Chapter Two

Will

As the sun begins its descent, I turn my horse back the direction of the barn and I think about the girl.

The agency sent all sorts of files with pictures and biographical information, like they thought I wanted to sort through that pile of lies. The pictures might be accurate, but the personal info was nothing but a load of bull. I read one of the girl’s profiles and was ready to call the whole thing off.

Candice or Candy or some such shit, said she liked walks on the beach and quiet evenings at home. Right. What she liked was cosmetic surgery. A lot. I’m pretty sure she had her plastic surgeon on speed dial. Her smile was more grimace than smile and if she was twenty-two, well, so was I.

And I’m not.

I’m thirty-two.

I told them to send me someone real. I’ll take authentic over plastic any day of the week. I didn’t want to sort through the hundreds of applicants and I told them they could go ahead and pick out a potential Mrs. Branson for me. They could damn well earn the twenty-grand finder’s fee I was paying.

They sent me a file and a note that she’d come this week. I haven’t looked through the file. I want to see her first. Look in her eye. I’ll know then if she’s the right one.

All I want is a woman who is reasonably smart, reasonably attractive and most of all gets along with Ben. It’s also important Ben likes her. I’ve raised my nephew since he was one, when my sister and brother-in-law died. He’s four now.

The one time I mentioned Ben to a woman I took out for dinner, she’d told me flat-out she thought he should go to boarding school when he was old enough. Like eight years old, she suggested. Who sends an eight-year-old boy to boarding school? Not anyone I’d want around, that’s for damn sure.

The woman I marry doesn’t need to be a virgin. I won’t hold it against her if she has a little experience. In fact, I like the idea. I like things a little rough and don’t want her complaining about my requirements in the bedroom.

Everyone tries to warn me off, talking about gold-diggers. I suppose there are women who get into this for a quick buck, but there are others who sign up for other reasons. Maybe they want to skip dating. I don’t care. If Ben and I like her and she likes us, we’ll figure out the rest. I’ll spend my days just trying to spoil her silly.

I have plenty of money. A fortune. The money is a blessing and a curse. I don’t spend much except on my nephew.

The girl signed a confidentiality agreement. I don’t want her to share anything about my life with the outside world. She’ll come to the ranch for a week. If we’re compatible we’ll proceed with the marriage. The agency said I can’t touch her until we’re married and by that they mean fuck her, because their reputation matters, and they don’t want people to think they’re running a prostitution ring.

Right.

Do they really think I’m not going to sample the whiskey before I buy the barrel?

I don’t even know the girl’s name, but I will by the end of the evening, maybe a whole lot more. My blood stirs just thinking about having a woman in my bed again. It’s been a while. I like to keep to myself but the nights out here get lonely. This arrangement is perfect. Both of us understand exactly what we’re signing up for.

If Ben likes her and she checks out in the other areas, the arrangement should be perfect.

I trot my horse up an arroyo and down a ridge that runs parallel to the fence line. I wonder if this girl rides horses. Would she want to learn? The ranch is secluded and a good distance from town. Not everyone likes to be so far from things.

Ranch life is particularly hard on women. Davy’s wife likes the ranch well enough but also made a habit of leaving for a week here and there to visit her sister in Florida. Plenty of the other ranch hands’ wives did the same, escaping the solitude for a few days of hustle and bustle in a city.

My mother loved the ranch, but maybe that was because she and my father had such a strong marriage. They were each other’s best friend. I can’t think of any other couple that were as close as my mother and father. When Mom passed away, Dad followed the next day.

No, I don’t expect to find that sort of relationship. Not with a woman who was basically selling herself.

When I get to the barn, I dismount and hand the reins to one of the new cowboys, hired to round up cattle from the back acreage.

“Is Davy back?” I ask the young man.

“Yes, sir. He got back from town twenty minutes ago.”

I turn to the house, the gravel crunching under my boots as I walk. Ben and his nanny sit on a porch swing and he waves to me. They’re reading and swinging gently.

“You being a good boy?”

He gives me a thumbs up.

The nanny, Mrs. Gustafson, holds up the book. “Robin Hood.”

She gives me a cheerful smile, despite the fact she’s probably reading the book for the fifth time this week. She’s a saint, part of the team of people that help me with Ben. The most important thing to me is that the girl loves Ben and Ben loves her. But, with all the help, we can make it work even if the girl is just a good part-time mom.

“Can I ride Dusty later?” Ben asks.

I stop at the top of the steps. Ben slips from the porch swing. He runs and the Superman cape I bought him flutters behind him. When he reaches me, he wraps his arms around my legs and looks up at me, pleadingly. That angelic expression is trouble. I already can’t say no to him. What’s it going to be like when he’s older and asking for his own truck, or for money to buy land, or flying lessons?

“Please, Daddy.”

“Sure thing, buddy. We’ll go for a ride before dinner.” I tousle his hair and turn my attention to the nanny. “I have company.”

Mrs. Gustafson sits up a little straighter. “Yes, I saw her arrive with Davy.”

She smiles. Her eyes spark. She’d love to be a fly on the wall when I meet the girl. How many times has she sighed and moped and talked about poor Ben needing a mother-figure, not just a nanny. The minute I turn my back, she’ll probably rub her hands together and run off to gossip with my cook.

“This will be your first evening together.” She tries to sound casual but her smile is as wide as a country mile.

“I’d like to have dinner with her tonight.”

“Of course. Dinner. Sounds romantic.”

“I hope so. I’d like to have dinner with just the two of us tonight.”

She sinks back in the swing. “I see.”

“I’d like to wait a little before I make introductions.”

“Certainly.” She frowns and purses her lips. “That sounds prudent.”

Mrs. Gustafson would love to come to dinner and I can just imagine her scrutinizing the girl. Ben would have a million questions, and he’d try to ask every one of them. No, I don’t want them in the dining room at supper tonight. I want to have the girl all to myself.

I bend down and kiss Ben on the top of his head. “Go finish your story. We’ll have fun this afternoon.”

He smiles and returns to the porch swing. I draw a deep breath and turn to go inside. Slamming the door, I enter my house and stride down the hall to my living room. But it’s empty.

I rub my hand over the side of my face, absentmindedly, and realize what I’m doing when my fingers brush the ragged scars. These fucking scars. I got them three years ago in a plane crash that practically wiped out my family. Ben and I were the only members of the Branson family to survive. I thank God, every day, that he didn’t get injured.

I never have gotten used to the ridged scars on the side of my face. They feel like the skin of some sea creature. I can hardly look in the mirror, it’s so ugly. People react too, and I can’t blame them. I look like I was in an accident in a chemistry lab. It just pisses me off when I see their reactions. I can’t get used to it, probably never will. A burn of fury crawls across my mind as I imagine the girl recoiling in fear or disgust. I curl my hands into fists and let a growl loosen from my chest as I turn into my study.

Davy stands by the window, sipping a glass of scotch he’d helped himself to. The girl stands at the other window, looking out. The room is silent, neither of them noticing me in the doorway and I have a moment to study her.

She’s beautiful.

Stunning.

My breath stops. I know nothing about her, this woman standing in my house, who agreed to this bride audition. The only thing I knew about her 30 seconds ago was how much it cost me to have her come here. But now, immediately, I know a lot, and I have a feeling this might work out. Fucking crazy, but something about seeing her there makes me think that.

She is trim, and young, and her blonde hair hangs past her shoulders almost to the small of her back. When she turns and smiles, she’s so pretty it hits me hard, like I’ve been kicked by a mule.

I’m vaguely aware of Davy’s laugh.

“Mr. Branson,” she says. “Your ranch takes my breath away. I feel like I’m dreaming and any minute I’m going to wake up back in my one-bedroom apartment with a view of a brick wall.”

She laughs at her own joke and extends her hand. “I’m Rebecca Bloom. Pleased to meet you.”

I lift my hand and take hers in mine. Her hand is small and soft and sends a jolt of searing awareness up my arm. Lust sparks and flares, burning my blood. Her eyes are blue, the color of a summer sky. Her lips are full and make me want to taste them, to pull her into my arms and kiss her. I could. I’d be within my rights after the money I paid, but I don’t want the first kiss to be in front of my foreman.

If she notices my scars, she shows no sign of being bothered. Nothing makes me angrier than some do-gooder, making an obvious effort to ignore the scars, but I’m too distracted by the soft curves under her silk blouse to care. She’s all winning smiles and cheerfulness but I see the way her pulse beats at the base of her neck. She’s skittish. I’d like to wind her long hair around my fist and tug her head back. I’d kiss her there too. Bite and mark her.

I realize I’ve been shaking her hand for too damn long and I let go of it like it’s hot.

“Your flight went well?” Fuck, I hate small talk. Almost as much as I hate planes.

“Lovely. No turbulence. I read all the way and before I knew it we were preparing to land.”

Her eyes sparkle and a smile plays along her lips.

My gaze drifts down her slim neck to a string of pearls. “Who gave you the pearls?”

I step closer, lift the strand and rub the pearls between my thumb and forefinger. Her smile vanishes and she blinks several times rapidly. It’s taken me about three seconds to decide she’s my girl.

A shot of jealousy floods my system as I imagine some former boyfriend giving my girl jewelry. She shouldn’t be wearing anything other than pieces I’ve picked out for her. From now on, I’ll be the person who drapes her in jewels. She’s mine. I knew it the moment she turned to face me.

“My grandfather.” She looks panicked. “They used to belong to my grandmother. Her name was Pearl. So he gave her pearls. Because of her…name.”

I drop the strand and nod. “All right. I’ll let you wear them, if they came from your grandfather.”

Her jaw drops and snaps shut. “Right. Okay.”

There’s one thing she needs to understand right from the beginning: I’m in charge. If I tell her she can’t wear something, she’s not going to wear it. I wasn’t planning to, but I just tested her, and she passed. She offers up no argument, she just looks at me for a moment. Her surprised look fades, giving way to a flicker that strikes me as attraction. It’s not a fake, syrupy-sweet interest that I get from plenty of women. It’s a subtle heat.

I cross the room to pour myself a glass of whiskey, needing to get some distance from Rebecca. I’m supposed to be a gentleman and keep my hands off her, at least to start off, but I know that won’t be happening. Damn, if she doesn’t make me want her. A soft, floral scent fills the air and that doesn’t help either.

Davy grins at me and lifts his glass. “Silver-tongued devil. I never knew how charming you could be.”

“Don’t you have something to do? Somewhere to be?” I glare at him. “Other than here drinking my liquor.”

“I reckon I do. Nothing as interesting as this, though, that’s for sure.”

“Go on,” I mutter, pouring myself a drink. “Leave us be.”

He drains his glass. “Don’t pounce on her,” he says softly so she can’t hear.

“I won’t. Not the first night.”

Davy strolls out of the office nodding politely at Rebecca. “Ma’am. I hope you enjoy your stay at the ranch.”

She looks from him to me and back to him again. “You’re leaving?”

“I got horses to feed.”

Biting her lip, she gives a quick jerk of her head. “Certainly. I’m sure there’s always so much to do at a big ranch. Many things. Ranch things.” She waves her hand in the air and gives a breathless laugh. “I’m babbling. Ignore me.”

He disappears out of the room and a moment later the front door opens and closes.

“Would you like something to drink?”

From her reaction, you’d think I’d just offered her prohibition rotgut. She pales and a hand flies up. “No! I can’t drink. Not here.”

I don’t know what that means but I’m not going to let it stop me. I’ve never been around a woman like her. I’m always in control. I fucking live for control and this woman’s making my self-control slip from my fingers like desert sand.

“No drinking on the job,” she says in a let’s-be-reasonable tone. “I don’t want to get fired before I’ve even unpacked my bags.”

Her laugh is tight, nervous, and even though I’m on the other side of the room, she backs away from me a few steps.

“You’d be fired?” I ask.

“So fired.” She bobs her head. “Out the door. And don’t let it hit you on the backside.”

“Backside?” It takes me a minute to understand what the hell she’s talking about. Who calls their ass a backside? This girl, apparently. She looks as proper as a Sunday school teacher and I wonder if that’s an act she’s worked on.

Her silk blouse is buttoned a little too high, but I’ll forgive that, because her skirt hugs sexy, curvy hips. Her legs taper beautifully to the almost-sensible heels she’s wearing. I’d prefer to see her in a pair of strappy heels, ones with an inch or two more of height.

A few girls wore some sort of get-up in their pictures. Schoolgirl. Librarian. Leather corsets. Personally, I hate that shit, but this innocent-girl-look is working for me just fine.

“I’m ready to get to business, Mr. Branson. Anytime you’d like to start is fine with me.”

I take a swallow of my drink trying to ignore the lust licking its way down my spine. I’d like to start all right. I’d start by tossing her onto the couch and stripping her bare. I should take her to the bedroom but she’s fucking with my mind in a powerful way. She’s the perfect mix of innocent and mind-blowingly sexy. I wonder how long she intends to keep up this act.

My preference in women runs along the line of a little more experienced, but for her I’d make an exception.

The aroma of dinner cooking wafts into the study. My cook is making a special dinner for Rebecca and me, and I remind myself that this is supposed to be a civilized process. I can’t just throw this sweet, young thing over my shoulder and storm upstairs like some deranged Viking. I need to put on the brakes.

“Why don’t I show you around so you can get a feel for the ranch?”

She smiles with a look of relief in her eyes. “I would love to see your property.”

“After that we’ll have supper.”

“That sounds perfect. And then if it’s not too much trouble I’d like to see the last three years’ tax returns.”

I stare in disbelief, wondering if I heard her correctly.

She curls her fingers into a small fist and makes a little rah-rah punching motion. “I’m ready to cut to the chase.”

It takes a hell of a lot of nerve to come right out and ask for tax returns, but I have to admire her for her gumption. If I want to sample the goods, it makes sense she wants to see what I bring to the table.

“Damn, well, if you’re that eager, I guess two can play this game.”

She laughs again, shaking her head, a shadow of confusion passing behind her eyes.

“How about we step outside? We can talk a little more while I show you the view from the terrace.”

“That sounds lovely.”

I drain my glass and lead her outside. I set my hand on the small of her back. She flinches but doesn’t pull away and I guide her to the railing. The view from here is breath-taking. When I built the house, I picked this spot because you can see for thirty miles in every direction.

I watch her face and hear her soft gasp. “My gosh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so pretty.”

Seeing her face light up makes something warm inside my chest. A hard knot of anger unravels just a bit. Even though she’s made it clear this is a business deal, I can’t help wanting to stare at her and drink my fill.

“I’m sure I’ve never seen anything quite so pretty either.” The look she gives me is part shock and part dismay. “Haven’t your other clients told you that?”

“No, sir,” she says softly. “Thank you.”

The blush that creeps along her neck is no act. I’m certain Miss Rebecca Bloom is a little bit of a liar, but she blushes beautifully. Earlier, I’d pictured tearing her little power suit from her and sinking into her, and reveling in her sweet l body until I couldn’t think anymore. Now, I imagine something slower, more leisurely. I’d like to see that blush again and I’d kiss every inch of it until she begged for more.