Page 31

Ace

Apparently, what I’ve had to do is wait.

Two hours have ticked by, and Hadley still hasn’t surfaced from my room.

The rumble of thunder shakes the house, just enough that the chandelier in my office sounds like an instrument—something unsettling and out of tune.

It’s how I’ve felt since I left her upstairs, thrumming with rootless, unyielding energy.

My phone buzzing on my desk is a welcome distraction.

RIGGS

You should come and see the place. Know what you’re getting yourself into before you decide to sign on the dotted line.

ACE

Does your husband know you’re inviting me?

RIGGS

Whose idea do you think it was to invite you out? We’re coming off our busy season. It’s the perfect time to see what a place like this can offer when it’s done correctly.

Business comes easily to me. Conducting it and finding where things could flourish and what would inevitably end up costing money.

The bourbon industry is consistently growing, orders and fulfillment increasing daily, but the distillery, tours, even the expected turnout for this year’s races are far lower than any other year that I can remember.

The chaos that Wheeler Finch created with his business didn’t just impact a few; it’s chipping away at my town, the people, and their businesses.

There needs to be something new—tourists need a reason to come, other than for the bourbon.

A blur of dark hair catches my attention as it moves past my office door, head down, scribbling in her notebook.

“Hadley!” I shout after her.

She walks backwards to the doorway a few seconds later—in my white dress shirt. “Yes, darling?” she sing-songs, coming into my space with a pep in her step.

Taking out her phone, she pauses the music that’s still spilling down the stairs and through the hall. Shania turned into Florence, which then turned into Britney, and then some girl screaming “please” and “espresso.” I actually like the last few. “I needed a little lyrical pick-me-up after today.”

If it was anyone else, she’d seem fine and not the least bit jilted by the men trespassing, the hard ride here, the vast change of events that have her in front of me, waiting for rules about our newly decided relationship.

But I know her—probably better than Lincoln does—the music helps boost her mood, and the long shower was to relax her tension and calm her thoughts.

She had nail polish on when she went into that bathroom, but it’s been mostly picked off, except for a little left on her thumbs.

“That’s mine,” I say, nodding toward her.

She points to herself, and then slowly smiles wide, and I already know she’s about to break my first rule before she opens her mouth. “Patience, Daddy.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mumble quietly to myself. I hate how that word affects me when she says it—like it rolls over my skin and settles at the base of my spine like flint, just waiting for the heat from her to strike.

She kicks up her Kentucky accent and jokingly says, “I don’t want you ruining my reputation.”

I look down her body—her thick, muscular legs and the rest of her hidden beneath the cotton poplin.

“I meant the shirt,” I say, trying to appear bored by her.

To be clear, I’m never bored with the shit this woman says.

But it’s like feeding a monster, and sexual innuendos can’t be involved in what we’re about to discuss.

“We need to work out some details. Come in.”

She perches herself on the leather club chair in front of the chess set. Pointing to the board, she asks. “Should we play while we chat?”

I prefer to play quietly, but she functions best doing a few things at once. Griz is like that too.

My office is exactly where I function best—a space to work and think, surrounded by some of the things I love the most. Chess.

Bourbon. Pictures of my family in black and white on the farthest wall.

A long bookshelf that holds a fair amount of books I still haven’t found the time to read and a few special editions that I’ve collected over the years of ones that lingered in my mind longer than most.

Staring at the board, she studies the pieces carved from old bourbon barrels.

“This is a pretty set,” she says, picking up a knight and running her thumb along the natural wood that’s been polished and stained.

But then she sucks in a quick gasp, jolting as her gaze flicks to the window. “My horses. I completely forgot?—”

But I cut off her worry immediately as I shift and fix my pieces inside their squares. “Lady and Fergie are both in the largest stalls. They’ve been fed, and I guarantee Griz gave them a peppermint or two when he got back home.”

She sits back, her eyes watering slightly.

Legs tucked underneath her, I’m still not sure if she’s wearing shorts or even underwear underneath, but I divert my attention to her mouth.

Fingers pressed against them, she’s trying to decide what to say or what to hold in so those tears don’t actually fall.

“Thank you,” she says softly. It makes me feel like I’ve done something right, especially knowing that most of this agreement serves me more than it serves her—or at least that’s what she needs to believe.

“Your move,” I tell her, nodding to the board.

She wipes beneath her eyes and glances at the bar cart in the corner. “I’ve already been day drinking. Might as well keep going.” Her mouth tips up at the corner, that small dimple pinching. “Pour me something?”

She sits up higher as I get up and pour a few fingers in each glass.

I pluck them from the cart and find her already looking less frayed.

A pawn moves one spot closer to my side of the board as she watches me come back to sit.

“Don’t you ever just throw on a pair of sweats and relax in your own home?

You have the glass of bourbon, a game in front of you, but still all business. ”

I stop the glass halfway to my mouth. “I am relaxed.”

“You’re still wearing shoes,” she says, like it’s an accusation and not an observation.

She leans forward, bending at the waist, giving me a ridiculous view down the oversized white shirt.

It isn’t a secret that Hadley has an incredible body, but I only allow myself specific parts to look at in one sitting.

I’ve already had an eyeful of her thick thighs and toned calves—if I look at more, I’ll want more.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she gets frustrated at the distance from the chair to the floor and shifts off, moving to her knees.

She loops her fingers in the laces of my shoes, kneeling in front of me, focused on a task I never asked her to complete.

When she loosens the ties completely, she pulls off the shoe and tosses it across the room.

“If you’re going to wear a suit while I’m braless and in pajamas as we negotiate our life together, then I need a little bit of the playing field leveled out. ”

It isn’t fucking leveled by a long shot.

She glances up at me through her long dark lashes, a smirk tugging at her lips when she sees my tightened expression. “Does this turn you on, Ace?” Yes . “Me in front of you, on my knees like this?” Fucking hell.

My mouth waters, and I run my thumb along my lip, trying to calm my dick down and keep from fucking this up before it even starts. I straighten in my seat as I clear my throat. “Get up. We’re going to talk about some rules and limits?—”

“Fine,” she huffs out, then mumbles something about me not being any fun. “You realize who you’ve asked to marry, right?”

“I do,” I tell her as I move my pawn forward next to hers. A King’s Gambit would be her first thought—a risky choice, but it doesn’t surprise me. She’s always the player to put someone all in after only one round of poker or setback.

But I prefer something slightly less aggressive and more controlled.

I take her pawn by advancing my rook. She’s going to look at moving more pawns, perhaps even her bishop, but she’s a ballsy player—like with everything else.

And while I’ve never played a single game with her, I’ve watched her wipe the floor with Lincoln plenty of times over the years.

She let him win for a stint right after Olivia died—he knew they were pity wins, but she did it anyway.

“Which is why we need to talk about our hard limits.” I pause, searching for the right words. She expects me to keep my important pieces guarded, but I move my queen instead toward her pawns and just out of reach. “And expectations.”

“I’m listening,” she says as she takes one of my pawns.

“It would be believable to tell everyone that we’ve been quietly carrying on a relationship since Lincoln’s wedding. You admitted to always having feelings for me, we slept together, and?—”

She barks out a laugh, interrupting. “Sorry, but why is it me who’s been pining for you and not you yearning for me?”

I raise an eyebrow as she stares at me, no longer interested in the moves on the chessboard. The funny part is, I’m incredibly good at keeping my feelings and emotions intact and beneath the exterior. If she only knew how close to the truth she actually is.

“Are you saying that because it’s a more believable story?

Or do you think—” she asks softly. “Why would you say that?” Vulnerability is laced in that question, and it makes me pause.

I hadn’t taken into consideration that there may be truth in it on her end.

She’s pushed and said plenty, but I haven’t ever stopped to think there’s more to it than her wanting to challenge me.

That kiss aside, I haven’t allowed the idea to even be a possibility. I couldn’t. And...I still can’t.

When she leans against the arm of her chair, my white dress shirt shifts. Her shoulder peeks out along the wide opening where she seems to have forgotten there are buttons.