Forbidden Burly Curves

Chapter 1

CATALINA

My father has never been the most careful man out there.

Sometimes I think he’s trying to kill me.

Not planning my murder, but not actively preventing me from dying, either.

He drives the car up the beaten path with furious energy, bumping along, speeding too much, headlights not even turned all the way up.

The car skids on wet grass, and the back hits something.

I jerk, looking over my shoulder, holding onto the safety handle as if my life depends on it.

I think of all the news stories where the driver crashed for driving irresponsibly, and the passenger was the one who died. My grip tightens. Maybe my life does depend on it. Dad looks like he’s racing in Formula One instead of going up a dirty, dark road in the middle of the woods.

Why did his boss have to have a ranch so far away?

From what Dad told me, he’s one of those men who hate people and everything, and we’ve been off the interstate for what feels like hours.

This is as isolated as it gets. I think of my textbooks back home, and the notes Dad didn’t let me bring.

I should be studying. Exams are just around the corner, but Dad forbid me from bringing books and isolating myself.

Nerves jitter all over my body. I’m not good with people. I’m good with animals, which is why I’m majoring in veterinary science. Yet, Dad insists I need to be...

“On your best behavior, do you hear, Catalina?” he roars out, reading my mind.

I shoot him a glance. “Of course, Dad.” If I make it there in one piece.

A tiny smile teases the corner of my lips.

This kind of rebel talk wouldn’t ever be allowed at home.

I’m only a rebel in my mind. Dad never approves of questioning or teasing, and his driving skills are definitely not up for debate.

I criticized them once, and he hit me so hard I had to use concealer on my eye for a week.

“Mr. Reynolds came up with this week-long getaway to improve the company’s relationship between the departments. After that stupid dissent between Finances and PR, and the scandal that came after that, he needs a united front.”

“Is everyone bringing their kids?” I try to sound as nonchalant as possible, not questioning because my father hates it.

He snaps his head to look at me—for way too long for someone who’s driving. Whatever he sees in my face satisfies him, because he looks back at the road. “Yes. Whoever has kids is supposed to bring them.”

I swallow. “What about Mr. Reynolds? Does he have kids?”

My father lets out a sarcastic chuckle laced with poison.

“Of course not. The man thinks only of his company.” And he adds nothing more, but so much floats in the space between his silences.

I don’t know why Mr. Reynolds is the way he is, but my father dislikes it.

Being the head of his law department, Dad always has something wrong to say about the man.

I lick my lips, gaping at my window to avoid my father’s gaze.

This is ridiculous. My heart shouldn’t be fluttering at the mere idea of seeing him again.

I’ve met Mr. Reynolds twice in the past couple of years, and though he’s a serious, quiet man, he didn’t look evil.

Not the way my father makes him out to be.

The beaten path gives in to an open space, all murmuring grass and moonlight spilling onto the ground.

A house that could be classified as a small mansion stands in the middle of it, tall windows letting orange light glitter out, the warmth of its insides beckoning me in.

My father slows down, and I lean forward to get a good look at the place.

Two stories, a wrap-around porch with chairs, a huge balcony jutting out of a second-floor room.

A silhouette stands there, but it’s too dark and too far away to discern the person.

Even so, I feel it deep in my bones. Mr. Reynolds.

The very sight of his shadow would make my heart skip a beat.

I take a deep breath, pressing my back to the seat.

I should get a handle on this crush. The man is handsome, well-off, and he could have any woman he desires.

There’s no reason he’d ever want the twenty-one-year-old with half a major in veterinary medicine and too many curves.

It’s just a week, and I have to be the nicest, quietest girl in the place. My father made it clear that’s the one reason I’m here. To be seen and not heard.

He drives around the house, and I follow the path to a stable in the distance. My heart inflates. Horses. Does Mr. Reynolds have horses? I’ve never ridden one, and I hope that activity is on the list.

Dad parks next to other cars. The others must be here already. The car crunches gravel until it stops, but Dad doesn’t turn off the engine. Instead, he turns to look at me. Correction. To glare at me. His brow creases as he grimaces in my direction.

“Remember, Catalina. To be seen?—”

“Not heard. I know, Dad. I’ll only speak if someone asks me something.”

His presence seems to grow inside the car.

He locks his jaw. “Do not interrupt me, girl. God, if you interrupt Mr. Reynolds, I’ll be damned.

Know your place. Just because I let you go to college doesn’t mean you know more than anyone.

” His gaze turns derisive. “Veterinary science. You could have at least chosen something useful. Medicine would be good. Law would be acceptable. But no, you had to go with veterinary science.” He sighs, the disappointment clear in his voice.

Dad has done this hundreds of times, but it still hurts. I swallow, lowering my gaze to my hands. There’s no use telling him this is my dream. He doesn’t care about dreams. I’ve had that talk before.

“For the last time, keep your mouth shut. No one wants to know about your animals, and I need Mr. Reynolds to see me with good eyes. The department needs a boost after the PR scandal.”

And then he leaves. I soak in the silence and the absence of his judging eyes for all of a second. He knocks on the roof next, making me jump. I leave the car and pick up my suitcase for the week. A week, and that’s it. A week and I’ll be back to my studies and my textbooks and the final exams.

Just one week and I’ll never see Mr. Reynolds again.

Dad leads the way back to the house. I follow his back, hauling my suitcase behind me, struggling with its wheels on the gravel. My breath falters, but Dad never slows down, so I keep going, keeping up with him as best as I can.

Then the weight of the suitcase disappears. I jerk in surprise and look up, the lights of the house bathing a man next to us. Dad halts, turning too, and blood rushes to my face.

Mr. Reynolds holds my suitcase in his hand like it weighs nothing. For a man his size, it’s possibly true. He looks down at me for a second, then his gaze flits away to my father. He reaches out a hand.

“Diaz. Good to see you here.” His rough voice skids down my skin, as baritone as it gets.

I keep my eyes locked on my suitcase. Wow, I remember him being big, but not that much.

Not when I’m up close. He’s not only tall but wide, broad-shouldered, and overall big.

I swallow the knot forming in my throat.

Mr. Reynolds is not just big. He’s burly.

A shiver races down my spine. My father shakes his offered hand and immediately starts chatting like they’re old friends, not like he was bad-mouthing the man moments ago. I think they’ll ignore me, and I won’t have to spend long next to the man, but Mr. Reynolds turns to me and offers a hand.

“You remember my daughter, Catalina, sir?” my father says in a dismissive tone, as if he had almost forgotten about me.

I take Mr. Reynolds’s hand. My fingers disappear into his massive hold. A jolt crosses between us, reaching up my arm. I look up at him, finding a pair of dark eyes fastened on me.

“Hello, sir,” I spill out, and thank God we’re in the dark. My cheeks burn with self-consciousness.

He says nothing as he pulls his hand back and whirls around to face the house.

My father follows him, going on and on about how the getaway was a good idea, and I follow, keeping my eyes on the ground.

Mr. Reynolds carries my suitcase to the foyer, where he leaves it with the others and mentions someone will carry them to the rooms. He shows us where we’re staying, then makes it clear he expects us to be at dinner in fifteen minutes, not a minute later.

And even if my hand still tingles where he touched me, anyone could see it clearly. The man has no interest in me. He’s indifferent about my presence, dismissing me. I don’t know why, but disappointment makes my stomach churn.

This is so silly. There’s no way this crush will be going anywhere.