Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
But I wouldn’t be satisfied with one tumble in the hay with this one.
My gut is ringing with that truth.
She’d…sink in deep. Get her claws in me.
I will not allow that.
“Invite me in, so we can discuss this properly,” she says, dismounting her horse. “Or are you not a gentleman?”
Christ, she can’t be more than five foot two. “I’m not a gentleman. That’s why you shouldn’t want to be alone in my house with me.”
“Why? You might try and have sex with me?” She cocks an eyebrow, as if to say, try and keep up. “That’s why I’m here.”
“I could take the sex and still refuse to cancel the debt. Have you thought of that?”
Her lips part on a tiny gasp. “You have no honor?”
“Not a fucking ounce, little girl. Get back on your horse and go home.”
“Nope.” She saunters toward me, this wild brat in painted-on jeans, cowboy boots, her juicy nipples, so pink and succulent. “I’m coming in.”
“Get gone!” I roar. “Now!”
She swallows audibly, her chest dipping.
After the briefest of hesitations, her expression turns defiant and she ducks past me into my house.
Unbelievable.
Is this really happening?
I should hogtie her, throw her face down over my horse and deliver her back to daddy’s doorstep, so he can see what a reckless idiot he raised.
So do it, then.
Do it.
I will. As soon as I satisfy my curiosity. I want to make deadly sure her father didn’t put her up to this. I want to know…what all that breathtaking audacity looks like up close. I’m just going to give myself a few minutes to acquaint myself with the girl I’ve been reluctantly marveling at through my binoculars for six months. Then I’ll send her packing.
I slam the door behind me on my way into the house. “There is no point in having this discussion,” I say, stomping after her. She’s already halfway to my study, which is located at the back of the house. Of course, she waltzes right in without waiting for permission. “My answer is no,” I growl, entering the dark room behind her.
I freeze when she turns around and looks up, up, up at me, shaking her dark hair back. Totally unfazed by a man twice her size. Twice her age, too, if my aim is right.
Dear sweet lord, she is utterly stunning, though. Again, I shouldn’t be noticing.
But there’s unpolished natural beauty here. Character. Determination.
And after another one of those courageous gulps, she strips off her T-shirt, tossing it on my desk, leaving herself bare breasted in front of me. “Don’t you want to see what I’m offering before you say no?”
three
Billie
Knox is staring at my breasts and breathing fast.
Is that a good sign?
This is the moment of truth, I suppose. When I find out if I’m hot or not.
Gosh, I didn’t expect him to be so young.
Not young like me, but young for a rich man. A big-time landowner, at that.
I expected someone older than my father, but Knox Morgan can’t be older than thirty-five. He’s beat up and rugged, like a man who’s been battle tested. He’s lived among violence. Witnessed it. Been part of it, more often than not. His features are harsh and strained, like he’s been living in bitterness a long time. But that’s not to say there isn’t something…decidedly attractive about him. He towers over me, for one. He’s not a bullshit artist, like all the ranch hands, speaking in innuendo and bragging.
Knox is a straight shooter who would, apparently, straight shoot me.
That’s why I figured I better get my shirt off, fast.
It seems to cost him a tremendous effort to stop looking at my breasts, but his irritated dark green eyes drag back upward to my face. “Put your shirt back on,” he rasps.
Shoot.
I’m not hot.
I should have known the ranch hands were full of baloney.
My pride was inherited from my father, though, so I don’t retreat right away. “If you don’t like my tits,” I say, shrugging, “I can just turn around while we do it.”
His eyebrows slowly knit together. “What?”
I look down at my apparently pathetic chest. “I mean, I reckoned my boobs were pretty sweet, but what do I know? I’ve only ever seen mine and my mamas.”
I make eye contact with Knox again.
Why is he looking at me like I’m a lunatic?
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Billie Prosper, sir.”
He winces. “Don’t call me sir.”
“Fine. Mr. Morgan.”
He doesn’t seem to like that, either, but the last resort would be calling him Knox and he’s obviously not going to give me permission to drop formalities. Even though I’m already in his house with my boobs out.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
His pupils expand. “How long have you been eighteen?”
“Nearly a year. My nineteenth birthday is next week.”
For some reason, that seems to earn him a measure of relief. “The fact that you’re young doesn’t excuse your stupidity, you know.”