Marianne’s outfit was far too distracting, barely hiding the body beneath it. Trent closed his eyes to clear his head. Marianne was stressed out, and he wanted to help her. If he could get her to talk about whatever bee was in her bonnet…

  “Is it your ex-husband?” he asked. “Did you try—”

  Marianne’s reaction was immediate, and it was violent. She spun away from him too fast and slammed her elbow on the counter, and doubled up groaning, cradling the sore spot. When Trent moved closer, she shied away. Anger rose in his chest, but he swallowed it down. Whatever Simon had done to scare Marianne this bad, Trent losing his cool would only make it worse.

  “I reached out to him,” she said. “About my equipment. He wants…he’s threatening to bring it down in person. He’s been, I don’t know…”

  “It’s okay,” said Trent, though he could see it wasn’t. If Simon showed his face here, he’d get the bum’s rush.

  “He keeps texting me. Talking about the old days. Like he thinks I’d consider…Like this is his chance to…” She trailed off, before saying, “I’m scared he’ll refuse the sale if I don’t play along. He’s acting all nice, saying I can pay in installments, and that would be perfect if it was anyone else. But this is Simon, and I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “You’re going to win that contest,” said Trent. “You’ll pay him off and end it. And if he shows up here, we’ve all got your back.”

  Marianne took a shaky breath and managed a smile. “You’re going to protect me? My big, burly sheriff?”

  “I would if I had to.” Trent moved closer, and Marianne glanced down at his belt. She hooked her thumb in the buckle, and her smile turned flirtatious.

  “I wouldn’t hate that,” she said.

  “Like you don’t hate me?” Trent slid his hand down the counter and let it drop to her hip. Marianne’s lips parted, and Trent swooped in, catching her lower lip with a light nip of his teeth. Marianne let out a gasp of thrilled surprise and almost leaned into him, but then she appeared to recover her senses, because she pulled away when Trent tried to deepen the kiss.

  “I can’t, Trent. I have a to-do list longer than your arm.”

  “My arm, huh?” Trent waggled his brows.

  “Come on. Behave yourself.”

  Trent smirked. “Relax. You’re not even open. No one’s going to barge in on us, so why not have some fun?”

  “You can’t know that,” Marianne murmured as he backed her out of the kitchen, across the dining room, circling the tables. Trent continued his advance. He was enjoying the cat-and-mouse game, and Marianne was too. He could see it in the sparkle that lit up her eyes.

  “How many times did I make you come last time? What was it, three?”

  “Two,” said Marianne.

  “Don’t you want to try and break our record?”

  He closed the gap between them and thrust her back against the bar. She’d dispensed with the antlers from the old Honky-Tonk, and that was a good thing: they’d need the head room. He pinned Marianne against the bar and ducked his head to lavish kisses along her throat.

  Marianne writhed and cooed, half-gasping, half-laughing, whenever his stubble came in contact with her bare skin. Trent’s cock reared up against the material of his boxers, demanding its freedom. He reached between them, unzipped, and shoved Marianne’s tiny shorts down. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. Had she planned this all along? Chosen her outfit knowing what it would do to him?

  Whatever her thinking, Trent owed her nothing but gratitude now. He let his hand snake between her legs and begin a slow, sensuous massage of her wet folds. With his free hand, he helped Marianne pull her shirt up and yank off her bra. She thrust herself into the hand between her legs, moaning, as her own hands dropped to undo the front of his pants and push them down.

  He paused only long enough to sheathe himself in a condom—her little whimper of impatience only made him harder—then slid his cock between her legs. She cried out as he entered her, and he groaned in response, losing himself in the heavenly sensation as she enfolded him utterly. She was slick and hot and tight, with just the right amount of resistance to send bolts of electricity shooting through him. He reached down between them to give her clit a rough, careless rub. Marianne arched back with a wail, and he slid all the way into her. His hips butted up against her inner thighs, and he wanted to curse with how good it felt.

  “You’re…absolutely…the most…” Marianne struggled to form whatever admonishment she’d had in mind. Trent smiled wickedly and gave an experimental thrust. The drawn-out moan that punctuated her attempted tirade was almost enough to undo him. It vibrated through both their bodies with its intensity.

  “I’m ‘the most,’ huh? And don’t you forget it, Marianne Stanton.” Trent leaned in to press a proprietary kiss to the frantic pulse point in her neck. “Now quit squirming, or I’ll bring out the cuffs.”

  “For me or for you?” Marianne caught his hands and held them together at the wrists. “Ever been on the other side of that little game?”

  “Marianne,” he murmured approvingly. “Why, I do declare.”

  “Not the kind of Southern roleplay I’m looking for, Sheriff.” Marianne winked. Her expression was exquisite, both tense and vulnerable, her fine eyebrows drawn together. The blush that suffused her cheeks only brought out her light dusting of freckles. Her lips glistened with the sweet gloss she wore. Trent leaned in to taste them again, teasing the sweet, plump flesh with his teeth until he succeeded in drawing another moan from her chest.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked her. He emphasized the question with a pump of his hips. Marianne cried out, wordless and wild, as she rode the sudden thrust.

  Thoughts of her filthy fantasy threatened to drive him to the point of no return. Trent groaned deeply, clenched his teeth, and spun them both away from the bar. He bore her down to the ground, using her cast-off shirt as a cushion between her and the hard wooden floor. Marianne stirred and writhed, hiking her legs up as Trent slid easily into her. He couldn’t stop picturing what it would be like to fuck Marianne while she wore his cuffs and nothing else—or to let her ride him with his own hands locked up. Would she show him mercy or would she ride him hard? Grab his ears like a horse’s reins and break him in good? Hell, they could do it in the cell at work. It would only be fair, considering they were in the process of christening her brewpub.

  Her legs clenched all at once around his waist. Trent knew the signal, but he didn’t let up. His hips slapped the junction between her thighs, and he stared down into her exquisite blue eyes. Her mouth was open, and Trent ducked down for a kiss. Their moans mixed together as their lips met, and Trent caught Marianne’s cry of release as she came. Her inner muscles contracted around him, pulling him in deeper, and suddenly Trent was coming as well. He exploded with a hot, ecstatic rush and succumbed to the thoughtless bliss that followed.

  When he withdrew, he hitched his boxers back up, but he stayed stretched out beside Marianne. He wanted to savor this moment, and the afterglow. Marianne turned to him, apparently of the same mind, her expression that of a newly crowned queen. She looked good that way, all flushed and sated.

  “You were saying something?” he asked, when they got up at last. Marianne shot him a quizzical look from beneath a loose strand of chocolate hair.

  “I don’t recall,” she replied.

  “Something about how I’m the most…?”

  “The most frustratingly sexy man I’ve ever met.” She leaned in to help him straighten his shirt. “There. Happy?”

  “Not quite,” Trent said. “Funny thing is, I thought you had a mind to say something else while we were coming together like that.”

  “Yeah? Like what?” She pulled away to shimmy into her shorts. Trent watched her hop on one leg, then the other, as he considered his next words. Marianne knew how to work her body in ways that were almost criminal, but it was the little moments when she didn’t realize he was watching that he prized above all the others. He had never felt this way about any woman before, and he wanted her to know it.

  “Marianne…” As soon as her feet were firmly planted again, Trent stepped forward to draw her into his arms. She sank into his embrace so readily now that he wanted to shout it to the rafters: Marianne, can’t you see this is love? “You don’t need a shirt,” he said instead. He nodded to her crumpled tank top in the corner.

  Marianne laughed appreciatively. “Is that your latest contribution to the Honky-Tonk’s atmosphere, Sheriff Wild? You want to make me the town’s topless brewer?”

  “I wouldn’t arrest you for exposure, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He lowered his mouth to graze his lips along the outside of her ear. “Unless you wanted me to.” He hadn’t forgotten about those handcuffs, and from the way Marianne shivered, she hadn’t either.

  “And if I wanted you for more than just that?” she whispered.

  His arms tightened. “You have an active imagination. Wouldn’t put it past you to think of another use for me.”

  “I think we’re past questions of usefulness at this point,” Marianne said. “Trent, I think—” She turned suddenly, arms clutched to her chest. “What was that?”

  Trent frowned. “What was what?” Had she been about to say the words he’d been hoping to hear? That he was more to her than a roll in the hay? That she might even love him, and—

  “That. Someone’s there.” Marianne dove for her shirt and clutched it to her chest. “Someone’s outside, lurking under the window.”

  Trent raced to the window, his heart in his throat. He’d heard it too this time, a thump and a scuffle. Someone was there, all right. Had they been peeping? The last thing Marianne needed was some peeping Tom, not after everything she’d been through with Simon.

  He flung the window open and leaned out. “Hey!”

  A slim figure vanished around the back of the Tonk. Trent pulled back and raced after him, out the back door, but by the time he cleared the porch, the yard was empty. Trent circled the building and scanned up and down the street, but whoever’d been peeking, they’d gotten away.

  “Did they see us?” said Marianne, coming up behind him. “Oh, my God. That’s disgusting. I think I might be sick.”

  “Probably just kids,” said Trent, though he wasn’t convinced. The figure he’d glimpsed might have been a teenager, but if he’d had to put money on it, he’d have bet on an adult.

  “But do you think they saw?”

  “Don’t think about it,” said Trent. “I’ll call it in, get a couple of guys on it. In the meantime, don’t let it ruin your day.”

  “Call it in?” Marianne gripped his arm. “You’re not going to tell them—”

  “What we were doing? No, of course not. I’ll just let them know you might be dealing with a prowler, and they’ll keep an eye out, easy as pie.” Trent slapped on his best confident grin, but underneath he was worried. The timing was suspicious, with Marianne having just reached out to Simon.

  It’s always the ex-husband, he thought. Nine times out of ten. If not in person, Simon could’ve sent someone—to check up on Marianne. To mess with her life.

  Trent wouldn’t let him. Whatever it took.

  12

  MARIANNE

  “Marianne, you can’t keep ghosting Trent!” Sabrina said disapprovingly.

  Marianne almost dropped her phone. Nearly a week had passed since the incident at the Honky-Tonk, and in that time, she had barely spoken more than two words to Trent Wild—but not because she’d been avoiding him, at least not on purpose.

  “I’m not ghosting him,” she said, biting back her exasperation. She made a third pass around her kitchen, hunting for her car keys and finally locating them in the sink, of all places. “I’ve just been run off my feet getting ready for tomorrow. I’ve got the big contest, then my grand opening the day after…” Her keys leapt out of her hand like someone had greased them, and Marianne lunged after them. “Once that’s over, I’ll be able to sit down with Trent and talk,” she concluded, retrieving her keys.

  “What happened between the two of you, anyway?” Sabrina asked. “Trent said you had some trouble at the Honky-Tonk, but I don’t see what that has to do with the two of you.”

  An easy excuse caught in her throat. The truth of the matter was, Marianne was nervous. She’d let down her guard, and right on cue, things had gotten weird. Best she and Trent cooled it till she had her feet on solid ground—Simon out of her hair, the Tonk up and running. She had no idea what she was to Trent or what he was to her, and with everything else going on, that kind of uncertainty was too much to handle. Trent had come to mean more to her than anyone else in this town—but did that go both ways? She thought she might crumble if the answer was no. She couldn’t let that happen, not now. Not with her whole future hanging in the balance.

  “I’m just busy,” she said. “I have a lot of prep to get through, completely unrelated to Trent. Did you know I need to submit a business plan for the contest? Proof I can hold up my end if Revel Organics chooses to partner with me? I have that to worry about, and I…oh, shit.”

  She had just stepped out onto her front porch to find the handsome, fully uniformed sheriff leaning up against her car. He waved to her casually, and Marianne gripped her phone.

  “Sabrina, I’ll call you back.”

  “He’s right there, isn’t he?” Sabrina asked gleefully, but Marianne hung up before Sabrina could enjoy her triumph. In the back of her mind, she wondered if Sabrina had given away her location to Trent while she was distracted.

  “Trent!” Marianne exclaimed. “What are you—?”

  “Don’t act so surprised.” Trent shifted against her car. His usual wide smile had turned tight and pensive. “You think the sheriff of Lockhart Bend doesn’t know where to find you when you’ve been avoiding him? You live right next door to me…when you’re not living at the Honky-Tonk and locking me out.”

  “I’m not locking you out,” Marianne answered feebly. “I’m locking my doors in case that creeper comes back. That, and I still have a lot to do before tomorrow. I can’t afford any distractions…even the pleasant kind.”

  “Can’t afford them, maybe,” Trent agreed, “but you’re about to get one. C’mon.”

  “Wait! I can’t…where are we…” Trent grabbed her hand before she could articulate her protest. He didn’t drag her far from the easy escape of her car, just through the gate and into his own backyard. He guided her to the same chair she’d sat in at their first cookout and stood looking down at her, hands on his hips.

  “Don’t do this, Marianne,” he said. “Don’t shut me out. Let me help you—let me be more than just your friends-with-benefits neighbor who you can take or leave. Let me be your partner.”

  “Partner.” The word fell from her lips like a bitter fruit. “That’s what Simon used to call us, him and me. Partners. But he only ever looked out for himself.”

  “You’re scared,” Trent said.

  “Well-deduced, Sherlock.” Marianne smiled to soften the bite of her words. She hadn’t meant to snap back at him, but he was right. She was scared. And it was all too easy to look at that all-American chin, those rugged, handsome looks, and forget that Trent Wild had feelings too. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just, if he shows up…He’s spiteful. If he’s hurting, he’s going to make damn sure he’s not hurting alone.”

  Trent frowned. “So he’s violent.”

  “He can be, but it’s…more than that. And less. I don’t know.” Marianne tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and shifted uncomfortably. “He’s mean in a lot of ways I didn’t see until it was too late.”

  “He ever hit you?”

  The question wasn’t unexpected, but it hurt all the same. Marianne looked away, the reflexive denial drying to dust in her throat. Her mother knew, of course, and so did Aunt Celia, but nobody else had ever dared ask. Trent stared back at her evenly, patiently, outwardly calm as he awaited her response, although she noticed his jaw clench as her silence endured.

  “Yes. Simon hit me. He’d lost his temper before that, punching walls, throwing plates. I’d already decided to leave him when he crossed that line. That was the night I walked out. Once was enough.” Marianne let out a quiet, mirthless little laugh, just to fill the air between them with something that wasn’t her personal tragedy. “I’m almost glad he did now, as crazy as it sounds. It was the push I needed to walk out that door. To understand that the Simon I thought I knew was never real. It wasn’t a rough patch. That was just him. And that’s something I’ve only ever said to my therapist,” she added quickly. “It’s not something you can just come out and tell people…at least, not most people.”

  “And you came down to Lockhart Bend to get away from him.”

  “I came down here because I needed a fresh start,” Marianne corrected. “It took me a year after the divorce to get all myself together, and when Aunt Celia called to tell me she was selling the bar…it seemed like serendipity. And knowing Simon wouldn’t find me here, that didn’t hurt. But now he knows where I am, and I can’t sleep. I wake up at night thinking, what if he—”

  “You’re safe here,” said Trent. “I’d sleep on your doorstep if that’s what it took—on the porch like a hound dog, ready to bite.”

  Marianne laughed at that, a shaky chuckle. “I wouldn’t make you do that.”

  “But I would if I had to.” He kneeled in front of her, took her hand and held it, and she felt her heart skip a beat. “I know you’re strong,” he said. “You’d have to be, to get through what you did. I know you don’t need me, but if you want me, I’m here.”

  Marianne held Trent’s hand tight to her chest. “He used to tell me I needed him. Simon, I mean. He said we were a coin—he was heads, I was tails. Like if I left him, I’d leave half of me behind.”