Scarlett burst into the living room, her expression panicked and wild. “What is it? What happened?”

“Get your as—”

Gavin’s tirade stalled.

It fell over.

Curled up.

Laid down.

And died, at the sight of her, wet as a water nymph, in nothing but a towel.

Creamy, moist skin wrapped in a tiny bit of fluff tended to do that to a man. Damn. Wet hair cascaded down her back like an amber waterfall, and his thoughts stuttered worse than a preteen boy in a lingerie shop. Clearly, he’d interrupted her shower. Fire raged as lust and anger duked it out for control. He clenched his fist. The foil antenna bit into his palm.

Anger won.

He jammed the offending object in the air and shook it. “What the hell, Scarlett?”

Crimson blossomed across her face. “Um…ah…I don’t understand?”

She understood alright. Her guilty eyes searched for the closest escape route.

Oh, no you don’t, princess, time to pay the piper.

He stalked toward his prey. “You played me. Did you all have a good laugh?”

She backed up with every step he took in her direction, a predator’s tango. “I don’t know what the big deal is. It was a little practical joke.”

“A joke? You lied to me. You had me traipsing all over this place waving this piece of foil like a majorette. And you call yourself a Sunday school teacher. What would Jesus do, Scarlett?”

When she bit her lip, in an obvious effort to not laugh, he made his move. “Come here.”

She screamed and ran to the other side of the sofa, using the piece of furniture as a barrier between them. Her towel slipped half an inch. “It’s your own fault. If you hadn’t made fun of us hillbillies, I wouldn’t have done it.”

They bobbed and faked, each trying to be the first to move. “So this,” he pointed the piece of foil at her, “is my fault? Because of a few comments I made, you hung me out to dry. You’re a vicious, vicious woman.” He vaulted over the sofa.

She squealed like a kid on a roller coaster and ran around to the wingback chair. With one hand she tugged her droopy towel back into place and with the other, she pushed her curls from her eyes. She laughed so hard she snorted, which made him laugh.

Where had his anger gone? How did she do that? Completely disarm him.

“I am vicious and ruthless. You better sleep with one eye open, buddy.”

Right then, his eyes were glued to where her towel looped together. It was a precarious connection. If she moved too fast, it could fall apart. “Girly, you’re the one who needs to watch her back because I’m coming for you.”

He dove and grabbed.

She shrieked.

“Gotcha.” But only her damp towel hung from his hand. She stood bare-assed naked and…damn.

Holy hell.

She tried to cover herself with her hands. “Close your eyes.”

“Not on your life.” He didn’t know where to look first. It was a buffet of enticing tidbits.

“Turn around.”

Her screech hurt his ears, but he could see just fine. Her arms and hands continued their jerky attempts to obscure his view. She seemed to have trouble prioritizing which parts she needed to conceal first.

“Stop looking, please.”

Her plaintive whine had zero effect on him. “I would if I could,” he lied.

Her hand shot out to snatch an afghan from the couch. She held it in front of herself to shield her nudity. He wished he could kiss the person who had knitted the thing. It had a criminally loose weave, and her best parts were still plainly visible.

“Scarlett.” He took a tentative step in her direction.

“Stay right there.” Her hand flew up to ward him off.

Yeah, like that would work. “I don’t think so.” He carefully moved a few more steps toward her, like he’d seen Floyd approach a skittish colt.

She retreated until her back hit the wall. “You’re mad at me, remember?”

“Not anymore.”

* * *

Sirens screamed in Scarlett’s head. Jolts of panic crackled along her nerves. She was standing naked, with nothing between her and a gorgeous hunk of a man, except for her grandmother’s threadbare afghan.

Under any other circumstance and for any other girl, this would be a dream come true. In fact, she may have had this very fantasy as a teenager or even a few days ago. She wanted nothing more than to have Gavin’s hands all over her, but given the current mayhem that was her life, she couldn’t let him touch her. If he did, there’d be nothing to stop them from consummating this ill-advised marriage. And here’s a great idea, let’s add ravenous sex hormones and make a complicated situation much worse.

This had to stop. One of them had to be reasonable. So she used the only weapon she had.

“Are you ready to collect on your investment?”

He stood completely still. “What?”

She cinched the afghan tighter around. “You paid a lot of money for me. I suppose you have every right to expect sex.”

He scratched the side of his face. “I suppose you’re right. But I’m surprised you’d bring it up.”

She bit her bottom lip. This was about to get ugly. She could see it in his eyes. Fine with her, she had some pent up emotions that needed to be released. “Why?”

“Because there are several unflattering names they call a woman in your position.”

His contempt threatened to bow her spine, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “My position?”

He surveyed her up and down. “Naked women who take large sums of money from men, they’re called—”

“You offered me the money, you jackass.” Infuriation swirled with the residual desire still pumping through her body. Her emotions collided, exploded, jumbled, and made her simultaneously want to strangle him and climb him like a monkey.

“You didn’t have to take it.” He stabbed the air with his finger.

“You have no right to judge me, you hypocrite.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You know what I’d like to know, Scarlett? What happened to the woman who didn’t want anything from me?” She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “I’ll tell you what happened. She deposited my fifty thousand dollars three days ago.”

She shoved off the wall and got right in his face. “She sure as hell did.” Angry currents of resentment shot through her like radio static. “Because at the first sign of trouble, the spoiled rock star threw money around to get what he wanted.”

“You didn’t have to take it!”

“Yes, I did!”

“Why?” He jammed his hands on his hips.

The tiny glint of hope in his searching gaze nearly undid her. She had to get out of here, or she’d spill all her secrets. She wanted to tell him and be done with this crap, but Poppy’s threat of exposure hung in the air like a noose. “You know what? I don’t owe you an explanation.”

The last thing she heard as she locked herself in the bathroom was the front door slam shut.

* * *

Gavin white-knuckled the steering wheel of the old truck, grateful he’d bought the thing. Without a vehicle, he couldn’t have escaped the Kelly farm. He barely remembered the drive into town. Damn it, he was furious. It took the fifteen-minute trip to get his breathing under control. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth, and his hands throbbed to hit something.

The speedometer indicated he needed to slow the hell down. Shit. He wouldn’t redeem his image if he were hauled away in handcuffs by Zachsville’s finest. His foot came off the accelerator. When he entered the town square, he was the picture of a law-abiding citizen.

The truck rolled to a stop in front of the City Café. Stale cigarette smoke and motor oil from the old pickup got stuck in his throat. Suddenly the cab of the truck became too small. He got out and stomped into the restaurant. The locals stared, but he ignored them. Screw ’em.

A pretty young waitress sashayed up to him as soon as he sat down at the counter. “What can I get ya?”

“Coffee. Black.”

“Anything else, some dinner or…dessert?”

Dessert meant her, with whipped cream on top. Not tempted, not even a little bit. All his thoughts gravitated to Scarlett’s little butt as she’d run from the living room. The sight of his name branded on her milky-white skin made him want to howl with ownership.

“Just coffee.”

He raked his hands through his hair. Weariness swept through him, as leftover adrenaline fizzed and dissipated from his bloodstream. How had he gotten himself into this mess? Fu…ah, effin’ alcohol.

Not only the alcohol, Bain, and you know it.

No, it hadn’t been. Images of chasing Scarlett around the living room and of their combined laughter rolled over him. Had he ever had fun with a woman outside the bedroom before? Not that he could remember. It was pathetic, but he’d laughed more in the last five days than he had in the last five years. He found himself seeking her out during the day to mess with or talk to her, anything to spend time with her.

Even before he got so shit-faced he married a stranger, he knew he wanted to keep her. She was everything he wasn’t and like no one else he’d ever known. Her sweetness was a siren’s song that hooked him the first moment he’d seen her in that bar, and every day she reeled him closer and closer.

But an out-of-work musician with no social skills, and feral as a cat, had nothing to offer a woman like her. If he could get his career back on track, be at the top again, then maybe…but not now.

Dammit, now he was pissed again. Without even trying, she’d turned his life upside down, and apparently given him amnesia. Because when her towel came off, nothing mattered except getting his hands on her. He hadn’t even considered the money until she brought it up.

She was the queen of the mixed message. Why did she keep bringing up the money? The answer danced just out of his reach. Could she be using it as an excuse?”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Zachsville’s newest celebrity.” Luanne slid onto the stool next to him.

He glanced at her then back to his clasped hands on the counter. “I’m not in the mood, Luanne.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “Ah come on, I’m just jokin’.”

The waitress sat his coffee in front of him, saving him from having to reply. He could feel the attorney studying him.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you’re really upset.”

Hell, yeah, he was upset.

“What happened? Is Scarlett okay?”

“She’s great. Fifty thousand dollars great,” he bit out.

“Oh.” Luanne made a production of surveying the menu. “Are you eating? You should eat. The food is amazing here.”

The tiny terminator, who’d threatened castration for harassing Scarlett, curiously had nothing to say about his insult. Maybe she hadn’t caught the offense. “No, I’m not eating. I need to get home to my gold-digger wife.”

“Too bad. Today’s special is chicken potpie. You haven’t lived until you’ve had Ronny’s chicken potpie.” She smiled as bright as the Texas sun.

He swiveled on the stool to face her, one arm rested on the counter and the other on the back of her chair. “Cut the crap, Luanne. What the hell is going on?”

She folded the menu, continued her brighter-than-day smile and added in a little twang when she replied, “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Oh, please, I’ve insulted Scarlett twice in two minutes, and you want to talk about the daily special? No way. You’re hiding something.”

He gave her his best glare. The attorney stared back. Luanne had mad skills, but his were better. He let The Delinquent bleed into his eyes.

She glanced away first. He had to hand it to her, it took her longer than most.

“Tell me, Luanne.”

Now, she wouldn’t make eye contact. She pulled ten napkins from the dispenser, one right after the other. “All I’m going to say is that not everything is as it seems.” She flagged the waitress down and ordered an iced tea.

“Well, that’s as clear as mud.” He swigged his coffee. “What does that even mean?”

She shook a yellow packet of sweetener. “If you had to pick ten words to describe Scarlett, where would gold-digger fall on that list?”

The way Scarlett cared for Honey, worried for Joyce, helped Floyd in the barn, tutored Brody, teased him…all of it ran through his mind. “If she hadn’t taken the money, I wouldn’t put it on at all.”

“What does your gut say?” She stirred her iced tea.

“I have no idea.”

“Yes, you do—”

Whistling and catcalling came from behind them. They angled their bodies to see the commotion. Every patron’s attention was focused on the wall-mounted television behind the counter.

On the TV, his wife danced her heart out on top of a table in the middle of a crowded bar. In the scene, he stood on the ground in front of the makeshift stage undressing her with his hot gaze while the other customers waved dollar bills in the air. With every gyration, her white dress swished and swayed around her butt. The crowd on the screen and the folks in the café went crazy as she performed a spin move, and her sensible-pantyclad ass mooned her bar-mates.

All the dancing must have made her thirsty because she sat down on her heels, picked up a shot glass, threw it back, and grabbed him around the neck. After she devoured his mouth, she stood up and continued dancing.

Luanne’s quick intake of air jolted him into action. He snatched his cell phone from his pocket and hit a button.

“Oh, my Lord.” She seized his arm. “You’ve got to get her out of town.”

“I’m already on it—Jack, I need two tickets to L.A. tonight. I know what I said about Sundays. Just get us out of here. We can be in Houston in…” He looked at Luanne. She held up three fingers. “Three hours. I’ll explain later.” He threw money on the bar and beat a path to the door, Luanne hot on his tail.

“I’m going with you.” Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she raced to keep up with him.

“Good, I may need some help.” He popped the locks on the truck and they climbed in.

“I’ll do whatever you need.” She braced herself when he took a corner well above the speed limit.

“Warn me if Floyd goes for the shotgun.”