CHAPTER FOUR TINSLEY
CHAPTER FOUR
TINSLEY
The pink is offensive. It isn't just the color, though the shade of these peonies is so vibrant it looks like they were grown in a greenhouse powered by pure audacity.
It's the sheer volume of them. There are enough petals on my desk at Montoya Investments to carpet a small cathedral, and the scent is currently staging a hostile takeover of my nasal passages.
"Oh my God, Tinsley," Shana from accounting says, leaning over the low wall of my reception cubicle. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the floral explosion. "Who is he?"
"He's a nuisance," I say, my grip tightening on my pen. I focus on the spreadsheet on my screen, but the numbers are starting to swim in a sea of magenta. "A very wealthy, very bored nuisance with no concept of personal boundaries."
Shana reaches out to touch a velvet-soft petal, her face going dreamy. "I’d take one of those any day of the week."
Not me. I moved to Silver Spoon Falls to be self-sufficient. Not to fall for a billionaire who doesn’t know how to take “no” as an answer.
Every day, there’s something new from Hudson. On Tuesday, it’s an even bigger avalanche of flowers. I can’t see my damn computer monitor. Shana comes by and stands there for a full two minutes, breathing deep like she’s at a spa.
“Wow, Tinsley. He’s got it bad.”
“He needs a hobby,” I mutter.
The next day, a delivery guy from the local bistro arrives. He asks for me and sets a bag down on the counter. It smells of truffle oil and roasted garlic.
"I didn't order this," I tell the kid.
"Paid for, ma'am. Tip included. Have a nice day." He’s gone before I can reach for my wallet, leaving me with a lunch that costs more than my weekly grocery budget and a growing sense of being way the heck out of my depth.
The next day’s delivery is a gourmet salad the size of a dinner plate with an envelope taped on top. I open it up and fight to read the messy writing.
Enjoy your day.
H.
The handwriting makes my stomach do a weird flip.
I toss the card in my desk drawer with the others and tell myself I don’t care.
I rip into the overpriced salad like it personally insulted me.
I focus on my spreadsheet, but every time I hit a fresh cell, the scent of peonies hits me in the face.
It’s like the jerk knew exactly how to distract me.
I’m not supposed to like this. I’m not supposed to like him.
And yet every damn morning, I wake up with my mind on high alert, pulse beating like a drum. Secretly hoping Hudson himself, with his broad shoulders and impossible confidence and his voice that haunts my dreams, actually shows up. Freaking hell.
The worst part? I keep telling myself I don’t need anyone, least of all a billionaire rancher with control issues and a smile lethal enough to get past my defenses.
But every day, it gets a little harder to believe my own BS. I shouldn’t feel anything for him. But my heart didn’t get that memo.
It’s been a long day, and I’m looking forward to getting back to my small apartment. By the time five o’clock rolls around, my head's pounding harder than a jackhammer. I grab my latest gift from Hudson, a leather-bound journal and fancy pen set, and drag my tired rear end out to my car.
The drive home is supposed to be my mental reset.
I’ve got silence, blessed AC, and nothing but the beautiful Silver Spoon Falls landscape to stare at.
Pure solitude. Then my Civic lurches like it hit an invisible cow in the road and starts making a noise that sounds like “dying chainsaw meets blender.” My heart drops as the dashboard lights explode.
The engine promptly coughs once and gives up, like even it can’t deal with life.
“Oh my God.” I slap the steering wheel and coast to the shoulder. I sit there, just practicing relaxation breathing while wondering if the problem will un-happen if I ignore it.
I turn the engine off and wait fifteen seconds for it to reset. I turn it back on, hoping this works like it does on my old iPhone. No such luck. Nothing happens. I’m about to look up tow trucks online when headlights flare in my rearview.
Freaking hell. Where did he come from?
Hudson parks inches from my bumper and stalks up to my window. I roll it down just enough to hear what he’s got to say. “Things don’t look good for your car.”
“No kidding.” I cross my arms, leaning back in my seat. “Are you here to be helpful or do you just plan on giving me a running commentary on my car problems?”
Hudson leans down, arms braced on either side of my door.
He’s so close I can see the hint of five o’clock shadow along his jaw and the scar over his eyebrow that I keep pretending not to notice.
“Pop the hood and I’ll try to be helpful.
” He smirks, and there’s something smug about it that should piss me off.
It doesn’t. It just makes my insides do that weird twisty thing that’s become my new normal.
With a dramatic sigh, I pop the hood.
Hudson walks to the front of my car and stares at the engine for several moments before whistling. “Hell, sweetheart. It’s worse than I thought.”
That’s what I was afraid of. “How bad?”
“We’ll have to let the professionals tell us.
” He walks back around to my driver side.
“Give me your keys.” Without thinking, I hand over my keyring over to him.
He messes with it a few seconds, then hands me back the ring with my house key on it.
“I texted one of the mechanics who works on the ranch. He’ll tow your car in and take a look at it.
” He opens my driver’s door and leans in to put the key under the floor mat.
“But, but…” I blink several times.
“And I’ll give you a drive home.” Hudson helps me out of the car before my mushy mind catches up with what’s happening.
“We’re just going to leave my car on the side of the road?” I ask as he helps me up into his truck.
“It’s not like anyone is going to steal it.”
Damn. He has me there.
The inside of Hudson’s truck is a shock of cold air, leather, and pure testosterone. Damn. I’m in so much trouble. My spine barely hits the seat before he’s climbing in beside me, all broad shoulders and annoyance wrapped in one gorgeous package.
He throws the truck into gear, and we drive. I watch the darkening fields fly by, pretending I don’t keep sneaking glances at his hands. They’re rough and steady. The kind of hands I wouldn’t mind on my skin, but Jesus, I need to get a grip.
He doesn’t ask for my address, which doesn’t surprise me at all.
I’m betting he probably ran a background check on me right after our first meeting.
Hudson pulls up in front of my apartment and hops out.
He comes around to my side and opens the door before I’ve even unhooked my seatbelt.
He holds out his hand, his palm warm and steady, and my insides turn to mush.
No fight left in me. My feet hit the pavement, with my grip still locked in his.
He doesn’t let go as we walk up the steps. Each stride eats up the distance, his presence so massive it feels like he’s blocking out the rest of the world. My brain scrambles for something biting to say, but I don’t really have anything left.
At my front door, I fumble with my keys, but Hudson takes them and unlocks it. Then he turns me, pinning my spine to the door frame, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“Night, Tinsley,” he says, voice low.
My heart jackhammers in my chest as he leans over.
His mouth covers mine. Not soft, not tentative.
Hot, firm, and so intense my brain forgets how to function.
My whole body just dissolves. I’m not even sure where I begin and where he ends.
The only things I know for sure are the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his jaw, and his hands braced on either side of my head, pinning me with that massive, caged-in energy.
I want to be angry. Honest to God, I try, but my traitorous brain short-circuits, and all I can do is arch up into the pressure, every nerve ending lit up like Vegas in July.
Hudson tilts my chin up and deepens the kiss. He tastes like sugar, spice, and falling rain. I let go so hard it feels like I’m falling. My fists ball in his shirt, crushing that starched fabric like I’m afraid he’ll pull away.
Which, of course, is exactly what he does.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, mouth wrecked, breathing heavy. There’s this tiny, knowing smirk hiding in the corner of his lips.
“Go inside, Tinsley, before I lose my mind.”
My voice is MIA, so I just blink up at him, still backed against my own damn front door.
He taps his finger on the door frame. “I’ll text when I hear about your car.”
Then Hudson turns to walk away, leaving me shaking against the wood, drowning in the taste of him, and one hundred percent sure I’m completely, totally in over my head with Hudson Carrington.