Chapter One

Kenzie

‘Exhibit A' of why book men are better than real men… book men always know what to say to make things right. Real men stand there staring at you like you have two heads.

I'm currently staring at a real man. Though, I wish he were a book man. Particularly speaking, the hero from the book I'm currently reading, ‘Coming Undone.' I can't remember who wrote it, but it's this sexy-hot story about a woman who's down on her luck. One lonely night she's out looking through trash cans for food and she runs across this ultra handsome hero with an eight pack and massive biceps who wants to make all her dreams come true. Of course, he's a secret billionaire, has a huge dick, and he thinks she's covered in some heavenly halo. This woman can do nothing wrong. Last chapter, she lost his favorite pair of cufflinks, a family heirloom. He shrugged it off and flew her to Paris to fuck in fields of fresh lavender.

I guess that's a fantasy for a reason, right?

Drawing in a deep breath, I run the numbers on what happens next. Not in the book, but in real life, with this real man that's staring at me like prey he's about to destroy. Granted, I just knocked over the coffee can with his dog's ashes off the woodstove.

Trust me, I know I'm in the wrong, but book man would check me over to see if I was okay. Then, he'd help me clean the ashes, and we'd spend the afternoon building a custom box that was better than the original because it was his fault in the first place. At least that's what he'd tell me because he wouldn't want me to feel bad.

Real man doesn't look as patient, or as understanding.

He's just as hot, though. Maybe even hotter than book man. His giant frame leans against the back wall of the small cabin and he stares at me with a dialed focus. He wears a tight, grey t-shirt showing sleeves of dark ink and he has a scar across the left side of his neck. He might be a beast, but he's an attractive one.

"I'm so sorry. I was dusting, and it was an accident."

He drags in a deep breath. "You were dancing around and being careless."

My heart squeezes. Okay… I feel bad enough already, buddy.

"You're right. I shouldn't have been dancing. I—"

"I'll clean it up. You go finish the kitchen." His tone is low and graveled.

I knew this guy was a grump when I met him, but I figured he'd be the endearing kind. I guess that was me transferring book man onto real man again. Turns out, real grumps are just grumpy. I should've known something was off about him when he followed me to two different stores before finally asking me if I was looking for work.

Who does that?

It's like he knew how desperateI've been for work.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I turn toward the fridge to see who's calling. It's my sister, Iris. She's been stressing out over this situation she's gotten herself into. She wants to start a thing with our brother's best friend, Cooper. I don't know what to tell her. The dude is old, and we all have this history with him. The whole thing would be majorly complicated.

Knowing the giant doesn't like me taking calls on the clock, I send her to voicemail and continue to scrub the dishes.

"Popular girl today," he groans, sweeping up the ashes I so carelessly spilled.

"It's my sister, Iris. Sorry."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"Two of them. Iris and Collette. A brother, too. We're all close. Do you have any siblings?" I've been working for the beast for the better part of three weeks, and this is the first semi-real conversation we've had.

"A brother, Austin, and a sister, Polly."

I grin. "Oh yeah, that's right. Your brother is Austin. I keep forgetting that. You don't have the same accent." Austin married my friend, Dolly, last month. I was in their wedding. The one thing that sets Austin apart from a lot of guys up here is his accent. It's very southern and Dolly loves it.

"He sounds ridiculous," James groans. "I taught myself to talk right."

I bite back laughter. "Talk right? Why doesn't Austin talk right? It's just an accent. Everyone has one. You have one too, and so do I."

He goes back to the ashes, ignoring my reasoning. I should've seen that coming. He doesn't seem like the type who likes to be challenged.

"I saw the military flag up there. What branch did you serve in?" I'm working while I talk, which I don't think is against the rules, but given the day we're having, who knows?

He glances up at the flag then back down at the ashes but doesn't say anything.

Okay, maybe that was a sore topic. Clearly, I'm failing at this, but I want to know more. Certainly no one was born this grumpy. There's no baby that came straight from the womb with a permanent scowl on his face. No toddler running around refusing laughter.

Maybe he has post-traumatic stress from the war or maybe he was in love once and he lost her in some tragic accident. Maybe the love of his life left because of his psychological change, and it's all compounded into a big, hairy, angry beast of a man who couldn't manage a proper conversation to save his life.

Ashes in the dustpan, he turns around and dumps them into the trash.

My heart drops and I'm sure now there's nothing he can do to redeem himself. This man is psychotic! A monster! The devil!

"What are you doing? How… why are you putting your dog in the trash?"

"What?" he grumbles.

"Your dog! You can't put your dog in the trash!"

The stare is back. The real man glare. The one where he thinks I have two heads. "What are you talking about?"

I huff. "I just knocked over your dog"s ashes, and you just swept him up and tossed him in the trash can!" I'm so upset my hands are shaking and tears won't stop rolling.

He reaches out, his big hand on my shoulder.

Why is he comforting me? I don't want a sicko like him comforting me.

His heavy brows raise. "That's not my dog. I don't have a dog. I've never hada dog."

My entire body is vibrating. "Oh God! Who was it then?"

"It's the ashes from my fireplace! I clean it out, then fill this can, and I dump it when it's full."

A tennis ball of thoughts volley through my head. "But there was a picture of your dog next to it. A little German Shepard."

He looks away and sighs before turning back. "That's not my dog. That's my brother"s dog. His wife seems to think everyone wants a picture of their ‘baby.' I leave it there so they don't cry when they come over."

I stare toward the beast, unsure of what to think anymore. Do I believe his story? I mean, who keeps ashes from the fireplace on top of the woodstove? They go next to the woodstove… on the ground!

"You okay? That really shook you up."

I snap a look of disgust toward him. "You're so messed up."

He narrows his gaze. "I'm messed up? You're the one that thought I'd throw a dog in the trash."

"You're twisting it!" I drag in a deep breath and try to steady my emotions, but it's not working. I'm overflowing and it won't stop.

"Sit down." His tone is low as he says, "I'll get you some tea."

I don't want to sit. I want to stomp out of this house, drive home, and never come back, but I'm confused, so I sit at the wood framed table and try to relax my shoulders.

"I don't know much about you," he says, setting a hot mug next to me at the table, "and you don't know much about me. Do you want to keep it that way?"

He's staring down at me from a standing position, but he may as well be on top of a hill. He's so big, so wide, so… wild looking.

Given the fact that I've wanted to know more about this mysterious man since I met him, I decide to indulge in the weird conversation that's unfolding. It's probably one I should've had right from the start, and I would have if given the opportunity, but I was so excited to finally start making some money that I glazed over nearly every red flag I saw. "No. I'd like to know more."

He lowers his giant frame down onto the chair in front of me and relaxes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Where are you from?"

"Here in Rugged Mountain. Born and raised." I already know he's from Tennessee, so I'm not sure where to go next with the questioning without sounding like I'm prying, even though I am. "Your military flag. How long did you serve?"

"I did two tours. One in Iraq, the other in Afghanistan. Why do you need the money so bad that you're putting up with me?"

So, he knows he's an asshole. I guess that's a step in the right direction.

"I'm paying my way through school, and no one else in town is hiring right now, given it's the slow season."

"What's the major?"

"Oh, it's not that kind of school. I want to be a massage therapist. I have two more courses to finish and then I can practice full time."

His tone deepens as he says, "You really want to be touching a bunch of naked people? Aren't you worried that's dangerous?"

"Dangerous how?"

"Dangerous, like you tell a man to strip down, and you rub him all over. Inevitably, some man will think that means more than it does, and then what?"

Given that my job is professional, I'm having a hard time following his logic. "It's a job, just like your job is the ranch. You sell horses to loads of people. Do they all want to fuck you?"

He rolls his gaze to the side and straightens his back as though he's frustrated.

What the actual hell?

"I don't get the people naked and rub them down first."

"Well, thanks for your concern, but I'll be fine." I blow out a heavy breath and continue with the questioning, hoping to figure what the hell put the thorn in the beast's side. "Have you ever been married?"

"No. You?"

"I'm twenty-four. There hasn't been time for a wedding." My comment is sarcastic, but I'm still fuming about the massage therapy remarks. Everyone wants to put it in this sexual category, but I'm offering people relaxation and a relief from pain. That's all.

"People get married young all the time," he quips, sipping from his own mug. I smell the faintest hint of whiskey drifting in the air as he drinks.

"Why didn't you?"

"I haven't met anyone worth marrying."

"In… how old are you?"

"Forty-four."

"In forty-four years, you didn't meet anyone worth marrying?" Two stars for sarcasm. I'm on a roll.

"No."

"How? I mean, there are people everywhere."

He groans. "If finding someone to marry was so easy, would it be special?" He doesn't take his eyes off me as he says, "Are you dating?"

Okay, I shouldn't have asked him if he'd been married because the dating question seems a little invasive. That said, I still want to know more, so I answer him.

"No."

"Why not?"

I shrug. "Haven't met a man worth dating, I guess."

"Never?"

"Once," I sip my virgin tea, "but he turned out to be a huge loser who did nothing but treat me like shit. So… now I stick to books."

He leans back again. "You read?"

"I do. What do you read?"

"Science fiction. I like the old stuff by Orwell. Let me guess, you love romance."

"Insane amounts of it. I love the fantasy of it all. Falling in love, not knowing what's coming next, the happily ever after." I gush like a little girl retelling a fairytale, but I leave out the naughty parts. "It's my escape."

He smiles. Like a real, big, genuine smile. On one hand, it's nice to see. On the other, it's weird. I've never seen him do that before. I guess he's not used to it either by the way he readjusts immediately and stands from the table. "I have to feed the horses. Meet me here for breakfast tomorrow morning at eight."

"What about dinner? Usually I cook for you."

"Not tonight. I'll see you in the morning." He slides on his boots, grabs his baseball cap off the hook by the door, and steps outside as though his smile took the air from his lungs.

I should be scared of him. He's weird. Really, really weird. That, and the red flags keep piling up. He's clearly aggressive, probably possessive, and who knows, he could be clinically insane. But as I watch his giant frame move across the field down toward the barn, I can't help but notice the thrumming of my clit, begging me to come back tomorrow.