Live-in property & pet caretaker needed. Four-year minimum. Background check required. Generous compensation. Marriage of convenience required.
The moment that Wyett Villin read the ad on her local community page, she knew that it would be perfect. It didn’t matter how big the house was, what kinds of animals she had to take care of, or what the compensation was. She didn’t give a flip as long as it got her out of her childhood home and away from the person that she despised the most.
Only, she had no clue that by accepting the position, she would be agreeing to watch over the mini-mansion and two large dogs of Hunt McJimpsey, computer hacker extraordinaire, sexy nerd, and convicted felon of Souls Chapel, Texas.
She meant to make her life easier, not complicate it more.
• • •
Hunt McJimpsey was careful. He knew exactly what he was doing, and practically planned every single step that he took to make sure that he always had his tracks covered.
But one single mistake costs him ten years of his life, and if he’s going to go down for the crime, he might as well make it spectacular.
Three years into his prison sentence, he’s a changed man, and definitely not for the better. He’s harder, angrier, and even more brilliant and conniving than before he went in.
He thinks that by keeping up with his dogs’ babysitter, his property caretaker, and reluctant wife, that he’s only doing his due diligence as a responsible person. Only, what starts out as curiosity about what’s going on with his property turns into genuine like for the woman that is caring for what means the most to him.
When an opportunity to get out of the hellhole known as prison arises, and the only thing he has to do is join a motorcycle club and sign some of his free time away to help those less fortunate, he jumps at the chance.
Not only because he’s ready to get the hell out of prison, but because he’s ready to meet the woman that he’s been falling for, one visit a month, for the last three years.
Hackers gonna hack.
Four years ago
I blinked, surprised to find myself staring into dark brown eyes.
“No problem,” I murmured, my day all but forgotten as I looked down into her eyes. My gaze traveled over her face.
She had really long eyelashes. Like, so long that I wondered if they were fake.
If I reached forward and grabbed them, would they come off in my hand?
I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“Are your eyelashes real?” I blurted.
Most people would be turned off immediately by my bluntness.
I’d found, over time, that my blatant disregard for propriety didn’t endear me to many people, especially women that were asked about whether their eyelashes were fake or not.
“Yeah,” she said. “They are. Why? Do they not look real?”
“They’re so long that they kind of make me think that they’re not. Can I pull them?” I found myself asking.
So I didn’t interact with people all that much.
I thrived behind a computer. When I was out in public, among the human population, I found myself being awkward, annoying, and overbearing.
People did not like me in real life.
Something in which I had been told multiple times today.
“Sure.” She grinned. “Go ahead.”
When I reached forward and did just that, I think she was surprised.
Did she think that I was kidding?
But the only thing to come off when I reached for her eyelashes was a bit of mascara and one tiny hair.
I looked down at it on my calloused finger, made a wish, and blew it off.
When I opened my eyes again, she was walking away, sipping her coffee as she did.
My eyes took in the rest of her as she swayed her hips to and fro.
She was short. Well, not really short. More of a regular-sized woman, if I had to admit. But she was short compared to my six-foot-four.
She looked over her shoulder, and the movement caused her highlighted brown hair to slip over her shoulder and fall in a wave down her back. It almost reached mid-shoulder. Not super long, but not short, either.
She grinned at me, and I was struck again by her eyes.
Her eyes were the most gorgeous shade of brown I’d ever seen—like my favorite type of chocolate—and they were covered by the longest eyelashes that I’d ever had the chance to pull.
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