To Catch a Billionaire by Maddie James

But now, as the sun grew higher in the sky, it was not a buck he watched, but a woman. A woman. And from the looks of her-what he could see through his binoculars, anyway, as she tripped through the woods and briars-a quite attractive young woman.

What the hell?

It had been years since he'd conversed with anyone except an occasional clerk at a discount store or the man who sold his meager crop of tobacco for him. The last thing he wanted today was someone on his property he had to actually talk to.

And a woman at that. Dammit.

For the briefest moment, he allowed his thoughts to drift to just what that meant. Woman. Scented, flowing hair...soft skin to a man's callused touch...gentle kisses and feathery caresses...the musky scent of making love....

He smelled trouble.

Darian rubbed his bearded face with both hands trying to snuff out his thoughts. What she wanted and where she came from he didn't know, and he didn't give a tinker's damn to know either. But she was coming. And he knew she was coming for him.

Darian held the panoramic view of his farm and the Kentucky hills he now called home firmly in his sight. Below him stood his modest log cabin, dusted in the browns and oranges of fall, nestled deep in the hills miles from his next neighbor. During this season, he was always reminded of Vermont and found his mind wandering to his boyhood home. Quickly shaking away those thoughts, and the chill that traveled his spine at the remembrance, he returned his attention to the problem at hand.

The woman.

He had first watched her car make its way down the rocky road as far as it would go. He realized the driver was a woman when she left it behind and began walking. Through his binoculars he'd picked up the scowl on her face and her lips moving as if she were muttering to herself as she began the hike. He took in her pert nose, her pixie sunlit-blond haircut, her full lips, her....

He shook away his next thought. He had to hand it to her, not many people, strangers or locals alike, dared to venture down his hollow. Most people knew better. He'd seen to that years ago. And for her to get this far, she'd had to do some heavy investigating. Everyone around here knew he demanded nothing from no one-except to be left alone.

He turned back to watch her again.

Once in a while she would disappear under the trees and he'd wait for her reappearance. Each time she did, his groin tightened, his brain spun with thoughts of why she was coming, and his stomach knotted with the anticipation of the thing that was important enough for her to go to such lengths-traipsing through the two miles or more of brush and stubble, of rocks and steep terrain, to get to him.

And would she get to him?

God, he hoped not.

****

Blaire Kincaid grasped the thin branch that had just sliced into her cheek. She jerked it away and tried to snap it off the bush and then promptly yelped when a thorn bit into her hand. Holding as steady as possible, she peered into her palm and watched the oval bubble of scarlet rise up and spread out in her hand's lines and crevices. She plucked out the tiny thorn and flung it to God-knows-where and then wiped the blood away on her jeans.

What an uncharacteristic thing for her to do-wipe her bloody hand on her pants leg.

Yet, so was this trip.

Out of character.

But she was out to prove a point. If not to Mastin, then to herself.

Right?