Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Too real.
Too tempting.
Her fingers stop on a framed photo—my uncle, standing beside me when I was younger.
“He left this place to you?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“And the catch was…”
“Find a wife. Carry on the Kane name. If not, it gets sold.”
She exhales, turning back to me. She wants to ask why I care so much. Why I won’t just sell.
Instead, she tilts her head. “So I guess that makes me your… what? Business partner? Convenient houseguest?”
I don’t answer. Because the words that come to mind aren’t things I can say out loud.
Mine. A mistake. Trouble wrapped in silk.
She smirks. “I don’t even get a wedding ring?”
“Actually,” I dig into my pocket and pull out a simple band, “figured we’d make things official.” I hold it out to her.
She arches an eyebrow but doesn’t take the ring.
“Palmer Lane–will you be my wife?”
Her brows rise when I slide the band on her ring finger. “Wow. So romantic.” She huffs. “Sure, I’ll marry you Hudson Caveman Kane.”
I grunt. She has no idea what kind of man she just tied herself to.
“You here for romance, sweetheart?” I murmur. “Or are you here to disappear?”
Her breath catches. I see it now—the hesitation, the flicker of something dark behind those green eyes. She’s not here for me. Not for the money. Not for the land.
She’s here because she’s running.
She squares her shoulders. “Maybe both.”
I let the silence stretch. Let her feel the weight of my stare.
She fidgets, then blurts, “So, uh… is there one bedroom or two in this place?”
I smirk. There it is.
“Just one.”
Her lips part. “Wait—really?”
I shrug.
She blinks. “You…you didn’t think to mention that before I got here?”
“Would it have changed your mind?”
She falters. I already know the answer. Her chin lifts. “I’ll take the couch.”
I step even closer, watching her fight the urge to retreat. “Nah,” I murmur. “I will.”
Her brows furrow. “Wait, you—?”
I grin, slow and lazy. “What kind of husband would I be if I let my pretty new wife sleep on the couch?”
Her breath shudders. I see it now—the fight. The way she’s battling whatever this is between us.
She swallows. “You are…impossible.”
“Get used to it.”
She turns to stomp toward the bedroom, and I watch the sway of her hips, my hands clenching at my sides.
This was supposed to be simple. Now? Nothing about Palmer Lane is simple.
And god help me–I don’t think I’d want it any other way.
Chapter Two
Palmer
I drop my suitcases in the middle of the loft, exhaling sharply.
This is it. My new home.
Or at least the place I’ll be hiding out until I figure out my next move.
The space is exactly what I expected from a man like Hudson Kane—simple, rugged, and completely devoid of anything resembling warmth. The bed is huge, built from thick wooden beams, the mattress covered in a dark gray blanket that looks rough to the touch. There’s a single nightstand, a dresser, and a closet Hudson’s actually cleared out for me.
I open it and frown.
It’s small. Like, half a foot of closet space small. My fingers graze the wooden hangers as I glance back at my massive suitcases. My wardrobe is meant for an upscale Boston apartment, not a remote cabin in the mountains.
What the hell am I doing here? I take a deep breath, trying to shake the growing anxiety clawing at my chest. I ran from one dangerous man straight into the arms of another. Brilliant plan, Palmer.
I press a hand against my stomach, steadying my nerves. I don’t know Hudson well, but he’s not Malcolm. He’s rough, intimidating, overly large and entirely too grumpy, but I don’t get the same sickening, suffocating feeling I did whenever Malcolm walked into a room.
Still.
I don’t trust men. Especially not ones as powerful as Hudson Kane.
A vibration from my phone startles me. I whip it out, heart hammering.
Malcolm.
His name glares at me from the screen, the same way it has for the past three months. Persistent. Controlling. Unrelenting.
I hit decline. Again.
Another buzz. A text this time.
Palmer. Enough of this. Call me back.
I shove the phone deep into my pocket, as if I can silence the sheer force of his presence by burying it.
A deep voice rumbles from the doorway. “You avoiding someone?”
I spin around, pulse jumping. Hudson leans against the wooden doorframe, arms crossed, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light.
I recover fast, forcing a smirk. “Jealous already?”
He grunts, unimpressed. “If you’re running from some guy, you should probably tell me.”
I hesitate. The last thing I need is for Hudson to start asking questions. If he figures out who I’m running from, he’ll realize the danger that comes with keeping me here.
I paste on a smile. “Just someone from my past. He can be…intense when he wants something.”
Hudson studies me, his gaze too damn sharp, like he’s peeling back the layers one by one.
“Trouble in paradise?” he mutters.