Page 11 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

I’m that future.I’m the youngest in an unbroken line of MacLaine men who made the most of what my great-great-grandfather started.And I know I won’t be the last because my brothers will have sons and daughters to carry on the family name.

But not me.

There was a time I thought differently—Ibelieveddifferently.Before.

Making my father and brothers proud is what used to drive me through life.I kept raising the bar higher and higher for myself, pushing past what I thought I could bear, over and over again in my determination to carry on the MacLaine name with honor.

That version of me pictured a life of my own making, stretching out in 4K color into my future.I’d marry Harper and have a family.I’d serve honorably in field intelligence and one day become a master chief at Coronado, teaching future generations of SEALs before I retired and returned to life on the ranch.But all that was back before I fucked it all up.

Before I stumbled and fell from grace, nearly taking the reputation of the MacLaines with me.

I kick at the gravel and shake my head.

Tonight’s version of US Navy SEAL Kevin MacLaine, the one wandering the lane in the dark, is a bit different.I’ve set the bar so low for myself that sometimes I think I need a shovel to reach it.

These days, my goal is to keep my thoughts and my fists to myself and disappear into the scenery—as much as a man my size can manage, anyway.I work myself to the bone so that I can fall into bed at night, my mind so dull from exhaustion that I drop into an empty, black sleep.Then I wake up before the sun and start it all over again the next day.

That’s the legacy I’m building for myself.

Something simple.Attainable.

But tonight I can’t sleep.Because of her.And there’s a thrumming inside me.I’m vibrating.Perking up.

Which is beyond stupid.So fucking stupid.

That woman is hiding on Washoe Ridge because she’s got troubles.That womanistrouble.And I know I’m in no position to bring any woman into my life, let alone one who’s dragging a heavy bundle of turmoil behind her.

I got plenty of trouble of my own, more than enough turmoil and regret to keep me busy.I sure as hell don’t need anybody else’s added to it.

When I was a nine-year-old wild child, I thought it would be fun to punch out a three-hundred-pound black bear for shits and giggles.I’m the out-of-control motherfucker who damn-near killed a man with my bare hands three years ago.That he deserved it didn’t seem to matter.

So, no.

Just fuckingno.I need to stop thinking about her.Now.

But it’s easier said than done.

The image of her standing there—axe trembling in her grip and eyes defiant—that vision is forever burned into my brain.I’ve never seen a woman that beautiful, such a flawless collection of elements so perfectly assembled.

Pale peach skin.Natural blond hair to her mid-back.Pale-blue eyes that sparkle with equal parts intelligence and suspicion.That small, straight nose and those full, pouty lips.

And that pretty face of hers.The sweet rise of her cheekbones and the delicate slope of her chin.

Then there’s her body.Holy shit.That kind of body is the stuff of fantasies.Myfantasies.

Tall, lithe, and athletic, but all female.Every fucking glorious curve and hollow.

And all of her in such a ridiculously nonsensical setting.On a mountain top in the Sierra Nevada foothills, in the middle of nowhere.The expression “out of place” doesn’t come anywhere close to cutting it.

The sound of my own laughter brings me to a halt on the lane.I must be out of my damn mind.There is no fucking way that a trespasser should be holding my attention or diverting my energy.I got too much going on here at the ranch and at StellaR Tech.I don’t have time for this.

But before I even realize what I’m doing, I turn on my bootheel and head back to the compound.To the horse barn, more specifically.And my brain is swirling.My thoughts are racing.And all I can think of are those boots.

Those white vinyl, thigh-high, fuck-me boots.In a patch of isolated wilderness.At a dilapidated cabin she thinks is hers, for some laughable reason.

Well, fuck it.

I might never sleep again if I don’t collect intel on why she’s here and who she is and whythe holy fucking hellshe’s wearing those boots.