Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Exactly five seconds ticked by. “I want a DJ. My only request is the song ‘Brick House.’”
“Oh my God.” Refusing to acknowledge her relief, she yanked open the door, a laugh bursting out of her on the way down the steps. “Why?”
He grinned. “You’ll see.”
Natalie halted beside her car, stopped in her tracks by the sight of August standing in the sunshine in a towel, light playing over his Mount Rushmore of chest muscles—and a very prominent erection tenting the white terrycloth. What struck her most was how unabashed he was. He didn’t make a single attempt to hide it. “Yes to the DJ. Hell no to the song,” she managed, mouth dry, pulling open the driver’s-side door with a little too much force.
“Natalie,” he called, before she could climb in.
“Yes?” she responded over the roof of the car.
“Can we write joint showers into our vows?”
“No. And honestly, why would you want that?” Pointedly, she nodded at his lap. “Didn’t exactly work out for you.”
He braced his hands on the doorframe over his head. “You’re leaving my place with smeared lipstick and bare feet. I’ll take a hundred more showers just like it.”
“Jackass,” she muttered, climbing into the car and slamming the door.
But for some stupid reason, she was smiling as she drove away.
Chapter Ten
The last person August expected to see when he opened his front door the next morning was Corinne Vos. Convinced she was a figment of his imagination, he blinked several times and rubbed his eyes, but there she remained. Arms crossed, features pinched, blocking his path to the outdoor workout area he’d built behind the barn.
He searched her face for similarities to Natalie and found none. Maybe there was a glimmer of Natalie’s live-wire quality deep in the golden depths of the matriarch’s eyes, but it had been smothered in judgment.
“How are you this fine morning, Mr. Cates?”
Good question. The word “stunned” came to mind.
He’d spent a lot of the night pacing, wondering if he’d done the right thing by accepting the two-hundred-thousand-dollar investment from his CO. He didn’t want to deprive the man of the chance to support his late son’s dream. God, no. But August was also painfully aware that accepting the money from his CO meant . . . he no longer needed a small business loan from the bank. Which meant he technically didn’t need to marry Natalie.
When he married her, it would be purely so she could get her trust fund.
How would she feel about that if she knew?
Not thrilled, August’s gut told him. She’d probably rather change Menace’s litter box than be indebted to him. Yeah. If he told her about the investment, she would walk—and he really didn’t want Natalie biting off her nose to spite her face. She needed that trust fund. He wanted to help. And hell, what if she married someone else instead? Someone who would benefit from her family’s influence?
Fire singed the walls of his throat.
Maybe in this case, some things were better left unsaid?
At least until the timing was right.
“I’m doing all right,” he finally answered. “You?”
“I’m as well as can be expected, I suppose,” Corinne clipped, dragging him out of his worry spiral.
“Would you like to come in?”
“No.” She looked past him, briefly. “I’m fine out here, thank you.”
Of course she didn’t want to come inside for coffee. This woman probably never stepped inside anywhere that didn’t have a full staff and—lest we forget—original vintage fixtures. With an exhale into the cold morning air, she gestured to the barn. “Getting an early start on production? We can talk while you work.”
“Actually, no. I won’t get started until later today. I have a makeshift gym behind the barn.” He jerked his chin straight ahead, though it wasn’t visible from their vantage point. “That’s where I start my mornings.”
“An outdoor gym on vineyard grounds. Really.” She blinked approximately six hundred times. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your unorthodox routine.”
He couldn’t exactly hold a conversation while pushing a massive tire end over end, so he shook his head and mimicked her stance, crossing his arms and leaning back against the porch rail. “This is about Natalie.”
“Yes.” She studied him for a long moment. “I know what you must think of me. That I’m stuffy and controlling and . . . well, to put it plainly, I’m sure you think I’m a bitch.”
“I’m not going to pretend I liked the way you spoke to my . . . to Natalie. But I don’t know you well enough to say that, Mrs. Vos.”
“You would think I’m a bitch, let’s be honest. Perhaps I am.” She paused, dropped her crossed arms in favor of folding her hands at her waist. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want what is best for my children. I might have an odd way of showing it, but their happiness is no small thing to me. Especially since they’ve come home, I . . .” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Well. I’ve become slightly more vigilant when it comes to our relationships. Unfortunately, the damage is not always easy to reverse. For instance, it’s very hard to take back years of criticism—what I thought was the constructive kind—instead of just showing . . . support. But I’m trying to do that with Natalie . . . in my own way.”