Carter had gone to his loft above the barn to dump his luggage and shower, intending to join the team mixer to at least make an appearance, but as he began to unpack, he finally got a call from Charles Palmer, Dillon’s father. He’d left four messages for the man over the past few days and he’d finally deemed to call him back.

Carter was eager to get this conversation over with. Dillon having anything to do with his company from now on was unacceptable.

“This is Carter Daniels,” he said, picking up the call.

“Carter, it’s Charles,” said a gravelly voice. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all,” Carter said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He hadn’t gotten to where he was without knowing how to handle all kinds of business, but Charles was the kind that most annoyed him. He was the type that believed—and encouraged—nepotism. Carter had built his own empire quite literally with his own two hands. He was self-made. Charles Palmer’s father handed him a company position when he was twenty-five, and he was trying to do the same thing for his own son—except he was trying to do it with Carter’s company.

“I’m glad you were able to call me back,” Carter continued. “I have some concerns.”

“Concerns?” Charles asked sharply.

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware that Dillon is in town. I believe you sent him down to check to see how the transition is going?” Carter asked, the question pointed, since he’d never received a call from Charles giving him the heads-up. Common courtesy went a long way with him. But he had a feeling that Charles had something up his sleeve—plans to try to pressure the board to take the company in another direction, and sending Dillon in as his little spy was part of that. But Carter was done playing games—and he wasn’t going to let the Palmers mess with Nat when she took over as CEO.

“I just wanted to make sure things go smoothly,” Charles blustered, clearly not liking being called out, even subtly.

“Of course,” Carter said. “Though a call to me to check in on the progress of the move is all you really need to do. I’m happy to fill you in on all our progress whenever you want.”

“You’re a busy man,” Charles said dismissively. “Anyway, the reason I was calling…”

“I’m not finished,” Carter said, his voice flattening. “Your son is a problem, Charles.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Dillon’s behavior,” Carter said. “He’s entitled, rude, dismissive of others, and frankly, he’s acted in a way that makes my female employees uncomfortable. I’ve received a very serious complaint about him and I’m dealing with it accordingly.”

“Now wait a minute,” Charles said. “My boy has a strong character. He’s built to be in charge, like a man’s supposed to be. If some woman has a problem with him—“

“I have a problem with him,” Carter interrupted, deadly serious. “As a man who actually respects women and my employees, I have a big problem with his disrespect for boundaries and his sexism. I also have a big problem with it as an employer, and so should you, because your boy is a walking, talking, sexual-harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”

He could practically see Charles gaping like a fish at the phone. It wasn’t every day that someone insulted Charles Palmer’s son to his face, but Carter didn’t care. Dillon had spent a total of two weeks at the New York office when he’d accompanied Charles to check out his new asset. Now that Carter knew he’d trapped Zoe in the toy closet during that time, he was furious. Add in this trip to Portland—and the way Dillon had cornered Maddy just like he’d done with Zoe—and he was ready to burn some bridges. He was not risking his employees’ well being or comfort, and he wasn’t risking his company.

“He’s out, Charles,” Carter said. “If he steps foot in my offices again, security will be escorting him out.”

“You can’t do this!” Charles shouted into the phone.

“I entered in a business relationship with you,” Carter said. “Not your son. If you want to change the nature of our business relationship because of Dillon’s ban from my company, you are free to contact my lawyers.”

“My son is a good boy!” Charles roared, seemingly going from zero to sixty in seconds.

“He’s an immature, rampant misogynist who seems to think that working at a sex toy company should be a non-stop orgy and place to pick up women,” Carter said. “He doesn’t respect women, he doesn’t respect men, he doesn’t respect you, and if he actually took a good look in the mirror and had any sense, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t respect himself. That boy of yours needs a lot of work before he becomes a man. I hope he puts in the work. But he’s not doing it anywhere near my business.”

“This isn’t the end of this!” Charles yelled so loud into the phone that Carter had to draw it away from his ear.

“As I said, you can call my lawyers about me buying you out. Otherwise, I’ll see you at the next board meeting.”

Before Charles could say another word, Carter hung up and tossed his phone on the bed. He glanced over the clock on the nightstand, realizing he’d missed the first half of the mixer, and everyone was probably tipsy or headed off to unpack and rest before dinner now.

He took a shower and sent an email off to his lawyers, giving them a heads-up that Charles might be coming around to express his ire. Carter wasn’t too worried—if Charles wanted to be bought out of his shares, he’d find a way to make it happen. He could sell some properties and shuffle some things around. The Pearl line’s release had been very good to him. And there wasn’t much Charles could do. Carter was the majority shareholder of Purely Pleasure, and the rest of his board had always been very loyal.

Feeling relieved that the Dillon problem was solved, Carter was getting ready for dinner when he got another call, this time from his mom, with good news: the doctors had given them the go-ahead to tell Olivia about the transplant.

With a tight, nervous feeling in his stomach, he’d agreed to do a Skype call to tell her the next day in between the day’s activities with the team.

“This is so good, sweetheart,” his mom told him, and he could tell from her choked words that she’d been crying. “You’re such a good brother.”

“It’s gonna all be okay,” he assured her, sending a mental plea to the heavens that it would be. “Go celebrate with Dad. I’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll tell her together over skype.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

He lay on his bed, unable to summon the energy to get up and go in to dinner. His introverted side was kicking in, and now, with the big news that tomorrow, he’d be telling Olivia sinking in, he ended up ordering a burger from the kitchen and having it sent over. He knew Zoe had the whole retreat well in hand, and he’d find Rhett tomorrow to say hi and catch up.

He dozed off after eating his burger, and when he jerked awake, it was dark outside. Disoriented, he blinked in the darkness, trying to place what had woken him. And then he heard it: feminine laughter, floating through the French doors that opened up onto the north barn’s upper deck. He’d left them cracked open so he could smell the rain before he fell asleep.

More laughter. And splashing. Where was it coming from?

He got to his feet, moving toward the balcony and the sound. The night sky was a murky gray, lit by glimpses of the full moon persistently trying to shine through the coming storm.

“… I think I need more vodka if we’re gonna talk about that!”

His head whipped to the side. That was Maddy’s voice. He went over to the far end of the balcony, and as the clouds shifted, the moonlight fell against the ground, lighting the way. There was a little stone path behind the barn, with a sign that said:

HOT TUB THIS WAY—>

The ladies had to be in one of the outdoor hot tubs that were fed by River Run’s underground hot springs. He couldn’t see it in the darkness, but it must be close enough he could hear their whole conversation now that he was outside.

He really should go back in.

“Maddy, after your last breakup, you get all the vodka,” he heard Nat say.

Or maybe he should stay and listen a little.

“Oh, no, was it bad?” That was Liberty’s voice.

“Oh, God, don’t even get me started,” Maddy groaned.

“Tell them what he said!” Nat was giggling a little. “He’s such a horrible ass, you guys. You should give me his address, Maddy. I’ll go kick his ass.”

“What did he say?” Liberty asked.

“You’re going to laugh, ladies,” Maddy said. “After over six months of barely any sex, putting me down in that really subtle way where you’re constantly wondering if he actually means it or if he’s joking.”

“I’ve been there,” Nat said.

“So on top of that and basically rejecting me all over the place? He broke up with me because, and I quote, ‘Your libido is out of control for a girl.’”

“No!”

“Yup!”

“Oh. My. God.”

“Nat, I will absolutely join you in kicking this asshat’s… ass!’ More laughter and clinking of glasses.

“I will be succinct in my response,” said a voice that was unmistakably the cultured tones of Dr. Renee Kemp. “Fuck that guy.”

“You’re way better off without him,” Nat added. “Just because you had mismatched libidos didn’t mean he had any right shaming you.”

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with having a low libido. But there’s also nothing wrong with being horny, am I right?” Liberty asked archly, and the women dissolved into laughter again.

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t kept implying I was a slut for, like, six months,” Maddy said. “And then, when we finally broke up, he actually called me that. But joke’s on him! Because now I have a job at a sex toy company.” The women exploded in laughter.

“Oh my God, I bet his head would combust if he knew that,” Nat said.

“Forget kicking his ass,” Liberty said. “I will send him a box of our finest cock sleeves, with a note stuffed with glitter: Maddy sends her best. She’s enjoying her new job as orgasm peddler extraordinaire. Hugs and kisses, asshole!”

The ladies howled with laughter.

Carter realized his fingers were curled around the balcony rail and he was breathing hard.

He shouldn’t be eavesdropping like this—he’d already heard way too much. He pushed away from the balcony railing, going back inside and closing the French doors firmly.

But while he could shut out the huskiness of Maddy’s laugh floating through the air, he couldn’t shut out what he’d overheard.

Your libido is out of control for a girl.

Who the hell even said that? Or thought that? What did it even mean?

What the hell was wrong with Maddy’s ex, that he wouldn’t want that? That he wouldn’t want her? That he’d slut-shame her like that? Carter felt like tracking the guy down and punching him.

God, this was not going to help his whole avoid Maddy plan. Now all he could think about was satisfying that high libido of hers.

His mind went wild with the possibilities. Of Maddy, panting, damp with sweat and desire, twisting underneath him, begging him, please, baby, make me come once more.

Carter’s head thunked against the headboard, his hand already resting against the waistband of his boxers, his dick lifting against the material at the thought. How many times could he make her come in one night? How many times before she was too sensitive? Until she was fully sated? How many hours could she go, shivering and pulsing on his cock, his fingers digging into her delectably thick hips, guiding her as she rode him until she’d finally come enough?

How long had it been since a man had really, truly satisfied her?

He had been telling himself that he could ignore it. That it was just attraction. That it was just because she ticked off all his boxes physically. He’d always had a thing for Xena Warrior Princess types.

But then they kept having conversations. And those conversations kept telling him the thing he was trying to ignore: that they had a lot in common, that they liked the same things, that she was kind of a huge dork when she let her guard down, and that she was sweet and kind and giving and willing to do anything for the people she loved.

She was the type of woman a man should worship.

She was the type of woman a man should commit to.

She was the type of woman he’d love beyond reason.

Fuck.

How was he supposed to resist?