“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I plead the fifth.” I snicker but grin over at her. The contagious sound of her laughter makes my heart skip a beat, and knowing I caused it triggers my chest to swell with pride — the good, unselfish kind where you find your happiness in someone else’s joy. And that someone for me is Finley Farewell.
It’s been seven weeks since Finley showed up at my grandpa’s doorstep with a split-open head and sassy little mouth… and she hasn’t left yet. And I don’t want her to. I know, I know, it sounds crazy that she just kind of moved in since we knew next to nothing about each other, but our relationship — and yes, this is officially a relationship — has been bizarre and borderline irrational from the word go. So for us, it’s really just par for the course. It wouldn’t work any other way.
“Uh-uh, mister, you’re not getting off that easy. Your dimples tell me you’re hiding something, so spill or I keep reading,” she threatens, holding the phone up in the air and shaking it around.
Unease knots in my stomach. This is not a conversation I want to be having with her, particularly not today, as I’m parting with a big chunk of my land. Even though Finley and I have negotiated the portion of the lottery winnings she’s giving me down to twenty million — all of which I plan to put in an IRA in her name that she doesn’t know about, because the damn money is hers —I’ve still decided to go forward with the sale of the land. I’m wanting to scale back the business for now, so I can focus on quality versus quantity at Goodman Farms, and more importantly, spend more time away from the office and with Finley, Grandpa and Nancy, and Farrah and Fiona when they visit from their luxury houseboat in Sausalito, just north of San Francisco.
“Teague, I’m waiting,” she prompts.
I keep my focus forward on the road, pretending to read every sign on the highway as I answer. “Before I met you, I dabbled in it a little bit. Was just curious what it was all about, and the control element interested me.”
Her eyes match the exact shade of her blue sweater she’s wearing, with my favorite hip-hugging jeans tucked into knee-high, black leather boots, and they twinkle mischievously as she gapes at me. “Did you like it?” she whispers, as if anyone else is in the truck to hear.
I shrug, not wanting to lie to her, but really wanting to put the brakes on this discussion. “I like what we do a lot better,” I reply honestly.
Rolling her eyes, she giggles again. “Nice try, but that’s not what I asked.” A pink glow appears on her round cheeks as her voice drops again. “Would you like to do that with me? Spank me? Tie me up?”
My cock jerks in my slacks and I nearly swerve off the road. The image of her bound and bent over in front of me flickering in my head is dangerous for both of us, as well as all the other drivers around us.
“I think about spanking your cute ass every day, babe, but I think we need to wait until we move out of Grandpa’s before we decide to introduce any freaky shit into the bedroom. You’re loud enough as it is now. No need to let the entire state of Iowa know when I make you come,” I taunt, half-joking, half-not.
There have been several mornings Grandpa has given me a hard time about my girl’s tendency to be a bit vocal during sex. Even though we’ve renovated my old room and upgraded the bed to a queen-size, I’m still ready for our own house to be built on the piece of land adjacent to where Grandpa’s place is, so we can live without a constant audience.
The thing about getting to know one another by living together is that Finley and I end up bickering over a bunch of silly little things, like which way the toilet paper roll should unwind — which is obviously from the top and over, and once we realize we’ve forgotten what we were arguing about to begin with, we just want to get naked and fuck until the other concedes defeat. It’s actually pretty fun, and we’d do a lot more of it if we didn’t have to worry about where Grandpa and Nancy are all the time.
With a naughty glimmer in her eye, Finley scoots close to me, leans over the center console, and nibbles on my earlobe. “I’ll let you gag me, Mr. Sexy Eyes,” she whispers, as she flattens her palm on my inner thigh and slides it upward to my swelling shaft.
“Finley,” I warn, my voice low and raspy, “if you keep it up, I’m gonna pull this truck over and give you something to gag on, and then I’ll tell all the people at the title company that we’re late because my girlfriend couldn’t wait any longer to swallow my cock in the back of her throat.”
She abruptly pulls back, sitting up straight and staring at me peculiarly. I assume her sudden reaction is in response to my vulgar threat of what I’d say to the other people, but I become the one confused, when she asks, “What did you just call me?”
I cut my gaze over to her and lift my brows in question. “My girlfriend? What am I supposed to call you? We do live together, sleep in the same bed every night, share a bathroom… I could go on.”
A smile spreads across her face so full of hope and happiness that I have to fight the urge to blurt out the three magical words we’ve yet to say to each other, although I’ve wanted to for a while now. A declaration like that will be a first for me, and although I have no doubt on how I feel about her, I want the moment to be perfect. Just like her.
“You could call me your sugar mama,” she jokes, inching back over toward me.
“Mmhm.” I chuckle and shake my head at her. “I don’t think so, moneybags.”
Brushing her lips to the corner of my mouth, she leans her forehead — which still has a tiny visible scar from the day she arrived in Iowa a couple of months ago — against my arm and sighs contently. “I guess we can stick with girlfriend for now. Oh, and you need to take the next exit.”
I grin as I clear myself through the traffic and get off the highway, following her verbal directions to the building where we’re supposed to be. Once we check in with the receptionist, she leads us back to the closing room, where Mr. Schaffer and the escrow agent are waiting, but Finley stops walking when we’re about halfway down the hall.
“I need to run to the ladies’ room before we get started,” she says, pointing at a sign that marks a hallway to the restrooms. “I know these things can take a while sometimes. I’ll meet you in there.”
“Okay, babe. I’ll see you in a few.” I plant a quick kiss on her cheek then continue on to the conference room with the woman leading.
After exchanging the obligatory pleasantries with everyone, I take a glimpse of the stack of papers lined up for signatures and ask, “Is the purchaser closing now too, or will they sign later today?”
“They should be here at any minute,” Mr. Schaffer replies, with a smug smile. “They wanted to thank you in person for accepting their offer, said your land coming on the market was fate, because it was exactly what they’d been looking for.”
“Wonderful. I’m glad it all worked out then.”
Gratefully, a few days after the Bingham’s offer came in, and before I’d signed the contract with them, we received another bid on the land, one that was above asking price, and I was more than ecstatic to be selling to someone other than the family who’d made my life hell for so long. I wasn’t sure who the new buyer was, as the contract was written in the name of Triple F Farms LLC, but as long as their last name wasn’t Bingham, it didn’t matter to me.
After the three of us have taken a seat, the office phone in the middle of the table rings once before a woman announces, “The buyers have arrived. I’ll be walking them back shortly.”
Several minutes later, the door opens and the same woman who escorted me walks in, followed by… Finley, Fiona, and Farrah??? What in the hell? I jump up from my chair and rush over to them, my expression full of bafflement and bewilderment.
“What’s going on?” I ask Finley, then turn to her sister and niece. “Why are you guys here? I thought you were in California.”
Fiona steps up to me, that damn umbrella firmly grasped in her hand, and says in a serious, and still very British voice, “Hullo, good sir. I am here to
sign the papers for the land I’m buying today.”
“The land you’re buying?!” I glance up at Finley again, then over my shoulder at the two men in suits at the table, and finally back down at Fiona. “But I don’t understand. What are you gonna do with eight thousand acres of farmland, Miss Triple F?”
The young girl holds her chin high and proud, smirking. “Me and my associates,” she holds her hands out toward Finley and Fiona, “have plans to turn it into a strawberry farm with a section where kids can come pick their own berries, and maybe even a petting zoo!”
“Oh do you?” I chuckle, reaching out to gently tug on one of her pigtails. “And just what do you and your associates know about farming?”
“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard,” Finley pipes up, wearing the same beautiful, bright smile she’s had on all day, “but my boyfriend is this really smart farmer guy, who I’m sure will want to help us out.”
“And what if he says no?” I taunt, just to hear her response, knowing damn well I’ll help her do whatever the hell she wants.
She throws her head back with a sharp laugh, then says, “I’ll make him eat corn for dinner every night for the rest of his life.”
“Ooh, you’re one tough girlfriend to deal with,” I muse as I grab her elbow and pull her next to me, wrapping my arms around her and rubbing my nose against hers in an El Fresco kiss.
I absently hear Fiona mutter under her breath, “Bloody hell, they’re gonna snog again.”
Claiming Finley’s mouth with mine, I murmur against her lips, “Well, I guess it’s a damn good thing I like strawberries… and an even better thing that I love you.”
She peers up at me breathlessly. “What did you just say?”
“I love you, Finley Farewell. I love your heart, your spirit. I love the way you make me feel. I love who you make me want to become.”
She stares into my eyes, hers glistening with tears, and I watch as one makes a trail down her cheek. I swipe it away with my thumb.
“I love you, too, Teague. So much.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I’m gonna put a ring on that finger someday soon. And then some babies right here,” I inform her, caressing her stomach.
“So about that,” she giggles nervously. “Remember that time in the shower…”
THE END
EACH OF THE books that I write is like one of my children and these people are the village that helps me raise them. Thank you all so much for everything you do and all of your support.
My kick-ass family
Jill Sava ~ the best assistant and friend in the whole wide world. You are my Bright Side. Always.
Stacy Kestwick ~ my incredible CP and bestie
Cassy Roop ~ for this kick-ass cover, and cause size really does matter
Masta betas ~ my daily entertainment and reminder of why I love to write
Jammy Jean Lovers ~ ‘Cause y’all are just fucking awesome
Kayla Robichaux ~ My awesome editor and Twinnie. I’ll die owing you big time.
Virginia Tesi Carey ~ my second set of eyes, thanks for fitting me in!
Jenn Van Wyk ~ I may become a corn farmer yet
Sophie Broughton ~ for keeping my Fiona British
Monica Robinson ~ You complete me.
Jessica Prince ~ I refuse to sign the divorce papers.
Chelle Northcutt ~ for always being there to listen. And for giving me Bug.
Michelle Tan ~ for the music and the muses and encouraging me the entire time
Kristie Wittenberg ~ you’re like my own personal DJ
Ever Afters ~ the most amazing reader group ever; thank you for your support
BSers ~ for a bunch of assholes, I guess y’all are okay.
Bloggers ~ The hardest working people in the business that get little credit and no pay. I greatly appreciate the time you spend reading, reviewing, and/or promoting the books we authors pour our heart and soul into. We couldn’t do it without you.
Readers ~ I have the most fantastic readers imaginable. You’re the main reason I continue doing this! Love you all!
ERIN NOELLE is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and three fur babies. When she’s not reading or writing romance novels, she enjoys winning at cards and board games, awkward people-watching in public places, and doing cartwheels at the most random times. She’s usually barefoot, is never without a song in her head, and currently holds the title of World’s Best Procrastinator.
Her titles published include the Book Boyfriend Series, Dusk ‘Til Dawn Series, Luminous Duet, Fire on the Mountain series, and numerous standalone books that range from New Adult to Contemporary romance. Her books have been a part of the USA Today Bestselling list as well as the Amazon and Barnes & Noble overall Top 100. You can follow her on Facebook @www.facebook.com/erin.noelle.98, her website @www.erinnoellebooks.com, on Twitter @authorenoelle, and on Instagram @erinnoelleauthor.
BOOK BOYFRIEND SERIES
Metamorphosis
Ambrosia
Euphoria
Timeless
Book Boyfriend Series Boxed Set
LUMINOUS SERIES
Translucent
Transparent
DUSK TIL DAWN SERIES
When the Sun Goes Down
As the Dawn Breaks
FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN SERIES
Spark
Flame
THE PERFECT LIFE DUET
The Perfect Life
The Hidden Life
STANDALONES
Surviving Us
MILF: Wrong Kind of Love
Everything
Megaballs
CO-WRITTEN
Conspire
Erin Noelle, Megaballs
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