Page 81 of Peaches & Pistols

My nerve endings are on fire, ablaze with need for him. We’ve yet to progress in our physical relationship past kissing, but there’s no questioning how badly I want him.

Why won’t he make a move?

“Let me put on my shoes and we can go,” I chirp, desperately trying to conceal my flash of insecurity and disappointment.

I want him. Hopefully he wants me just as much.

28

Frankly, I’m shocked I managed to get through dinner without embarrassing myself. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to walk into the restaurant at the resort with a boner tucked into the waistband of my jeans.

Nor was it easy to refrain from decking every motherfucker who couldn’t keep their eyes off my woman.

But most difficult of all, was to get every bite and drink in my mouth without spilling, because my every last braincell died when I saw Mia in that fucking dress. She looks like heaven and sin—too good to be sullied by my hands but begging to be ruined.

“I had no idea this was here,” Mia says, as candlelight dances across her face.

“The Andersens purchased the resort when they started Swift Property Management. It’s been a cash cow that kept the family afloat after the ranch went under. Reid brought it back to life just a couple years ago.

“They’ve worked tirelessly to provide the luxury vacationers expect in the Rockies. The food here’s some of the best I’ve ever had—aside from your cooking, of course. But dear god, don’t breathe a word about this to Cecelia, or Frank at The Flying Pig, or they’ll never feed me again.” Mia’s laugh warms my soul, her happiness the most important thing I can provide.

“It really is lovely,” Mia admires the grand space for the umpteenth time this evening.

The server places between us an obscenely large slice of decadent chocolate cake, dripping with raspberry compote. “Your dessert, Mr. and Mrs. Clark.”

I don’t bother correcting him, nor does Mia. There’s no question in my mind she’ll be Mrs. Clark soon enough. Which reminds me.

I spoon-feed her a piece of cake and wait for her mouth to be occupied before I begin.

“Have you given any thought to moving forward with your divorce?”

The question is blunt and insensitive, but now that she’s mine, I refuse to share her or Everly with that small-dicked waste of oxygen.

She needs to be officially divorced and rid of Carter before I can marry her and adopt Everly—which I have every intention of doing as soon as Mia is ready.

She demurely wipes her mouth and takes a sip of her peach iced tea, her eyes locked to mine throughout.

“I have,” she states simply. “You mentioned you could help me start the process?”

I hesitate, unsure of how much I should reveal, but Mia isn’t one of my clients. I’ll never hide anything from her.

“Mmhmm. I may have taken it several steps further in the meantime,” I admit. When her brow raises, I rip off the bandage and confess it all.

“You already know I inherited the hardware store when my dad passed.” Confusion morphs her face as I take a wide left turn.

“I also inherited another family business—one that’s not exactly above-board.” I lower my voice out of habit.

“Let me start by saying I’ll tell you anything you want to know, I’ll never keep secrets from you unless it’ll hurt you or the girls. And even then, I’d tell you if you asked.” She nods, not looking disgusted or afraid, so I continue.

“My family has a history of dealing in the business of information. Say you want to buy a piece of property that hasn’t been for sale in fifty years. You come to me with information I might find valuable—such as, so-and-so’s cheating on her husband. In exchange, I give you information in return—such as, the property owner’s deeply in debt, and would sell for the right price.”

“Okay…that doesn’t sound so bad,” she says as optimistically as her nerves will allow.

“Often times it’s not so bad, secrets for secrets. But other times, it’s less savory,” I say pointedly.

“Can you give me an example?” she asks.

“Of course, honey, anything you want to know. An example would be—” I comb through my mental filing system to find something that’s illegal, but not heinous enough to scare her.