didn’t want to take this case. But he would. Why? Because he was a horny bastard who thought too much with his cock and not enough with his brain.
The minute he’d seen that picture, Troy had known he’d be taking the case, no matter how messy it might become. Because he wanted to meet the guy in the photo. Wanted it so bad he could taste it.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he muttered to himself, placing the picture in the file for later viewing. He was getting exactly what he wanted. And it was probably going to blow up in his face.
CHAPTER 2
Troy stopped the car and got out slowly, shoving his sunglasses on top of his head. The Double M wasn’t what he’d been expecting, not even close. Considering how eager Mark had sounded to get his hands on the place, Troy had been picturing miles of white fence, lazily grazing studs and fancy barns. You know, Kentucky horse farm pretty. What he got was a lot of dust, miles of electric wire and some precarious structures with peeling paint. No horses in sight. Hell, there were even two tumbleweeds trapped against the warped, unstained wooden fencing of the nearest paddock.
Hardly a multi-million dollar operation. Maybe he should take a few pictures. Show the kid what he was getting into.
Troy had spoken with Mark for the first time that morning, not an hour before arriving at the ranch. His first impression was of a bratty, confused kid who needed a swift kick in the pants. His second impression was the same. He was beginning to think that taking this job had been one of the bigger mistakes of his career, which was saying something. Troy wasn’t exactly known for his good judgment.
He probably should have stayed in the city.
Oh, damn. There, striding toward him in the afternoon light, was the reason he hadn’t. Tall, dark and muscular rounded the edge of the paddock, moving with that lazy-hipped stride so common to horsemen.
His first thought was a rather stupid one—Rafe Morgan wasn’t ugly. In fact, the face more than lived up to the promise of that amazing body.
“Can I help you?”
The voice matched the look, a low, steady drawl that sent tingles up Troy’s spine and…other feelings…to his lower body. He silently willed his cock to keep its composure. It didn’t work. Instead, he took refuge in angling his body a bit, ostensibly to greet his new boss but more importantly to disguise the growing bulge in his jeans.
“Yeah.” Troy had to stop, clear his throat. “Yeah, I’m Troy Maxwell. You talked to someone at my firm about setting up an audit.”
The lie tasted like dust in his mouth. He resolved then and there to do the best damn job possible for Rafe. Maybe it would balance out the fact that he would also be gathering information intended to be used to destroy the guy’s life.
Yeah, right. He really, really should have told Ken no.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Rafe Morgan.” Rafe took his hand in a firm, friendly shake. “Have to say, you don’t look like any accountant I’ve ever met.”
Troy grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “I get that a lot.”
He hardly fit the stereotype of a numbers geek. In fact, he’d once been told he looked more like a thug. Well, by his mother, right before she told him to get a haircut. He had. It hadn’t helped. He was shorter than average, more muscular than average, and dark. Add the tattoos on both arms and his appearance fit more with the private investigator he was than the accountant his Dad had wanted him to be.
Rafe grinned, the expression inspiring jitters in Troy’s stomach. Wide and happy, the smile took years off those harsh features. “Heck, you could have pink hair and three arms. As long as you can fix the books, I don’t care what you look like.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Glad you could come,” Rafe said with genuine sincerity. “The books are a mess. If you can decipher half of it, you’ll be doin’ better than me.”
Troy grinned back at Rafe, unable to resist the expression on the cowboy’s
The minute he’d seen that picture, Troy had known he’d be taking the case, no matter how messy it might become. Because he wanted to meet the guy in the photo. Wanted it so bad he could taste it.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he muttered to himself, placing the picture in the file for later viewing. He was getting exactly what he wanted. And it was probably going to blow up in his face.
CHAPTER 2
Troy stopped the car and got out slowly, shoving his sunglasses on top of his head. The Double M wasn’t what he’d been expecting, not even close. Considering how eager Mark had sounded to get his hands on the place, Troy had been picturing miles of white fence, lazily grazing studs and fancy barns. You know, Kentucky horse farm pretty. What he got was a lot of dust, miles of electric wire and some precarious structures with peeling paint. No horses in sight. Hell, there were even two tumbleweeds trapped against the warped, unstained wooden fencing of the nearest paddock.
Hardly a multi-million dollar operation. Maybe he should take a few pictures. Show the kid what he was getting into.
Troy had spoken with Mark for the first time that morning, not an hour before arriving at the ranch. His first impression was of a bratty, confused kid who needed a swift kick in the pants. His second impression was the same. He was beginning to think that taking this job had been one of the bigger mistakes of his career, which was saying something. Troy wasn’t exactly known for his good judgment.
He probably should have stayed in the city.
Oh, damn. There, striding toward him in the afternoon light, was the reason he hadn’t. Tall, dark and muscular rounded the edge of the paddock, moving with that lazy-hipped stride so common to horsemen.
His first thought was a rather stupid one—Rafe Morgan wasn’t ugly. In fact, the face more than lived up to the promise of that amazing body.
“Can I help you?”
The voice matched the look, a low, steady drawl that sent tingles up Troy’s spine and…other feelings…to his lower body. He silently willed his cock to keep its composure. It didn’t work. Instead, he took refuge in angling his body a bit, ostensibly to greet his new boss but more importantly to disguise the growing bulge in his jeans.
“Yeah.” Troy had to stop, clear his throat. “Yeah, I’m Troy Maxwell. You talked to someone at my firm about setting up an audit.”
The lie tasted like dust in his mouth. He resolved then and there to do the best damn job possible for Rafe. Maybe it would balance out the fact that he would also be gathering information intended to be used to destroy the guy’s life.
Yeah, right. He really, really should have told Ken no.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Rafe Morgan.” Rafe took his hand in a firm, friendly shake. “Have to say, you don’t look like any accountant I’ve ever met.”
Troy grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “I get that a lot.”
He hardly fit the stereotype of a numbers geek. In fact, he’d once been told he looked more like a thug. Well, by his mother, right before she told him to get a haircut. He had. It hadn’t helped. He was shorter than average, more muscular than average, and dark. Add the tattoos on both arms and his appearance fit more with the private investigator he was than the accountant his Dad had wanted him to be.
Rafe grinned, the expression inspiring jitters in Troy’s stomach. Wide and happy, the smile took years off those harsh features. “Heck, you could have pink hair and three arms. As long as you can fix the books, I don’t care what you look like.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Glad you could come,” Rafe said with genuine sincerity. “The books are a mess. If you can decipher half of it, you’ll be doin’ better than me.”
Troy grinned back at Rafe, unable to resist the expression on the cowboy’s
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