Chapter 7
I drive down the long driveway to the house Stella is renting.
And even though I can tell she’s doing her best to keep her composure, trying to maintain that stick-up-her-ass thing she’s got going on, it’s obvious she’s buzzed.
And why wouldn’t she be? I mean, my mom was practically refilling her wineglass every time I turned around.
She hasn’t said anything to me; instead, she’s just pretended to play on her phone while she sits quietly in the passenger seat of my truck. She smells fucking scrumptious, but that’s the only thing about her that’s sweet.
“Important business over there?” I mutter, keeping my gaze forward but still seeing the glow of her screen from the corner of my eye.
“Oh, yes,” she says, doing her best not to slur. “Lots to do.”
I glance at her for a split second. “If it’s business, you may want to wait till the wine leaves your body, Fireball. You know, just so you don’t fumble any deals.”
When I come to a stop in front of the house, shifting my truck in park and turning toward her, she gives me a harsh glare.
“That was your plan all along, huh?” she sasses. “You wanted to get me drunk so that I couldn’t make an appropriate pitch to your family.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Good one, Outlaw.”
An amused chuckle rolls from my lips at the same time my cock twitches because she used my boat name.
“Sweetheart, I wasn’t the one pouring wine down your throat,” I muse, but suddenly, my dick hardens more when an image of me pouring other things down her throat flashes in my mind.
I fight back a groan and shift around in my seat.
“And if you want to know the truth, you could have drunk sparkling cider all night, had a mind sharp as glass, and it still wouldn’t have mattered. We’re not selling. Not now, not ever.”
“Are all fishermen so fucking stubborn or just you?!” she hisses but then hiccups, covering her mouth. “Pretend I didn’t just say that.”
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s kind of hot when she’s pissed.
Part of me wonders what would happen if I invited myself inside.
Would she be offended and tell me absolutely not?
Or would she be open to it, let me in, and hate-fuck me all night and make me late for haul tomorrow?
Either way, I’ll never know because she’s drunk, and that’s a big no for me.
“Sure thing, Fireball,” I drawl. “Whether you’re a bitch to me or sweet as pie, it won’t change that you came here for no reason, and you’ll have to go back to the city and return to the bottom of the ladder.” I pretend to pout. “So sorry.”
At first, she looks madder, but then she relaxes herself and moves her body so that she’s facing me with her back to the door. A little smirk tugs at her lips, and I don’t trust it one bit.
“So, what are you saying, Ridge?” she coos. “You want me to leave?”
I don’t know what the fuck she’s up to, but I don’t trust it. Not one bit.
“Well, unless you have other people to harass about their land, then I see no reason for you to be here.”
“You’re so mean.” She pouts. “You know that?”
She’s playing me, and as much as I know that—because my bullshit radar is fucking phenomenal—my dick is still hardening as she bites down on her bottom lip, letting her teeth sink into it. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m the fucking mastermind at games, and I can play with the best of them.
“Only to you, sweetheart.” I reach forward, tapping my finger to her chin and instantly watching her fight back, tensing up.
“New York is an awfully long way to come from, just to go back with absolutely nothing.” I move a little closer to her and watch her breathing grow sharper through her chest. “Don’t you think?”
I could kiss her, and something tells me she wouldn’t fight it.
In fact, the way her eyes are floating to my mouth right now, if anything, I think she’d welcome it.
I’d love to find out what her lips taste like because I imagine they’re sweet despite her being so damn sour.
But I can’t do that, especially not when she started fucking with me first just now.
“I … I guess,” she whispers nervously, suddenly looking less buzzed.
The smallest grin tugs at the corner of my mouth, and I look from her lips back to her eyes. “Maybe I should do something to make it worth your while, sweetheart. Would you like that?”
Her breathing becomes shallower, and it’s more than obvious she’s trying to gather herself up enough to tell me no.
Before she gets the chance, I move even closer, gripping her chin to bring her face toward mine.
When our lips are inches from touching, a nervous breath rushes from her just before her eyes flutter shut in anticipation.
Part of me wants to close the gap and kiss her so hard that she’s begging me to take her inside and fuck her brains out, but a bigger part of me gets off just on toying with her.
“Oh, Fireball …” I tsk her. “Here I thought, you were a hard-ass, yet you’re practically jumping on my dick,” I coo lowly, prompting her eyes to fly open. “I can’t fuck you, sweetheart. After all, you’re here for my family’s land, and besides … you’d like that too much.”
Anger replaces the desire that was on her face seconds before as her nostrils flare. She reaches between us and shoves a hand into my chest, sending me away from her.
“You, Ridge Adams, are a dick,” she hisses through her teeth.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “But you should have known that already.”
As her door flies open and she hops out like her ass is on fire, I make sure she gets inside safely before I head home.
Knowing damn well that I’ll be putting what just happened straight in my spank bank.
What a fucking pathetic idiot I am!
I stare at myself in the mirror, nostrils flaring because, goddammit, I’m a strong, independent woman who has always been a proud feminist. So, why in the hell did I just melt like a square of wax in a Yankee Candle melty thing when it came to a self-righteous asshole?
There’s only one answer …
The wine. It had to be poisoned to make me weak. That’s definitely it.
It certainly wasn’t his large, rough hands. Or his ocean-blue eyes. Or his deep, gravelly voice, with an accent I don’t really get because it almost sounds Southern. And it’s certainly not his muscled forearms because who cares about those? Pfft. Not me. Not this girl.
It’s none of those things. I live in the city. I see hot, rugged men all the damn time, and I manage not to make a fool of myself. So, it must have been the wine, or maybe it’s just Maine in general. Whatever it is, I need to get a handle on it. Now.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me, and reluctantly, I pull it out of my pocket and walk out of the bathroom.
When I see Victor’s name on the screen, I debate ignoring his call.
He knows I was going to dinner with our potential clients tonight, and I’m sure that he wants to know if I’ve gotten any closer to sealing the deal.
Further away actually.
Sighing, I slide my thumb across the screen and press the Speaker icon.
“Hey, Victor,” I say as friendly as I can, not wanting him to fire me if he suspects I’ve been drinking with the clients.
I mean, drinking isn’t prohibited, but drinking so many glasses of wine that you decide you kind of want to bone one of the men you’re supposed to be convincing to sell? Yeah … that’s too far.
“Hey, big gun,” he says charmingly. “How’d dinner go? Is the ink still wet or what?”
I cringe, chewing my bottom lip as I try to come up with something to say back—and fast. I know what he’ll do if I don’t seal this deal.
This seemingly impossible deal. He’ll refrain from letting me in on another big opportunity, and he’ll send one of his pompous friends next time, even though they won’t be able to do it either.
Taking a deep, silent breath, I let it out and roll my shoulders back. I’ll be damned if I lead on to him that I’m in over my head. I need to sell it that I’m confident in being here.
“It went well,” I say because, frankly, I had a nice time, and the food was to die for. “Though I’ll be up front with you; this family isn’t going to be an easy nut to crack. They are very stubborn when it comes to this land.”
“I’d be a little concerned if they weren’t.” He barks out an obnoxious laugh. “Find your in and then go from there.”
“My in …” I murmur, even though I know what he means.
“Yeah, your in,” he chimes. “The weakest link. The brick that’ll be the first to fall.”
“Yeah, no … I knew what you meant,” I say softly, pinching the bridge of my nose because I know exactly who the weakest link is.
“Well, I gotta run,” he tosses back. “Get a good night’s rest because, tomorrow, you need to be back at it.” He pauses. “Why don’t you take them some baked goods?”
“I don’t bake,” I say sharply. “At all.”
“So, go to the bakery.” He pauses. “Gotta go.”
He ends the call, and the words replay in my mind over and over again.
“The weakest link. The brick that’ll be the first to fall.”
It’s Tucker. The guy who blushed whenever I looked his way.
Some might think it was Riley, but they’d be wrong.
Riley is a playboy. He’s a good time, and I’d be willing to bet he’s damn good in the sack too.
But he’d be using me as much as I’d be using him, and that’s not the way to get what I want.
Sweet, innocent Tucker … he’s the one. And yet something about admitting that to myself makes me feel awful.
So, to take my mind off sweet Tucker and the fact that I am considering flirting with the poor man to get what I need, I take my phone out and search for bakeries. Because if I’m going to win any of the Adams family over, it’s certainly not going to be with my own baked goods.