Page 6 of Filthy Rich

It can’t be Christopher. Maybe it’s the mailman with a late package or the neighbor again. His dog is probably under the porch.

Dragging in a deep breath, I check myself in the hallway mirror, stopping in front of the door when I see that, in fact, it’s Christopher.

Shit!

What the hell? Why did he come back?

Hesitating over the doorknob, I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly before finally swinging open the front door. It’s the first time I’ll have given him a full view of myself. Well, a view that’s not shrouded by a curtain in the middle of the night. Maybe he didn’t see how many wrinkles I have crowding my eyes these days. “You came back.”

Why did I say that out loud? Could I sound any more desperate?

Today, he wears a pair of dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt, an open red flannel, and a trucker hat advertising the local bar on Main Street.

“How long did it take for you to come up with this costume? You study all the locals?”

He laughs and tugs his hand down over his beard. Lord, the man is gorgeous. “You like the way the locals dress?”

I roll my eyes and ignore his comment. He looks insanely good, no matter what he’s wearing.

“Colorado boy at heart.”

I narrow my brows and fold my arms over my chest. “And I’m a dairy princess.Come on.Be real… what’s your angle here?”

“No angle. I was born and raised on a farm.”

“We talked for two days at the ranch. You never told me that.”

“Didn’t come up.” He swallows hard, and I wonder if he’s full of shit. We talked about so much.

I know about his family where he was closest to his mom, and he’s got two brothers he wishes he saw more. I know he started selling real estate after his parents passed. I know he hasn’t had an intimate relationship in years. I know he has a hard time with feelings and likes to be in control. I know he keeps a gun under his mattress after eating three cookies before bed at night. But the man said nothing about being rich, and nothing about growing up on a farm.He also didn’t mention the size of his hands, the number of tattoos, or the way his eyes pierce straight through people.

“Can I come in?”

For some reason, I hadn’t contemplated him coming into my home.

“That is unless you still have that shotgun by the door. In that case, I should wait out here.” He says it with a grin that’s both sweet and cocky, which sends a signal to my thighs I don’t quite understand.

God, I shouldn’t have agreed to this.

Technically, I didn’t agree to this.

I glance away, then back again before grabbing my jacket off the hook by the door. “We can talk on the porch for five minutes.” I’m not even sure why I’m giving him five. The answer is always going to be no.

He backs up as I step out onto the worn boards that I still need to have replaced along with half a dozen other home improvement projects I’m stalling on. I love this cabin, and I’d never leave, but I could really use that money to make some repairs.

Not his money, though.

“Look,” I hitch my hand up onto my hip, “it’s Friday night. I have papers to grade and a present to wrap for my sister’s birthday party. So, if you don’t mind.”

Christopher brushes his hand down over his beard with a scratch that’s almost soothing. “I remember you talking about that. You were nervous to go alone because your family is a pain in the ass, right?”

I roll my eyes to the side and tighten my arms against my chest. “I don’t need a date.”

“That’s not what you said at the ranch. A week ago, you were all about showing up at that party with someone.”

“That was before I realized how stupid that idea was. Besides, no one would believe,” I draw a line with my eyes between the two of us,“this.”

“Why’s that?”

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