He moves to stand in front of me, his hands resting on either side. "You'll do it because the alternative is your best friend losing her land or attending her wedding to your ex."
I'm so mad I could spit. My past with London is complicated enough as it is, and I can officially say I'm not a fan of blackmail. I try to think through my anger. There has to be a way out of this—something I'm missing because this entire interaction blindsided me. That's when the missing piece clicks into place. The other crucial variable in this plot he's drafting is the player he's conveniently attempted to avoid discussing: Asha.
"Wait, back up a second. I know what's going on here. I have to admit you almost had me, distracting me with remnants of a past and predictions of an unsavory future, but you're forgetting to connect one major dot." I don't miss the way his fists subtly clench at his side, confirming my rightness. "There's nothing to contest. The land would automatically revert to your family. A wedding only happens if you want?—"
"When Asha finds out about the lease, there will be a wedding?—"
"I don't under?—"
"She'll want it," he states firmly, knowing with sure conviction that his words are gospel.
Whatever further thoughts or conclusions I wanted to share are forgotten as the front door swings open, and we're no longer alone. "Laney Hart, I never pegged you for a cowgirl," Fisher Downs says, rushing down the steps of the wrap-around porch. Trigg steps to the side, and Fisher reaches up. "Get in here, girl," he says, lifting me off the horse and pulling me into a bear hug.
"Well, if you'd been better about coming home from Paris. I missed you, Fish." I squeeze him back every bit as hard as he's holding me.
Fisher Downs isn't just my best friend's brother; he's my brother too. I probably called him more times than Syd in the months after London was taken away. London going to prison—or at least so we thought—was hard on him too, more so than me because he had him longer, but together, we found comfort and peace through our shared grief. When he sets me down, I get a better look at him. He's a far cry from the boy I once knew. All man and covered in tattoos now. His muscular arms are adorned with intricate designs that peek out from beneath his crisp white dress shirt. His short, blond hair is darker, neatly trimmed, and styled with a slight side part that complements his face's sharp angles; he also has a mustache now. We're all grown up now, but when his amber gaze connects with mine, I still see the same kind of man I've always known.
"When did you get back?" I ask, forgetting my ankle in the excitement of our reunion, only to let out a sharp shrill and reach for his arm. "Sorry," I apologize, realizing how loud that was in comparison to the injury. I'm not dying, but the pinch of pain was jarring.
"I got back in a few days ago. Sydney didn't tell you?" he asks, confounded, as he takes a step back, examining me from head to toe. "Are you hurt?"
"I just need to put my foot up and get some ice. I'm fine, really," I assure him.
"Here, let me help you," he says, wrapping a muscular arm around my back and taking most of my weight.
We've barely made it two steps when the screen door slams open. "What the hell is going on?"
Dark stormy eyes immediately connect with mine, and I know I'm screwed. I know that look. It's his heart. London wants to fix it, put me back together, and make me whole again, and damn it if I don't want to let him. Flecks of lighter brown near his pupils catch in the morning light and seem to soften momentarily when he sees my pain, tiny beacons of warmth on an otherwise overcast day. There's no hiding from his knowing gaze. It strips away pretense, cutting straight through to the truth I've been running from. It will always be him.
Chapter 18
LONDON
Iwasn't going to do it. I wasn't going to walk out that door and lose my temper, even though everything inside of me was screaming to go outside, even if it was just to make her think of me and not Trigg, but then she limped. Somehow, I went from a shadow looming behind the screen door to the man down on one knee, gently squeezing the sides of her ankle. All it took was one high-pitched shrill, and she brought me to my knees faster than I could blink. But the longer I'm here, the angrier I get.
"What happened?" I demand.
"She twisted her ankle out on her morning jog, and I brought her back to the ranch because it was closer than Fairfield," Trigg answers.
"Does this hurt?" I ask as I apply pressure around the side of her ankle.
"Yes, that's tender," she winces.
I slip her tennis shoes off. "How about this?" I work my way up from her toes to her heel, squeezing as I go.
"No," she says, her tone unstrained, confirming she's not being agreeable to be rid of me. "You didn't feel any pain when I was squeezing the center of your foot, which is good. Pain above thebone vs the pain you're feeling when I squeeze here on the sides suggests a sprain rather than a fracture or break. I think it's a soft tissue sprain."
"Like I said…" She clears her throat. "I just need to put my foot up and get it on ice."
My fingers graze over the smooth skin of her calf, and I let them slowly drift down the back, lightly pinching my way down her Achilles tendon, ensuring the pain is centralized to the soft tissue. The exposed skin on her leg breaks out in gooseflesh, and I immediately clench my jaw. Her body responding to my touch is the last thing I need to pile onto all the things already threatening to break my self-control. My eyes trail up her thigh, unable to resist admiring every sun-kissed inch, only for fury to rise when they meet her shorts.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" I rise to my feet.
Her eyes widen. "I was running." She waves one arm down her body. "Have you never seen workout attire?"
I've seen workout clothes. A man had to have invented them. They're practically a second skin, showing off every delectable curve on the female body, or in Laney's case, not covering.
"Your shorts are so high they may as well be underwear, and that's not a tank top. It's a fucking bra," I spit as I unzip the windbreaker I have on from morning chores.
