5. Holly
HOLLY
By ten the next morning, I’d officially become the kind of person who rejected a cash offer I’d crossed New Mexico intending to accept.
The email on Dad’s old computer was clean and final.
I wasn’t proceeding under the current terms, all communication would go through my attorney, and no buyer representative was permitted on Curtis Freight property without authorization.
I hit send before I could find a reason to second-guess myself.
Luis Ortega looked up from the doorway. “Everything okay?”
I leaned back in Dad’s chair. “Yeah, things just got a bit more complicated that’s all.”
“I heard. You know, your father also enjoyed telling people to go to hell too.”
That sounded exactly like the father I remembered.
Luis had worked for Dad since I was in high school, first as a driver and later as the man who kept the yard functioning. Now in his fifties, he was permanently unimpressed by drama.
He nodded toward the computer. “So we’re not sold?”
“Not today. I’m giving the business ninety days.”
Luis raised an eyebrow but waited for me to explain.
“Ninety,” I repeated. “I’m not promising forever, and I’m definitely not pretending I suddenly know how to run a freight company because I inherited one. But I’m not handing Dad’s business to criminals who lied to me and sent men to break into the place either.”
“Fair.”
“I’ll need you.”
That wiped the amusement from his face and earned me a more serious look.
“I can read accounts and contracts,” I said. “I don’t know which driver can nurse another six months out of Truck Two or which customers pay late but always pay. You do.”
Luis nodded slowly, clearly weighing what that would mean. “Ninety days.”
“Ninety days.” I nodded
“All right, I can work with that.”
Relief came harder than expected. I hadn’t chosen forever, but for the first time since Dad died, the business felt like my choice instead of probate’s burden. The warehouse door opened behind Luis, and Preacher walked in.
“Well, I’m going to check the east truck before either of you drags me into this discussion.”
“Coward,” I called after him, and he lifted a hand without turning around.
He disappeared before I could throw anything at him.
“What did you do?” Preacher asked.
“Why do you assume I did anything?”
“Because I know you better than you think I do.”
I tried not to smile. “I rejected the offer.”
Preacher went still, and I added, “Temporarily. I’m giving the business ninety days. After that, I decide whether it has a future worth keeping.”
His expression changed in a way I couldn’t immediately read, so I narrowed my eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, say it.”
He leaned one hand on the desk. “I’m wondering whether you’re sure, and whether any part of this is because of me.”
The question irritated me enough that I answered faster than I meant to. “No.”
His eyebrows lifted as though he was waiting for the rest.
“You made me look harder,” I said. “You were right about the buyer, and I’m not too stubborn to admit that.
But I’m keeping Curtis Freight for ninety days because I want time to decide what happens to it when nobody’s threatening me, rushing me or trying to manipulate the price. That’s my decision.”
A slow, unmistakably pleased smile moved across his face.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m trying not to, but you’re making it difficult.”
“You know, for a man who likes giving orders, you’re surprisingly happy when I ignore them.”
“Depends which orders.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and the heat between us arrived so quickly it was almost ridiculous. Luis chose that moment to shout something from the yard about a leaking hose, and Preacher looked toward the warehouse with an expression that made me laugh.
“Later,” I said.
His eyes came back to mine. “Count on it.”
Later meant Preacher’s house after dark.
I’d spent the afternoon on contracts with Luis while Preacher went back to the clubhouse, saying little beyond the fact that Vega wasn’t just a regional consultant.
I didn’t push because I was learning Preacher didn’t talk until he had something solid enough to use.
I kicked off my shoes near his couch and watched him check the windows before locking the front door. “Do you always do a security sweep before you settle in?”
“Pretty much. I’ve never claimed to be normal.”
“Normal people just lock the door, you know.”
He stripped off his cut and laid it over the chair. The sight of his shoulder beneath a black T-shirt shouldn’t have been enough to distract me after everything we’d already done, but apparently it was.
Preacher caught me looking and gave me a knowing glance. “You’ve got something to say?”
“Probably not.” I followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I don’t want to keep having the same conversation in pieces.”
He closed the refrigerator and glanced over. “Which conversation?”
“Dad. You. Me. The fact that you still sometimes look like you expect Rowan to walk through a wall and punch you.”
His mouth flattened because he knew exactly which conversation I meant.
“I’m not asking you to pretend the history doesn’t matter. You were his best friend, you’re eighteen years older than me, and when I was a teenager you were part of his world. But I’m not eighteen now, and I’m not something Dad left you to take care of.”
His eyes sharpened as he stepped closer. “I know that. You’re not a responsibility I inherited from Rowan. I never thought that.”
He came toward me slowly, stopping when there was only a foot between us. “Rowan only ever asked me to look out for you if you ever needed it. That’s why I showed up at Curtis Freight, and that’s why I started asking questions.”
I waited because there was clearly more coming.
“It’s not why I took you home. It’s not why I kissed you, and it sure as hell isn’t why I’ve spent the last two days wanting you back in my bed.”
Heat moved through me, but I didn’t look away. “What about the age difference?”
“It’s there.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“It’s the answer that matters. I’m forty-five and you’re twenty-seven. I remember you being a kid, and I’m not pretending that history disappears just because I want you.”
For one horrible second I thought I knew where he was going. Then his hand settled at my waist.
“But I’m not giving you up over it either.”
My breath caught before I could hide the reaction.
His hand settled more firmly at my waist. “You’re a grown woman. You know what I am and what this club is. If you want out, tell me. Until then, I’m done apologizing for wanting you.”
There it was, clean and adult, without a speech about what was best for me.
I reached for the front of his shirt. “I don’t want out.”
His eyes darkened with immediate satisfaction when I said it. “Good.”
The kiss started slower than the ones before it, but it didn’t stay that way. Preacher backed me against the counter, pulled me into him and kissed me with no hesitation left, as though we’d already chosen this.
My fingers moved under his shirt, finding warm skin and hard muscle, and the sound he made against my mouth sent a shiver through me. He caught my hips and lifted me onto the counter without breaking the kiss.
“Better,” I murmured.
His mouth curved against mine as he tightened his hold. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“Sometimes.”
His mouth moved down my neck and I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him closer.
Preacher’s hands tightened on my thighs, the pressure almost rough enough to bruise, and heat rushed through me.
This time there was no awkward awareness of Dad’s office, only Preacher’s hands and the certainty that I was exactly where I wanted to be.
He carried me down the hallway, and I laughed once against his shoulder. “You know I can walk.”
By the time we reached his bedroom, the laughter was gone. Preacher lowered me onto the bed and followed, already knowing what made me react, while I dragged my nails down his back until his breathing changed. That rough change in his breathing had become dangerously addictive.
He caught my wrist and pressed a kiss to the inside of it before holding my hand above my head.
“Keep trying to make me lose control and you’re going to find out exactly how well it’s working.”
I smiled up at him because that sounded more like a promise than a warning. His eyes went dark, and after that neither of us did much talking.
He backed me toward the bed, one hand flattening against the small of my back, the other already working the hem of my shirt up.
I let him pull it over my head, and then his mouth was on mine.His hands found my breasts, thumbs brushing across my nipples until they tightened into hard peaks.
I gasped against his mouth, and he made a low sound of approval.
I got his belt open, shoved his jeans down his hips, closed my fingers around him through his boxers.
He was already hard, already thick, and the heat of him through the cotton made my mouth go dry.
He bit back a curse when I squeezed gently, then took over, stripping me the rest of the way with a lot less patience than usual.
I fell back onto the mattress, pulling him down with me. He came over me, bracing himself on his forearms, and something about the way he looked down at me made me feel hotter than usual. He’s 45 years old and still looking like every bad decision I wanted to make.
”I need you right now," I said.
He settled between my thighs, but instead of moving where I expected, he lowered his mouth to my breast. I felt the wet heat of his tongue circle my nipple, the scrape of his stubble against sensitive skin, and I arched into him, my fingers in his hair.
He licked and sucked until I was gasping, then kissed a slow trail down my belly, lower, lower, until his breath was hot against my inner thigh.
I knew what he was going to do. I still wasn't ready for it.