Page 19 of Wilde Sanctuary

“As long as you promise not to go down that whole weird thing where you think my father sent me to prostitute myself in order to get you to sell that land.”

“I never said?—”

“Uh, huh.”

Rhett shot her a glance and the tilt of her head, raised eyebrows and crossed arms told him everything he needed to know. “Yeah, ok. I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She giggled. “And you’d better make sure you have some condoms, because there’s no way I’m staying under the same roof as you again without riding that gorgeous cock of yours.”

Rhett choked, coughing and laughing at the same time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Chapter Eight

Charlie

Rhett’s house turned out to be barely more than a cabin itself. A two-bedroom wooden home on the outskirts of the town, facing the water. He parked and helped Charlie out of the truck, carrying her suitcase inside. When he ducked back out to get his own gear, she took the opportunity to look around. The living room looked over the marina and the ocean in the far distance. There was no television, just a faded sofa and a bookshelf stuffed to overflowing with well-thumbed paperbacks. The kitchen was a small but practical space, with worn but clean and serviceable cabinetry and mismatched appliances, and that’s where Rhett found her when he came back inside.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” He said, standing next to her, nodding towards the living room.

“Yeah.”

“You never got around to telling me your idea.” He turned to lean against the sink. Rhett reached out and put his hands on her hips, his large fingers splayed across her back, thumbs pressing gently into the softness of her belly.

She’d never been around people who were so casually tactile as Rhett, and she decided she liked it. Charlie stepped between his legs and rested her hands on his shoulders, brushing her own thumbs up and down his neck.

“Are you sure you want to hear it? It’s about the land,” she said, but continued in a rush, “but I promise it’s not about selling it.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“So I spoke with my father’s 2IC today about the land and the deal they were offering.”

Rhett’s fingers twitched on her side, the only indication of his mood. He nodded for her to continue.

“You’re not opposed to all development, are you? Just something as large as the resort that Sinclair Properties is proposing.”

“That’s right. I’d planned on renovating the cabins at some point—maybe adding a few more—but just don’t have the money to spare.”

She nodded. It was clear there wasn’t money in the business. And he wasn’t spending it anywhere else. His truck was in good condition, but it wasn’t the latest model, and his house was spartan. He didn’t even own a TV.

Rhett West might be many things, but he wasn’t a rich man. And it was clear he wasn’t motivated by money because he could have taken any of the offers her father had made over the years, but he didn’t.

He was not a gold digger.

Something settled inside Charlie. A certainty that she’d found someone that she really connected with, rather than someone who had connected with what her money could do for them.

“So, you’re not opposed to updating the cabins and possibly adding some more?”

“Sure, but did you hear the part where I said I didn’t have the money?” He huffed out a laugh. “It’s a dream, Charlie. Not reality.”

She smiled up at him, her hands going around his neck. “What if it could be?”

“What are you talking about?”

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