
This is going to happen.
And I am so ready to be taken by this man.
“Maintenance shed,” he mutters just before throwing the door open. “Get the fuck inside.”
“I’m sorry, are you mad at me?”
He follows me in, taking up most of the available space with his hulking form, and slams the door behind him. “Of course, I’m fucking mad at you. You make me wait for two days to see you again, without any reassurance that I even will see you again. You show up to my golf club that’s bursting with horny, single men wearing that goddamn dress. Then your sexy fucking ass kisses me in front of my friends like you’re just itching to be fucked right there on that green.”
I can’t breathe.
Where the hell do they keep the oxygen in this shed?
His hazel eyes are blazing down at me with ferocious possessiveness. “So, yeah, darlin’. I’m mad as hell that you go cold on me for two whole days, making me agonize after that first earth-shattering kiss, and then force me to share you in public with all these other fucking people right when you go scorching hot again.”
He thought that kiss was earth-shattering, too?
My back is pressed up against the wall, flagsticks to my left, bottles of weed killer to my right. Carter advances on me, smirking like he knows I’m trapped here with nowhere to go for as long as he wants me here.
As lost as I thought my control was out on that hill, I sense his leash had been fraying long before that.
He gnashes his teeth. “Not to mention, getting to this shed was like walking barefoot across hot coals with how painful it was for my dick. The dick that you made hard as fucking steel.” He braces his hands against the wall, caging me between his arms. “Yeah, girl, I’m fucking furious with you.”
With quick movements, he shoves my dress down and flicks the front clasp of my strapless bra with deft fingers, causing my heavy breasts to spill out into his waiting hands. He takes one in each of his, thumbs caressing my nipples reverently, as a tortured groan rips free of his mouth.
“Fuck, darlin’. God made you so right when he worked on you. And these were his masterpiece.” His hands cup them, then cover them. His eyes fall shut as he breathes deeply through his nose. “I can’t imagine a more perfect fit for my hands.”
A whimper escapes me when he lowers his head and laves my peaks with the flat of his tongue. I’m burning up, but goosebumps still rise across the flesh that he’s sampling like a fine wine. He takes my nipple between his lips and pulls it inside his mouth with suction that borders on pleasure and too much pleasure.
With his mouth still clamped onto my distended peak, his hands delve beneath my dress. He strokes the lace material of my panties appreciatively and a
lmost regretfully. Like he doesn’t want to take them off, but nothing will stop him from getting to exactly what he wants. I’m surprised they’re still in one piece when he pulls them down my legs and throws them to the floor.
“And this is what enrages me the most,” he grates out. “That you dare tease me with this pussy out there in front of them when you know how sweet it is. When you fucking know how obsessed I’d be with getting inside it the second I felt you rubbing your goddamn heat against me.”
His fingers caress my center, right along my slit. “You think I couldn’t feel how wet you were out there? Through this flimsy dress and that scrap of underwear, you think I didn’t feel your juices practically gushing out of you when my tongue was fucking yours?” His laughter is dark. “Wrong, darlin’. So goddamn wrong. I could practically taste all that fucking sugar.”
It’s like I have noise-canceling headphones on, like I’m seeing everything through a dense fog. I’m so far gone with lust, so helplessly at the mercy of my need for this man, nothing outside of this shed even exists.
He spreads my moisture, further slickening my folds, and lightly pinches my swollen clit. A noise of sympathy comes out of him. “This poor baby. All needy and achy, isn’t it? Pulsing for a good pounding?”
He’s a fucking wizard.
There’s got to be a name for the effect his words have on my body. For the power they wield. That goes far beyond mere skill. That’s actual magic right there.
Two of his fingers easily slide up inside me, thrusting in and out at a frenetic pace. I can’t tell who’s closer to orgasm here, me or him. His hips are pumping against mine, clearly needing friction, needing fulfillment.
“Ah, fuck,” he says through gritted teeth. “I think I need to lick that sugar up first.”
He starts to lower himself to his knees, but I grab onto his arms and hold him still.
Finally able to form words again, I nod down to his jutting erection. “I think you need to stick that somewhere first. Lick me later. Right now, you need me wrapped around your cock.”
“Jesus Christ, do I.”
Our fingers fumble with the button of his shorts, nearly ripping the zipper off in our frenzy. The shirt comes off, too, because I need to feel his soft chest hair against my bare breasts when he pushes inside me.
The Divorce Attorney Page 9