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“Come in, Rafe, come in, over.” Wes’s voice echoes through the barn via the same radio I’ve got in the house. Grabbing a towel, I brush the sweat from my face while I flick the switch and watch as the dogs head outside. “What’s up Wes, over?”
“How are you holding up with your girl?”
I laugh. “Doing justfine.”
“Fuck you, bro, don’t remind me I haven’t got a woman or a guy to play with, or both.”
I run a hand through my wet hair. “What is it, Wes? You didn’t call to ask me how my dick is doing.”
He chuckles on the other end, “No, man, I wanted to warn you I have some guy here claiming to be her fiancé.”
“Come again? Her fiancé?” I spit out.
“Sorry, dude. I tried to send him away. He didn’t take no for an answer. He threatened to call the governor if I don’t open the road to your place. I can shoot him, but I’m not sure where that leaves you with her.”
“Fuck,” I reply, swearing. “I’ll take her down later today, you can tell him that.”
“I’ll relay it to the rich asshole,” he replies.
I open the line, staring out the window to my house with her sleeping inside. “Thanks, man, for passing along the news, out.”
“Anytime, see you later, out.”
I throw the microphone against the radio and pound my fists against the bag again, my knuckles breaking open by the sheer force, leaving a trail of blood on the hard leather.
“Rafe?” Storm asks, sliding the heavy door open.
“What’s up?” I grunt, not looking at her while I pound the bag again. She lied to me. A fiancé. I want to put the motherfucker in a body bag. It was a ruse all along. She is here for my land and nothing else.
“You weren’t in bed, and I heard—you talking,” she begins, stopping mid-sentence.
I snort and push the bag one last time.
She pins me with a hard glare, walking up to me, her eyes moving around the room. She stops at the sculptures, running her fingers over the designs.
“They’re beautiful, Rafe,” she says, looking back over her shoulder.
I shrug in response, wanting to rip my heart out.
“And you didn’t tell me you ride?” she asks, looking in the direction of the dirt bikes.
I cock my head. Something is off. Her voice sounds different, like she’s fighting against her emotions. Did she hear? She must have. Well, it’s on, little girl.
“Yeah, started riding dirt twenty-five years ago.” I cringe at the harshness of my tone, and the way I’m underlining our age difference again.
“And you like working out here?” Her voice is low and sultry as she walks around the boxing bag toward the worktable.
Biting my tongue, I glance outside, willing Wes to shoot the guy. I can still do it and keep her hostage. I turn my back to her and pound the bag. Where the fuck will that get me? She was playing me all along; her and herfiancé.
I’m in love with a liar.
And I still want Storm; she’s mine.
I’m not letting her go, she’s staying here with me,I think while I rip off my hand wraps.
Giving her an easy smile, I walk to the workbench, boxing her in. “You came here for another round?” I ask, running my thumb over my lips.
She stares at my sweat-soaked chest, then up, swallowing hard, her eyes darting nervously around the shed. “No, I came to talk.”
