There’s a place in a man’s life that’s reserved just for him. It’s his cave. His one true love. The one place he’ll go to when everything else falls to pieces.

Visit Club 69…we know how to take care of you.

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I frown at the new slogan my PA has just emailed me. It’s about the biggest bullshit I’ve ever heard, but I’m in the bullshit business and know how to sell it well. Club 69 has become a brand, and I’m the main attraction. My picture’s in the media all the time. Whatever I endorse, sells. But right now, I can’t even promote the new club I’m about to open because of a tiny inconvenience.

I wince as I push to my feet, unsure how to balance my weight. The cast I’m wearing has been an inconvenience, to say the least. But more so it’s been a hindrance. I can’t turn up at my own club shuffling on crutches and ruin the reputation I’ve worked my ass off to build. So, I have to rely on my most-trusted employees to ensure my business stays ahead of the competition.

I speed-dial my PA, Amanda, and bark into the phone, “The slogan’s crap. Arrange a video chat with the branding department first thing tomorrow morning.” With that, I hang up.

Amanda will know what to do. She’s been with me right from the beginning, when I was just a cowboy with big aspirations and a hundred grand borrowed from his rock star brother. Kellan left the big business behind to settle for the quiet life Montana has to offer. I decided to leave Montana behind for the glitzy life my string of clubs has to offer.

All was well…until that bull threw me off and ruined my life.

Shuffling out of my office, I head for the kitchen at the pace of a snail. I see her before she sees me. She’s leaning against the doorframe, her hand gingerly clasped around the doorknob, black pants hugging the curves of her tight little ass as she peers into one of the guestrooms. Her delicate neck is exposed—all milky skin that’s begging to be held down as you ride her.

From behind, she looks tiny, but there’s something in her determined stance that instantly tells me she’s not like the others my annoying family has hired so far. That would worry me under usual circumstances, but all I can do is stare at that ass of hers, mentally undressing it.

My dick jumps to life, eager to get some much-needed action.

I’ve no idea who she is, just that my meddling family must have hired a new physical therapist.

I can’t help but stare. Damn, it’s been too long since I’ve caught a glimpse of someone like her.

This leg injury has been more than an inconvenience. In the months since the accident, I’ve barely left the house to get fresh air, let alone go in search of my next conquest. It sure helped that my past therapists weren’t exactly fuckable.

I don’t know if I should thank my father for practically serving a pretty little thing to me on a silver platter, or stop taking his calls for the next two years.

I try to turn away before she can spy me, but it’s too late.

Closing the door, she spins on her heels, and our eyes connect. They’re blue and wide and sparkle with the kind of intelligence I don’t usually go for in a woman. For a moment, there’s confusion written on her face, which is quickly succeeded by scorn as she brushes her brown hair out of her eyes and takes a step forward.

Ah, she didn’t take too kindly to my little note, which was supposed to be part joke, part scare off tactic.

“Mr. Boyd? I’m Erin Stone, your new physical therapist.”

She inches toward me, the soles of her flat sandals slapping against the tile floor. She’s moving with the agility of someone who knows how to use her body, but it’s her eyes that have my heart beating just a little bit faster.

I attribute it to the sudden blood flow to the lower parts of my body.

“I see you didn’t get the memo.” I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the tightness in my pants.

“Actually, I did, but I’ve never been one to follow orders, which apparently you like to give, Mr. Boyd.” She takes another step forward. Her head is thrown back so she can look all the way up. She should be unsettled by my height, and yet all I can find in her eyes is more determination. “You shouldn’t have wasted your breath writing the note you left on my bed because I’m not your employee. You don’t know me. You don’t get to tell me what to do. And you most certainly won’t intimidate me by being a jerk. I’ve seen bigger.” Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear her glance brushes the front of my pants, hovering there for a moment too long. Her tongue flicks across her lower lip.

I want to bite that lip. I want to draw it between my teeth while I entangle my hands in her hair. I want to pull her head back, leaving her to my mercy, as I run my tongue over her soft skin, making her quiver for more.

But I do none of those things. Instead, I regard her with the kind of arrogance I’ve reserved for pretty much everyone who’s been trying to tell me what to do the last few months.

“Everyone knows that size is only a number. It’s what you make of it that counts. I can offer both. Now, please, go away.” I shoot her another cold gaze and hop down the hall into my office as fast as my crutches and the pain in my leg and hip will allow me, leaving her staring after me.

That shut her right up.

As I slam the door, I realize I never even asked to see her résumé. She could be a criminal who’s benefitting from an unlocked front door and the fact that everyone in town knows I go through therapists like some people go through underwear.

Wouldn’t that be a nice change in an otherwise dull day?

The thought brings a smile to my face. The first in months.

I plop down on the sofa with a cuss word lodged in my throat.

Fuck, it’s been months and my leg’s still hurting like a bitch.

Right after the fall I lost consciousness and can’t remember anything. But I’ve watched the video over and over again. What that bull did to me wasn’t a pretty sight. I still cringe whenever I watch his horns lift me up and toss me through the air like a rag doll, a moment before people rush to distract the bull.

I boot up my laptop and replay the video for the umpteenth time. My face is in full view, bruised and bloodied; my body is motionless, the leg bent at an unnatural angle. If it wasn’t me in the video, I’d think the guy was dead.

It’s frightening to see, and that’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to, which is what’s kept me angry ever since I made it out of the hospital and Kellan let me watch my last performance.

He shouldn’t have…because scrutinizing myself over and over again is pretty much all I can do all day long, if only to torture myself for the stupid mistake I made.

Even a rookie would have known better than to spend the previous night with some meaningless chick rather than get the sleep that would have turned me into the bull riding world champ I should be.

If I had stayed in my hotel room like Kellan and Ryder instructed, I wouldn’t have lost focus. I would be back in Las Vegas or NYC or Chicago, back in business, back doing what I’m known for.

Manage my famous Club 69 empire and earn big bucks.

The knowledge stings, but what stings even more is the reproach and worry I keep seeing in my family’s eyes.

“Cash Boyd, the family’s screw-up,” I mumble and close the video, ready to get back to work, if only to forget my father’s words for a few hours.

But words aren’t forgotten easily. And so they keep lingering at the back of my mind as I go through the rows of numbers on the spreadsheets, matching up expenses and profits.

I may be a screw-up, but at least I’m the kind who knows how to turn it into serious money.