Because the caption reads: Little did I know who was in the produce aisle! And he looks at her like she’s the one!

  31

  RULE NUMBER FOUR

  BANKS

  A dose of red-hot anger courses through me. “I should have been there,” I mutter, pacing around the cottage.

  “Banks,” Ripley says, popping up from the couch. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

  “But I could,” I say, hissing out a sharp breath. “I could have been near you instead of waiting outside.”

  “It was just a flower delivery. I wanted to be able to do it,” she tries to reassure me, reaching for my arm with a calm hand.

  I shake my head. “But if I were there, I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

  “What were you going to do? Take some random person’s phone?” She waggles the phone she’s holding, showing me the shot again of her and Chris hugging. A shot that was clearly taken from a distance. Maybe twenty feet away? Ten? Possibly snapped as someone turned into the aisle and spotted the star and his supposed new love?

  “Maybe,” I mutter.

  She puts her phone back in her shorts pocket. “Banks, you weren’t going to take someone’s phone.”

  “I would have if I’d had to,” I insist, still fuming.

  “Are you really going to make a habit of taking random strangers’ things? I feel like maybe that’s illegal,” she says dryly.

  “I should have done something. Could have stopped it. Should have stopped it,” I say as I pace away from her toward the sliding glass doors of the deck, stopping at the glass to stare at the night sky and the stars twinkling in it.

  Here, I can replay this afternoon. Find the moment when I failed. Then never do that again.

  She follows me, sets a hand on my shoulder. “You couldn’t have,” she says, her voice soothing. “It’s no big deal. They didn’t hurt me or him or anyone. It’s fine. It’s only a picture. I wasn’t scared in the store, and you couldn’t have stopped it.”

  But those words grate at me. They remind me of years ago. When I was younger.

  When I had a feeling—I just fucking had a feeling what my dad was up to. And I didn’t follow him. I didn’t confront him. I didn’t stop him.

  “But I could have,” I say, my voice quieter, filled with regret now. For the past. For the missed opportunities. For justice back then. I close my eyes, dip my face, sigh heavily.

  After a few seconds, a hand comes up the back of my neck into my hair. “Banks, is this about today? Or something else?”

  It’s about…everything.

  I look up, meet her caring gaze. As she strokes my hair, I weigh the decision to tell her. I’m not an impulsive guy with my mouth. I’m not even impulsive with my actions.

  For work, I react, I anticipate. I think. And it’s the same in my personal life too. I haven’t even told my past girlfriends about the way my family splintered. It’s personal, and it’s embarrassing.

  But when Ripley looks at me with kind eyes and a big heart, when she senses what I need, maybe even before I realize it, I want to tell her. I don’t want to keep carrying this by myself.

  I take her hand from my neck, clasp her fingers through mine. Like that, we head to the couch, Hudson at our feet. Once we’re seated, I say, “You know how I told you it was messy when my parents split?”

  “Yes.”

  I swallow past the shame and the hurt. “I grew up in Lucky Falls. My dad was the football coach for my high school, and I played on the team. I was a tight end,” I say, as tainted memories flicker by. The way Dad was everyone’s buddy. The way my teammates looked up to him, admired him, honestly, even worshiped him. “He also owned a sporting goods chain. About six stores or so, including one in Lucky Falls. And another in San Jose, about two or two and a half hours away. That was the flagship store.”

  She nods, encouraging me to keep going.

  “He was there a lot. Got a place there. A little apartment. Three days a week or so he stayed overnight. Ostensibly for business,” I bite out. “Or so my mom thought.”

  A quiet gasp crosses her lips. “He had an affair?”

  I meet her gaze straight on and rip off the terrible truth. “He had a second family. He had young kids. He raised them with their mom. He owned a home with her. He went there to take care of them. Be someone else’s dad, someone else’s husband for half the week.”

  Her lips part, and her eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that was like.”

  But I can because I lived it. “It was awful. It came out on social media, which was still relatively new at the time, but that didn’t matter. Someone found out, posted it online in some forum, and one thing led to another. Everyone attacked him. He was beloved and everyone on the team, all the families, all the parents were shocked. There was so much outrage. The photos, the details, our address, her name, their names,” I say, shaking my head in disgust as those terrible memories crawl to the surface. “Don’t get me wrong—he deserved it. All of it. He’s a liar, a cheater, a fraud. But my mom was dragged through the mud. How did she not know? Was she aware of it? How do you miss the signs?”

  Ripley sets a hand on my arm and rubs sympathetically. “I am so, so sorry. That sounds terrible.”

  “It was. She was devastated. The life she had, the marriage she had—it was all a lie. And she couldn’t work for a while. She was floored. She had to take a break from work, even though he’d drained some of their accounts. She was…depressed. Which is kind of an understatement.”

  “Of course,” Ripley says gently. “It sounds like she went through hell.”

  My jaw ticks. I clench and unclench my fists, then dig down and ask the question that sometimes plagues me, that often drives me. “But what if I could have stopped it?”

  “Oh, Banks. How would you have stopped it?”

  “Sometimes he was late coming home. Sometimes it felt like he was spending too much time elsewhere. Sometimes he was on his phone more than he should have been. Ripley,” I say, my voice full of cracks and potholes. “I had a feeling. I fucking had a feeling. For a few months there in my junior year. Before it all blew up.” I draw a tight breath. “I should have done something sooner.”

  She squeezes my arm tighter, then gently presses her other palm to my face, and turns me toward her, making me meet her caring gaze. “You couldn’t have stopped it. You couldn’t have done a thing.”

  “Maybe I could have prevented it from spiraling,” I say, because c’mon. I could have. “Right? Don’t you think?” I’m practically imploring her.

  “No,” she says, firm, emphatic. “His affair was not your responsibility.”

  “But what if I followed him there? Confronted him? Took his phone?” I ask, tossing out options like a desperate man.

  She shakes her head, her eyes welling with sympathy. “People do what they do. You can’t control them. You can’t stop them,” she says, then takes a beat. “He made his choice. And part of that choice was you and your mom and sister bearing the consequences.”

  I close my eyes. Trying, fucking trying, to let her words sink in. My mom has said the same. My sister too. Mostly I believe them, but sometimes I don’t.

  I open my eyes. When I look at Ripley, I want to believe she’s right. No, I have to. I have to believe the truth that they reminded me of all along. That there was nothing I could have done.

  “This is why you do what you do, right?”

  “Yes. I want to protect people. Especially, honestly, women.”

  “I love that. I get it. And you do a great job.” She rubs my arm. “It’s also why you want control. Because once upon a time, your world spun out of control.”

  Way to see inside my soul. “Yes. Yes, it did.”

  She presses her forehead gently to mine, staying like that for several necessary seconds. Like that, with her touch, something tight inside me starts to unknot. “You can’t stop a fan from taking a picture of me,” she says. “You couldn’t stop your dad. I couldn’t stop a truck from crashing into my parents. All we can do is move forward.” She lets go, looks me square in the eyes, then says, “You have to know that.”

  I draw a deep breath.

  I didn’t come to this town, this farm, or this job for exoneration from the last kernels of guilt that had dug roots inside me. But maybe I found it anyway. “You’re probably right,” I admit quietly.

  She flutters her lashes. “Say it again.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re right.”

  “Louder for those in the back,” she says.

  I laugh. “You’re definitely right.”

  She smiles, then cups my cheeks and brings me close. “But thank you for telling me. I know that wasn’t easy.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  She drops a kiss to my lips, then backs up. “I feel like I understand you better. Why you like rules. Why you try to be a gentleman. Why you care so much about doing the right thing.”

  “I do. A lot.”

  “Why you like it when I follow rules,” she adds, her tone flirty.

  Lust stirs inside me. “I fucking love rules,” I say.

  She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “Remember when you gave me three rules?”

  I flash back to my first night here last week. “I do.”

  She tilts her head, takes her time. “Maybe rule number four should involve putting me on my knees.”

  My gaze drifts to her thick blond hair, held back in that stretchy headband, which looks perfect for us. “And maybe five should involve other uses for headbands.”

  32

  ALL KINDS OF TOYS

  BANKS

  “You’re so DIY,” she says.

  “From flowers to headbands, sweetheart,” I tell her as I twist the stretchy fabric around her wrists.

  “Everything’s a sex toy with you,” she says, glancing back at me since I’m behind her, adjusting the soft material around her hands, clasped behind her back.

  “And everything should be,” I murmur as I tug on the material to make sure the hold is firm enough but not too tight. “How does that feel?”

  “It’d be better with your dick in my mouth. Can I have that sex toy, please?”

  “It better be your favorite toy,” I say.

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Heat charges through me, followed by my own laughter. This woman. She’s sexy and witty, caring and giving. Strong-willed and submissive at times too. If I’m not careful, I’ll fall hard for her.

  And that unexpected thought was brought to you by your libido.

  Or…was it? Because my heart is tripping fast now. So much faster than I’d expected.

  What the hell is going on inside me? But now’s not the time for me to analyze that organ in my chest. Other organs need tending to.

  I rise and come around to face her while the dog settles quietly into a corner of the cottage.

  Ripley’s on the floor, kneeling on the area rug in front of the couch. She’s wearing panties and a white T-shirt that slopes off her shoulder. The simplicity is even sexier than if she were wearing elegant lingerie. I run a hand down her soft blond hair. She stretches her neck, moving with me.

  “You like it when I tell you what to do in bed,” I say, adding on to our conversation from moments ago, before I bound her. It’s a statement, not a question. Still, I’m dying for her response.

  “Seems I do, Banks,” she says.

  I drag my hand to the back of her head, curling it over her neck. “Because you spend all day taking care of everyone else. At night, you don’t want to.”

  A small, wise smile shifts her lips. “Yes, so why don’t you shut up and fuck my mouth?”

  Yup. That’s her. Keeping me on my toes with that defiant attitude. My damn heart surges, making a liar of me once more.

  I tug off my T-shirt, but I don’t fully comply. Instead, I drop down in front of her. Cup her cheek. Hold her gaze. “Patience,” I tell her.

  “Why do I have to be patient?”

  “Because good things come to good girls who wait. Like this,” I say, then I brush my lips to hers—a tender, gentle kiss that has her gasping.

  Me too.

  I dust my mouth over hers again, the kind of kiss that leaves you wanting.

  Teasing her, I graze her lips, kiss her jawline, travel up to the shell of her ear. She’s sighing and murmuring as I return to her lush mouth, tip up her chin, and take another sip of a kiss. I drink her kisses like they’re whiskey I want to savor. Like each drop needs to be tasted fully on my tongue.

  We luxuriate in the kiss till my bones are melting and Ripley’s breath is stuttering. I let go. “See? Patience is a good thing.”

  “It is,” she whispers.

  I stand and drag my thumb over her bottom lip. Pliantly, she opens for me. Swirls her tongue around my thumb, then draws it into her mouth. With avid eyes, she stares at me as she sucks.

  Electricity crackles through my entire body, amplified by her hungry gaze.

  When she lets go of my thumb, I push down the waistband of my shorts. “Now take it.”

  Her eyes flicker with desire. “Give it to me.”

  The give-and-take with her is scrambling my brain. No one has ever revved my engine like Ripley. I push down my shorts to my thighs, then my briefs, and free my aching cock. Her breath hitches.

  I rub the tip against her pretty lips. She sighs as she licks the head.

  “Beautiful. So fucking beautiful,” I grit out.

  She flattens her tongue, sliding it along the underside of my dick, and holy fuck. My cells sizzle. My brain goes offline. She’s barely drawn me into her mouth, and I’m already burning up everywhere.

  “More,” she murmurs, a soft but clear order.

  I push in farther, and she wraps her mouth around my shaft. Then she sucks and licks. Flicks and swirls. It’s intoxicating to watch her. The way she has to balance on her knees, how she can’t use her hands. She opens wide, urging me with her mouth and her body to give her everything.

  “You want it all, sweetheart?”

  She pushes me out. “Fuck my mouth,” she instructs.

  And that’s it. I’m lost. It won’t take long. I guide my dick back into the warm paradise, curl a hand around her head, and thrust.

  She nods, murmurs, sighs, and through it all…she watches me.

  Her blue eyes gaze up at me with heat, curiosity, intrigue. Something else too. Something more than passion. Something like real affection.

  I try to shake it off, but maybe that’s what’s really frying my brain—the realization that we aren’t stopping, we aren’t forgetting it happened, we just keep happening.

  But once again, I try to stop thinking. To let go. To give in to the sensation of her sucking my aching cock till my thighs are shaking, my balls are tightening, and pleasure is barreling down my spine.

  I warn her I’m about to come, asking, “Want me to pull out?”

  Shaking her head, she answers loud and clear by sucking harder. I practically black out from the ecstasy of her mouth. My brain blurs as I groan, coming hard down her throat, and she swallows.

  I can barely catch my breath or get my bearings as I ease out. When I do, something wild and new hits me—I might have tied her up, but she controlled every second of that blow job.

  She set the pace.

  She gave the orders.

  I drop down to my knees, kiss those beautiful lips once, then say, “My turn.”

  “You better finish what you started last night,” she says, another demand.

  It’s one I desperately want to meet. “You better fucking believe it.”

  But I don’t ask if she wants to be unbound. I do it because I want her to use her hands. I free them from the headband, scoop her up, and carry her to the bed, setting her on the mattress where I peel off her panties in record time.

  “Put your hands in my hair. Fuck my face hard. Do whatever you want, sweetheart,” I tell her.

  She breathes out hard, excitedly. “Yes, sir.”

  In seconds, she’s pushed me down between her thighs, roped her hands in my hair, and is rocking against my face.

  It’s glorious the way she owns her pleasure as she discovers what she wants. And I’m so fucking lucky that what she wants is me.

  It doesn’t take long till she’s arching and writhing, panting and moaning, then gasping a long, sensual string of oh gods till she’s falling apart beneath me.

  Eventually, sometime later, we slide under the covers, the sheets rustling, the dog hopping up on the end of the bed and settling into a ball with a contented sigh.

  “I guess we’re not forgetting so well,” she says.

  “Definitely not.”

  She’s pensive, staring at the ceiling for a while till she turns to me. “But we should be careful. I know the job’s important to you.”

  Now that’s something I haven’t heard before—a woman trying to protect me. Until Ripley. “It is. I appreciate that.”

  It’s a good reminder too. If word gets out I’m sleeping with a client, Apex Solutions could bear the brunt of the harm. We could lose business. I saw what happened to my dad, and to my mom as collateral damage when business got mixed with pleasure. Don’t want that to happen to Dean and me. This situation isn’t the same as my dad’s secret second family. Not by any stretch.

  Still, I’m not an innocent man. The least I can do is vow to be better. “I’ll work even harder to protect you. It’s not just the paps. There are fans now. Whoever took that photo didn’t get too close, but you never know. The town is full of tourists and press. Everyone needs to be vigilant,” I say.

  She smiles softly. “I’ll ring the town bell and let them know.”

  “I mean it,” I press.

  “The town bell?” she asks with an arch of a brow.

  “No, but just that everyone should be careful. The influx of people and all. Everyone should be on their guard. And even though you’re a beautiful distraction, that means I’ll work that much harder so I stay focused.”