Jack indulged in the libido pulling him to Lola like a tractor. From the moment she told him when to do it, he sabotaged his own desire, delayed his pleasure. All to show her he was not some boy toy from Hollywood Hills like Tokyo or Beijing or whatever the fuck his name was. He took orders from no one.

He claimed her mouth as he wanted from the beginning, with intensive fury. And damn the woman, she matched the strong strokes of his tongue, the nibbling of his teeth—her fingernails dug into his hair, grabbing him close.

A series of soft moans sliced the air, and the responsiveness in her voice made his blood as thick as a rodeo rope.

He wanted to touch her, to feel her, but not on the top of a kitchen table. Lifting her, he held her close, and enjoyed the way her legs clenched around him. Without disengaging the kiss, he carried her in his arms, and headed for the stairs. Lola’s hands left his hair and slid down his chest, over sensitizing him anywhere they touched.

Panting, she broke away from his lips and kissed his neck, then glided her tongue over his heated skin. Closing his eyes, he nearly lost his balance between the steps, his legs shifting from one side to the other, a light sway that could have been worse mid-way up the staircase. Her carefree giggle brought him undone.

He placed her on the rail, her upper body supported by the brick wall. Groaning, he zipped down and plunged himself inside her.

With a gasp, she nipped his neck harder, the graze of her teeth sharp against his skin. He turned his face away from her, and tipped her chin to get a glimpse of her expression. Gleams of bright light sparked in the darkness of her partly opened espresso eyes. She grasped the rails below her hips, and he withdrew himself from her, only to return to her slick walls with a powerful thrust.

Her inner muscles clenched around his length, and he didn’t move for a second, knowing if he did, all was lost. He’d be lost. She arched her body toward him, and, ignoring his unspoken message to stay still, wrapped him closer with her legs. No. Again, she wanted to dictate the pace. He couldn’t let her win, not when she’d won so much already. More than she’d ever realize.

Determined not to let her run the show, he pulled his cock almost all the way out, and her frustrated sigh egged him on. He caught a whiff of her musky scent and rammed hard into her.

Adrenaline pumped in his veins, and her orgasm ripped his remaining reluctance into shreds. Desire and resentment fused into one last plunge. With a loud groan, he succumbed to the spasms riding fiercely through his body, but he refused to call her name as he came inside her.

An immeasurable amount of time flew by as they recovered from their lovemaking. His knees itched to buckle, the aftereffect leaving him weak. The energy that bombarded him earlier faded. He gazed at her, beautiful with her eyes still semi-closed and breathless. He lifted his left hand and swept the damp hair away from her sweat-slicked face. The pragmatic action turned into a lingering caress. His fingers outlined her nose, cheeks, and chin as if his body had a more accurate instinct than his own, wanting to store the memory of her in his skin, his bone, his gut.

He dropped his hand to his side. The grip of her legs around him loosened, and he carefully let go of her. Her high heels knocked the timber floor, and she straightened her posture. She quirked her lips up, and the coy smile didn’t resemble the others he’d seen over the past couple of days. Challenging. Confident.

“Some things never change,” she said. “Making it to the bedroom in time was never our strong suit.”

The lightness in her tone made him uncomfortable. A cold knot tied his stomach. Did she always react with such casualness after sex nowadays? Thinking about the men she’d slept with after their separation brought an unwanted, familiar taste of bile to his throat.

“Do you blame me for what just happened?” she asked.

“No,” he muttered. I blame my two year sex abstinence. Stepping away from her, he started to button his shirt. “It’s like you once said, we’re good at fighting and fucking.” The words, from a much darker time, exited his mouth before he rationalized them.

The contours of her face hardened, and the coy smile evaporated as she pressed her lips together and gave a light shake of her head. Within a couple of seconds, the woman he was accustomed to returned, raised her eyebrow and gave him a pout. “I trust you to bring out the happy memories at the most convenient times,” she said, overly formal, like she did whenever she fumed inside.

“I guess some things never change.”

“Good.” She turned around and climbed the rest of the steps, and he watched her leave. He curled and uncurled his hands to keep them from reaching out to her.

Lola had no right to be mad at him. Unlike her, he sucked at turning sex into a sophisticated escapade, and downplaying it. She should hate him, and by all counts, he should continue on hating her. Hating her was how he’d stopped loving her.

But how in the hell would he stop wanting her?

Lola peaked her nose out of her bedroom. She glanced to the right then the left, and saw the door to Jack’s bedroom at the end of the hall shut.

Phew. She sighed with relief, and made her way downstairs. The last thing she wanted was to face him in broad daylight less than ten hours after their, er, unfortunate relapse on the staircase.

Her body still tingled in all the secret places, her heart thumping at the idea she’d been his once again… for one night. Not even that—one screw.

Sunlight skimmed through the blinds, spilling over the steps. Glancing at the place where they’d done it the night before, a hot wave spread across her face. God, she’d been so stupid to seek refuge in his body, his scent, his lips.

He’d been a jerk at the end. The same ignorant, narrow-minded yahoo she’d married. But until reality had hit her after he’d been such an asshole, she’d writhed and melted in his arms with reckless abandon because he’d always been able to make her weak for him… and that made her believe he actually cared too. The memory of their heated encounters sent blood rushing through her veins all the way to her most sensitive spot.

No. No. No. She moved faster, reminding herself again that Jack was an ignorant, narrow-minded yahoo, and stepped into the kitchen.

“Morning.”

Absorbed in her thoughts, she nearly jumped at the voice, then caught sight of a middle-aged woman of average height whose skin was a couple shades darker than Lola’s. Strands of gray hair peppered her brown updo. “Oh, sorry,” Lola said. “You startled me.”

“I’m Consuelo, the housekeeper.”

“Right.” Lola offered her hand, which Consuelo took while offering Lola a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, then turned her attention back to the eggs crackling on the pan.

With a sidelong glance Lola saw them. The eggs were perfect. The garlicky smell danced its way into her nostrils, a painful reminder of her to-do list.

“I hope you like huevos rancheros.” Consuelo grabbed the spatula from a spoon rest next to the stove. “I asked Jack what you liked, and he said eggs.”

“Thanks. I usually try to make my own eggs.” Try being the imperative word.

“Nonsense, child.” Consuelo flipped the eggs and signaled for her to sit with a hand gesture. “Eggs are my specialty. Along with anything buttery.”

Lola pulled a chair out and sat. She glided her hands on the table, remembering the previous night. Memories of him tasting her, kissing her, impaling her… her underwear! Anxiety cooled her thoughts. Where were her panties? She looked under the table, and her gaze roamed the whole kitchen. After their relapse, it hadn’t even occurred to her to come back and fetch her G-string. Her mind had been too preoccupied with how small he’d made her feel afterward. Cruelty served Jack-style. Fries optional.

Consuelo placed a dish with two warm tortillas and an exquisite omelet in front of her, along with a glass filled with orange juice. Oh. My. God. Did the housekeeper find it?

She cleared her throat. “You know, Consuelo, I washed some clothes last night and might have dropped a couple of pieces on my way to the laundry room…” Turning around to catch sight of any reaction on the woman’s face, she lifted her head. “Did you by any chance . . . see anything?”

Consuelo scratched her chin. “You mean like jeans and shirts? Or socks?”

“Maybe a couple of socks.” She cleared her throat. “Oh, and some underwear.”

Consuelo narrowed her eyes for an instant. “I saw something… a tiny piece of fabric I put inside the machine just in case. It was so small though, it could be a sheer napkin.”

Heat filled Lola’s cheeks. “Thank you. I guess no socks then.”

“No socks. They’ll turn up though, mija.” Consuelo winked at her. “They always do.”

Lola wrapped the corn tortilla and lifted it to her mouth. The seasoned eggs, smothered with hot salsa rolled down her throat. Flavors of chili, cilantro and tomatoes teased her palate. Just eat up your embarrassment.

Watching her with interest and a half-smile, Consuelo pulled the chair in front of her and sat, with folded hands on her apron. “Jack tells me you two are still married, but not in the way it counts.”

“Right.” Lola cleaned her mouth on the napkin. “But not for long.”

“Does that mean you’ll be fully married again?” The housekeeper raised an eyebrow, with straightened shoulders and a flicker in her eyes hinted she wouldn’t let him off the hook. “The way two people are supposed to be when they take vows?”

Lola almost choked on her second serving, and reached for the glass of juice. Were she and Jack ever fully married? The idea brought a bitter aftertaste that no amount of juice could get rid of. “No… we’ll get divorced after I open my bed and breakfast. It’s a long story.”

Consuelo gave her a couple of patronizing taps on her hand. “You should fight harder. We Mexicans don’t give up easily.”

“I guess.” Upon the confused look on Consuelo’s face, she decided she best explain herself. “I don’t know for sure who I am. My dad adopted me in Texas, then moved to California shortly after. I assumed my parents were Mexican, but no one really knows for sure.”

“It doesn’t matter how you got here, does it?” Consuelo stared at her, studying Lola’s features.

Lola shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “It shouldn’t.” Lola injected energy in her voice, afraid the woman would discover something about her that she herself hadn’t been able to in all those years of looking for answers. Nonsense. And time to change the subject to something less unnerving. “I don’t remember you working here when I last visited Red Oak, a couple of years ago.”

A kind smile creased the lines around Consuelo’s mouth. “I’m from El Paso. I had other jobs like midwifing, preschool teaching. Then I retired and wanted to cook and clean, my cheap form of therapy.”

Lola played with the tender, thin layer of tortilla. “My therapy used to be shopping and reading Celebrity gossip magazines,” she said, more to herself than to Consuelo.

Consuelo chuckled. “I love telenovelas, but suppose you don’t watch them.”

Lola shrugged. “I don’t have to. My life has become one.” The words rang in her ears barely after they left her lips. Living with her soon-to-be-but-not-yet ex-husband while she tried to start a B&B in Texas had soap opera written all over it with fluorescent markers.

“Did you ever meet Jack’s parents?”

“I met his dad before he died,” she said, remembering the few summers she visited her father at the ranch. Back then, she and Jack had an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s way, especially after she tried to throw a party once when her Californian friends had come for a visit. She had been fifteen, and her friends got way too rowdy.

She never forgot the quiet, subtle way Jack judged her. Judged them. And yet… she still couldn’t deny her attraction to him—especially later on when he’d turned up in LA.

His father had been a kind man. Tall, lean and with a long beard that didn’t mask his knowing smile. “It’s sad that both his parents died.”

Consuelo frowned. “His mother isn’t dead. She left them.”

Left? An acidy liquid spilled in her stomach. Lola dropped the tortilla onto the plate and straightened. “I thought she died.” Her father had said Jack had lost his mother as a young child, and she never recalled seeing anyone with him or his dad around the ranch. And when they got married… Hhmm. He never talked about his mother much.

Consuelo gave a long sigh. “She left Jack when he was only six. Poor woman wasn’t cut out for motherhood.”

“And she never came back?”

Consuelo shook her head.

No wonder the guy’s so obsessed about marrying and starting a family. “How can you be sure? As far as I know, she died.”

Consuelo smoothed her hand over her apron, then nodded to herself. “I’m sorry. Earl told me this in secrecy. When Jack’s mother left, his father had a really rough time and when he finally snapped out of it, Jack started saying his mother had died when he was at school. I’m guessing Jack’s dad went along with it, and when they moved to Hope Springs for a new start, that’s what they told everyone. One night though after too much to drink, he spilled the beans to Earl.”

Lola took another bite of the food, hoping the spices would melt some of the ice forming in her stomach. Jack’s mom had run out on him, and he was such a stubborn mule he never even trusted her with the truth. Talk about issues. “Where’s Jack now?”

“He’s gone to Houston for a meeting. Will be back later.” Consuelo rose to her feet. “Eat some more, mija.”

Lola glanced at the plate, but somehow the image in front of her was just a colorful blur. Lola’s mother didn’t qualify for any parenting award, but deep down she knew Margo loved her. Sure, during her teenager years they’d had their share of arguments. And although she’d preferred to live with Daddy after they divorced when she was ten, she saw her mother every weekend.

Her chest contracted. Would Jack have turned out differently if his mom hadn’t abandoned him? I won’t go there.

No wonder he hated her. After losing the baby, she’d left him.

God, he’d been so happy when she’d gotten pregnant, and now she knew why. He’d wanted a new beginning. The family he never had… but she wasn’t the one to give it to him. As far as she knew, Jack Canyon still meant trouble.

Lola stepped out of the 1990 silver Ford truck she’d purchased in town. Slamming the dusty door behind her, she second-guessed her decision. She’d spent the whole day talking to Cody, using him just for the strictly necessary, and making calls, trying to wrap her head around the paperwork to open her B&B. Not to mention she’d cruised the internet like a madwoman to learn how-to tutorials most women her age, who hadn’t been fed with a sparkling hot pink spoon carved with diamonds knew how to do.

A woman like Mel, the vet she’d spotted checking the animals a few times. Besides a wave from the distance, they hadn’t exchanged many words. Why would they? After all this was Jack’s friend. Oh by the way, we’re not married, but we slept together. But really didn’t mean anything. What would you say, Mel, if you knew?

To Jack, she bet it hadn’t meant much. What about to Lola?

She opened the door and closed it behind her with a sigh. Pepper barked all the way from the top of the stairs and ran down to greet her. She bent a bit and let him nuzzle on her face, never needing so much comfort.

“Hi.” The deep voice made her stand up.

Turning around, she found Jack on the couch, with his iPad in hand, wearing a shirt and lounging pants. The lack of shoes brought a scary sense of intimacy, along with his long legs crossed one over the other. The first time they faced each other, after less than forty-eight hours of the sexual setback. Just yesterday, he’d flown to Houston and apparently slept over. Maybe to avoid her.

He tore his gaze from the screen and lifted it to meet hers, and the misleading vibe of informality died right there. Artic coldness coated his blue eyes.

“Having fun?”

“Business.” He tossed the tablet to the side and stood. “Earl told me you’ve met with a handyman and have been making plans to implement changes.”

“Nothing too drastic. I’d like to make the downstairs bedrooms wheelchair accessible, and one of the bathrooms on the en suite upstairs needs updating.”

He gave her a slow nod. “And you never considered asking me, since I own half of this place?”

“I never knew you had a calling for interior designing.” Without waiting for his reply, she sauntered into the kitchen for a glass of water. The baked apple pie on the counter caught her attention, and she sliced a small piece. Soon, he walked into the kitchen.

Heat coiled very low in her stomach. She and Jack, alone in the kitchen? Best not leave it to chance. Forgoing a plate and silverware, she grabbed a napkin where she placed the pie and dashed out of the kitchen.

She turned around, and found him pacing in circles, his eyes looking somewhere beyond the walls and tacky kitchen decorations. A strong man walking in circles like a bull locked in a horse pen.

He lifted his hand to his neck, rubbing it. “The cottage where your dad left all his stuff.” His pacing stopped and he darted his attention to her. “You should go through those boxes to see what’s worth keeping. Pretty soon, third-generation mice will carve their names on the cardboard.”

She took the pie to her mouth, and clumsier than planned, took a bite. Heavenly pieces of crusty crumbs fell from her lips, and she slipped her tongue out to salvage the couple of crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “Already on my to-do list. So now will you get off my back about the house?”

He stared at her mouth as she took another bite. “If you turn this house into a circus, I don’t want to be the one picking up the pieces when you leave.” His eyes searched for hers, barely moving his lips to speak.

She swallowed the last chunk of pie, pushing food past the resentment clogging her throat. “What is it going to take for you to believe in me, Jack?” she asked, hating herself for wishing he could believe her potential. Why did it matter?

“Suppose this plan of yours works and you open your B&B. Is that what you want, to be tied up to a remote tourist destination for the rest of your life?”

“I’m taking one step at a time. I’m not planning the rest of my life yet…” She wiped her mouth on the napkin and rolled it into a paper ball with her hand. The way he sucked his breath warned her he didn’t care for her answer. But what could she do, lie?

“And who’s going to run it for you?”

She clasped her hand around the now damp ball of paper. “I will. I’ll take it off the ground and make it successful. And I’ll buy your share one day and make Red Oak all mine.”

Big arms folded, he squinted. No need to be a rocket scientist to know he challenged her every syllable. “Then what?”

Jamming the paper in her pocket, she shook her head. A tightening claimed her chest, her stomach, her throat. What if he was right? What if her enthusiasm didn’t make up for her lack of hands-on experience? Old doubts mingling with past failures resurfaced. Still, she soldiered on. This time she would make her idea work. “To own a successful business you don’t have to sign your life away and reside in it, Jack. People who own gyms and movie theaters don’t sleep inside the buildings,” she said, her voice surprisingly assertive. Fake it until you make it.

“Yes but you’ll need to be involved.”

“I plan to. I’ll always be involved.”

A strangled chuckle left his mouth. “Even when you leave?”

Was he still talking about the B&B? “I’ll be involved even if one day I have enough profit to hire a talented manager.”

“It’s nice to know you have it all planned out.” He opened his hands wide, mocking her. “Am I going to live with your talented manager?”

No, because by then she would have bought the other half of the ranch. Why did this place mean so much to Jack? Daddy had even shown her an article on her estranged husband once in a magazine. Jack’s other properties were decorated in far better taste, and he could live in any of them. Yet, he chose to make this his home.

He kept staring at her. His nostrils flared, his eyes gleaming with anger.

She inhaled hard and strong to prevent her tired shoulders from sagging. “You’re successful Jack. Don’t you wish it for me?” she asked genuinely, willing the weight on her back to lift.

He gave a long, frustrated sigh. “I wish for you to learn how to commit to things.”

Commit. How many times had he used that word in their four month marriage, always asking for more than she was willing to give? Always. A bolt of bitterness shook her emotional exhaustion away and a thread of energy surged through her. “Well, lucky me I’m learning from the best. Especially how you committed to the Goody Two-Shoes Vet while you’re legally committed to me. Or how you screwed me on the stairs when she clearly has feelings for you. You’re just a wholesome wealth of good values and morals, aren’t you?”