Page 23 of Cruelest Contract
“And has a population of three thousand, six hundred and forty,” she says, turning to look at me. “Home to the oldestworking courthouse clock and five country bars. The high school mascot is the Coyotes.”
“You did some research.” I wonder what else she found out.
“A little. But Google searches can only tell you so much.”
“If you have questions, ask them.”
“I have plenty of questions. But for now I’ll just ask where the nearest store is. I need a few things in addition to cat litter.”
I pull my phone out and keep one hand on the wheel while pressing a few buttons. “Type your shopping list in and hit send.” I pass the phone over.
Her fingertips brush my palm when she takes the phone. She keeps her nails short. “Who exactly am I communicating with?”
“One of my guys,” I say, deliberately evasive. She doesn’t need to know more than that.
My father insisted on sending four of our trusted soldiers along to collect Cecilia. This wasn’t necessary. Angelo Grimaldi couldn’t wait to shove his sister into our laps and flee.
The look on Cecilia’s face when she realized her brother was abandoning her was enough to flip my anger switch. As a kid, Angelo was a spiteful little prick who was always shooting his mouth off.
Sometimes manhood turns those qualities into something useful.
The rest of the time, they turn into something like Angelo.
She wasn’t expecting him to leave her. No one at the ranch has the slightest desire to hang out with Angelo Grimaldi but I invited him to stick around anyway. He brushed off the suggestion while I watched Cecilia’s expression shift from alarm to anger. But within seconds she scraped all the heavy emotions away with a gulp and held her tongue.
Watching her go through this short process was interesting. And very familiar. She and I seem to be alike in some important ways. We understand when it makes sense to muzzle a reaction.
Cecilia quickly taps out her shopping list with her thumbs and promptly hands the phone back. My eyes leave the road long enough to sweep over her body. The neckline of her dress is scooped low enough to reveal the full, teasing curve of her breasts.
My cock flexes in my jeans, aiming to punch through the zipper. There’s no way to rearrange the goods without being obvious so I force my thoughts into neutral territory by making a list in my head of all our real estate holdings. It’s a long list.
But when a deep pothole catches me off guard, I can’t swerve in time. The front tire thuds and the truck bounces a foot in the air. The cat howls. Getty’s head smacks into the window. Behind us, Fort leans on the horn.
Fuck.It’s been way too long since I’ve been laid. One hour in the company of a pretty girl gets me so bent out of shape I’m nearly flipping the truck.
“Hey dickhead,” my brother complains from the backseat, “watch the road. I didn’t make plans to die today.”
I ignore him and check on Cecilia. “Sorry about that. You all right?”
She stops gripping the door handle and swivels to check on her cat. Satisfied that no harm has come to her pet from the pothole or from Getty’s outrageous company, she faces forward again. I’m hit with another wave of her boner-inducing fragrance and grit my teeth, willing my cock to stand down.
“I’m fine,” Cecilia says. She smooths the fabric of her dress over her knees.
“I think I have a concussion,” Getty declares.
“How can you tell?” I mutter.
He kicks the back of my seat.
With every new mile marker, he kicks the back of my seat again.
Spending too much time with Getty is often like being stuck in the company of an oversized, unstable middle school tyrant. He’s betting that I won’t retaliate in front of Cecilia. He’s right. I can’t risk scaring the hell out of her on the first day by dragging my brother out of the truck and hammering him with my fists. He won’t be so lucky next time we’re alone.
Cecilia reaches into the purse at her feet and pulls out her phone. She checks the screen and her shoulders dip with disappointment. I wonder who she was hoping to hear from.
The thought that it might be a guy streaks through my mind but the intel reports commissioned by my father are always reliable. According to that information, Cecilia doesn’t date. She has one close friend, an elementary school teacher. She goes home every night alone. There are several boyfriends in her past but they’re long gone.
With a sigh, she pushes the phone back into her purse and gazes out the window while tugging at a lock of brown hair.
