Chapter One
Ridley
T hree Years Later
"Jesus Christ," I grunt, narrowing my eyes at the familiar blue BMW parked across two spaces outside the winery. My gaze drifts from the sun glinting off the roof of the flashy car to the gorgeous brunette who ripped my fucking heart out and stomped on it three years ago.
Paisley Molina.
Once upon a time, I was ready to upend my entire fucking world for her. While I was canceling my flight and buying her a ring, she was leaving town with nothing but a note thanking me for sleeping with her.
And I was still stupid enough to follow her, determined to get answers.
I guess I got them when I found her all hugged up with another man, didn't I?
I caught the next flight to Italy with my heart in pieces. Stayed overseas for as long as I could, just to avoid any chance of running into her ever again.
It's been three years, and I still don't want to know a damn thing about her.
So I keep telling myself. But I'd be lying if I said she wasn't on my mind far more often than she should be.
She moved on from the best night of my life in hours.
It's been years, and I still wake up with a hard cock and her name on my lips.
It pisses me the fuck off.
Paisley Molina isn't mine. She never was. She's just the poison I drank that convinced me I was enough for her. I'd be the biggest idiot on the planet if I drank from that well again.
But goddamn…she's still a beautiful little liar. Even more so than she was back then. Her curves are fuller, her dark her longer. From the side, her tits look bigger. My hands actually fucking ache with the desire to familiarize themselves with every tantalizing change.
And that pisses me off, too.
"What the fuck is she doing here?"
"My wife invited her for Lyra's birthday," Oliver says, wiping his grease-stained hands on a rag.
"And you didn't think to warn me?" I scowl at my little brother, mad as hell that no one bothered to tell me that she'd be here this weekend. Had I known, I wouldn't have agreed to attend the party. I love my niece, don't get me wrong. But a man has his limits.
Oliver sighs, wiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. "Blame my wife for that, man. I wanted to give you a heads up. She threatened to make me sleep on the couch if I breathed a word of it."
"What the fuck?" I narrow my eyes on his beaming, pregnant pixie of a wife. What is Lucy up to now?
With her, it's always something.
She wants everyone as happy as she is and is not above meddling to make it happen. Most of the time, I don't mind. She leaves me out of it, and it's entertaining as hell to watch her work. Apparently, I'm no longer a spectator to her meddling, however. I'm a participant.
Fucking wonderful.
"Why?"
"Because she figured you'd skip out on the party if you knew Paisley was coming." Oliver's pause is full of reproach. "Just like you have every other celebration that she's attended since our wedding."
"Yeah, well, I've had shit to do."
"Right," my brother snorts. "You mean shit like moping?"
"I haven't been moping."
"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." He rolls his eyes. "Shit didn't work out between the two of you, and you've been moping about it ever since."
I scratch the side of my face with my middle finger, making him chuckle.
He has no fucking clue what really happened between us.
I never told him. He's tried like hell to get the truth from me over the years, but I always brushed him off.
Frankly, I didn't want him to know. She may not give a shit about me, but she cares about my brother and sister-in-law.
I'm not a big enough asshole to come between that.
"Seriously, Ridley. Lucy wants both of you here. You're both Lyra and Lexi's godparents. Whatever happened between the two of you was over three years ago, so don't fuck it up. If you hurt my wife's feelings, you'll be removing my boot from your ass."
I crack a smile despite myself. "You sound more like Dad every damn day."
I've lost track of how often he threatens to stick a boot up our asses if we upset our Ma. He's always been there for us, no matter what. But one thing he never tolerates is anyone upsetting her. Oliver is just like him when it comes to Lucy.
"Maybe that's not a bad thing." Oliver pegs me with a significant look. "You could learn a thing or two from him, you know."
I snort, not because he's wrong, but because I don't really want to hear it. Not today. Not with Paisley standing a few yards away, looking like sin and sunshine, the same fucking way she did when she tore my heart out.
I still don't understand why the fuck she did it. Why did she tell me she didn't want us to end, and then run straight into the arms of another man? Why give me her virginity if she wanted someone else?
I've wanted to demand answers a thousand times over the years, but I never did.
I didn't trust myself not to fucking beg her for another chance if I saw her again.
Or to kill the man she did choose. So I stayed away.
I buried myself in getting the vineyard in Italy off the ground and pretended it was enough.
Working the earth didn't heal what she ripped to pieces. Eventually, I had to face the fact that it never would.
I came home a few months ago. A motherfucker can't hide forever. Unfortunately.
"You going to be good?" Oliver asks as she and Lucy turn in our direction.
Paisley's eyes lock with mine, and I'm thrown right back to that night when she was in my arms, whispering that she didn't want us to end. When I was all over her and she was begging for more.
"Yep," I lie as a shiver of desire works its way up my spine, hardening my cock. "I'm good."
I'm in a hell of her making. Funny how she's the one scowling at me like I did something wrong.
"You need sunscreen, baby girl," Oliver murmurs to Lucy, tapping her on the nose as soon as she's within arm's reach. "Your nose is pink."
"Oliver! Your hands are dirty," my sister-in-law grumbles. It doesn't stop her from burrowing into his arms, though.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. I do not want to know what he whispers in her ear that makes her giggle.
Paisley stands a few steps behind her, looking everywhere but at me. I stare at her, eating up the sight of her. Christ, she's gorgeous, a golden goddess with a mahogany halo.
"Hi," she finally mumbles, still not meeting my gaze.
I grunt in response, which gets her attention.
Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing on my face. Pure malice flows through her expression before she manages to school it. "I didn't realize you were back from Italy," she says, trying like hell to be polite. There's still a bite to her tone that she can't hide.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I quirk a brow at her. "I live here."
"You've been gone for three years."
"Huh. Have I?"
She practically bristles at my grunted response but tries to hide it as she flounders for something else to say. "Did you enjoy it over there?"
"It was better than being here." Sleeping alone in Italy was better than sleeping in my bed, remembering the way you moaned and begged for me in it, Dimples.
Something about that bothers her. She jerks like I slapped her, her face paling. "You are an–"
Lucy coughs, cutting her off mid-sentence.
Paisley immediately snaps her mouth closed, inhaling a deep breath. "It's good to see you again, Ridley," she says, her tone softer this time. Her eyes, though? Those don't lie. They practically shoot fire at me.
"Is it?" It certainly doesn't feel good to me. Nothing about this does. Everything in me wants to snatch her into my arms and never let her go. But she isn't mine. She never was. She's just a beautiful little liar who played me like a fucking drum.
I cut a glance at Oliver and Lucy, who are watching us like this is a ping pong match instead of actual torture. "I've got shit to do," I mutter, already walking away. "See ya."
I don't look back. I fucking can't.
Maybe I should have stayed my ass in Italy.
P aisley is haunting me. She's been on the property for all of a few hours, and she's already all over the fucking place. Like right now. I'm just trying to enjoy a goddamn beer at the bar, and she's seated a few tables away with Lucy.
Every few minutes, her sultry laugh floats through the room. My blood is fucking boiling, and I'm not entirely sure if it's fury or desire. I'm pissed because she seems so happy. And my cock has never been harder.
It's infuriating.
What is so funny?
She peeks up at me before quickly yanking her gaze away, her shoulders going back like she's wading into the middle of a damn war or something. And then she laughs again.
My balls throb.
I stifle a groan, gripping my bottle like it's a lifeline.
"If you don't talk to Bastian soon, I may pay someone to send him through one of the crushers."
I rip my gaze away from Paisley, scowling as my cousin, Trystan, saunters toward me from the opposite direction, his face a mask of frustration.
"If you're going to kill him, don't fuck up a crusher doing it," I mutter. "I don't want to pay to fix it when his big ass head gets stuck in the machine."
Trystan grunts, dropping onto a stool beside me at the bar. "The man is out of control."
"How is that any different than any other day?
" Bastian is Bastian. He's always been an anal-retentive pain in the ass.
He's smart as hell, though. And, despite being a control freak, we actually get along.
Usually. He and Trystan have always been closer, though, so I'm not sure why Tryst is so bent out of shape now.
"Every goddamn time I find a new alcohol supplier for your project, he finds two reasons they aren't good enough," Tryst complains.
I peek over at Paisley's table again to find her listening attentively to Lucy. She glances up at me, and our eyes lock. Fuck.
She's still so damn beautiful.
Has she missed me at all? Does she think of me? Regret walking away?
"Are you even listening to me?" Trystan mutters.