Trading Down (Winner Takes All, #1) by PJ Adams

Author:PJ Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wealthy, bad boy, Romantic thriller, rags to riches, mysterious past, romantic suspense, conman, double-crosser, maine romance, one-night stand, dangerous lover, irish lover
Publisher: James Grieve Press
Published: 2014-04-14T04:00:00+00:00

4

Slumped together, Cassie became aware again of just how hard and cold that stripped-wood flooring was. Aware, too, of the sounds of the storm outside: the relentless drumming of rain on the metal roof, the creaking of the cabin, the drip-dripping of the various leaks into strategically-placed buckets, the rushing, swirling sound of the wind in the pine trees.

She shifted slightly, uncomfortable now, her lover’s body like a dead weight on top of her.

Had he fallen asleep already? Just how long had he been awake before now?

He grunted in response to her movement, took his weight on hands and knees, and then there was that sudden emptiness as his limp penis flopped out of her, leaving a wet trail along one thigh.

Extricating herself, she stood, adjusting her thong just as his juices started to escape.

She needed to freshen up.

She’d lost track of how many bourbons they’d shared back at Lou’s, particularly once the two families from Bangor had left. She remembered the dirty look from Lou when he’d looked out from the kitchen and it was only Cassie and Denny, talking and laughing over half-empty glasses and that empty bottle of Knob Creek.

Denny had paid with another hundred dollar bill, more than enough to set Lou’s mind at rest, if only he’d been willing to concentrate on facts and figures, and not focus his efforts on the disapproving.

Now, kettle coming to the boil, decaff Columbian in the pot, the wind still heaving at the rickety cabin, and he finally started to stir. Anyone who could sleep more than a minute or two on that cold, hard floor must be in serious need of some sleep.

“Coffee?” she asked. “It’s decaff. Finest kind.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be grand,” he said. “Another first for me.”

“‘Another’?”

She leaned against a wall, arms folded, and looked down at him. Almost the whole cabin was a single, open-plan room, save for one corner walled off as a bedroom, and a corner of that walled off as a shower room.

He rolled over to a sitting position, arms hugging his knees up to his chest.

“Lots of first for me, these last few days,” he said. “Lost close to ten million dollars. Lost my girl, and my best friend. Got involved with all kind of low-lifes and ended up owing them far too much money that I didn’t have any more. I’m really not much of a catch, right now.”

“Any other firsts?”

She was fishing for compliments, but he missed his cue. Instead, he said, “Leave the place I’ve lived the past ten years. End up walking the highway in a wicked bad storm, walking into places I’ve never been before, drinking drinks I’ve never drunk. And then... decaff.”

He paused and looked around the interior of the cabin. She’d done her best with it, these past two years, but there’s a limit to what you can do with a tumble-down logger’s cabin in the ass-end of Maine, short of knocking it down and building something nice.

His look said it all. It said too much.

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