No White Knight

Yeah.

He looks like money.

And those sly, confident, snaky golden-brown eyes look like a big fat screw you to any chances of this day having a happy ending.

He comes closer. His face is downright sculpted, graceful angles and sloping, sharp edges, so precise he’s almost beautiful.

Fun fact: Fallen angels were pretty, too.

They say Lucifer himself was once the finest creature ever made.

And watching this hulk stuffed in a suit looking over my land like it’s already his, his dark, sly brows shadowing a possessive gaze…

I can believe it.

But I won’t fall for his lies.

I’m already set to get rough and tumble if I have to, swinging off Frost’s back and vaulting over the fence, not even bothering with the gate.

I want Mr. Slick Dick out of here like yesterday.

No, I’m not here to sample whatever pretty sprinkles he puts on my crap sandwich.

That’s how men like him get you, but I know a thing or two about making deals with the devil. And the first rule is real easy to remember.

Don’t.

2

Serious Horsepower (Holt)

When Sierra Potter warned me her little sister might be difficult, I didn’t think she’d mean this damn tricky to rip my eyes off of.

Because Liberty Potter is a natural knockout.

That’s my first mistake.

Mistake number two: I’m so busy gawking at her that it doesn’t register, her coming at me like a charging grizzly, until she’s up in my face.

I’m pretty sure I’m in legit fucking danger from this pint-sized terror glaring up at me with her blue eyes like knives.

She hesitates the last couple steps, giving me a second to remember how I jumped at the chance to off myself with this deal.

I won’t lie.

I’ve had a bad feeling about this contract ever since Sierra and her financial rep—which is what I guess we’re calling fuck buddies now—showed up in my construction office trailer, settled at my desk, and acted like their cheap knockoff designer clothes made them too good for my mobile base.

Right.

Look, I know style like ducks know ponds.

I know rich.

I know fashion.

I know class.

I’ve spent years of my life living in a swanky New York City penthouse. The suit I have on right now could make a dent in the back taxes on this ranch.

And Sierra Potter and Declan Eckhard wouldn’t know class if it jumped up and chewed their faces off.

I know sob stories, too, and I wasn’t really sure how I felt about Sierra sitting in a folding chair across from my desk, dabbing at her completely dry eyes with a tissue and spinning me this tale.

Her poor father died last year—yeah, I remember Mark Potter, a nice, quiet guy always pottering around up in the mountains, pun intended.

I wasn’t around when he died. Sorry for their loss.

But I haven’t been out of Heart’s Edge so long that I don’t remember Sierra Potter running off in the back of some sleazeball’s van. Sheriff Langley had missing person notices tacked up around town for days.

So it’s hard to buy that now she’s just so concerned about her sister Libby, who’s fallen on such hard luck with her property taxes, and how if she’d just sell the land and split their inheritance, it’d make their lives so much easier.

Sierra said it was all for Libby’s own good.

Utterly selfless.

No ulterior motives.

And Declan, well, he was just there from the bank. New place, just opened up in town. Confederated Bank & Credit Union.

Never heard of ’em, but supposedly they’re a big deal in Chicago.

Declan said he could get the land for pennies, or just wait until enough time passed to seize it in a foreclosure.

But it’s in the bank’s best interest for Libby to pay off the property taxes when they’re acting as collectors for the tax man. That way, the bank gets the most money out of it, and Libby gets to keep a big stack of cash instead of losing her home and the equity in one blow.

Which means she needs an outside buyer willing to take on the property plus the tax lien.

And apparently, I’m the right man to sweet-talk Liberty out of shooting herself in the foot, if these wonderful altruists with zero ulterior motives are to be believed.

Believe me. I know better than to stick my head in a tiger’s mouth for nothing.

Turns out, Libby Potter’s property is actually the key to a major construction contract I’ve got out on bid with the city council.

If I can go the extra mile to get the land they need for a new road to a planned shopping mall that should bring tons of new businesses into town, then I’ve got the contract to build that mall in the bag.

Maybe that’s why I’m dizzy watching her transform before my eyes.

I can’t lie. When I saw Libby sitting on top of that pretty dappled horse with its shaggy mane, I felt like I was looking at something out of a story.