Mister Dick

“I didn’t say anything about sex, but now I know where your head is at.”

My cheeks blazed red. I could feel it, and pressed cold palms against them as I slammed my eyes shut.

Wrong thing to do. An image of his mouth on mine, his tongue tasting, his lips tugging and sucking me into oblivion, flashed through my mind, and I groaned. How the hell did I end up in this mess? We could never be a thing because the past was so damn messy, and that was on me. I’d been immature and nasty and done things I wasn’t proud of. Things Boyd would never understand.

Which was the center of my very big problem. There was something between us. I’d be a fool not to acknowledge it. But I knew that if I crossed that line again, my heart wouldn’t survive, because Boyd would dump me like a hot potato and never look back. Sex would make me want more, and more would be the end of me.

“Sex with Boyd can never happen.” I shook my head. “Like ever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The voice came from nowhere.

I whipped my head around so fast, I saw stars. Boyd stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe. His dark eyes glittered in that way that told me he was thinking things. Things that would probably send me over the edge.

God, I wished he’d say something. But he remained silent, and that made my already tight body freeze up even more. I’d rather he pick a fight than stare at me in silence.

His presence was like a physical touch. A slam dunk of masculinity that filled up the space and sucked out all the air. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t talk.

He pushed off from the wall. “I’ll have my people talk to your people, and we’ll set this up.”

“You’re really going to go through with this?” I found my voice, but barely got out the words.

Something flashed across his face. Something hot. And wild. And freaking dangerous. It set off a reaction inside me that ra

mped up my fears. I was scared and angry and confused. And, no lie, my lady parts were singing, oh happy day. They were chanting, I want more.

I fought the urge to cross my legs and alleviate the ache, and hoped my sister wasn’t choking on whatever the hell it was that permeated the air.

I know I was.

He winked, a sarcastic salute that made my jaw clench harder. “Yeah. I am.”

“I don’t want this.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re such a dick,” I hissed.

“That’s Mister Dick to you.”

He turned to Lyric and gave her a hug and a quick peck on the cheek before turning tail and leaving without another word. Not. One. Word.

Mister Dick? He was the king of dicks.

That was nearly a month ago, and I’d shot down every weekend he’d proposed to come to Louisiana. I had a million excuses. A spa weekend with the girls. Business meetings on the West Coast. A New York Rangers game I couldn’t get out of. Conference in Canada. Pink eye. Okay, that was desperation, but shit, I didn’t have much else.

In the end, I ran out of excuses and told him I’d be at Live Oakes the second weekend in February. It was up to him whether he came or not. I wasn’t his travel agent. He could make his own damn arrangements.

Which he did.

And here I was.

I’d arrived the day before and, for the first time in weeks, slept like a baby, in spite of the knots in my stomach and the stress headache that had dogged me for days. I suppose there was something about this place that calmed me and made things better.

At least until Boyd showed up and ruined everything, which would be in a couple of hours.

I sighed and let the front door slam shut behind me. It was cool for this time of year, a balmy fifty-five degrees as I looked down the wide driveway lined on either side by the live oaks the plantation was named after. Mist hung low to the ground, lazy snakes that slithered along the grass, and I shivered, pulling my dark gray Prada cardigan tighter.