Page 5 of The Marriage Deal
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage through clenched teeth. I’m still wondering where the fuck my ever-present cool calm is, and what it is about this woman that drags in the red-hot blood of a wild man.
“I think I do.” She tips her head back, eyes daring me over an edge I know I can’t cross. I’ve never wanted to punish a stranger more with a kiss than I want to punish her now. I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more than I want to kissher. “You’re just like him. Like Daniel Alder. You’ll make the town bow to you just tokeep them afloat, and they’ll hate you for it just like they hated him.”
Ice washes away the heat with her accusation. With the surge of ice, whatever binds that shackled me to her these last minutes finally release me. I take a step back, and then two more.
Lifting my hands between us, I wave her off. “I don’t need this.”
She laughs, but it’s bursting with bitterness. “You’re right. You don’t need this town—” Her next words shackle me once more to the boardwalk. “But this town needs you. It needs—someonewho cares for it.” Then she goes and speaks again, this time without an ounce of that sweet vulnerability from a moment before. “And I need my scissors, you big brute!”
Again, there’s a spark of fire in my blood, ignited by the match of her. Inspired to light my own little fire in the crazy little spitfire, I flash her a rusty smirk as I tap the scissors in my back pocket.
“Think I’ll hold onto these,” I call as I pull open the door of my truck, deciding to venture into The Tasty Rise for coffee another morning. A morning I haven’t gone to battle with a particular brown-eyed beauty with a fall of thick hair the color of caramelized butter in a cast-iron pan over the flame of a back woods campfire.
“Briggs!” she yells my name in frustration, and I’m suddenly pissed that I don’t know hers. A string ofviolent curses follows my name. I cut her off as I slam the door closed behind me.
I’m grinning like a fool as I pull out of the parking space, eyes glued to a red-hot woman fuming on a boardwalk with a makeshift bouquet of stolen flowers in the fist on her hip.
I can’t resist the last word as I roll down my window, tipping my hat at her in a gesture that has an angry heat climbing up the column of her throat. “You have yourself a nice day, now, little lunatic.”
3
MENACE TO SOCIETY
BRIGGS
Ican’t get what the crazy little lunatic said the other morning out of my head. Truth be told, I can’t getherout of my head. Her scent. The promise of sweet on my tongue at the taste of warm honey on her breath. I can’t recall a moment in my life where anyone held me so captive.
I don’t like it.
Hooking my finger through the loop of the bright pink coffee cup painted with little yellow flowers, I take a long sip of the brew. It’s good, even if the big guy behind the counter glared at me the whole time he made it. At least he didn’t spit in it.I watched.
While all dishes in The Tasty Rise are mismatched, I can’t help but note the other men in the establishment have been given cups in pretty much any color other than the hot pink mug I currently clutch.
I smirk, taking another sip. If he thinks I’ll be cowed by a little pink, he’s got another thing coming.
A glance around the café suggests more than the barista has another thing coming, in fact, because I won’t be run out of town by a few glares or snidely muttered remarks. I’ve been through far worse than this little town has to offer, and my skin is thicker than to let a sharp quip cut.
Since I arrived, it’s been no secret the townsfolk of Sunset Falls want me gone. At least, that’s what I figured they all wanted, until the nameless woman I can’t get out of my head led me to believe they needed something else.
I’d been too hot and bothered by the infuriating little woman to fully absorb her words when she’d said them. But I’d had plenty of time since to consider.
I’ve since come to the conclusion that Sunset Falls relies heavily on the success of Alder Wines. They rely not only on the winery to bring tourism to this quiet little town, but to stimulate the rather lagging economy with the jobs Alder Wines provides. My late fath—damn, I hate calling Daniel Alder my father in any capacity.
The only father I’d ever known had been Trent Mallory. But Daniel sired me, even if he’d never been a part of my life.
And for some ungodly reason, he’d left his land and business to me.
The bells on the door jingle as it opens. My eyesslide that way absently. My thoughts fizzle out, pink flower-dotted mug halfway to my lips.
Her. The cliff-jumping, flower-thieving little lunatic.
My mouth goes dry as I settle in my chair in the corner where I’ve got a complete view of the café. The entire café fades to the background of her as my eyes fix unwillingly on her. My gaze is a prisoner to the magnetic pull she has over it. I’d call her a black hole if she wasn’t so damn bright.
She gives a little bounce on the balls of her white sneaker-covered feet as she waves a bouquet of undoubtedly stolen flowers in her hand at the widely grinning man behind the counter. Her outfit should be a crime, and yet I can’t deny she looks good. Too good.
I shift in my seat and clear my throat lowly as my mug finally connects with my lips. The sip turns into a chug as I attempt to wash away the dry throat that hit me the moment she walked in.
This attraction I feel is insane, especially considering the way her mere presence ignites a hot flame of frustration inside me.
