SARAH

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When Wilder and King dropped me off at my house the next day—King having driven my car since it had snowed during the night and I rode the two hours with Wilder—I dropped my overnight bag, leaned against my closed front door, slid to the floor. Grinned. I couldn’t believe it. All of it. Any of it.

From seeing them at the resort to the wild and crazy night, to the rules they had put in place until they picked me up tomorrow for the courthouse wedding, it was insane.

I had on a pair of jeans and a black thermal shirt, King’s hoodie sweatshirt over it, then my thick winter coat. But no panties.

After about the sixth orgasm, I’d fallen asleep, or passed out, in Wilder’s bed. While I’d been naked and tucked beneath the covers all night, King had returned to his room and Wilder had kept on his jeans and settled beneath the blanket. I had to assume that while they were adamant about not taking my virginity until we were married—married!—it wasn’t easy for them to abstain. I’d seen the thick outlines, the solid bulges in their jeans which meant they were interested. Very interested. Very eager. The way they went at me…god. I got hot all over just thinking about it. I struggled to get out of my coat, let it fall to the floor beside me.

I tugged the front of King’s sweatshirt up to my nose and breathed deep, took in his now familiar scent. I was going to marry them. Both of them! While I’d only legally be tied to one of them, I knew they both were going to be claiming me. And claim me they would, as soon as they got their rings on my finger. Until then, they’d certainly left their mark. Or marks. I knew there was a little hickey on the top of my right breast, just above the nipple. Wilder had left one on the inside of my thigh along with some whisker burn. And I had no doubt my butt was still red.

I was a little sore, a little tender in places like my nipples and my ass. And by ass I didn’t mean my bottom, while that was a little tender and sore, too. They’d used the lube and their fingers to play there as I held on to the headboard. I’d lost my grip once as King slipped his thumb deep into my ass, slowly fucking me there as Wilder played with my clit. Each of them had had a hold of a nipple ring and gently twisted and tugged. I’d been completely and totally at their mercy, being pushed and prodded to orgasm after wild orgasm.

God, I’d been a total pleasure whore. They were so good at making me feel good, and they wouldn’t let me reciprocate in any way. When I’d tried, trying to at least press my hand against them, they’d swatted my ass in playful punishment.

I rolled my eyes and shifted on the hard wood floor, remembering the way they’d knocked on my hotel room door this morning, entered, shut it behind me. Wilder had walked me back to my room to get dressed and packed up. When I let them in, they’d told me to pull down my pants to make sure I wasn’t wearing any panties. And since I had been, they’d spun me about, bent me over my not-slept-in bed and spanked me. That hadn’t been very playful. Not at all. After, they’d watched as I took the panties off and put my jeans back on. When they were finally satisfied and I had a very hot butt as a reminder of who was in charge of my pussy, we’d left for Barlow.

And now here I was, alone. Pantiless. I pushed off the floor, worked off my boots and left them on the mat by the door, dashed to the bathroom. I spun away from the mirror, pushed down my jeans, studied my bottom over my shoulder in the reflection. Yup, still red. A few distinct pink finger-shapes were still clear as well. This sooo wasn’t me. I always wore underwear. Always did the right thing. Okay, perhaps except for the wild hair I’d had to get my nipples pierced, but other than that, I was a good girl. I followed the rules, was meticulous—a librarian had to be—and precise. I liked order, normalcy. Yeah, that had flown out the window last night. Along with my panties. I was officially a good girl no longer.

I grinned even wider, then let it slip. It fell away entirely.

They said we knew everything about each other. They were right, to a point. While we hadn’t exactly been friends as I’d grown up, they’d always watched out for me. I’d see them and every time, their eyes had been on me. They’d come over and to say hi, check on me, specifically because of my mom. I’d always felt safe with them. Protected, even from afar. And now I could feel safe and protected up close.

But I had secrets, not like the fact that I had a very red, very spanked ass beneath my jeans. Big secrets. Nothing like the fact that I drank orange juice from the carton or always did my laundry on Sundays. That stuff they’d learn, just like Wilder had said, after we married.

But this biggie? They deserved to know.

My cell rang and I tugged up my jeans, ran to the entry where I’d dropped my purse. My heart galloped at the thought of it being King or Wilder. I had it bad, especially since they’d walked me to the door and left just a few minutes ago.

Shit. My mother. She’d already called several times this weekend, but I’d ignored them all. I had to answer this one or she’d never stop. I was alone and I could deal with her without the chance of getting King or Wilder involved. They knew she was difficult, but I’d hidden most of it from them. From everyone.

“Mother,” I said.

“There you are. I’ve been trying to call you all weekend.” She sounded cranky, as usual.

I rolled my eyes, went into my small, tidy kitchen. “I’ve been busy.”

“So disrespectful,” she chided. “I was in labor for—”

“Thirty-six hours,” I said, finishing her usual sentence, reminding me I’d been a burden for her since birth. I tugged open the fridge, rooted through the top shelf.

I heard her sniff through the phone, not because she was sad, but because she was mad. “Your brother doesn’t ignore me.”

That’s because he lives in your basement and mooches off of you for his lavish lifestyle instead of getting a job.

“What did you call for, Mother?” I checked the date on a package of cream cheese, wrinkled my nose at it, then tossed it in the trash. I waited for her answer. For the matchmaking to begin. It happened every phone call.

“I met a man. Robert. He’s a yacht salesman.”

Oh brother. She’d divorced husband number five last summer and was now living in his Santa Barbara house she’d gotten in the settlement. Now, it seemed, she wanted a yacht. If she married the guy, she’d somehow get a one out of the arrangement. Not that she even liked the water. She got seasick looking at the Yellowstone River.

“That’s nice,” I replied neutrally, checking the dates on all my condiments. If I couldn’t toss my mother out with the trash, the least I could do was empty my fridge.

“He has a son.”

And there it was. A yacht salesman’s son this time. She didn’t want the dad, she wanted me to have the son. For me to get her that boat.

Last week, it had been a new neighbor who’d retired at thirty from the film industry. Loaded. I paused, eyeing a jar of sundried tomatoes. “That’s nice,” I repeated. I knew better than to give her any kind of positive response. But now I had Wilder and King.

I huffed out a small laugh wondering how they would react to discovering my mother wanted me to marry a man in California. As alpha males, they’d go ape shit. And that had me smiling again. I liked the idea of them being all possessive with me. While they’d left me at my house, they hadn’t been thrilled with it. But King had some chores to see to on the ranch, Wilder had paperwork to get done at the Fish and Game headquarters so they could have tomorrow free.

Our wedding day.

“—have dinner when you come to town next. Perhaps next week? Are you even listening to me, Sarah?”

“Sorry, I missed the last.” Thinking of my men was much better than anything my mother had to say.

She harrumphed. “Since your father left you with nothing and as a silly librarian you’re not living up to your potential, you could at least try to land a wealthy husband. I’ll fly you in to meet Travis.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” I’d rather have my wisdom teeth pulled again than get on a plane to Santa Barbara for a blind double date with my mother and her yacht salesman potential-boyfriend.

“If not here in Santa Barbara, then there in Barlow,” she continued, undeterred. “A rancher is always good. You always had your eye on Kingston Barlow. He’d be a good choice; the town’s named after his family after all. Remember, land will hold its value until you can divorce.”

Oh my god. She wanted me to marry a guy—King—with the intention of divorcing him and taking half his money. Just like she’d done with her long line of husbands. Over and over. If it worked for her, then she expected it would work for me. If she only knew I really was marrying Kingston Barlow she’d probably pee her pants. Or worse, fly here for the ceremony. I bit my lip.

“Your father—”

I cut her off. “Yes, I know about my father.”

She sighed. “Aiden Steele never gave you the time of day.”

True.

“He did give you child support,” I countered.

My father had owned Steele Ranch until he died last year. My mother, who’d been born and raised in Dallas, had somehow ended up in Montana and gotten the man into bed, or at least the back seat of a car, to get pregnant with me. To trap him. From what my mother had always told me, he’d refused to marry her.

“Until you turned eighteen and then it stopped entirely,” she snapped.

“Mother, I became an adult. Why should he support an adult?” I asked, defending him. I wasn’t sure exactly why since he’d wanted nothing to do with me. While he hadn’t shunned me outright, whenever I saw him in town—which had been very rarely—he’d given me a head nod as a way of greeting. Nothing else. Perhaps he’d thought I was like my mother.

But I’d begun to think otherwise when his lawyer had contacted me with the news Aiden Steel had put money into an account for me to pay for college. Only college, just in case I was like my mother and wanted a fancy car instead. Since I was of age, I hadn’t had to tell her about it—she’d have wanted it for herself. When I’d told her I’d been accepted to the university in Bozeman, I’d only told her I’d gotten scholarship money and she’d sniffed at that instead of being proud.

“I was in college. It wasn’t like you were taking care of me any longer.”

“Still, he owed me.”

“No, he didn’t. He didn’t owe you a thing.”

“I raised you all those years.”

“Mother, I’m not a pony you had to stable and feed. I am your daughter. You could have taken him to court.”

“And what? Lost the child support? Please.”

I looked up at my kitchen ceiling, then closed my eyes. That was my mother in one sentence. She’d raised me because of the child support money.

“I have to go,” I told her, so done with this conversation.

“Let me know about the son because—”

I ended the call, dropped my phone on the counter. I put my hands on the edge, leaned against it. Breathed. I tried not to get riled up when she called, but it was impossible not to. She was my mother and that wasn’t going to change. She was a money-grubbing schemer.

Since Aiden Steele had never put a ring on it, she’d found a different rich landowner here in Barlow to bag instead. Husband number one. My half-brother, Karl, was the product of the marriage to husband number two, a lumber baron—that was what my mother had called him—from Seattle. That hadn’t lasted long, only one summer—and long enough for her to get knocked up and get the quickie divorce. Aiden Steele had forced my mother’s hand, making her come back to Barlow. No Barlow, no child support, which led me to believe he’d been somehow protecting me, at least keeping me nearby where he could keep an eye on me. While she’d never told me the amount, I’d always assumed it was large enough for her to force her stay in a small Montana town. And since she’d just validated in yet another phone call that I’d been worth keeping around for the monthly sum, it’d had to be pretty hefty.

Until it stopped when I turned eighteen. Thus, her new life in California where it never snowed. Since Karl had been only fourteen at the time, and was just like my mother—we’d never gotten along and I’d been thrilled to see him leave along with her—he’d learned from the expert to work his way through rich girlfriends to get by once he’d graduated high school. No college for him. Why would he do that when his career goals were to fuck and marry his way from one woman to the next to retirement?

As for Aiden Steele, he’d never publicly accepted me as his, but I didn’t really care. My mother has always painted him a villain, but I figured while he might have been fooled for one wild night, he’d learned her true ways quick enough. Maybe I should have approached him and asked to live with him, but I figured if he had wanted me, he would have fought for me more.

No one knew I was his daughter. Aiden Steele hadn’t shared it. My mother certainly hadn’t. She wouldn’t want to be considered a slut for having a child out of wedlock, especially back in the day. I rolled my eyes at the thought. I knew what everyone thought of her. A gold digger. Telling everyone my father was Aiden Steele wouldn’t have changed anyone’s opinions.

But now everything had changed. He was dead and he’d made me one of his heirs. My lawyer had died, but his son, Riley, had taken over. He’d notified me of Aiden Steele’s death—not that I hadn’t heard of it through the town grapevine by then—and told me of the will. Of the money and land I’d inherited.

But I’d made him keep the inheritance a secret, just like the college money. No one knew I was a Steele heiress and I hadn’t touched a dime of the money. No one knew I was rich. Not my girlfriends, not even Wilder and King. If my mother got wind of it…

I slammed the fridge door closed, grabbed my phone. I was marrying Wilder and King tomorrow and I’d tell them about my father, about the inheritance before I did so, but I had to talk to my lawyer first.

“Riley, hey, it’s Sarah Gandry. I’m sorry for calling on a Sunday, but can we meet? I have some news.”