“Let’s hope she’s feeling forgiving tomorrow, man. I’d hate to see what you’d do if you had to convince her to go out on that date with you.”
His words added to my misery, not because they crushed my hope about getting her on the date, but because I had to admit how true they were.
Chapter Three
Addy
I probably looked creepy, walking slowly around Marcus’s ranch, peering around corners like I was a S.W.A.T. member looking for an armed suspect.
And why was I doing it? Because I was scared of coming face-to-face with horse porn or equine semen.
Ever since he’d told me about his ranch, my brain had gone to some truly ugly places before I could stop it, imagining how the business operated. I swear, if such a thing as mental bleach or dousing the brain with holy water was possible, I’d have done it at least a hundred times in the last six months.
Which led me to now, knocking on the door of a large stable-like structure, with my hand over my eyes. I just couldn’t face the reality of what could be going on behind it. There was only a few ways to get the ‘stuff’ Marcus traded in, and I didn’t want to see them.
And that was a gross fact—he traded in horse spunk. Like, on what planet was that even a thing? I wasn’t stupid, I knew things like this happened—hell, my great aunt had asked my Mom to send her some pig semen in Kuala Lumpur last year—but it just made me feel sick.
What if he got it on his hands? What if the horse misfired and hit him with it? Christ, what if a CSI team came and shone a black light around the place like they did on television? It’d look like one of those glow-in-the-dark paint parties. Was it even legal to do that to horses?
Shit, I couldn’t do this.
I was just preparing to turn and run back to Nonna’s when a voice said, “Can I help you?”
Turning around, I saw a woman who was about four inches taller and a whole lot skinnier than me, with her light blonde hair in a braid. She looked like something out of a cowboy movie, whereas I likely looked like a creepy lecher and a total mess.
Fuck my life!
“Ah, yeah, um…” I paused, groaning internally at the predicament I found myself in. My flight instincts were screaming at me to run—my Marcus-obsessed ones were telling me to stay. “Is Marcus around?”
“Mr. Townsend-Rossi,” she corrected with a bite to her tone. “Yes, but he’s busy.”
With horse porn?
I wanted to ask it, but I didn’t. Thankfully.
“Ah, I’ll come back, then.” Never. I didn’t add that, but it was the truth. I’d braved it once, and we’d had a lot of near misses, maybe we just weren’t meant to be.
“Do that.”
Something about how quickly she dismissed me ticked off my Italian side, and my fight instincts overtook the flight ones.
“Actually, no, I came to see him. If you’d just point me in his direction, I’ll find him myself, so I don’t inconvenience you further.”
Why in God’s name had I said that? I’d just effectively doomed myself to catching sight of the very thing I didn’t want to, all because some uppity blonde had pissed me off. Now, see, my Malaysian DNA would have just shrugged it off and said, ‘oh, well,’ but that damned Italian fire landed me right in it.
“Listen, I don’t know who y—”
“Marni?” a deep voice asked from behind me. “Who’s this?”
Spinning around, it took me a moment to register what I was looking at, but then my brain kickstarted itself back to life, giving me the ability to cogitate again. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
The guy was tall, over a foot taller than me, and looked like somewhere in his family, he had Latino blood in him. Now, as a woman who appreciated men, that was always a good thing, in my opinion, and he was proof of why.
Apart from the fact, he wasn’t Marcus Townsend-Rossi.
“Remy, this woman’s looking for Mr. Townsend-Rossi. I’ve tried explaining to her—” the lying bitch “—that he’s busy, but she’s refusing to leave.”
The double lying bitch.
Scowling at her, I bit out, “I’ll just bet your panties are burning your ass right now, aren’t they.”
She looked down her perfect button nose at me. “Excuse me?”
“Ever heard the expression: liar, liar, pants on fire? I’m certain you’ve heard it enough times in your life to know it well, given that you just lied your ass off as smoothly as you did.” Then, turning back to Mr. Latino Hotness, I held my hand out. “Adrienne Valtolina. I just moved in with my nonna who lives—”
“I know where Mrs. Valtolina lives,” he interrupted, his voice quiet but his handshake confident. Nice! “I also know who you are.”