market before it really went anywhere, and then pay off a few bills and figure out what to do next.”
Why did heartbreak and hope have to live so closely together in her beautiful hunter green eyes? It wounded him. He longed to stand and guide her into his arms, to vow to keep her safe. She’d been through so much. He bit his tongue to keep from asking her about her ex. Reminding himself that he wasn’t supposed to know about Chase Masters, his jaw clenched in an effort to keep his knowledge to himself. Why did she have to be so easy to talk to?
“Okay, so you’re all right with me filing to move the hearing to Birmingham, Monday? Your family will be notified. If they’re going to show up to continue their argument, they’ll have to know where to be and when.”
John studied her closely. He didn’t want to do anything to cause her more pain. Determined resolve set her delicate features. She dug deep in that moment. He watched her chest rise and fall in a deep breath as she dipped into a stubbornness he knew had given her the grit to do all that she’d already accomplished. “I’m okay with that. They’ll get over it.” She wanted him to believe that, but John knew better. What he didn’t know was any other way to get her the inheritance she rightfully deserved.
“Think about it over the weekend. If you change your mind, I can try to come up with something else.”
“No, I’m not going to change my mind, and my mother and the bitch trifecta aren’t going to run my life anymore.”
John cracked up. Damn, but she was a spitfire. His cock twitched out its adamant approval. His mind offered him stunning imagery of coaxing out her wild side in his bed. Oh, hell yeah, he was going to do this. “The bitch trifecta?”
Arley giggled again. A melodic sound that heated his blood. “My mom has two sisters. They’re ever of the opinion that they all know how everyone else should run their lives. When I was about sixteen, I nicknamed them the bitch trifecta, but you’re the first person I’ve ever said that out loud to.”
The blood that wound seductively up from the low cut dress and settled in her cheeks had John fighting not to groan from the need to strip her out of that sexy little dress and locate the source of her internal fire.
“Oh, I like it. They sound very aptly named.” He winked at her and watched her delicate neck contract in a harsh swallow.
Her eyes lit a moment later. “A few months ago, my Aunt Ruth said to my face that because I was an author I was incapable of being able to tell the difference in reality and fiction. She basically called me a liar and then deemed herself a saint because her reasoning for my inability to tell the truth was my sinful career. Playing judge, jury, and executioner is their M.O.”
“Damn.” John shook his head. He was stunned. How did she go on with no support? How had she gone on and accomplished what she’d accomplished without her father to jetty the hurricane tides thrown her way? She was the kind of woman that would walk over glass and right through the fire and still smile because she knew she was real. She was somehow a hardcore survivalist wrapped in a beautiful, delicate package. Her heart was certainly wary and her soul weary, but she refused to give in. He’d never seen survival painted so beautifully.
The longing startled him momentarily. He’d never before felt the need to protect someone as adamantly as he felt it with her. He’d always longed to take care of everyone he reached, but this was more. This was different.
“I’m really, sorry, Arley. That’s rough. I think I would have given up.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it dozens of times, but then I sit down at my laptop and the characters start talking, and it’s kind of like I transcend all of the crap thrown my way. I used to never feel more alive than when I wrote.”
John’s brow furrowed. “Used to?”
Her blush deepened. “Yeah,” she glanced away
Why did heartbreak and hope have to live so closely together in her beautiful hunter green eyes? It wounded him. He longed to stand and guide her into his arms, to vow to keep her safe. She’d been through so much. He bit his tongue to keep from asking her about her ex. Reminding himself that he wasn’t supposed to know about Chase Masters, his jaw clenched in an effort to keep his knowledge to himself. Why did she have to be so easy to talk to?
“Okay, so you’re all right with me filing to move the hearing to Birmingham, Monday? Your family will be notified. If they’re going to show up to continue their argument, they’ll have to know where to be and when.”
John studied her closely. He didn’t want to do anything to cause her more pain. Determined resolve set her delicate features. She dug deep in that moment. He watched her chest rise and fall in a deep breath as she dipped into a stubbornness he knew had given her the grit to do all that she’d already accomplished. “I’m okay with that. They’ll get over it.” She wanted him to believe that, but John knew better. What he didn’t know was any other way to get her the inheritance she rightfully deserved.
“Think about it over the weekend. If you change your mind, I can try to come up with something else.”
“No, I’m not going to change my mind, and my mother and the bitch trifecta aren’t going to run my life anymore.”
John cracked up. Damn, but she was a spitfire. His cock twitched out its adamant approval. His mind offered him stunning imagery of coaxing out her wild side in his bed. Oh, hell yeah, he was going to do this. “The bitch trifecta?”
Arley giggled again. A melodic sound that heated his blood. “My mom has two sisters. They’re ever of the opinion that they all know how everyone else should run their lives. When I was about sixteen, I nicknamed them the bitch trifecta, but you’re the first person I’ve ever said that out loud to.”
The blood that wound seductively up from the low cut dress and settled in her cheeks had John fighting not to groan from the need to strip her out of that sexy little dress and locate the source of her internal fire.
“Oh, I like it. They sound very aptly named.” He winked at her and watched her delicate neck contract in a harsh swallow.
Her eyes lit a moment later. “A few months ago, my Aunt Ruth said to my face that because I was an author I was incapable of being able to tell the difference in reality and fiction. She basically called me a liar and then deemed herself a saint because her reasoning for my inability to tell the truth was my sinful career. Playing judge, jury, and executioner is their M.O.”
“Damn.” John shook his head. He was stunned. How did she go on with no support? How had she gone on and accomplished what she’d accomplished without her father to jetty the hurricane tides thrown her way? She was the kind of woman that would walk over glass and right through the fire and still smile because she knew she was real. She was somehow a hardcore survivalist wrapped in a beautiful, delicate package. Her heart was certainly wary and her soul weary, but she refused to give in. He’d never seen survival painted so beautifully.
The longing startled him momentarily. He’d never before felt the need to protect someone as adamantly as he felt it with her. He’d always longed to take care of everyone he reached, but this was more. This was different.
“I’m really, sorry, Arley. That’s rough. I think I would have given up.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it dozens of times, but then I sit down at my laptop and the characters start talking, and it’s kind of like I transcend all of the crap thrown my way. I used to never feel more alive than when I wrote.”
John’s brow furrowed. “Used to?”
Her blush deepened. “Yeah,” she glanced away
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