Three Reckless Words: Chapter 6

I should’ve known it would be impossible for me to get a little quiet.

Working in the home office doesn’t mean I don’t have distractions. It just means whoever wants to hound me does it through my phone.

First Dexter, who doesn’t even bother with a greeting when I pick up.

“I have an idea,” he says.

“Hello to you too.”

He makes an impatient sound. “Yes, hi. Anyway, I was thinking… The Cardinal has been one of our most successful ventures, right?”

“Yeah.”

The Cardinal is Patton’s baby, mostly. There’s no denying the hotel that really isn’t a hotel has outperformed our loftiest expectations with minimal problems. Better than anything I thought Pat would ever do, even if he had some major help from his now-wife.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good businessman.

He has good instincts. But Salem’s management took a serious investment with long-term potential and spun it into one of our best moneymakers ever in record time.

“Of course,” I tell him. “What’s your point?”

“Why did we stop at one?”

That’s what I thought he might say. I press my phone closer to my ear. “Because buildings like that are unicorns and they require monster capital.”

“We have the money.”

“Still a gamble,” I growl back, although he might have a point. “Did you have a where in mind?”

“Saint Louis.”

Still in Missouri, then. It’s a logical step—the second biggest city in the state, and it would be like a stepping stone for future expansions. We could even spin off the same Cardinal branding, considering how much attention that property keeps getting in travel blogs and video reviews.

“And what brought this on?” I ask.

“I was thinking about Junie’s bakery expansion. My brain just went there,” he admits slowly. “We could time ours to match and bring the best of Kansas City east.”

“She’s thinking of opening a bakery in St. Louis?”

“I mean, it makes sense. It’s a big place, plenty of opportunities. Plus, I’ve checked, and I think there could be a gap in the market for another luxury high-rise with our model.”

Hmph.

If there’s one thing I trust Dexter to do, it’s research. Especially after the whole Haute affair that almost sunk us, he’s insanely diligent, even if he doesn’t burn himself out working like he used to.

“It’s your lucky day. I’ll consider it.”

“Good. Patton already agreed,” he says smugly.

“Big fat fucking surprise you went to him first,” I growl, trying not to roll my eyes. “He’ll still be bragging about The Cardinal in a retirement home someday.”

Dexter chuckles. “Careful, man, your jealousy is showing.”

“Fuck off, Dex.”

His voice is perfectly calm as he laughs. “Just wanted to plant the seed. We want to move fast, so can we expedite your second-guessing?”

“I told you I’ll think about it. Call a meeting in a few days, after I’ve had time to look into it, and you can pitch it properly with numbers.”

“Thanks, Arch. I’ll have my homework in on time like always.” He snorts. There’s a muffled sound in the background. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your brooding. Don’t be too hard on Colt for the fireworks. I heard about it from Mom.”

“My son, my problem,” I snarl.

I place the phone on the table, screen up, and turn on speaker so I can check through the messages that start buzzing in. Weirdly, they’re all from Miss Sugarbee.

“Junie just called you, didn’t she?” I ask, remembering that muffled sound. He has a bad way of setting his phone up where you can tell if someone else calls.

“Maybe.”

“Go back to your domestic bliss, fucker.”

“Sure thing, prick.”

I grin as I end the call.

It’s not the worst idea, expanding our star success, just as long as we lay the groundwork right. I send a note to our assistant to dig up basics on the St. Louis market and then turn my attention to those weird-ass texts.

Winnie: Archer you won’t believe this but you have THE BEST BEES

Winnie: Literal bee golf

Winnie: mold

Winnie: *gold ARGH

Winnie: The honey is purple and believe me when I say that’s sooo rare. PURPLE HONEY

What the fuck?

Of course, she includes a bee emoji after every message.

All I know about bees is that they hurt like hell when they sting you.

I’m starting to regret the day my landscaper talked me into setting up those bee boxes.

Frankly, I’m not sure I’d believe her if it wasn’t for the photos she attached, which show a rack of honeycomb and the most purple honey I’ve ever seen in my life.

It looks more like paint, something you’d use to dress up a pumpkin on Halloween or smear on a canvas while you’re watching Bob Ross.

I ignore the rest of her garbled incoming texts, which keep raving about this bee-given miracle and how I need to come over this instant.

I’m wincing when I call her.

“Archer! Hi. You got my messages?” She picks up immediately.

“Yes,” I say cautiously. “I got them, all right.”

“Isn’t this amazing?” She practically squeals. No, scratch that—she does squeal, though she has the grace to move her phone away from her mouth when it happens so she doesn’t blow out my eardrum. I put her on speaker and lean back in my chair. “I’ve seriously never seen anything like it. I’ve only heard of this kind of thing before.”

“What, do you moonlight as a beekeeper on top of your senate staffer job?” I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s true.

“I’m no professional, no, but my grandparents gave me a good start. I know what I’m doing around bees. You have to believe me when I say this is unicorn honey. Like total freak of nature stuff. Honey so purple it almost glows? Do you know what that means?”

“No. But I have a feeling you’ll enlighten me.”

“Yes! People will pay through the nose for this honey, Archer. You don’t even know what medicinal qualities it might have, and it’s pretty yummy, too. So sweet you could dribble it on ice cream.”

What a weird image. My gut churns, unsure whether it sounds appetizing or absolutely revolting.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.

This isn’t bad news, no, but the fact it’s this girl and these fucking bees again has me worried. Earlier today, her dad left another frosty voicemail. This time on my personal cell, which he must have blackmailed out of someone or pulled serious strings to get.

He damn near demanded a call back to confirm she’s renting my cabin.

“You need to come over and see it,” she says. “I know this sounds bonkers over the phone, but just come and I’ll show you. It’ll make more sense in person, I promise.”

Sure.

It’ll make the same sense as hearing about this batshit honey does now, except instead of a photo, it’ll probably involve her dancing around like a manic pixie while I get stung in the face ten times.

“I mean, assuming you’re not too busy,” she adds, almost like an afterthought.

“Fine,” I say, if only to humor her. “I’ll come, but no pulling apart bee boxes and pissing them off.”

“Yay! I’m so pumped. See ya soon.”

That makes one of us.

I end the call before her puppy energy changes my mind and push the phone back across the desk with a sigh.

Christ, what am I getting myself into?

Colt walks in as I’m still processing how best to deal with this level of crazy, and when I pick up my phone, he gets a good look at the screen and stops cold.

“Dad, why are you looking at potassium permanganate?

“Potassium perma-what now?” I stare at him.

“It’s an oxidizing agent. They use it a lot in hospitals for sanitation. It’s bright purple like that.”

Have I mentioned how much my little mad scientist scares me sometimes?

“No, Colt, this is honey. Apparently.”

“Honey—what? Does honey get purple?”

“Supposedly, yes. I’m going to find out in person.” I pinch the bridge of my nose again. Odds are good I’ll regret this tomorrow, but I’ve already committed. “I’m headed out there now to take a look. Do you want to come and get some fresh air?”

“Hell yeah!” He punches the air. “Uh, sorry.”

If he’s this excited to leave the house for purple honey, I guess being grounded is getting to him.

Good. That’s the entire point.

It also means there’s an extra pressure in my chest as we head out together, back to the place where all our latest troubles started.

When we get to Solitude, Winnie’s waiting for us.

She throws the door open the second we pull up in the driveway.

“You brought Colt along? Nice!” she says, her eyes shining as she sees him. “Come on in, guys.”

“Hey, Winnie,” he says almost shyly.

“It’s good to see you again. Your dad treating you okay?”

“Could be better.” Colt grins up at me.

“His dad is right here,” I say dryly.

Her smile is infectious as hell, I’ll give her that, bright-green eyes dancing as she leans closer to Colt.

“Blink twice if you need help,” she whispers, loud enough for me to hear.

Colt laughs.

I press my lips together so my amusement doesn’t show.

Gone is the broken, lost bird from before. In her place, there’s this fairy creature whose energy is palpable.

She beckons us to follow, her fingers fluttering, and Colt takes a seat by the island, just like before.

I lean against the counter, not wanting to get too comfortable.

“So,” I say. “Purple honey, huh?”

“I did some investigating before I called you. You saw the pictures, right?”

“Yes, I saw the pictures.”

“Right, well, that says it all.” She beams at me. “I checked out the woods around your property to see if I could find anything obvious that might explain it. There’s a rare crop of kudzu and black locust trees about half a mile in.”

“That’s what’s causing it?” I ask, unsure I’m following her.

“Yes! Probably, I mean. It’s unusual this far north—the purple color—and I’ve never seen this exact shade before. I can’t find a good match looking online.” Unable to keep still, she starts pacing. “It’s crazy, though. I never thought I’d find anything like this here.”

I glance at Colt, but he’s just propped his head up on one hand, watching her movements. If she’s not careful, she’ll burn a hole through the wood flooring.

“Do you have more land?” she asks suddenly.

“What?”

“More acreage? Do you own any of the forest?”

I fold my arms. “What does it matter to you?”

Although my property line extends generously into the woods, I’m not just leasing it out to bee-obsessed wackos.

“You could expand the hives and sell this stuff like crazy.” She stops pacing and stops in front of me, staring up, all big green eyes and fierce dreams.

I have to take a step back. I’ve never seen this much passion before.

“I’m not surrounding this place with bees, Winnie. They’re upscale rentals, and most folks in our demographic like their getaways bug free.”

“Okay, okay. That’s fair.” Striding off again, she rubs her temples like she’s trying to think, to find just the right words to convince me to join her next crazy scheme.

Instead, I scope out the place.

The black trash bag is still crumpled on the floor where she left it. I wonder if she’s having second thoughts or if she needs some help getting rid of it.

Leaving everything behind on your wedding day must be damn hard. If her tears the other day were any indication, she’s definitely struggling. At least, she was before the enchanted honey showed up.

Fucking bees.

Of everything that might have pulled her out of that slump, I never expected it to be bees and their weird purple goo.

But this is a place made for rest and relaxation. Surrounding the property with busy hives doesn’t exactly give those vibes. I’ve already had to add a clear disclaimer to the bottom of the property about the bee presence just in case anybody with a serious allergy ever tries to rent it.

Something I don’t think she read before she showed up.

Hell, judging by how she behaves, she didn’t bother reading through the website fully—she checked if it was available and booked it on the fly.

“Are you going to collect it?” Colt asks Winnie.

She turns to him. “Hmm?”

“The honey. Do you have a way to harvest it? If—” He glances at me now, his eyebrows pulled together. Somehow, the boy manages to look so old and young at the same time. “If Dad’s okay with it, I mean.”

Beautiful timing.

Winnie also looks at me. I’m pretty sure I feel the hit like a hornet jammed in my ear.

Goddamn, this woman can speak whole volumes with her eyes alone.

“If it’s done safely and carefully, I won’t object,” I say.

“You can do it if you like,” she tells Colt. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“I meant you, Sugarbee,” I growl. “I wasn’t inviting my son.”

She blinks at me. Her emerald eyes dim, flashing me a dirty look.

I fold my arms. “They’re bees. They’re dangerous when they get riled up.”

“Not unless you’re allergic and you go swinging at their nests. They’re not Africanized killer bees.”

“They can still do damage.”

“Only if provoked.” Her smile drips sweetness, beguiling my son, who’s only just discovered puberty and pretty girls. “I’ll show you guys, okay? Just follow my lead. Or if you want, you can stand back and watch while I do it.”

“Do you have beekeeping equipment?” I ask, my arms still folded. It feels like a me-vs-them situation, but if Colt didn’t look at her with those harvest moon eyes, we wouldn’t be in this situation.

She nods. “Yes, actually. I found some in a shed by the garden. Someone must come by to check on them, huh?”

I shrug.

I guess they do.

Truthfully, I haven’t involved myself in the day-to-day beekeeping crap. That’s why I have a maintenance crew.

“Winnie, do you know what you’re doing?” I demand.

“Yes. Trust me. I checked and you have an extractor.” At my blank look, she sighs. “It separates the honey without damaging the comb. That way, the bees don’t need to rebuild after we mess with anything.”

“I see.” Barely, but that’s not the point. “I don’t feel fully comfortable with this.”

Am I being unreasonable?

She might be mad about bees, but I don’t know enough about her to trust my son and this strange woman around a whole active colony, all armed with stingers and bad attitudes.

Colt was stung a few times as a kid, so I know he’s not allergic. Still, I’ve heard stories of people who become allergic after being stung too many times, or just as life happens.

No way do I want to risk any nasty surprises.

“I get the hesitation,” Winnie says brightly, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “No need to worry, I’ll do it myself. You guys can keep your distance.”

“Yeah!”

With Colt’s enthusiasm, there’s nothing else to do but follow her outside into the balmy evening sun. There’s a reason we called this place ‘Solitude’ and it lives up to its reputation.

As promised, there’s a shed tucked into the corner of the garden. She disappears inside before reemerging in a white suit complete with hood. There’s black mesh around her face and she’s wearing bulky gloves. She gives us a big thumbs-up.

“This is the super,” she explains, tapping the top of the first bee box she comes to. “Any excess honey the bees make goes in here.”

“Why there?” Colt asks.

“Most hives make extra honey, but we don’t want to grab too much. Did you know the average worker drone only lives for six weeks and makes about a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in his entire life?” She tilts her head toward us but it’s impossible to see her expression behind the hood.

I’m sure she’s giddy.

Colt nods, awestruck.

My lips curl with irritation.

Just to check that she’s not talking out of her ass, I pull out my phone and do a quick search.

Dammit, she’s right.

Of course, she is.

I decide not to stroke her ego by telling her and shove my phone back in my pocket, folding my arms as I watch her.

Beside me, Colt stares like he’s watching the greatest show on Earth.

“It’s so cool how she isn’t scared,” he whispers.

I don’t know Winnie, but I know her well enough to say, “Cool or absolutely bonkers. Time will tell.”

“Dad, she’s just passionate. You could learn a thing or two. But what if she gets stung?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” I bite off.

Colt cups his hands over his mouth as she removes the first frame, which is so thick with gold bees it’s impossible to see anything underneath.

“Hey, Winnie!” he calls. “What happens if you get stung?”

“I’m not allergic, so nothing to worry about.” She shakes the frame, dislodging most of the bees back in the box. “I don’t mind. It hurts a little, but it’s not so bad, really. There are way worse things.”

Like a clown who leaves you so heartbroken you run hundreds of miles to find bees as a distraction?

I wonder.

There are so many little flying bugs surrounding her now. I can barely see what she’s doing, but she’s moving slowly, carefully. She doesn’t seem to mind the way they crawl all over her.

Just watching it makes my skin itch.

It’s not a quick process, either.

After she’s dislodged the bees with lots of patience, coaxing, and promises—yes, she reminds them constantly she’s their best damn friend—Winnie puts the frame in a clear bag.

Repeat for another nine frames caked with honey, and finally, she’s on her way back.

A few bees still cling to her stubbornly.

Not necessarily to attack, I think, though I wouldn’t put that past them. More like raw curiosity, I guess.

That makes two of us.

The bugs must be as baffled as I am over this bright, sexy woman invading their space.

“My bad. I wore the wrong perfume today,” she explains once she’s next to us again.

“Wrong perfume?” I know as soon as I’ve asked it’s a dangerous question.

I caught a whiff of it when she invited us in, and even in that big white space suit, she smells wonderful. Floral and succulent with a hint of cinnamon-like heat underneath for just the right sizzle.

Damnably enticing.

Damnably annoying that she has to remind me.

“It attracts the bees. Certain scents do,” she says matter-of-factly. “No big deal except I don’t need a load of them following me around.”

Colt ducks back as a bee flies in front of my face. I have to grit my teeth to step back gracefully and not swat it out of midair.

I’m not scared of them, no, but who likes bugs hovering around their face?

Only, as I look at Winnie wearing the widest smile I’ve seen, I have my answer.

“Off you go, guys. Head back home,” she coos to the bees clinging to her. “Okay, perfect. Let’s go. The extractor is in the shed and I’ve already set it up. We can finish up there.”

Colt holds the door open for her and we head inside, shutting out the rest of the bees. With all three of us in here, the space feels cramped.

I’m surprised to see she wasn’t kidding about setting things up. It looks like a miniature lab in here with a small foldout card table and equipment I’ve never seen.

I lean against the wall, my arms folded. This industrial-grade honey harvesting was not what I had in mind when I came over.

She eyes me like she knows I’m scolding her behind my withering gaze, but all she says is, “Wow, three’s company in here for sure. Can I get a little space, guys? I just need to get out of this gear.”

I nod pointedly at the wall crammed up behind me, and she rolls her eyes, tugging off the helmet and shaking out her hair.

“Okay, I get it. Just think small.”

Think small? Who the hell does she think she is?

But before I can say anything, I get another whiff of her smell, this time from her hair. I close my mouth before anything stupid comes out.

“So next we need to uncap the honey to collect it,” she says, standing next to a metal trough. Beside it, there’s a gleaming chrome drum with one half of its lid open. “Do you want to try this, Colt? Careful, it’s hot.”

“Sure!” He takes the knife Winnie gives him and slices down the frames on both sides, which peels the honey off surprisingly neatly. He’s intently focused on keeping his hand steady, biting the inside of his cheek.

That’s the boy I’m used to, a workhorse with a genuine interest in solving problems, always fascinated by the world around him and willing to learn more.

Not the little shit who sneaks out behind my back to dick around with fireworks.

This Colton Rory will always make me proud.

Winnie shoots me a glance like she knows what I’m thinking—hell, maybe it’s written on my face—but she accepts the frames as Colt finishes them, putting them neatly in the extractor.

“Okay! Now we extract the honey. Easy-peasy.” She makes sure everything’s in place and closes the lid. Almost immediately, the machine whirs, and she nods with approval. “This is a nice newer model.”

“Sure,” I agree.

I guess my crew must’ve thought of grabbing some honey for themselves. I didn’t even know this stuff was in here.

“Now we just need a jar. Anything like that around?”

“Yeah! I bet we can find something in the kitchen.” Colt grins at her.

Winnie sends another quick look at my folded arms. The smile that flashes across her face is small and knowing.

“Let’s wrap this up. Better to get your dad out of here before he bursts a blood vessel or something from all this fun.”

This time, Colt laughs with glee. It’s almost worth being the butt of her dumb jokes to see that expression on his face again.

On the way back to the house, Winnie showers us with more bee wisdom. There’s no end to her facts, it seems, and half the stuff washes over me.

Somehow, Colt soaks it in. There’s something almost endearing about how animated she gets over them.

Bees. Fucking bees.

And yes, I hate the fact that I’m even thinking she’s endearing at all when she’s rambling on about her ugly stinging bugs, how they’re basically telepathic or some shit with the chemical signals they use to communicate.

I don’t know why I’m listening at all. I’m not interested in bees, their future, or this magic purple honey. I blame her voice, soft and inviting, this light echo humming in my ear.

The sooner we get the hell out of here, the better.

“Oh, and Archer.” She touches my arm lightly, then flinches back like I’m made of uranium. “Now that I’ve seen this, I might have to stay the full month.”

“The full month.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Even if she pays top dollar for her time, how the fuck will I survive a full month of this?

“Yes. This place would benefit from a full-time beekeeper. You didn’t see it, but those frames were full of honey. The bees can’t make more if there’s no more space.”

“Tragic,” I clip.

Winnie’s soft green eyes flare.

“D-ad, come on.” Colt tugs my arm.

“Okay, okay. I’m sure a full-time beekeeper could manage this better, however…” I can’t find the words.

Not when I’m lost wondering what she’ll get me to agree to next.

This isn’t fucking good, whatever black magic spell book she has that keeps me so open to her kind of crazy.

Winnie hunts through the kitchen cabinets until she scares up a couple mason jars. I’m a little proud they’re here. We really thought of everything when we set up these cabins.

“These are perfect!” She smiles and holds them up. “Colt, do you think you could head back to the shed and put a jar under the tap on the extractor? Just turn it on. The honey will need some straining, but the sooner we get it in glass, the better.”

“Will do.” He takes the jars with a friendly nod and leaves through the back door at a steady jog.

“Not too fast, Colt! You’re carrying glass,” I call after him.

“He’s a sweet kid.” Winnie watches him fondly.

In a few quick movements, like she’s done it a thousand times before, she strips out of her suit. It takes her a second to get the bulky pants down over her hips.

My day gets worse instantly.

I have to rivet my eyes to the wall, and they still try to wander, capturing an illicit strip show I never asked for.

She’s not being the weirdo this time.

That’s all me and my stuffy, long-neglected lust. My cock hardens in my pants as I watch her shake her way out of that thing.

Mother of God, the hips on this girl. I barely stop short of stuffing my knuckles in my mouth and biting down until I taste blood.

With the bee suit shed, she’s back to wearing white shorts and a baby-blue silk blouse she’s tied off just above her navel, revealing a tease of skin.

“Colt picks up on new stuff fast, doesn’t he?” she asks with a smile that flays me to the bone.

“Sure does.” I don’t dare unfold my arms as I look at her, making sure I only see her face. The last thing I need is a distraction from the question burning through my haze of mindless desire. “Here’s a question for you—why didn’t you mention your father’s the goddamned Attorney General sooner?”

“Oh, um… crap.” She winces.

“Crap is right.”

“I know. I know, you’re right to be concerned.”

“The Attorney General of Missouri, Winnie. Not just some random business jerkoff.”

“I know.” She wilts, hiding behind her hair before brushing it back from her face. She opens one eye to peek at me. “Will you still keep my secret?”

No woman has the right to be this alluring when she’s a walking curse.

“Did I say I wouldn’t? I’ll keep it, yes, but so far he hasn’t given up.”

“He called you again? Oh, God.”

“A voicemail. To my personal number this time. Who knows where he got that.”

She sighs heavily and collapses on the sofa, her head lolling back. From this angle, I can see the way her hair cascades down her neck onto the cushions.

God, this woman.

What the hell is she doing to me, making me think of hair cascading at all?

“You’re right,” she whispers, looking at me from basically upside down. There’s no hint of her earlier joy or the teasing glint in her eyes now. “I haven’t been thinking this through. Don’t worry, Archer. I’m going to face the music soon, I promise.”

“When?” I tap a finger against my bicep, trying to fight back my skepticism.

“My dad can be awful and pushy, but he’s not that insane. It’s a family matter. He won’t drag you into court or something.”

“A family matter,” I echo coldly. “And what? You’ll just snap your fingers and fix it?”

With a groan, she heaves herself up and walks over to me.

There’s something hollow in her eyes now, like the shimmering happiness before has dried up into a desert. I hate to see it.

Vulnerability, that’s what this is.

Every time she mentions her old man, it’s like she loses another spark of life.

She stops in front of me and we lock eyes.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either under the circumstances,” she whispers. Her little nails trail up her arms, tracing white lines across her skin. “And I get it, I really do. But this is—this is about the bees.” She waves a hand toward the gardens. “This place is everything I need right now, and I think the bees might need me, too.”

Fuck.

Here comes the guilt trip, speeding toward me like a train loaded with dynamite, and the worst part is I get it.

I really do.

She needs to feel like she has a purpose, some higher calling, something that needs her just as much as she needs it. Hell, I’ve been there plenty of times.

Colt and the business give me easy closure there.

I don’t think about it often, but when my old man died when I was young, I had the same crisis. The whole family spiraled. Three young men who had to grow up mighty fast while Mom confronted her demons at the bottom of a wine bottle.

It’s why I joined the army. I needed to feel like I was doing something worthwhile, helping make the world safer and stable when I needed order the most in my life.

And fuck, as I stare down at her, the way she tugs at the knot holding her blouse together, I know exactly what I’m about to say.

“How long do you need?”

“A month tops. The money’s no issue, I promise—”

“I’ll clear the schedule for this property. You can have your month here with the bees.”

Her mouth drops and her eyes widen. I’m half convinced she’s about to hit the floor until she does something worse.

She hugs me.

Not just a little hug, no, not like the ones I get from Junie and Salem when my sisters-in-law come over. Polite little hugs done more from friendly habit.

This is different.

A second later, I’m buried in lush, sweet-smelling woman, rapidly losing every damn bit of my mind.

She’s soft and she’s warm and her arms are around my neck. Her ear feels cold against my cheek and her hair falls all over my face.

Yes, she smells fucking incredible up close.

Not just the perfume from earlier, but—the honey?

Shit.

Before I can even think, I wrap my arms around her tight.

Her hair feels like spun silk. There’s no helping the way I caress it, stroking the curls, threading them through my fingers while I breathe her in greedily.

She softens, sinking into me, her breath so hot against my neck.

Fuck me, I hold on tighter.

“Thank you. Thank you, Archer!” Her voice cracks. “This means so much to me, you don’t even know.”

True.

Right now, I only know one thing—it’s been too long since I’ve had a woman in my arms when this little troublemaker feels this good.

She’s a total stranger. A client.

I’ve made a business arrangement with her, and now she’s—

She’s burying her face in my neck like I’ve just saved her life. Clinging to me like I’ve rescued her from drowning or burning alive.

But I haven’t, I just agreed to take her money like any other paying guest.

I promised her shelter from the storm in the most miserly, selfish way possible.

Every instinct I have howls at me to keep her where she is, but the thought that I haven’t done anything to deserve her gratitude feels shit enough that I ease her back, my hands on her waist.

Her eyelashes are damp as she looks up at me, curiosity sparking in her eyes. It reminds me of the night sky captured in emerald. Her lips part on another breath too much like a low moan, and dammit, I’m still holding her waist.

She’s so deliriously soft in my hands, so close.

If I just lean down and claim her bottom lip with my teeth, I’ll see how she sounds when she—

The door opens and Colt bounds back in.

“You guys, it’s so purple! Like a blueberry smoothie but brighter,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it, not seeming to notice the fact that I was about two seconds away from breaking every rule about professional relationships.

But he notices a second later and stops mid-step, staring at us like he has to rub his eyes to believe them.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I let Winnie go and she stumbles back, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. Her cheeks are redder than a fire truck.

Though her eyes are still bright with fresh tears, there’s no mistaking it when she looks at Colt. She’s still wearing the same confused, happy smile she had before.

The smile I stupidly painted on her face like the grabby, horny old goat I am.

“Sure is, Colt,” she says. “If you like, you can take some home, but you’ll have to strain it yourself. You can do that through a piece of muslin or a cheesecloth, though. It’s easy enough. We can also check the extractor for a little sample.”

“Grandma would love it. Right, Dad?” He looks at me for permission.

Anything made with love or artsy passion is Mom’s religion.

“She would,” I say slowly.

“Great. I’ll go check the jar,” she says. “There won’t be much in there yet, but it’ll give you guys a taste, and you can always come back for more.”

Fuck no.

The last thing I need is to come back with her here alone. This visit proves I can’t be unaccompanied with this woman.

“We’ll wait by the car.” I hate how damn awkward I sound.

Colt gives me a weird glance that almost wrinkles his nose, but he doesn’t say anything as Winnie heads to the shed and I lead him outside.

I have just enough time to get behind the wheel and let Colt climb in the passenger seat before Winnie returns with a mason jar quarter-filled with the most purple honey I’ve ever seen.

“I know,” she says with a sunny smile, giving it the kind of look most people reserve for money or kittens. “Doesn’t it look like a dream? You’ll have to strain it for good measure—don’t eat it as is or you’ll get a lot of chewy bits.”

“Right.” I take the jar from her. “I’ll follow up with you about the rental contract soon. Watch your email.”

“Thanks.”

I start the vehicle, handing the jar to Colt and pulling out onto the road. We ride in silence for a few minutes as he examines the honey, turning it over in the evening light.

The stuff really glows like it’s backlit, an edible fantasy prop bizarrely made real.

“Dad, can I ask you something?” he says suddenly. “Are you, like… into Bee Lady?”

“What?” It comes out like a gunshot.

“You just… you’re letting her stay. But I can tell you don’t really want her to. I overheard you talking to Mrs. Potter at the office, about the trouble Winnie’s dad could cause. You hate surprises.”

Stupid me. That’s what I get for discussing the latest call with our receptionist while I poured coffee in the kitchen.

I should’ve known the boy eavesdrops like an attentive fox, always listening, even when he looks like he’s glued to his phone.

“She’s a paying guest, Colt. A few weeks of covered bookings are worth putting up with a little crap,” I say calmly.

“Dad, it’s okay. You would’ve told most other people like her to move on by now. Maybe you should, too. Just move on. If you like her, I say go for it.”

“I don’t like her.” My voice grates like a rusted engine when I lie this hard. I clear my throat, hot as hell under the collar. “You’re reading too much into this, boy. I’m only letting her stay because she’s paying. It’s business.”

“Yeah, but she’s weird.” He laughs. “Weird in a good way, I mean. But still. You don’t do weird. Or is this like an opposites attract sort of thing? The girls at school love those books.”

“It’s an I-will-kick-your-ass if you don’t drop it.” My face feels molten. “Money’s money, Colt. End of story.”

Scowling, he goes silent, but I can feel his eyes on me when he’s not looking at his phone.

It takes all my willpower not to carry on, building a better lie in my defense.

Whatever, though.

Better to take my own advice and drop it.

Drop her.

Stop thinking about how good she felt when I touched her, aching to slide my hands down to her ass.

If only it was that easy.

If only Winnie Emberly didn’t give me the worst sweet tooth for something far forbidden than neon-purple honey.