Tequila Rose (Tequila Rose 1)

He’s always in dress pants and a tie. The one he’s wearing right now is my favorite. The deep navy blue fabric matches his eyes and makes them pop. With a clean-shaven face showing off his angular jaw and his hair cut short, but a little longer on top, he is the epitome of a Southern gentleman. A good ole boy with dirty blond hair and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Told you that you’d win,” he says with a slightly cocky undertone and then he reaches out for me. His strong arms open wide and I don’t hesitate to fall into him. He lets out a rough groan of victory as he picks me up off my feet.

I don’t mean to squeal but it’s my instinct.

I’m still laughing when he sets me down on my feet, my heels clicking and then I open the door.

Tossing the keys on the kitchen counter and flicking the lights on, I don’t bother asking him to come in. He owns the place, after all.

It’s modest but with updated appliances and has everything Bridget and I could need or want. My purse drops to the rustic front table that matches the rest of the place. The pops of teal and yellow throughout keep it happy and bright. It’s a home. Robert helped me build a home for my little girl and I don’t think Renee can understand that.

“You want to celebrate?” he asks as he kicks the door shut behind him. Even after everything we’ve been through, he still manages to ignite desire inside of me. He’s already working on loosening the knot of his tie. The poor guy is about to have blue balls.

“I can’t,” I tell him, giving him a small pout to mirror the one that immediately appears on his face.

“Should I come by later tonight?”

“I’m going out with Renee,” I answer him as I watch him struggle to knot the tie again.

He may be twenty-five, but he looks older, more dignified. We’ve both gone through some rough moments in our lives; I imagine that’s what they do to people. They age them.

Still … he’s charming, sweet, comes from money and has a bright future in politics. He shouldn’t be with me. Both of us know it, yet here we are. It would have been so easy for him to walk away.

“After, then?” he asks, lifting up his collar and watching his movements in the small mirror in the foyer while he fiddles with the tie.

“After what?” My wandering thoughts are ripped back to the present.

“Should I come by tonight, after you celebrate with your friends?”

“Do you collect rent from all your tenants that late at night?” I tease him and then step in between him and the small table, helping him adjust his tie again. The expensive silk slides easily for me. I’ve done this so many times. His hands land protectively on my hips and I hate how much it soothes the little broken pieces inside me.

I’ve relied on a man who keeps me a secret. A dirty little secret of being a kept woman. I have money to pay rent, but he refuses to take it. At first he said he was just helping out a friend. I needed more than a friend, though. Losing my house, my inheritance being stalled because of my father’s entitled girlfriend, and needing to figure out how I was going to raise a child on my own, was almost too much for me to deal with. When it all kept piling up, one thing on top of another, I needed far more than a friend to help me handle the curveballs life kept throwing at me.

Robert gave me what I needed. Even if it was wrong in some ways.

He isn’t my boyfriend and he’ll never be my husband. Yet I let him come and go as he pleases. More than that, I seek refuge in our messed-up relationship.

I pat his chest when the tie is firmly where it should be, but he doesn’t move his hands from my waist.

“I’m happy it’s over, Mags,” he whispers deep and rough, bending down to kiss the tip of my nose. It’s instinct to lean into him and he wraps his arms around me like a comforting blanket.

“Me too,” I murmur into his firm chest.

“Shit, I can’t come tonight,” he says. His acknowledgment has him taking a step back and I right myself. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he mutters, “I have that dinner with the governor.”

Two years ago, at the start of his political track he would have been eager and excited for the dinner. Now he’s a pro and all the meetings and fundraisers blur together.

Politics is why he could never be with a woman like me. How could he ever win an election in the South, marrying a “disgraced” woman like me? I roll my eyes at the thought. It’s not like I’m looking for anything anyway. I haven’t since the moment my life fell apart, followed by my little baby girl falling into my lap.