Scarlett propped her feet on her coffee table and took a break from writing. She knew bloodthirsty musings over her real life had bled into her creative life when Fiona the Fairy picked up a tree branch and beat the ever living crap out of a tattooed, musical troll. Carousel did want Fiona to be edgier. A homicidal fairy was probably not what they were talking about. But it was satisfying to write.

With the laptop balanced on her lap, she massaged the ache in her temples that radiated to her neck.

That kiss.

She’d initiated it. What was wrong with her? She’d acted like she didn’t have a lick of sense.

Just doin’ what I was paid to do.

It was a lie. Thankfully, she didn’t have to admit the truth because her cell rang.

“Hello, Luanne.”

“Can you talk?”

She rolled her eyes at Luanne’s conspiratorial whisper. “Yes. Gavin’s gone to the barn to help Brody with chores.”

“Really?” Incredulity shot through the phone and stabbed her in the ear.

“Yep. He’d rather shovel horse poop than be in the same room as me. And, let me tell ya, the feeling is entirely mutual.”

Liar.

“What the hell’s going on?” Luanne demanded.

Scarlett considered what to say, but only for a moment. She needed to tell Luanne. “You have to swear you won’t say a word about this to anyone.”

“Okay.”

“Swear.”

“Alright, I swear on the collective souls of NSYNC.”

A smile spread across Scarlett’s face, and her tension ratcheted down somewhat. They’d been swearing on the collective souls of NSYNC since they were twelve years old. She gave Luanne the rundown on her father, Poppy Sims, and Gavin’s buy-off.

“Poppy Sims is a manipulative bitch.”

“You have no idea.” Scarlett had learned that lesson in the absolute worst way.

Scarlett, have you lost weight?

Probably, Poppy, all I’ve eaten for a month is Ramen Noodles. Being a broke college student sucks.

Hey, I’m going to a party tonight. There’ll be tons of food. You can dress up and have a some fun.

Really, Poppy?

Sure. A friend of mine was supposed to go, but she got sick. Here’s the address. When you get there, tell them your name is Heaven Leigh.

Why?

Oh, it’s just something fun we’re all doing.

Okay.

Heaven Leigh? Really? How gullible can one girl be? Heavenly is the last word she’d use to describe that night.

“At least Gavin knows the money’s going to a good cause,” Luanne said.

“Huh?”

“I said, at least your husband knows you’re using the money to help your family.”

“No, he doesn’t. I didn’t tell him. As far as he knows, I’m a greedy gold-digger, and that’s the way I want it. This is a family matter. And Gavin’s not family.” She was counting on the contempt she saw in his glare every time the money was mentioned to serve as a perfect barrier between them. Even so, disappointment kneaded her heart.

“You could have asked me for my help.”

“Honestly, it never occurred to me to ask. This is better. Once it’s paid to the bank, we won’t owe anyone.” She was surprised Luanne offered. Her best friend didn’t like to draw anyone’s attention to her family money. Everyone in Blister County knew the Prices had more money than God. But Scarlett knew that everything Luanne had came at a steep price, thanks to her father.

“How are you gonna explain it to Floyd?”

“He doesn’t really have any idea how much I make on my book sales. I’ll tell him I’ve saved up. He doesn’t have the cash, and this is my home too. He’ll hate it, but he’ll take it. Besides I’m going to pay it off then tell him, so even if he wanted to stop me it’ll be too late.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. I hope it doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass.”

Me too. “It’ll be fine.”

“Soooo, Renegade Bride, how was the sex?”

Scarlett’s headache squeezed tighter. That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? She wished she had an answer. “Don’t call me that.”

Luanne laughed. “It’s a ridiculous name, but oh so funny. Now quit stalling and give me a play by play of your first time.”

Her first time. The sadness and regret she’d held at bay trampled her. She’d held on to her virginity for twenty-five years, guarding it like the Crown Jewels. A giggle bubbled at the thought of her hymen and Queen Elizabeth together. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had opportunites to lose it. But, anytime she’d been tempted, she remembered a devastated seven-year-old girl watching her foolish, sexually irresponsible mom drive away with a man she’d just met at the Stop-N-Save. Nothing killed desire like childhood mama-trauma.

Her first response was to lie to Luanne. She always told the truth, no matter what the consequence. Now she was about to lie to her best friend. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. “Lou, it was—”

The door opened, and a sweaty rock star stood on the threshold.

“Do not come in here,” Scarlett shouted.

“Why the hell not?” He braced his hands on the door jamb and glared at her.

“Luanne, I’ll call you back.” She pointed at Gavin. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“You have horse manure on your jeans.”

“What?” He jumped back like he’d been electrocuted.

She vaulted off the sofa and ran from the room.

“Where are you going? A little help here?”

His curses greeted her when she ran outside with a towel. She doubled over laughing when she saw him. He was holding onto the rail while using the edge of the porch to scrape the manure off his jeans. It was on his calves so every time he bent to his task he smeared it up the back of his thigh.

“Stop.” She fought for control but lost to another round of giggles.

“What? Why? God, it stinks. Quit laughing.” He contorted himself around to try and inspect the damage.

“You’ve smeared it up your legs.”

“This is bullshit.” He kicked off his boots.

“Not bull. Horse.” The hilarity took her again.

Scarlett’s laughter sputtered to a stop when he went for the buttons of his jeans. “Wha…what are you doing?”

“Taking off these shitty pants. What do you think I’m doing?” Buttons undone, he carefully slid them off, revealing a pair of Jockey low-rise trunks and tanned, muscled legs. He should have looked ridiculous standing there in his black underwear, t-shirt, and socks, but he didn’t. Not one little bit. Her mouth went as dry as the Mojave Desert.

When he bent to remove his socks, she fought the urge to fall to her knees and worship his incredible backside.

He looked down his body. “I need a shower.”

“Yeah.” She wished that hadn’t sounded so dreamy.

He rested his hands on his hips and shot her a cocky grin. “You like what you see?”

She regained her composure and frowned. “Not exactly.”

“Liar.” He amped up the wattage on his smile.

“No. Not lying.” She bit her lip.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“You have a spot of poop on your…” She pointed to his forehead.

He gagged and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

She looked away. She was a sympathetic puker. If Gavin started barfing, she might follow suit.

There was horse dung all over her porch. His muffled grumbles followed her down the steps as she retrieved the garden hose. The old faucet squeaked when she twisted it on, and cold water poured out. She covered the end of the hose with her thumb to make a more pressurized spray. Geez, he’d made a mess. She ignored his griping and sprayed the steps then turned to wash the porch and froze.

He’d taken his shirt off and was using it to wipe his face. Oh. My. Lord. He was standing there in nothing but his underwear. Her fingers itched to stroke the golden skin that provided a perfect canvas for his amazing ink. A tattoo of a lock with a chain wrapped around it peeked above the waistband of his underwear, below his navel and above his… Now, she was drooling.

She yearned to explore the hills and valleys of his abs—with her tongue. Oh, sweet Lord, they were incredible abs. The average man didn’t have a sculpted six-pack. Then again, he was anything but average.

A tsunami of desire rolled through her senses and crested low in her belly. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand. The hose hung limp in her hand, cold water pooled on the ground, and blood pounded in her ears. She needed to look away, but her iron-clad willpower failed her.

Suddenly, she was angry, angrier than she’d ever been in her life. No. Not angry. Furious at his hotness, his sexy tattoos, his stupid black trunks, and her incomprehensible reaction to it all.

She snapped.

When she lifted her arm, the water hit him square in the chest. He stumbled backward, and she kept spraying. She couldn’t have lowered the hose if she’d wanted to. And, she didn’t want to.

“What the fu—?” A mouthful of water shut him up in a hurry.

“Stop saying that!” she shouted.

“What. The. Fuck?” Gavin bellowed.

“Stop it.”

“This is for the first drink you bought me.” She sprayed him in the face.

“For insisting we get married.” The stream moved to his chest.

“Your stupid attorney.” Back to his face.

“Comments made in the truck.” His chest again.

“And for my lost underwear.” She nailed him in the crotch.

There was a distinct possibility she’d turned the bend, never to return. She was appalled at her behavior but helpless to stop. Crazy felt too good.

* * *

“Have you lost your mind?” Water choked him as he took a shot in the mouth. Righteous indignation glowed in her expressive eyes. She was a Bible-thumping Terminator, and he was her quarry. The image of this lovely avenging angel coming after him with a garden hose was too funny to believe. This would never happen in L.A. Of course, he wouldn’t have horse shit from one end of his body to the other in L.A., either. He laughed and a burst of water hit him in the face.

When he stopped sputtering, he gave her a half-hearted glare. “I’m warning you. Stop now, and nobody gets hurt.” Her only response was to go for his crotch. Again. She was vicious and seemed to be opposed to him reproducing.

Enough was enough. When she was less than an arm’s length away, he pounced. They wrestled for the hose. Impressive. The girl had spunk.

She clung to the hose, but he had some wicked moves of his own and wrenched it from her grip. The water was his. Game on.

A squeal exploded from her when the freakin’ cold water poured over the sweet body that’d caused him more hard-ons in the last two days than in the last couple of months.

She screamed. He laughed. “Invigorating, isn’t it? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” Her only response was to scream louder. She twisted, turned, bent and bucked. “There’s no escape, wild girl. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”

Her shirt rode up, and wet skin rubbed against his bare belly. He could see her pale pink bra through her wet shirt, the thin fabric clinging to her breast. Damn, cold water and a see-through bra—sexy as hell. But it was also hilarious.

When had he had this much fun while fully clothed? Of course, naked and wet was fun, too. It could happen if he could stop laughing long enough to get her undressed.

Her screams turned to laughter as he slipped and they almost went down. His heart did a funny thump thing.

They clung to each other soaking wet, laughing madly and panting hard.

“What the fuck?” he gasped.

She stepped away from him and pushed back the sodden mess of her hair, still giggling. “Could you please refrain from using that word?”

He dropped the hose and bent over with his hands on his knees. It was an effort to catch his breath. He looked up at her from beneath his hair and grinned. “All you had to do was ask.”

She shoved him. He caught himself on the porch rail. “You’re a terrible person. I’d hoped you weren’t. But you totally are.”

There wasn’t any heat in her words. They were still playing. She took the towel she’d brought for him and her tight round ass disappeared into the house.

Damn. He’d known a lot of outrageous women in his day. But his straight-edged, pillar of society, goody-two-shoes wife was quite possibly the most dangerous woman he’d ever known.