Page 64 of Sweet Madness
Once, I was a man who lived for danger and the thrill of the forbidden, but I’m not that man anymore. She deserves better. I know it, and deep down, she knows it too.
Now, it’s late afternoon, and I find myself riding Peppermint as I always do to clear my head. It works for a brief moment, but then my phone rings, and thoughts of the beautiful, sweet creature bombard every corner of my mind.
“She’s doing well,” I say into the phone, my tone flat. “It seems that ranch life is actually doing her some good.” My cousin, Ben, is on the other end of the line.
“Is she eating enough?” Ben’s voice crackles through the line, concern evident even from miles away. “How are online classes going?”
I give a rock a kick with my boot while staring off into the distance. “You should ask her.”
“I’m asking you, asshole,” Ben snaps, clearly exasperated.
I glance toward the distant tulip fields. “She’s happy here. Her eyes are no longer sad.” At the same time, her beautiful, soulful eyes flash in my mind, and my heart starts to race.
There is a pause at the other end, as if Ben is assessing the situation. “And are you treating her like the princess she is?”
“I treat her well enough,” I reply firmly, not wanting to clue in my cousin on how messed up I am over the girl—the enchanting, forbidden girl.
“Cousin,” Ben mutters, “her heart is pure, and she’s strong, but she’s been struggling for a while now. I miss my little lady, and her parents and her siblings miss their sister—the real her.”
The real her…
A wistful smile tugs at my lips as I think of the Ella my cousin is talking about—the lovely and wild girl who had unknowingly captured my every thought with her pink obsession, silly antics, and genuine, sweet smiles.
That girl faded into the background in D.C., but here—with me—she starts to bloom.
I think of the heiress with dull yet expensive outfits, tamed curls, forced smiles, and sad eyes that remind me of the winter rainstorms I witness every year at the ranch.
There is a moment of silence between us, the only sound the faint rustling of the wind through the trees and the animals in the distance.
“On her first day here, she wore a pink cowgirl outfit and smiled from ear to ear while twirling around,” I begin again, my voice quieter now. “This was after I’d told her the night before that her time here wasn’t a vacation—I told her she needed to work.”
Ben snorts through the line.
I chuckle softly, a hint of amusement in my voice. “On another occasion, I find her in the stables, talking to the horses and giving them makeovers. Another day, she made me go inside a pet shelter, and now there’s a baby goat named Poppy invading my home.”
“A fucking goat,” the bastard chokes.
Rubbing my palm over my face, I reply, “A fucking goat.”
“But you hate animals in your space.”
My eyes stay on the tulip fields as I whisper, “I do.”
“I think she’s done you good too, little cousin.” Ben’s tone turns serious again. “But remember not to let your feelings cloud your judgment. This is about her safety above everything else.”
My feelings?
Fuck.
As always, Ben sees more than I care to share. Dammit.
The thought of my cousin believing I would put my feelings over Ella's safety cuts deep. He’s a good man, the best man, and he loves Ella, but damn, he’s known me all his life. He should know that even if I did have feelings for my client, I would never put her life at risk. Not ever.
I run a hand through my beard and say, “You don’t gotta remind me of anything, Ben.” I grit my teeth and add, “She’s a client and nothing more. I know my place.”
And I do. I’ve always known.
Ellaiza Kenton is the former first daughter, accustomed to a privileged life in D.C.. Every aspect of her former world is immaculate. She’s never known dirt or waded near scum. She is… Not. For. Me.