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CHAPTER 3
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What the hell had happenedlast night? It was early morning and Gavin walked out on the back porch with his steaming mug of coffee. In the distance, the Crazy, Absaroka, and Bridger Mountains rose majestically up against a perfect, blue Montana sky.
He’d never even thought of leaving South Africa, but when his sisters had moved to Alisson, Montana about three years before, and Sarah had broken off their relationship, or whatever it had been, he’d realized there was nothing keeping him in his home country any longer. Add to that the increasing violence and corruption that seemed to have taken over South Africa, and it hadn’t been a difficult decision to make.
Over the past few months, he’d fallen in love with the wide, open spaces, the fierce mountains, and the gentle, rolling landscapes one finds on the eastern side of Montana.
And the people. The residents of Alisson didn’t warm to strangers quickly, but because of his two sisters, he felt tolerated if not quite accepted yet. He’d settled in nicely, loved being close to Charlie and Lindsay, and he was looking forward to his move to the ranch soon. Both he and Blake, Lindsay’s husband, had bought shares in Logan’s ranch.
But then last night happened. Oh, he’d been aware of Brooke Johnson since day one. The tall widow, with her honey-blond hair and blue eyes, was gorgeous, and yes, he also noticed those gorgeous long legs that seemed to go on forever. But up ’til now, he’d studiously ignored the fist of desire he experienced every time he saw her. Apart from the fact that he wasn’t interested in a relationship, everyone still talked about Brooke’s late husband Adam and how happy the two of them had been.
But then, yesterday, he’d opened his front door to find her son on his porch, asking him to please cook for them. That single incident had been the trigger for everything that had happened last night.
He should’ve listened to his gut and found some or other excuse, but apart from the fact that he couldn’t say no to that pleading pair of blue eyes, so much like the mother’s, he was intrigued. For the first time, he had a legitimate reason to visit the lovely widow without any of his sisters around.
The rest of the evening he couldn’t have planned even if he’d tried. Brooke was the one who’d mentioned a “fake relationship.” At the time it had sounded like a good idea. But that was before he’d kissed her.
There was nothing “fake” about the way his body reacted to the kiss, to her. He couldn’t remember ever getting that turned on that quickly. And what was driving him crazy was the fact that she’d responded to him as passionately.
His phone bleeped. It was a message. From the lovely Brooke, no less.
We have to talk. Set our stories straight. Sign a contract.
By the time he’d finished reading, he was grinning. Brooke Johnson was your typical artist who mostly lived in a world of her own, where ordinary things—like being on time, knowing where her phone, keys, bag were, eating at specific times—were not important. And now she wanted to “set their stories straight” and heaven forbid, “sign a contract.”
This, he had to see.
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Brooke was pacing thepart of the corridor right in front of the front door. She stopped and listened. No, it wasn’t Gavin’s car yet. She had so much work to do, but she had to talk to him before she’d be able to do any of it.
She hadn’t slept a wink last night, and the few times she had managed to drift away, steamy scenes of entwined bodies had woken her up. Her heart would be racing, her body ready to...well, to make love.
Since Adam had passed away three years ago, the last thing on her mind had been sex. She had their little boy to look after. It had also been around the same time the gallery in Missoula had seen her work on social media and had asked if they could represent her. They’d organized an exhibition, leading to more work. Not that she was complaining—she loved what she was doing—but there simply wasn’t time in her day for kissing, let alone sex.
Sex? Upset, she rubbed her face. Why was she still thinking about sex? Gavin had said they were both sex-starved. Maybe he wasn’t that far wrong. Maybe that was the reason for the painting, the reason why she was now in this ridiculous situation. Maybe—
