Prologue
Lyndie Scott checked the clock on her phone before she entered the Scratching Post. Six o’clock p.m. Two hours before the place got busy. Perfect! Regulars knew she wasn’t interested in drinking, flirting, or finding a man—on my own or bust!—but buzzed newcomers tended to make screwing with the “schoolmarm” a game. For some reason, her high-neck blouse, cardigan, and khakis said “too uptight to bother with…or am I? Come over here and I’ll melt, guaranteed.”
False advertising, guys. I promise!
This early, very few people would be inside. She could relax and enjoy her time with Ryanne Wade, the bar’s owner and one of her best friends. Owe my girl the world.
Lyndie would not have survived without her. Time and time again, Ryanne had begged her to leave her abusive husband, but Lyndie had caved to fear and stayed put. When finally she’d agreed to run, letting Ryanne whisk her away, James had found them only a few days later. He’d hurt Ryanne too, and Lyndie had never felt so guilty.
Afterward, she’d stopped asking for help. However, sweet Ryanne had never stopped trying, even when Lyndie had done everything in her power to cut her former stepsister out of her life. One of the most painful things she’d ever done.
But I’m free now. The past is the past.
The door hadn’t yet closed behind her when she collided with a massive wall of a man, gasped, and drew up short.
“I’m so sorry,” she rushed to say out of habit, her heart racing. James had taught her well. Always apologize, or suffer the consequences.
As soon as she realized what she’d done, she gnashed her molars. James was dead, and no one would control her actions or reactions ever again.
The man remained directly in front of her, not backing away or giving her space. A retort brewed at the edge of her tongue as she cast her gaze up, up, and tried not to drool. He was an action figurine come to life. Tall, with wide shoulders, lean hips and muscles galore. So many muscles.
When their gazes collided, she sucked in a breath.
He. Was. Gorgeous. Truly the most magnificent male she’d ever seen. He had close-cropped dark hair, bronze skin, a shadow beard, and pale green eyes. Wintergreen eyes. Frosty. And yet, despite the ice, somehow those eyes smoldered.
He reminded her of… Oh, my gosh! He was like a short-haired, green-eyed version of Jason Momoa. Meow.
Lyndie’s heart raced faster, every pulse point hammering. Her body said: Remember the last time I had an orgasm? Me, either. Let’s change that answer to TONIGHT.
She was turned on, just by looking at a guy?
Never, in all her twenty-six years, had she done the insta-lust thing. Not even with James, her first love, who’d done everything in his power to charm her…only to reveal the monster that lurked underneath his skin after the wedding.
Mr. Wintergreen continued to stare at her while swaying on his feet. He was drunk?
Okay, all right. Bye-bye lust. Ice-cold fingers of dread crawled down her spine. James had always morphed into Mr. Hyde when he’d had a few drinks.
A short, curvy brunette stood at Wintergreen’s side. My opposite. Lyndie was taller, more slender, with red hair.
Brunette wrapped a possessive arm around Wintergreen’s waist, rested her head on his shoulder, and glared daggers at Lyndie. “You’re blocking the door.” More pointedly, she said, “You’re in our way.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Lyndie stepped to the side. He had a girlfriend. No big surprise. Lyndie should beat feet, but she was unable to pull her gaze from the man—can’t look away.
Dang it! Why couldn’t she look away?
“So pretty.” He stretched out his arm as if he intended to—what? Touch Lyndie? Hurt her, perhaps?
A surge of panic spurred her into motion. She jumped back, avoiding contact, and ducked under his arm to scramble away.
Do not look back. Don’t you dare look back. Maybe the guy had meant no harm. Scratch that. Most likely the guy had meant her no harm. Reality didn’t really matter. Mentally and emotionally, Lyndie was too vulnerable to deal with him. With anyone.
Especially a guy with a girlfriend, who had no business ogling Lyndie.
Had he ogled her though? Maybe she’d misread him. One hundred percent possible. If a book were written about her dating history, there would be one page devoted to one man. And the only thing the page would say? BIGGEST MISTAKE EVER!
Her heartbeat didn’t calm until she reached the bar where Ryanne cleaned and dried a line of shot glasses and pretended she hadn’t witnessed whatever the heck had just happened.
Lyndie chose a spot at the edge, as far away from drinking patrons as possible.
Ryanne grinned at her. “Hey, sweet pea.”
“Tell me about the man by the door,” Lyndie said, the slight tremor in her voice pretty humiliating. Ryanne usually knew everything about everyone.
“You mean the guy you might or might not have made an eye baby with?”
“Yes,” she hissed. Denying it would do her no good.
“That is Brock Hudson, manwhore extraordinaire, but harmless. He’s best friends and business partners with Daniel Porter and a jerk named Jude Laurent.”
Their friend Dorothea Mathis had a huge crush on Daniel. Well, she’d had a crush on him before they’d both moved away. Daniel chose to serve in the military, and Dorothea chose to go to college in Oklahoma City.
Now both were back in town.
“Is Daniel single?” Lyndie asked.
Ryanne paused, a glass and rag in hand, and arched a dark brow. “You thinking of going after him?”
“I’m thinking Dorothea might be thinking about going after him. And what tone did I hear when you mentioned the one named Jude? Interest?”
“Who? What? Me? Interest? Please!”
Lyndie snickered. “Yeah. Whatever you say, Mrs. Laurent.”
Now Ryanne rolled her eyes. “I’m never getting married. Nope, not me. I’m going to travel the world as a single woman and do whatever the heck I want.”
Yes! Girl power! Lyndie wanted to do whatever the heck she wanted too.
Since James’s death four years ago, she’d lived by a single motto. On my own or bust. But she hadn’t really done much on her own, had she?
Frowning, Lyndie plopped onto a barstool. As she and Ryanne changed the subject and talked about everything and nothing, the thought—what had she done on her own?—played Whac-A-Mole with her mind. Here I am. See me? Nope, I’m gone. Wait, I’m back!
She had dreams, dang it. Two of them! (1) Having wild, crazy sex, finally achieving the kind of carnal satisfaction found in books and movies. And (2) Becoming a mother. Problem was, she’d never really taken steps to give life to either one.
Tonight her body had let her know it wanted that carnal satisfaction real bad. And not a solo climax that was somehow hollow, but something given by a partner.
It was time. It was past time.
“I’m sorry I’m bailing on you, Ryanne, but I’ve got to go,” she said and smiled as she hopped to her feet.
“You’re smiling.” Her friend’s brow furrowed with confusion even as her eyes projected happiness. “You’re actually smiling.”
“I know. I had an epiphany, and now I’ve got some life planning to do.” In order to give her body what it wanted, she’d have to trust her partner. Otherwise she’d never relax. In order to trust a man, she’d have to do a little heart and mind mending.
Maybe she’d see a therapist again or read self-help books or talk to other women who’d been abused by loved ones. She just…she had to do something. No more coasting along, waiting for life to change.
Time to make change happen!
Whatever work she had to do, she would. She would get in a good place, and for the first time in her life, she would actually live.
One day, her dreams would come true.