He’s come to Gold Valley with a hidden agenda…

not to fall for his enemy’s daughter!

Emerson Maxfield is the perfect pawn for rancher Holden McCall’s purposes. She’s engaged to a man solely to win her father’s approval, and the sheltered beauty never steps out of line. Until one encounter changes everything. Now this good girl must marry Holden to protect her family—or their desire could spell downfall for them all…

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of over seventy-five romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com.

Also by Maisey Yates

Gold Valley Vineyards miniseries

Rancher’s Wild Secret

Copper Ridge miniseries

Take Me, Cowboy

Hold Me, Cowboy

Seduce Me, Cowboy

Claim Me, Cowboy

Want Me, Cowboy

Need Me, Cowboy

Gold Valley miniseries

A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas

Unbroken Cowboy

Cowboy to the Core

Untamed Cowboy

Smooth-Talking Cowboy

Cowboy Christmas Redemption

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Rancher’s Wild Secret

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09277-7

RANCHER’S WILD SECRET

© 2019 Maisey Yates

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

 Change of font size and line height

 Change of background and font colours

 Change of font

 Change justification

 Text to speech

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

About the Publisher

One

The launch party for Maxfield Vineyards’ brand-new select label was going off without a hitch, and Emerson Maxfield was bored.

Not the right feeling for the brand ambassador of Maxfield Vineyards, but definitely the feeling she was battling now.

She imagined many people in attendance would pin the look of disinterest on her face on the fact that her fiancé wasn’t present.

She looked down at her hand, currently wrapped around a glass of blush wine, her fourth finger glittering with the large, pear-shaped diamond that she was wearing.

She wasn’t bored because Donovan wasn’t here.

Frankly, Donovan was starting to bore her, and that reality caused her no small amount of concern.

But what else could she do?

Her father had arranged the relationship, the engagement, two years earlier, and she had agreed. She’d been sure that things would progress, that she and Donovan could make it work because on paper they should work.

But their relationship wasn’t…changing.

They worked and lived in different states and they didn’t have enough heat between them to light a campfire.

All things considered, the party was much less boring than her engagement.

But all of it—the party and the engagement—was linked. Linked to the fact that her father’s empire was the most important thing in his world.

And Emerson was a part of that empire.

In fairness, she cared about her father. And she cared about his empire, deeply. The winery was her life’s work. Helping build it, grow it, was something she excelled at.

She had managed to get Maxfield wines into Hollywood awards’ baskets. She’d gotten them recommended on prominent websites by former talk show hosts.

She had made their vineyard label something better than local.

Maxfield Vineyards was the leading reason parts of Oregon were beginning to be known as the new Napa.

And her work, and her siblings’ work, was the reason Maxfield Vineyards had grown as much as it had.

She should be feeling triumphant about this party.

But instead she felt nothing but malaise.

The same malaise that had infected so much of what she had done recently.

This used to be enough.

Standing in the middle of a beautiful party, wearing a dress that had been hand tailored to conform perfectly to her body—it used to be a thrill. Wearing lipstick like this—the perfect shade of red to go with her scarlet dress—it used to make her feel…

Important.

Like she mattered.

Like everything was put together and polished. Like she was a success. Whatever her mother thought.

Maybe Emerson’s problem was the impending wedding.

Because the closer that got, the more doubts she had.

If she could possibly dedicate herself to her job so much that she would marry the son of one of the world’s most premier advertising executives.

That she would go along with what her father asked, even in this.

But Emerson loved her father. And she loved the winery.

And as for romantic love…

Well, she’d never been in love. It was a hypothetical. But all these other loves were not. And as far as sex and passion went…

She hadn’t slept with Donovan yet. But she’d been with two other men. One boyfriend in college, one out of college. And it just hadn’t been anything worth upending her life over.

She and Donovan shared goals and values. Surely they could mesh those things together and create a life.

Why not marry for the sake of the vineyard? To make her father happy?

Why not?

Emerson sighed and surveyed the room.

Everything was beautiful. Of course it was. The party was set in her family’s gorgeous mountaintop tasting room, the view of the vineyards stretching out below, illuminated by the full moon.

Emerson walked out onto the balcony. There were a few people out there, on the far end, but they didn’t approach her. Keeping people at a distance was one of her gifts. With one smile she could attract everyone in the room if she chose. But she could also affect a blank face that invited no conversation at all.

She looked out over the vineyards and sighed yet again.

“What are you doing out here?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Emerson’s mouth. Because of course, she could keep everyone but her baby sister Cricket from speaking to her when she didn’t want to be spoken to. Cricket basically did what she wanted.

“I just needed some fresh air. What are you doing here? Weren’t you carded at the door?”

“I’m twenty-one, thank you,” Cricket sniffed, looking…well, not twenty-one, at least not to Emerson.

Emerson smirked. “Oh. How could I forget?”

Truly, she couldn’t forget, as she had thrown an absolutely spectacular party for Cricket, which had made Cricket look wide-eyed and uncomfortable, particularly in the fitted dress Emerson had chosen for her. Cricket did not enjoy being the center of attention.

Emerson did like it. But only on her terms.

Cricket looked mildly incensed in the moonlight. “I didn’t come out here to be teased.”

“I’m sorry,” Emerson responded, sincere because she didn’t want to hurt her sister. She only wanted to mildly goad her, because Cricket was incredibly goadable.

Emerson looked out across the vast expanse of fields and frowned when she saw a figure moving among the vines.

It was a man. She could tell even from the balcony that he had a lean, rangy body, and the long strides of a man who was quite tall.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Cricket said, peering down below. “Should I get Dad?”

“No,” Emerson said. “I can go down.”

She knew exactly who was supposed to be at the party, and who wasn’t.

And if this man was one of the Coopers from Cowboy Wines, then she would have reason to feel concerned that he was down there sniffing around to get trade secrets.

Not that their top rival had ever stooped to that kind of espionage before, but she didn’t trust anyone. Not really.

Wine-making was a competitive industry, and it was only becoming more so.

Emerson’s sister Wren always became livid at the mere mention of the Cooper name, and was constantly muttering about all manner of dirty tricks they would employ to get ahead. So really, anything was possible.

“I’ll just run down and check it out.”

“You’re going to go down and investigate by yourself?”

“I’m fine.” Emerson waved a hand. “I have a cell phone, and the place is heavily populated right now. I don’t think I’m going to have any issues.”

“Emerson…”

Emerson slipped back inside, and out a side door, moving quickly down the stairs, not listening to her sister at all. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to see who the man was for herself.

Maybe because his arrival was the first truly interesting thing to happen all evening. She went in the direction where she’d last seen the figure, stepping out of the golden pool of light spilling from the party and into the grapevines. The moonlight illuminated her steps, though it was pale and left her hands looking waxen.

She rounded one row of grapevines into the next, then stopped, frozen.

She had known he was tall, even from a distance. But he was…very tall. And broad.

Broad shoulders, broad chest. He was wearing a cowboy hat, which seemed ridiculous at night, because it wasn’t keeping the sun off him. He had on a tight black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

And he was not a Cooper.

She had never seen the man before in her life. He saw her and stopped walking. He lifted his head up, and the moonlight caught his features. His face was sculpted, beautiful. So much so that it immobilized her. That square jaw was visible in even this dim light.

“I… Have you lost your way?” she asked. “The party is that way. Though… I’m fairly certain you’re not on the guest list.”

“I wasn’t invited to any party,” he said, his voice rough and raspy, made for sin.

Made for sin?

She didn’t know where such a thought had come from.

Except, it was easy to imagine that voice saying all kinds of sinful things, and she couldn’t credit why.

“Then… Forgive me, but what are you doing here?”

“I work here,” he said. “I’m the new ranch hand.”

Damn if she wasn’t Little Red Riding Hood delivered right to the Big Bad Wolf.

Except, she wasn’t wearing a scarlet cloak. It was a scarlet dress that clung to her generous curves like wrapping paper around a tempting present.

Her dark hair was lined silver by the moonbeams and tumbling around naked shoulders.

He could picture her in his bed, just like that. Naked and rumpled in the sheets, that hair spread everywhere.

It was a shame he wasn’t here for pleasure.

He was here for revenge.

And if he had guessed correctly based on what he knew about the Maxfield family, this was Emerson Maxfield. Who often had her beautiful face splashed across magazine covers for food and wine features, and who had become something of an It Girl for clothing brands as well. She was gorgeous, recognizable…and engaged.

But none of that would have deterred him, if he really wanted her.

What the hell did he care if a man had put a ring on a woman’s finger? In his opinion, if an engaged or married woman was looking elsewhere, then the man who’d put the ring on her finger should’ve done a better job of keeping her satisfied.

If Holden could seduce a woman, then the bastard he seduced her away from deserved it.

Indiscretion didn’t cause him any concern.

But there were a whole lot of women and a whole lot of ways for him to get laid, and he wasn’t about to sully himself inside a Maxfield.

No matter how gorgeous.

“I didn’t realize my father had hired someone new,” she said.

It was funny, given what he knew about her family, the way that she talked like a little private school princess. But he knew she’d gone to elite schools on the East Coast, coming back home to Oregon for summer vacations, at least when her family wasn’t jet-setting off somewhere else.

They were the wealthiest family in Logan County, with a wine label that competed on the world stage.

Her father, James Maxfield, was a world-class visionary, a world-class winemaker…and a world-class bastard.

Holden had few morals, but there were some scruples he held dear. At the very top of that list was that when he was with a woman, there was no coercion involved. And he would never leave one hopeless, blackmailed and depressed. No.

But James Maxfield had no such moral code.

And, sadly for James, when it came to dealing out justice to men who had harmed someone Holden cared about very much, he didn’t have a limit on how far he was willing to go. He wondered what Emerson would think if she knew what her father had done to a woman who was barely her age.

What he’d done to Holden’s younger sister.

But then, Emerson probably wouldn’t care at all.

He couldn’t see how she would not know the way her father behaved, given that the whole family seemed to run the enterprise together.

He had a feeling the Maxfield children looked the other way, as did James’s wife. All of them ignoring his bad behavior so they could continue to have access to his bank account.

“I just got here today,” he said. “Staying in one of the cabins on the property.”

There was staff lodging, which he had found quaint as hell.

Holden had worked his way up from nothing, though his success in real estate development was not anywhere near as splashed over the media as the Maxfield’s success was. Which, in the end, was what allowed him to engage in this revenge mission, this quest to destroy the life and reputation of James Maxfield.

And the really wonderful thing was, James wouldn’t even see it coming.

Because he wouldn’t believe a man of such low status could possibly bring him down. He would overlook Holden. Because James would believe that Holden was nothing more than a hired hand, a lackey.

James would have no idea that Holden was a man with a massive spread of land in the eastern part of the state, in Jackson Creek.

Because James Maxfield thought of no one but himself. He didn’t think anyone was as smart as he was, didn’t think anyone was anywhere near as important.

And that pride would be his downfall in the end.

Holden would make sure of it.

“Oh,” she said. She met his eyes and bit her lip.

The little vixen was flirting with him.

“Aren’t you meant to be in there hosting the party?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I guess so.” She didn’t seem at all surprised that he recognized who she was. But then, he imagined Emerson was used to being recognized.

“People will probably be noticing that you’re gone.”

“I suppose they might be,” she said. She wrinkled her nose. “Between you and me, I’m getting a little tired of these things.”

“Parties with free food and drinks? How could you get tired of that?”

She lifted one elegant shoulder. “I suppose when the drinks are always free, you lose track of why they’re special.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

He’d worked for every damn thing he had.

“Oh. Of course. Sorry. That’s an incredibly privileged thing to say.”

“Well, if you’re who I think you are, you’re incredibly privileged. Why wouldn’t you feel that way?”

“Just because it’s true in my life doesn’t mean it’s not a tacky thing to say.”

“Well, I can think of several tacky things to say right back that might make you feel a little bit better.”

She laughed. “Try me.”

“If you’re not careful, Little Red, wandering through the wilderness like this, a Big Bad Wolf might gobble you up.”

It was an incredibly obvious and overtly sexual thing to say. And the little princess, with her engagement ring glittering on her left hand, should have drawn up in full umbrage.

But she didn’t. Instead, her body seemed to melt slightly, and she looked away. “Was that supposed to be tacky?”

“It was,” he said.

“I guess it didn’t feel that way to me.”

“You should head back to that party,” he said.

“Why? Am I in danger out here?”

“Depends on what you consider danger.”

There was nothing wrong—he told himself—with building a rapport with her. In fact, it would be a damned useful thing in many ways.

“Possibly talking to strange men in vineyards.”

“Depends on whether or not you consider me strange.”

“I don’t know you well enough to have that figured out yet.” A crackle of interest moved over his skin, and he didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him that the first time he’d felt anything remotely like interest in a hell of a long time was happening now.

With Emerson Maxfield.

But she was the one who took a step back. She was the one whose eyes widened in fear, and he had to wonder if his hatred for the blood that ran through her veins was as evident to her as it was to him.

“I have to go,” she said. “I’m… The party.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

He took a step toward her, almost without thinking.

And then she retreated, as quickly as she could on those impractical stiletto heels.

“You better run, Little Red,” he said under his breath.

And then he rocked back on his heels, surveying the grapevines and the house up on the hill. “The Big Bad Wolf is going to gobble all of this up.”

Two

“Emerson,” her dad said. “I have a job for you.”

Emerson was tired and feeling off balance after last night. She had done something that was so out of character she still couldn’t figure out what she’d been thinking.

She had left the party, left her post. She had chased after a strange man out in the grapevines. And then…

He had reminded her of a wolf. She’d gone to a wolf sanctuary once when she was in high school, and she’d been mesmerized by the powerful pack alpha. So beautiful. So much leashed strength.

She’d been afraid. But utterly fascinated all at once. Unable to look away…

He worked on the property.

And that should have been a red light to her all the way down. An absolute stop, don’t go any further. If the diamond on her finger couldn’t serve as that warning, then his status as an employee should have.

But she had felt drawn to him. And then he’d taken a step toward her. And it was like suddenly the correct instincts had woken up inside of her and she had run away.

But she didn’t know why it had taken that long for her to run. What was wrong with her?

“A job,” she said blankly, in response to her father.

“I’ve been watching the profits of Grassroots Winery down in town,” he said. “They’re really building a name for themselves as a destination. Not just a brand that people drink when they’re out, but a place people want to visit. We’ve proved this is an incredibly successful location for weddings and other large events. The party you threw last night was superb.”

Emerson basked in the praise. But only for a moment. Because if there was praise, then a request couldn’t be far behind.

“One of the things they’re offering is rides through the vineyard on horseback. They’re also doing sort of a rustic partnership with the neighboring dude ranch, which sounds more like the bastion of Cowboy Wines. Nothing I want to get involved with. We don’t want to lower the value of our brand by associating with anything down-market. But horse rides through the vineyards, picnics, things like that—I think those could be profitable.”

Emerson had met the owner of Grassroots Winery, Lindy Dodge, on a couple of occasions, and she liked the other woman quite a lot. Emerson had a moment of compunction about stepping on what had clearly been Lindy’s idea, but then dismissed it.

It wasn’t uncommon at all for similar companies to try comparable ventures. They often borrowed from each other, and given the number of wineries beginning to crop up in the area, it was inevitable there would be crossover.

Plus, to the best of her ability Emerson tried not to look at the others as competition. They were creating a robust wine trail that was a draw in and of itself.

Tourists could visit several wineries when they came to Logan County, traveling from Copper Ridge through Gold Valley and up into the surrounding mountains. That the area was a destination for wine enthusiasts was good for everyone.

The only vineyard that Maxfield Vineyards really viewed as competition was Cowboy Wines. Which Emerson thought was funny in a way, since their brand could not be more disparate from Maxfield’s if they tried.

And she suspected they did try.

She also suspected there was something darker at the root of the rivalry, but if so, James never said.

And neither had Wren, the middle sister. Wren’s role in the company often saw her clashing with Creed Cooper, who worked in the same capacity for his family winery, and Wren hated him with every fiber of her being. Loudly and often.

“So what is the new venture exactly?” Emerson asked.

“I just told you. Trail rides and picnics, but we need a way to make it feel like a Maxfield endeavor. And that, I give over to you.”

“That sounds like it would be more Wren’s thing.” Wren was responsible for events at the winery, while Emerson dealt more globally with brand representation.

“I think ultimately this will be about the way you influence people. I want you to find the best routes, the prime views for the trips, take some photos, put it up on your social media. Use the appropriate pound signs.”

“It’s a… It’s a hashtag.”

“I’m not interested in learning what it is, Emerson. That’s why I have you.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

She did have a massive online reach, and she could see how she might position some photos, which would garner media interest, and possibly generate a story in Sip and Savor magazine. And really, it would benefit the entire area. The more that Maxfield Vineyards—with its vast reach in the world of wine—brought people into the area, the more the other vineyards benefited too.

“That sounds good to me,” she said.

“That’s why I hired a manager for the ranching portion of the facility. I need him to oversee some new construction, because if we’re going to have guests in the stables, everything needs to be updated. I need for him to oversee the acquisition of a few horses. Plus, the rides, etc.”

“Oh,” she said. “This…person. This man you hired. He’s…tall?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t consider his height. Did you?”

“No,” she said, her face flaming. She felt like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “I just… I think I saw him last night. Down in the vineyard. I left the party to check and see what was happening.” Total honesty with her father came as second nature to her.

She tried to be good. She tried to be the daughter he had raised her to be, always.

“You left the party?”

“Everything was well in hand. I left Cricket in charge.”

That might be a stretch. But while she was as honest with her father as possible, she tended to leave out some things like…her feelings. And this would be one of those times.

“I met him briefly, then I went back to the house. That’s all. He told me he worked on the property.”

“You have to be careful,” her father said. “You don’t want any photographs taken of you alone with a man who’s not Donovan. You don’t need anything to compromise your engagement.”

Sometimes she wondered if her father realized they didn’t live in the Victorian era.

“Nothing is going to compromise my engagement to Donovan.”

“I’m glad you’re certain about it.”

She was, in spite of her occasional doubts. Her father might not understand that times had changed, but she did. She felt certain Donovan was carrying on with other women in the absence of a physical relationship with her. Why would she assume anything else? He was a man, after all.

She knew why her father was so invested in her marriage to Donovan. As part of his planned retirement, her father was giving ownership stakes in the winery to each of his daughters’ husbands.

He felt Donovan would be an asset to the winery, and Emerson agreed. But she wasn’t sure how that fit into a marriage.

Clearly, Donovan didn’t much care about how that fit into a marriage either.

And she doubted he would be able to muster up any jealousy over her behavior.

“Image,” her father said, bringing her back to the moment. “It isn’t what you do that matters, Emerson, it’s what the world thinks you’re doing.”

There was something about the way her father said it, so smooth and cold, that made her feel chilled. It shouldn’t chill her, because she agreed that image was important in their business.

Still, it did chill her.

Emerson shifted. “Right. Well, no worries there. Image is my expertise.”

“It’s all about the brand,” he said.

“I tell you that,” she said.

“And you’ve done it well.”

“Thank you,” she said, nearly flushed with pleasure. Compliments from James Maxfield were rare, and she clung to them when she got them.

“You should head down to the stables. He’ll be waiting for you.”

And if that made her stomach tighten, she ignored the sensation. She had a job to do. And that job had nothing to do with how tall the new ranch manager was.

She was as pretty in the ridiculously trendy outfit she was wearing now as she’d been in that red dress.

She was wearing high-cut black pants that went up past her belly button, loose fitted through the leg, with a cuff around the ankle, paired with a matching black top that was cropped to just beneath her breasts and showed a wedge of stomach. Her dark hair was in a high bun, and she was wearing the same red lipstick she’d had on the night before, along with round sunglasses that covered her eyes.

He wished he could see her eyes. And as she approached, she pushed the glasses up to the top of her head.

He hadn’t been prepared for how beautiful she was.

He thought he’d seen her beauty in the moonlight, thought he’d seen it in photographs, but they didn’t do her justice. He’d been convinced that the blue of her eyes was accomplished with some kind of a filter. But it was clear to him now, out in the bright sun with the green mountains surrounding them, and her eyes reflecting that particular blue from the center of the sky, that if anything, her eyes had been downplayed in those photographs.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning to you too. I take it you spoke with your father?”

It took all of his self-control for that word to come out smoothly.

“Yes,” she said. “I did.”

“And what do you think of his proposition?”

In Holden’s opinion, it was a good one. And when he was through ruining James and sinking his brand, Holden might well buy the entire property and continue making wine himself. He was good at selling things, making money. He could make more money here.

“It’s good. I think a few well-placed selfies will drum up interest.”

“You’re probably right. Though, I can’t say I’m real up on selfies.”

That was a lie. His younger sister was a pretty powerful influencer. A model, who had met James Maxfield at one of the parties that had brought their type together. He was angry at himself for the part his own money had played in all of this.

Because Soraya had been innocent. A sweet girl from a small town who had been catapulted into a lifestyle she hadn’t been prepared to handle.

Holden could relate well enough.

He certainly hadn’t known how to handle money in the beginning.

But he’d been helping his family dig out of the hole they’d found themselves in. The first thing he’d done was buy his mother a house. Up on a hill, fancy and safe from the men who had used her all throughout Holden’s childhood.

And his sweet, younger half sister… She’d tumbled headfirst into fame. She was beautiful, that much had always been apparent, but she had that lean, hungry kind of beauty, honed by years of poverty, her backstory lending even more interest to her sharp cheekbones and unerring sense of style.

She had millions of people following her, waiting to see her next picture. Waiting to see which party she would attend.

And she attended the wrong one when she met James Maxfield.

He’d pounced on her before Holden could say “daddy issues.” And James had left her devastated. Holden would never forget having to admit his sister for a psychiatric hold. Soraya’s suicide attempt, the miscarriage… The devastation.

It was burned in him.

Along with the reality that his money hadn’t protected her. His money had opened her up to this.

Now all that was left was revenge, because he couldn’t make it right. He couldn’t take her pain away.

But he could take everything away from the Maxfield family.

And that was what he intended to do.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” she said. She stuck her hand out—the one that didn’t have the ring on it. That one angled at her side, the gem sparkling in the sunlight. “I’m Emerson Maxfield.”

“Holden Brown,” he said, extending his own hand.

If James Maxfield weren’t a raging narcissist, Holden might have worried about using his real first name.

But he doubted the older man would ever connect the younger model he’d used for a couple of months and then discarded with Holden. Why would he? James probably barely remembered Soraya’s first name, much less any of her family connections. Holden himself wasn’t famous. And that was how he liked it. He’d always thought it would be handy to have anonymity. He hadn’t imagined it would be for reasons of revenge.

He closed his hand around hers. It was soft, desperately so. The hand of a woman who had never done hard labor in her life, and something in him suddenly felt desperate to make this little princess do some down and dirty work.

Preferably on his body.

He pulled his hand away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Holden,” she said.

“Nice to meet you too.” He bit the pleasantry off at the end, because anything more and he might make a mistake.

“I have some routes in mind for this new venture. Let’s go for a ride.”

Three

Let’s go for a ride was not sexual.

Not in the context of the ranch. Not to a woman who was so used to being exposed to horses. As she was.

Except, she kept replaying that line over and over in her head. Kept imagining herself saying it to him.

Let’s go for a ride.

And then she would imagine herself saying it to him in bed.

She had never, ever felt like this in her entire life.

Her first time had been fine. Painless, which was nice, she supposed, but not exactly exciting.

It had been with her boyfriend at the time, who she’d known very well, and who had been extraordinarily careful and considerate.

Though, he’d cared more about keeping her comfortable than keeping her impassioned. But they had been young. So that seemed fair enough.

Her boyfriend after that had been smooth, urbane and fascinating to her. A world traveler before she had done any traveling of her own. She had enjoyed conversations with him, but she hadn’t been consumed by passion or lust or anything like that.

She had just sort of thought she was that way. And she was fine with it. She had a lot of excitement in her life. She wasn’t hurting for lack of passion.

But Holden made her feel like she might actually be missing something.

Like there was a part of herself that had been dormant for a very long time.

Right. You’ve been in the man’s presence for…a combined total of forty minutes.

Well, that made an even stronger case for the idea of exploring the thing between them. Because in that combined forty minutes, she had imagined him naked at least six times.

Had thought about closing the distance between them and kissing him on the mouth no less than seven times.

And that was insane.

He was working on the ranch, working for her father. Working for her, in essence, as she was part of the winery and had a stake in the business.

And somehow, that aroused her even more.

A man like her fiancé, Donovan, knew a whole lot about the world.

He knew advertising, and there was a heck of a lot of human psychology involved in that. And it was interesting.

But she had a feeling that a man like Holden could teach her about her own body, and that was more than interesting. It was a strange and intoxicating thought.

Also, totally unrealistic and nothing you’re going to act on.

No, she thought as she mounted her horse, and the two of them began riding along a trail that she wanted to investigate as a route for the new venture. She would never give in to this just for the sake of exploring her sensuality. For a whole list of reasons.

So you’re just going to marry Donovan and wonder what this could have been like?

Sink into the mediocre sex life that the lack of attraction between you promises. Never know what you’re missing.

Well, the thing about fantasies was they were only fantasies.

And the thing about sex with a stranger—per a great many of her friends who’d had sex with strangers—was that the men involved rarely lived up to the fantasy. Because they had no reason to make anything good for a woman they didn’t really know.

They were too focused on making it good for themselves. And men always won in those games. Emerson knew her way around her own body, knew how to find release when she needed it. But she’d yet to find a man who could please her in the same way, and when she was intimate with someone, she couldn’t ever quite let go… There were just too many things to think about, and her brain was always consumed.

It wouldn’t be different with Holden. No matter how hot he was.

And blowing up all her inhibitions over an experience that was bound to be a letdown was something Emerson simply wasn’t going to risk.

So there.

She turned her thoughts away from the illicit and forced them onto the beauty around her.

Her family’s estate had been her favorite place in the world since she was a child. But of course, when she was younger, that preference had been a hollow kind of favoritism, because she didn’t have a wide array of experiences or places to compare it to.

She did now. She’d been all over the world, had stayed in some of the most amazing hotels, had enjoyed food in the most glamorous locales. And while she loved to travel, she couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t call Maxfield Vineyards home.

From the elegant spirals of the vines around the wooden trellises, all in neat rows spreading over vast acres, to the manicured green lawns, to the farther reaches where it grew wild, the majestic beauty of the wilderness so big and awe-inspiring, making her feel appropriately small and insignificant when the occasion required.

“Can I ask you a question?” His voice was deep and thick, like honey, and it made Emerson feel like she was on the verge of a sugar high.

She’d never felt anything like this before.

This, she supposed, was chemistry. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why it would suddenly be this man who inspired it. She had met so many men who weren’t so far outside the sphere of what she should find attractive. She’d met them at parties all around the world. None of those men—including the one her father wanted her to be engaged to—had managed to elicit this kind of response in her.

And yet… Holden did it effortlessly.

“Ask away,” she said, resolutely fixing her focus on the scene around them. Anything to keep from fixating on him.

“Why the hell did you wear that knowing we were going out riding?”

She blinked. Then she turned and looked at him. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“I have never seen anyone get on a horse in something so impractical.”

“Oh, come now. Surely you’ve seen period pieces where the woman is in a giant dress riding sidesaddle.”

“Yes,” he said. “But you have other options.”

“It has to be photographable,” she said.

“And you couldn’t do some sexy cowgirl thing?”

Considering he was playing the part of sexy cowboy—in his tight black T-shirt and black cowboy hat—she suddenly wished she were playing the part of sexy cowgirl. Maybe with a plaid top knotted just beneath her breasts, some short shorts and cowgirl boots. Maybe, if she were in an outfit like that, she would feel suitably bold enough to ask him for a literal roll in the hay.

You’ve lost your mind.

“That isn’t exactly my aesthetic.”

“Your aesthetic is… I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning?”

She laughed. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. But sure. I Dream of Jeannie in Mourning sounds about right. In fact, I think I might go ahead and label the outfit that when I post pics.”

“Whatever works,” he said.

His comment was funny. And okay, maybe the fact that he’d been clever a couple of times in her presence was bestowing the label of funny on him too early. But it made her feel a little bit better about her wayward hormones that he wasn’t just beautiful, that he was fascinating as well.

“So today’s ride isn’t just a scouting mission for you,” he said. “If you’re worried about your aesthetic.”

“No,” she said. “I want to start generating interest in this idea. You know, pictures of me on the horse. In fact, hang on a second.” She stopped, maneuvering her mount, turning so she was facing Holden, with the brilliant backdrop of the trail and the mountains behind them. Then she flipped her phone front facing and raised it up in the air, tilting it downward and grinning as she hit the button. She looked at the result, frowned, and then did it again. The second one would be fine once she put some filters on it.

“What was that?”

She maneuvered her horse back around in the other direction, stuffed her phone in her pocket and carried on.

“It was me getting a photograph,” she said. “One that I can post. ‘Something new and exciting is coming to the Maxfield label.’”

“Are you really going to put it like that?”

“Yes. I mean, eventually we’ll do official press releases and other forms of media, but the way you use social media advertisements is a little different. I personally am part of that online brand. And my lifestyle—including my clothes—is part of what makes people interested in the vineyard.”

“Right,” he said.

“People want to be jealous,” she said. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t spend hours scrolling through photos of other people’s lives. Or of houses they’ll never be able to live in. Exotic locations they’ll never be able to go. A little envy, that bit of aspiration, it drives some people.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes. I think the success of my portion of the family empire suggests I know what I’m talking about.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You know, I suppose you’re right. People choose to indulge in that feeling, but when you really don’t have anything, it’s not fun to see all that stuff you’ll never have. It cuts deep. It creates a hunger, rather than enjoyment. It can drive some people to the edge of destruction.”

There was something about the way he said it that sent a ripple of disquiet through her. Because his words didn’t sound hypothetical.

“That’s never my goal,” she said. “And I can’t control who consumes the media I put out there. At a certain point, people have to know themselves, don’t they?”

“True enough,” he said. “But some people don’t. And it’s worse when there’s another person involved who sees weakness in them even when they don’t see it themselves. Someone who exploits that weakness. Plenty of sad, hungry girls have been lost along that envious road, when they took the wrong hand desperate for a hand up into satisfaction.”

“Well, I’m not selling wild parties,” she said. “I’m selling an afternoon ride at a family winery, and a trip here is not that out of reach for most people. That’s the thing. There’s all this wild aspirational stuff out there online, and the vineyard is just a little more accessible. That’s what makes it advertising and not luxury porn.”

“I see. Create a desire so big it can never be filled, and then offer a winery as the consolation prize.”

“If the rest of our culture supports that, it’s hardly my fault.”

“Have you ever had to want for anything in your entire life, Emerson?” The question was asked innocuously enough, but the way he asked it, in that dark, rough voice, made it buzz over her skin, crackling like electricity as it moved through her. “Or have you always been given everything you could ever desire?”

“I’ve wanted things,” she said, maybe too quickly. Too defensively.

“What?” he pressed.

She desperately went through the catalog of her life, trying to come up with a moment when she had been denied something that she had wanted in a material sense. And there was only one word that burned in her brain.

You.

Yes, that was what she would say. I want you, and I can’t have you. Because I’m engaged to a man who’s not interested in kissing me, much less getting into bed with me. And I’m no more interested in doing that with him.

But I can’t break off the engagement no matter how much I want to because I so desperately need…

“Approval,” she said. “That’s…that’s something I want.”

Her stomach twisted, and she kept her eyes fixed ahead, because she didn’t know why she had let the word escape out loud. She should have said nothing.

He wasn’t interested in hearing about her emotional issues.

“From your father?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I have his approval. My mother, on the other hand…”

“You’re famous, successful, beautiful. And you don’t have your mother’s approval?”

“Yeah, shockingly, my mother’s goal for me wasn’t to take pictures of myself and put them up on the internet.”

“Unless you have a secret stash of pictures, I don’t see how your mother could disapprove of these sorts of photographs. Unless, of course, it’s your pants. Which I do think are questionable.”

“These are wonderful pants. And actually deceptively practical. Because they allow me to sit on the horse comfortably. Whatever you might think.”

“What doesn’t your mother approve of?”

“She wanted me to do something more. Something that was my own. She doesn’t want me just running publicity for the family business. But I like it. I enjoy what I do, I enjoy this brand. Representing it is easy for me, because I care about it. I went to school for marketing, close to home. She felt like it was…limiting my potential.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry. Your mother felt like you limited your potential by going to get a degree in marketing and then going on to be an ambassador for a successful brand.”

“Yes,” she said.

She could still remember the brittle irritation in her mother’s voice when she had told her about the engagement to Donovan.

“So you’re marrying a man more successful in advertising in the broader world even though you could have done that.”

“You’re married to a successful man.”

“I was never given the opportunities that you were given. You don’t have to hide behind a husband’s shadow. You could’ve done more.”

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” she said. “Look, my mother is brilliant. And scrappy. And I respect her. But she’s never going to be overly impressed with me. As far as she’s concerned, I haven’t worked a day in my life for anything, and I took the path of least resistance into this version of success.”

“What does she think of your sisters?”

“Well, Wren works for the winery too, but the only thing that annoys my mother more than her daughters taking a free pass is the Cooper family, and since Wren makes it her life’s work to go toe-to-toe with them, my mother isn’t quite as irritated with everything Wren does. And Cricket… I don’t know that anyone knows what Cricket wants.”

Poor Cricket was a later addition to the family. Eight years younger than Emerson, and six years younger than Wren. Their parents hadn’t planned on having another child, and they especially hadn’t planned on one like Cricket, who didn’t seem to have inherited the need to please…well, anyone.

Cricket had run wild over the winery, raised more by the staff than by their mother or father.

Sometimes Emerson envied Cricket and the independence she seemed to have found before turning twenty-one, when Emerson couldn’t quite capture independence even at twenty-nine.

“Sounds to me like your mother is pretty difficult to please.”

“Impossible,” she agreed.

But her father wasn’t. He was proud of her. She was doing exactly what he wanted her to do. And she would keep on doing it.

The trail ended in a grassy clearing on the side of the mountain, overlooking the valley below. The wineries rolled on for miles, and the little redbrick town of Gold Valley was all the way at the bottom.

“Yes,” she said. “This is perfect.” She got down off the horse, snapped another few pictures with herself in them and the view in the background. And then a sudden inspiration took hold, and she whipped around quickly, capturing the blurred outline of Holden, on his horse with his cowboy hat, behind her.

He frowned, dismounting the horse, and she looked into the phone screen, keeping her eyes on him, and took another shot. He was mostly a silhouette, but it was clear that he was a good-looking, well-built man in a cowboy hat.

“Now, there’s an ad,” she said.

“What’re you doing?”

He sounded angry. Not amused at all.

“I just thought it would be good to get you in the background. A full-on Western fantasy.”

“You said that wasn’t the aesthetic.”

“It’s not mine. Just because a girl doesn’t want to wear cutoff shorts doesn’t mean she’s not interested in looking at a cowboy.”

“You can’t post that,” he said, his voice hard like granite.

She turned to face him. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be on your bullshit website.”

“It’s not a website. It’s… Never mind. Are you… You’re not, like, fleeing from the law or something, are you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

“Then why won’t you let me post your picture? It’s not like you can really see you.”

“I’m not interested in that stuff.”

“Well, that stuff is my entire life’s work.” She turned her focus to the scenery around them and pretended to be interested in taking a few random pictures that were not of him.

“Some website that isn’t going to exist in a couple of years is not your life’s work. Your life’s work might be figuring out how to sell things to people, advertising, marketing. Whatever you want to call it. But the how of it is going to change, and it’s going to keep on changing. What you’ve done is figure out how to understand the way people discover things right now. But it will change. And you’ll figure that out too. These pictures are not your life’s work.”

It was an impassioned speech, and one she almost felt certain he’d given before, though she couldn’t quite figure out why he would have, or to who.

“That’s nice,” she said. “But I don’t need a pep talk. I wasn’t belittling myself. I won’t post the pictures. Though, I think they would have caused a lot of excitement.”

“I’m not going to be anyone’s trail guide. So there’s no point using me.”

“You’re not even my trail guide, not really.” She turned to face him, and found he was much closer than she had thought. All the breath was sucked from her body. He was so big and broad, imposing.

There was an intensity about him that should repel her, but instead it fascinated her.

The air was warm, and she was a little bit sweaty, and that made her wonder if he was sweaty, and something about that thought made her want to press her face against his chest and smell his skin.

“Have you ever gone without something?”

She didn’t know why she’d asked him that, except that maybe it was the only thing keeping her from actually giving in to her fantasy and pressing her face against his body.

“I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

“Why not? I just downloaded all of my family issues onto you, and I’m not even sure why. Except that you asked. And I don’t think anyone else has ever asked. So… It’s just you and me out here.”

“And your phone. Which is your link to the outside world on a scale that I can barely understand.”

Somehow, that rang false.

“I don’t have service,” she said. “And anyway, my phone is going back in my pocket.” She slipped it into the silky pocket of her black pants.

He looked at her, his dark eyes moving over her body, and she knew he was deliberately taking his time examining her curves. Knew that his gaze was deliberately sexual.

And she didn’t feel like she could be trusted with that kind of knowledge, because something deep inside her was dancing around the edge of being bold. That one little piece of her that felt repressed, that had felt bored at the party last night…

That one little piece of her wanted this.

“A few things,” he said slowly. And his words were deliberate too.

Without thinking, she sucked her lip between her teeth and bit down on it, then swiped her tongue over the stinging surface to soothe it.

And the intensity in his eyes leaped higher.

She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know what she’d done. She’d deliberately drawn his focus to her mouth.

Now, she might have done it deliberately, but she didn’t know what she wanted out of it.

Well, she did. But she couldn’t want that. She couldn’t. Not when…

Suddenly, he reached out, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know how the boys who run around in your world play, Emerson. But I’m not a man who scrolls through photos and wishes he could touch something. If I want something, I take it. So if I were you…I wouldn’t go around teasing.”

She stuttered, “I… I… I…” and stumbled backward. She nearly tripped down onto the grass, onto her butt, but he reached out, looping his strong arm around her waist and pulling her upright. The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she found herself pressed hard against his solid body. She put her hand gingerly on his chest. Yeah. He was a little bit sweaty.

And damned if it wasn’t sexy.

She racked her brain, trying to come up with something witty to say, something to defuse the situation, but she couldn’t think. Her heart was thundering fast, and there was an echoing pulse down in the center of her thighs making it impossible for her to breathe. Impossible for her to think. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, or a wild fantasy that was surely happening in her head only, and not in reality.

But his body was hot and hard underneath her hand, and there was a point at which she really couldn’t pretend she wasn’t touching an actual man.

Because her fingers burned. Because her body burned. Because everything burned.

And she couldn’t think of a single word to say, which wasn’t like her, but usually she wasn’t affected by men.

They liked her. They liked to flirt and talk with her, and since becoming engaged, they’d only liked it even more. Seeing her as a bit of a challenge, and it didn’t cost her anything to play into that a little bit. Because she was never tempted to do anything. Because she was never affected. Because it was only ever a conversation and nothing more.

But this felt like more.

The air was thick with more, and she couldn’t figure out why him, why now.

His lips curved up into a half smile, and suddenly, in a brief flash, she saw it.

Sure, his sculpted face and body were part of it. But he was…an outlaw.

Everything she wasn’t.

He was a man who didn’t care at all what anyone thought. It was visible in every part of him. In the laconic grace with which he moved, the easy way he smiled, the slow honeyed timbre of his voice.

Yes.

He was a man without a cell phone.

A man who wasn’t tied or tethered to anything. Who didn’t have comments to respond to at two in the morning that kept him up at night, as he worried about not doing it fast enough, about doing something to damage the very public image she had cultivated—not just for herself—but for her father’s entire industry.

A man who didn’t care if he fell short of the expectations of a parent, at least he didn’t seem like he would.

Looking at him in all his rough glory, the way that he blended into the terrain, she felt like a smooth shiny shell with nothing but a sad, listless urchin curled up inside, who was nothing like the facade that she presented.

He was the real deal.

He was like that mountain behind him. Strong and firm and steady. Unmovable.

It made her want a taste.

A taste of him.

A taste of freedom.

She found herself moving forward, but he took a step back.

“Come on now, princess,” he said, grabbing hold of her left hand and raising it up, so that her ring caught the sunlight. “You don’t want to be doing that.”

Horror rolled over her and she stepped away.

“I don’t… Nothing.”

He chuckled. “Something.”

“I… My fiancé and I have an understanding,” she said. And she made a mental note to actually check with Donovan to see if they did. Because she suspected they might, given that they had never touched each other. And she could hardly imagine that Donovan had been celibate for the past two years.

You have been.

Yeah, she needed to check on the Donovan thing.

“Do you now?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“Well, I have an understanding with your father that I’m in his employment. And I would sure hate to take advantage of that.”

“I’m a grown woman,” she said.

“Yeah, what do you suppose your daddy would think if he found that you were fucking the help?”

Heat washed over her, her scalp prickling.

“I don’t keep my father much informed about my sex life,” she said.

“The problem is, you and me would be his business. I try to make my sex life no one’s business but mine and the lady I’m naked with.”

“Me nearly kissing you is not the same as me offering you sex. Your ego betrays you.”

“And your blush betrays you, darlin’.”

The entire interaction felt fraught and spiky, and Emerson didn’t know how to proceed, which was as rare as her feeling at a loss for words. He was right. He worked for her father, and by extension, for the family, for her. But she didn’t feel like she had the power here. Didn’t feel like she had the control. She was the one with money, with the Maxfield family name, and he was just…a ranch hand.

So why did she feel so decidedly at a disadvantage?

“We’d better carry on,” she said. “I have things to do.”

“Pictures to post.”

“But not of you,” she said.

He shook his head once. “Not of me.”

She got back on her horse, and he did the same. And this time he led the way back down the trail, and she was somewhat relieved. Because she didn’t know what she would do if she had to bear the burden of knowing he was watching the back of her the whole way.

She would drive herself crazy thinking about how to hold her shoulders so that she didn’t look like she knew that he was staring at her.

But then, maybe he wouldn’t stare at her, and that was the thing. She would wonder either way. And she didn’t particularly want to wonder.

And when she got back to her office, she tapped her fingers on the desk next to her phone, and did her very best to stop herself from texting Donovan.

Tap. Don’t. Tap. Don’t.

And then suddenly she picked up the phone and started a new message.

Are we exclusive?

There were no dots, no movement. She set the phone down and tried to look away. It pinged a few minutes later.

We are engaged.

That’s not an answer.

We don’t live in the same city.

She took a breath.

Have you slept with someone else?

She wasn’t going to wait around with his back-and-forth nonsense. She wasn’t interested in him sparing himself repercussions.

We don’t live in the same city. So yes, I have.

And if I did?

Whatever you do before the wedding is your business.

She didn’t respond, and his next text came in on the heels of the last.

Did you want to talk on the phone?

No.

K.

And that was it. Because they didn’t love each other. She hadn’t needed to text him, because nothing was going to happen with her and Holden.

And how do you feel about the fact that Donovan had slept with other people?

She wasn’t sure.

Except she didn’t feel much of anything.

Except now she had a get-out-of-jail-free card, and that was about the only way she could see it. That wasn’t normal, was it? It wasn’t normal for him to be okay with the fact that she had asked those questions. That she had made it clear she’d thought about sleeping with someone else.

And it wasn’t normal for her to not be jealous when Donovan said he had slept with someone else.

But she wasn’t jealous.

And his admission didn’t dredge any deep feelings up to the surface either.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.