big, powerful, sensually charged body. There’d been a time when she would’ve surrendered to that lure, cuddled against that tall frame and just inhaled his fragrance straight from the source of his sun-warmed skin. Let him cup her hip and the nape of her neck, press himself against her. Felt his cock nudge her stomach, promising her exquisite pleasure unlike anything she’d ever known.
Stifling a full-body shiver, she shifted backward, injecting desperately needed space between them. Space that didn’t contain the memory of sex. Amazing, bone-melting, screaming-until-your-throat-was-raw sex.
“Talk to you soon,” he said in that deep rumble of his that added more sensation to her imminent sensory overload.
She moved back and away, granting him room to exit the office. And only once the door closed did she exhale hard and loud.
Ross Edmond was trouble for her.
Some things never changed.
Six
Ross pulled his Aston Martin DBS to a stop in front of Elegance Ranch’s scrolled, black iron gate. Pressing the automatic opener on his dashboard, he waited for it to part before driving through to the circular drive. He paused, his nearly soundless engine idling while he stole a moment to stare beyond the palatial Palladian-style villa to the setting sun. Beams of gold, deep orange and brilliant red streamed across the rich ranchland and rolling fields, transforming the estate into a beautiful world that appeared to be on fire.
This was his favorite time of day. For some, it was morning when the day loomed rich with possibilities. But for him, it was evening. It meant a day of hard work, accomplishments and completed goals. It meant a sense of satisfaction that he’d pulled his weight, been a man, not just an Edmond. And the beauty of the sunset congratulated him.
Sighing, he slowly drove into the air-conditioned multicar garage, and after switching the ignition off, just sat there inside the car’s plush interior. A quiet peace filled him at being back home after three days in Dallas. Meetings and dinners had filled those hours, for both the Edmond Organization and the festival business. Everything had gone well, and pride filtered through him. Even his father couldn’t complain about the connections and headway he’d made. Well, Rusty Edmond actually could find something to criticize, because that was what he did.
Speaking of Rusty...
Clenching his jaw, Ross shoved the car door open. For days he’d put off this conversation with his father because it wasn’t one he’d wanted to have over the phone. He needed to look into Rusty’s eyes, see each nuance and tick of his expression as Ross confronted his father about lying to him for three years about Charlotte.
Rage that had simmered at times, but never fully extinguished, flared to a flash fire as he exited the garage. Each step through the sprawling and luxurious home stoked those flames. This time of evening, his father would be in one place—his study. Sipping on a tumbler of whiskey before settling in to continue the work he hadn’t finished at the office.
For as long as Ross remembered, work had been his father’s obsession. Well, work and women. A man couldn’t marry four times and not make room for play. But each marriage had ended because he treated his wives the same way he did his children. Like employees. There for his instruction, censure and disposal. And very rarely his praise.
When any of those wives dared complain, he’d sweep an arm out as if inviting them to look around them. Telling them that the work they nagged about had bought the estate, with its many rooms for entertaining, bedrooms and private baths, resort-style pool, stables, several guesthouses and miles and miles of ranchland. Moreover, his many hours at the office paid for the designer clothes, purses and jewelry in their walk-in closets and the extravagant parties they threw on the entertainment pavilion.
Yes, Rusty Edmond could be an arrogant, sarcastic dick.
Which, again, explained the four ex-wives.
On his way to Rusty’s study, Ross passed the state-of-the-art kitchen with its separate service kitchen, butler’s pantry and wine cellar. It didn’t require exerting too much imagination to remember Charlotte rushing around in there, owning the area like the pro she was. That was how she’d first nabbed his attention. That confidence. That cool poise in the midst of controlled chaos. That wild beauty.
And those quick, clever hands.
Shit, did it make him a pervert that those hands so easily and assuredly chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, flipping meat or skillfully plating exquisite dishes had hardened his cock so it resembled the