by Sosie Frost
“And then what?”
“Then…we’ll figure it out. What do you want me to say, cowboy? I’m pregnant. It’s yours. I’ve made absolutely no contingency plan to prepare for this sort of event, so I’m…improvising as I go.” Her words hollowed. “I’ve never…not known what to do before.”
“Is that why you sent your father to the farm?”
Never anger a woman wielding rubbing alcohol. The bottle spilled over my back. I swore. She gasped, gagged, and rolled away.
Her voice cracked. “My father?”
And now she wanted to play innocent? “You didn’t tell me Daddy was a big-time land developer.”
“Jules—”
“He came to see the farm. Offered me a pretty good price for it.”
Micah bit her lip. “What did you do?”
“Kicked his ass off my property.”
I rose to my feet. Mistake. My back always hurt, but the two dozen scratches, abrasions, and bruises didn’t make moving any easier. The pain pissed me off even more.
“So, what was your plan, princess?”
Micah crossed her arms, unwilling to swap out her pretty little professional dress for a pair of jeans, even when the rain had muddied the field.
“What do you mean my plan? What did my father say?”
A lot of bullshit, and only some truth. “Said he thought my property would be a good place for some new developments. Said it’d be a tough job to get the farm running again, especially with the current zoning regulations.” I cocked my head at her. “Starting to understand why.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Tell me again why you’re refusing to approve my barn? Why you’d let my family’s business go under?”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Think it’s because your father will make bank on my land once he develops it into a cushy subdivision?”
I’d insulted Micah before, but she’d never silenced in utter contempt. She spoke through gritted teeth, her words sharp. “Be very careful, cowboy. You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
Wasn’t that convenient? First, I’d impregnated her. Then I discovered all the bullshit and lies.
I shrugged. “I’ve learned enough. You’re corrupt.”
She lurched away like I’d slapped her. Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t back down.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she hissed.
“Seems simple enough to me. Harass an innocent man off his land. Buy him off. Rake in the profit.”
“First off, you are not innocent,” she said.
I shrugged. “Oh, right. I forgot. The mud. The bar. The bees. The baby. All my fault.”
“Don’t you pretend like you’re some martyr, cowboy.”
I didn’t have to pretend anything. If the world wanted to kick me in the teeth, it’d have to wait until this woman was done crushing my balls. I didn’t need this irritation. Didn’t need the pain in my ass. Didn’t need to worry about the damn harpy, no matter how fucking gorgeous she was.
But thinking with my cock had gotten us in enough trouble. I’d tame the lust, but I worried more about the crushing ache in my chest. Not often a man hoped for a heart attack. Last thing I needed was to let any sort of feelings for Micah interfere with a perfectly good argument.
“I did my part—again,” I said. “Came here. Took care of the cats for you. Tried to help with the fair. Just remember that when I give you and Daddy the counteroffer.”
I hobbled away. Didn’t surprise me that she followed, bumbling over the uneven ground in heels. Wasn’t enough that she’d pissed me off. Now I had to worry she’d break one of her perfect legs in a gopher hole.
“Why do I even bother with you?” Micah matched my strides, practically beating me to my truck. “I don’t know what my father said to you, I don’t know what he offered you, and I don’t know what he plans to do with your land, but leave me out of it.”
“Bet you’ll approve the houses on that lot.”
Her hand slammed on the truck’s door, preventing me from getting in. “Not if I can help it.”
She brushed a lock of hair from her face. Down today. The tight curls brushed her dark cheek like a delicate hand. Her full lips pouted, ready to punish, but better to kiss.
“Move,” I ordered.
She refused. “Listen to me, Julian Payne. There’s only one man I hate more in this world than you—and I call him Dad.”
“I don’t know, princess. You’re awfully friendly with me.”
“Call it temporary insanity.”
“I call it unrepentant lust.”
“Oh, there’s repentance. There’s a lot of repentance. And if I wasn’t getting sick on communion crackers, I’d make sure all of this was forgotten.”
“Don’t you mean forgiven?”
“No. Forgotten. If I could, I’d wipe it from my memory.”
I leaned against the truck, trapping her with an outstretched arm between the door and my body. She didn’t move, but she did hiss a quick, wispy breath. I liked that. Shouldn’t have tolerated it, but some things heated a man hotter than the afternoon sun.
“So, you do remember our night,” I whispered.
“Yeah. I’m the one who got the souvenir.”
Micah didn’t invite it, but I reached for her. My fingers brushed over her flat stomach.
No bump. No difference. Not even a little hint to what made this woman such a complicated pain in my ass. Just heated skin. She looked up at me, bashful under her thick, dark eyelashes. She tensed, but the nervous bite to her lip destroyed me.
Fuck me, this woman. Every part of my body hardened. Cock. Head. Bones. Her warmth seared my hand. Just a touch, and I was lost. Just the thought of this woman carrying my baby…
I’d gotten her pregnant. Filled her up. Rocked with her against the wall. Emptied myself entirely into her hot, quivering tightness.
It was a mistake. It was an accident. It was a life-changing dilemma.
And it was the hottest, sexiest, most cock-torturing realization of my life.
I’d taken her once, invading her core as she conquered my mind. And now nothing would ever compare to that moment, that split-second animalistic pounding that had left my baby in her belly.
I had to taste her again. Feel her again. Fuck her again.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Sex wouldn’t solve anything. Only piss her off. Make us more desperate for each other.
Getting involved with this woman was a disaster. Micah was as beautiful as an angel, as sexy as a devil, and I was the asshole trapped between heaven and hell.
I never should have let her speak.
Instead, I got lost in her words.
My hand never left her belly. She didn’t shift away.
“Look…” Micah pressed into my fingers. “I don’t know what my father said to you, but I’m sorry he went to the farm. Believe me. I have nothing to do with him, nor do I want him in my life.”
I hadn’t expected that. “Why?”
“Do you want my professional opinion?”
Anything to keep her talking. The instant her lips stopped moving was the moment I’d claim them with my own.
“It’s a conflict of interest for my father and I to discuss potential business arrangements,” she said.
“Cut the bullshit.”
Her eyebrow arched. “The deal is bad. He’ll undercut you on what the land is worth. He only wants to develop the property because he thinks Butterpond could be an up-and-coming suburb of Ironfield. Any of the homes he’d build would be of shoddy construction. He’ll cut as many corners as he thinks I’ll forgive because my father is nothing but a cheat, a fraud, and a bastard who cares only about himself.”
Damn. I edged closer, loving the heat teasing from her body. “You don’t get along?”
“Not at all.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Do I need a reason?”
“You p
robably have your reasons for everything categorized and laminated.”
She didn’t deny it. “He treated my mother poorly. Divorced her when I was twelve.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it started when he knocked up my mother, a stranger on a one-night stand. Then she insisted on getting married.”
I tensed. Shit. “Micah—”
“They fought. They hated each other. Resented each other. Resented me. And, when the hostility and fights and aggression got to be too much…” Her eyebrows rose. “When the loveless, meaningless marriage drove them both to depression and adultery, they decided to split. My mother moved to France, and I stayed with my father.”
Fuck.
No wonder she’d been so resistant to marriage. I softened my voice. “You didn’t have a good childhood?”
“Who did?”
Most people? Hell, mine wasn’t bad. Worked the farm, went to school, got the girls, made it to the professional league. What wasn’t to love?
Micah sighed. “Honestly, I have no idea why you’re working so damn hard to build this barn. I can’t fathom trying to save my childhood home.”
Not many people understood what I was trying to do.
Not many people knew the guilt that drove it.
“It’s my family’s home,” I said. “Has been for generations. There’s nothing more important in this world than restoring the farm.”
“But you hate your family.”
“They’re still my family,” I said. “And we got along, once upon a time. Family used to be bigger too. Had my brothers. Cassi. A couple foster kids who’d stayed with us. The farm was more than land. It was memories and family and a place to call home.”
“I guess.”
“And now there’s a new generation.” My words quieted her. “He or she will deserve a home too.”
Micah looked down, twisting her hair behind her ear. Ashamed?
“The only reason my parents married was because of me,” she said. “My mother and father weren’t in love—but they were respectable members of the community. A child out of wedlock would have humiliated them. So, they married, and then my mother realized the type of bastard my father was.”
“That bad?”
“We moved. Often. Anytime a business deal fell through, anytime he lost major money. First the lawsuits, then uprooting our lives so he could swindle a new sucker for another venture. From the time I was a child, he’d planned every aspect of my life to help him with the firm. He put me in the right private schools, sent me to a fancy boarding school with a focus on business, and even chose my major—real estate law. He expected me to work for him so I could finagle the contracts to help him scam more people out of their hard-earned money.”
“Someone else signing off on your life plan?” I asked.
She stiffened, the insult hardening her voice and stare. “You might not understand, but I invented my life plan after I severed ties with my father. After I refused his money, paid my own way through college, and had to scrape together a dollar in quarters and nickels to pay for a Raman Noodle Soup so I wouldn’t starve. I needed a set of goals and a timeline of events so I could survive.” She frowned. “And it worked. Or it had…until now.”
Damn it. No wonder she was so damned organized. Christ, I’d gone through life with my parents sacrificing everything for my future. Never had to go it alone until…now. But at least I was a thirty-four-year-old man with some money in the bank and more than enough life experience. Micah had just been a kid when she started with nothing.
“So, you ran away to join the government?” I asked.
I shifted, but Micah didn’t let me move my hand from her tummy. Instead, she traced her fingers over mine, voice soft. “Someone has to stop men like him. And I do it with all the laws and regulations he hates so much.”
“You’re a regular superhero.”
“I sow order into chaos.” Her pride was adorable. “Without me, the whole of creation in Sawyer County would collapse into anarchy.”
“Can’t have that.”
“My work is very important,” she said.
“Herding cats?”
“No. That’s your work.”
And I’d have the scars to prove it. “There’s gotta be something better I can do.”
Her lips parted as I gently caressed her tummy. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”
“I’d call it creation.”
“This is doing nothing for your ego, is it?”
I leaned down, voice low, savoring the sweet scent of her.
“Shouldn’t a man be proud when a woman is swelling with his baby?”
She licked her lips and stared at mine. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
I glanced down, my jeans tight. “Which one?”
“You put that away.” Micah scolded me with an arched eyebrow. “I’ve had my fill, cowboy.”
“That was hardly a fill…” I pushed against her, pinning her to the truck. She didn’t resist, only turning her head so my nibbling kisses traced along her neck. “Next time, I won’t stop until you’re completely stuffed.”
Micah groaned as I captured her lips in a kiss. The heat surged between us, and the hungry swipe of her tongue revealed everything she’d hoped to hide. She shivered, but her body ground against mine. Every curve. Every secret. My hand slipped from her stomach down to her perfect thigh. God, what I’d do to grab those hips again. To spin her. Pin her against the truck. Rip off those panties and slip inside her heat until we both set on fire.
And she wanted it too. That’s why her murmured protests urged me to stop. Both palms pushed against my chest, accidentally grazing one of the cat scratches.
“We can’t…” Micah sucked in a troubled breath and escaped from my arms. “Look, I’ve got work to do. And you…” Her gaze lingered over my bare chest for a moment too long. “You should see a doctor.”
“Only if this persists for longer than four hours.”
“What? Oh.” Her eyes dropped to my pants. The priss avoided direct contact with the erection. She teased me with an awkward smile. “One Mississippi, two Mississippi…”
“I know a better way to pass the time.”
“So do I.” A calm, professional, rather boring Micah had returned. The one who treated me like a nuisance instead of a sex toy. “I have an idea.”
“Your ideas usually end with me muddy, stung, or clawed,” I said.
“I know how to get your barn approved.”
Now this I liked. But what had I done to deserve it?
And what would she make me do to get it?
“It’s nearly foolproof,” she said.
And there was the catch. “I don’t like nearly.”
She shrugged. “Well, you’re involved, so…”
“Thanks.”
“Leave it to me.” She pulled her phone and began scrolling through her contacts. “I think I just figured out a way…”
She ducked from my arms and hurried across the field as quickly as her heels could carry her and her hips could sway. As much as I loved the sight of her ass, it only reminded me of the hefty price I’d pay for merely looking.
“Princess.” I called to her. “What’s with the change of heart?”
She hesitated, turning only to offer me a smile. I didn’t know much about the woman, but I could tell when she faked happiness.
And it killed me.
“When I was growing up, I didn’t have a good family,” she said. “Didn’t have anyone, really. No real place to call home. Nowhere I wanted to be except away from my parents.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “But now I can use my job to protect yours.”
“You’re only doing it for the job?”
Her hand grazed where mine had just touched, a soft pat her to belly. “I might have ulterior motives.”
“How ulterior?”
There was the real smile—bright, honest, and beautiful. “I’m gonna give my baby a farm.”
&nb
sp; 9
Micah
Whoever said pregnancy was hard never tried to lure a three-legged goat out of the backseat of a Honda Accord.
I hadn’t planned on hauling any kids in my car yet, but I made an exception for Clyde. After all, I needed to get used to small critters pooping on my leather seats. Though I hoped a baby wouldn’t gnaw on my headrest.
Or my hair.
Billy Fraiser had offered me a leash for Clyde, but he’d warned the goat would be unlikely to follow. He was right. Julian’s salvation and my only legal loophole to get him his barn was too busy bucking against my back windshield on one leg to frolic in his new home.
I’d hoped to present the goat as a truce. Less a dove of peace and more a…can-eating, hoof-stomping, head-butting excuse for a barn.
Alternatively, Clyde would also be a conversation starter that skipped the small talk and all discussion about all other unmentionables.
Like the kiss.
Like his body over mine. His touches. The soft caress of his hand against my tummy.
How his confidence, sexiness, and utter possessiveness of me had soothed my nerves for the first time since I’d realized I was pregnant.
No budget had ever calmed my jitters. And the life plan? Forget it. I’d scribbled and pitched two planners just trying to balance my regular schedule and meeting nights with the words maternity leave. My usual stress relief had failed. Julian was now the only calming influence in my life.
And I couldn’t even tell him. Why risk awakening the beast that was his arrogance? The cocky bastard didn’t need any more encouragement.
With a flurry of hooves, grunting, and cursing, I led Clyde onto the porch. He brayed and pounced the wicker furniture, kicking a one-eighty off the house siding before bee-lining for the potted herbs on the railing. One good chomp, and the basil was destroyed.
I really hoped that wasn’t the only crop Julian had planted.
Clyde attempted to strip the paint off the railing for dessert as the porch door swung open.
Did Julian ever wear a shirt?
Today was worse than usual. Or maybe better. A damp towel draped low over his waist—the thick muscles and pronounced V of his hips a welcomed sight for my hormone-addled brain.