Page 13 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
Penelope took a step back, careful this time to avoid the edge of the swimming pool. The last of the sunset was shining over the mountains behind her, casting her in silhouette, so I couldn’t see much, but I noticed when her eyes widened, taking me in again from head to toe. I also noticed how her gaze lingered on my shirtless chest. I guess I wasn’t the only one affected.
She stopped her perusal at my face, squinting at me curiously, before she gasped again. “But, Mr. Montgomery, you’re-”
“Stone Pennington, illegitimate bastard, at your service.” I tipped and imaginary hat for effect, but saying it out loud made my stomach sour.
How I hated calling myself a Pennington.
Penelope stared at me for a moment more, her face moving through a series of rapid emotions before she finally settled on one. It just wasn’t the one I was expecting.
Disgust.
She was looking at me with disgust. Well, fuck her, then. Like I was the only child born out of wedlock to a rich man. I didn’t have a thing to prove to her or anyone.
“You got somethin’ to say, Miss Lund?” I asked stepping into her space, my anger causing me to make stupid choices. I should walk away. I should get out of here and get a hotel somewhere away from her and the damn house.
But my pride wouldn’t let me.
Penelope schooled her features into a polite professional mask before clasping her hands demurely in front of her. Everything about her posture said submissive and meek. Everything in her eyes said she hated my guts.
“Of course not, Mr. Pennington,” she said, every word dripping with acid.
Studying her, I tried to read her face, but she was a closed book, cold and empty. Except for the fire in her eyes.
“You’re determined to stay at this house, then?” I asked. She pursed her lips and nodded, never once looking away from me. “Fine, then the south wing is mine. Stay the hell out.” And with that I turned around and left her standing there, cold and damp, on the deck in the newly gathered dark.
That was good. The darkness outside matched the growing darkness I felt inside me.
I stomped across the house to the central staircase, taking the steps two at a time as I headed for the master bedroom I claimed when I got her earlier. Slamming the door behind me, I snatched my phone up from the dresser where it was charging and dialed a number I rarely ever used.
My father.
It rang and rang. I glanced at the clock. It would be late in New York, but I wasn’t about to hang up. I waited for him to answer, his voice rough from sleep as he did so.
“H-hello? Stone?”
“Yeah,” I said simply.
“It’s good to hear from you, son.”
I chose to ignore the term. Again. Instead I got right to the point.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that Penelope was going to be living in the house too?”
“Oh. Yes, that.”
“Yeah. That. What the hell, Harold? I can’t be living here with a member of my executive staff? Why would you send some snotty Manhattan bitch to get in my way?”
“Now, wait just a minute. You have no cause to speak about Penelope that way. She is a lovely girl and she is excellent at her job.”
I scoffed. “You could have fooled me. The girl’s a walking train wreck. A joke from head to toe.”
“Stone, please. Just give her a chance. I know she will succeed at this. Ineedher to succeed at this.” The desperation in his voice threw me. I didn’t think Harold Pennington ever needed anything he couldn’t get with a snap of his fingers and a flash of his gold card.
“What the hell is so important about her that we can’t have someone else here to do the job? I’ve got three marketing guys in my region who could work circles around this girl.” I really needed her gone. I wasn’t even sure why at this point, but when it came to Penelope Lund, I saw nothing but danger signs.
And those perfect tits.
Shit. This was bad. I needed to hate her, but I couldn’t get her blue eyes out of my head. The way she shot fire at me with every look.
