Page 17 of The Bourbon Bride

“You will have anything you could possibly want, just say the word and it’s yours, no payback or interest needed,” I promise without hesitation. I know what I’m getting myself into. I’m absconding with a Southern hotel heiress, protective parents be damned, and money is no issue.

She shifts in her seat as the plane begins to taxi on the runway. “Why are you doing this for me?” she asks, a hint of mistrust tinging her words.

I have the opportunity to be brutally honest and lay out exactly what I want from her, or I can temper my response so it doesn’t have her jumping out of this plane before it can get off the ground. Given the mistrust, it’s probably better to go with the latter.

“I know what it’s like to have overbearing parents who plan your life out for you, removing your freedom of choice, and the frustration that leads to when you have differing plans,” I begin. It may not be my exact story, but I can relate.

Thatcher and Rula Mae Olsen raised three head-strong, independent, and ruthless men, but they weren’t what I’d call the model of doting parents. Calculating and demanding is more their speed. They raised us boys to be the men who would take over the family business and lead it without hesitance. There wasn’t much of a choice in the matter for me. I knew what my role would be from the time I understood what the business was.

“I think you need some space from the situation to make up your own mind about how you want to proceed. It doesn’t cost me much to make sure you get what you need, and it’s my pleasure to give you what you want.”

She blushes crimson, so I know she’s picked up on the subtle innuendo. It’s going to be fun playing with her innocent nature. She clears her throat and tucks hair behind her ear.

“But what do you get out of it?” Her clear green eyes drill into me, demanding a forthright answer, even if she doesn’t know what she’s asking for.

I lean forward, my elbows pressing into my thighs as I stare into her eyes. “You.”

eight

Paige

Me.

Hayes. Wants. Me.

The flight was short and I’m still contemplating his one-word answer now that we are in Atlanta and driving in another of his beautiful cars. The butterflies in my belly have turned into the hummingbirds that visit Mama’s sugar water feeder daily and a flood of warmth washes over me from head to toe as I replay what he said for the ninetieth time. This accomplished, driven, secretivemanwants what I have to offer. Which is what, exactly? A recent entry into society, domineering parents, a long wait to inherit my family legacy, and no sexual experience to speak of. What could he do with a virgin? Oh, wait…

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth with my teeth and twist a button on my blouse with worrying fingers.

Hayes drives us through the dark streets of Atlanta in the Mercedes SLR McLaren that was waiting for us at the airport. I had to ask him what it was, just like with the Maybach. I know without Googling that it must be expensive and rare, as that seems to be his taste with automobiles.

Now we’re headed tohis houseinAtlanta, a place Mama calls a hell hole. Will he expect me to have sex with him when we get there? I mean, I’m not against the idea, but it seems a little soon and I’m not prepared for this in the least. I would have gotten a bikini wax and worn pretty lingerie over freshly showered and lotioned skin. I want my first time to be perfect, after all. Dropping my panties and crawling into bed with Hayes after learning my parents want to marry me off for a business deal isn’t exactly what I had in mind.

“What’s warping that brain of yours, honey?” he asks, his hand reaching over to find mine and freeing the button from my torture before it comes off in my fingers.

I don’t mind the way he calls me honey. It’s far sexier coming from his mouth than I’ve ever heard it said, and it makes me feel closer to him somehow. For all I know, he could call every woman honey in order to avoid the faux pas of a forgotten name, but he uses my name just as frequently, so I doubt that’s the case.

A shock of cold breaks through the cozy feelings that have turned my brain to mush. Thinking of him calling another woman honey, whisking her away, or interlacing his fingers with hers as he does with mine drives a wedge of rage right through my center. I tighten my grip in my moment of jealousy over a freaking possibility.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking about, or just crush my hand a little more until I can get you home and force you to tell me?” he growls.

I release my death grip, but he doesn’t retract his fingers from mine.

“Are you seeing anyone?” I want to know if he’s sleeping with anyone, but that’s not a polite question for a proper lady to ask, so I work around it. If he is, I need to turn right around and get back to Savannah, because I am not about to ruin a relationship.

“That’s what has your head in knots?”

His thumb smooths over my knuckles and I huff out a breath as I look out my window.

“Paige, look at me.”

I stare at the ceiling of the sports car and take a deep breath before I turn my face in his direction. “Yes, I want to know if you’re in a relationship. Or, you know, frequently indulge in a casual kind of thing.” My words grow more mumbled as I speak, and I fight to not turn away from him immediately in my embarrassment.

“I could lie and say I’ve been a celibate bachelor for years, but I think you actually need the truth. Brace yourself, baby girl.”

He gives my hand a tug, so I glance at him and catch the set of his lips and the intense look on his face. I nod to tell him I’m ready to hear what he has to say.

“I fuck any willing woman I want whenever I feel like it.”

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