Country Nights Read online

  Country Nights

  Winter Renshaw

  Contents

  Copyright

  Important!

  Books By Winter Renshaw

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Epilogue

  Ramblings On Country Nights

  Dream Cast

  25 Things About Me

  Preview of Dark Promises

  Never is a Promise

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT 2017 WINTER RENSHAW

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  COVER DESIGN: Louisa Maggio

  COVER MODEL: Andrew Biernat

  PHOTOGRAPHER: Wander Aguiar

  EDITOR: The Passionate Proofreader

  PROOFREADING: Janice Owen and Carey Sullivan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Important!

  If you did not obtain this book via Amazon or Kindle Unlimited, it has been stolen. Downloading this book without paying for it is against the law, and often times those files have been corrupted with viruses and malware that can damage your eReader or computer or steal your passwords and banking information. Always obtain my books via Amazon and Amazon only. Thank you for your support and for helping to combat piracy.

  Books By Winter Renshaw

  The Never Series

  Never Kiss a Stranger

  Never Is a Promise

  Never Say Never

  Bitter Rivals: a novella

  The Arrogant Series

  Arrogant Bastard

  Arrogant Master

  Arrogant Playboy

  The Rixton Falls Series

  Royal

  Bachelor

  Filthy

  The Amato Brothers Series

  Heartless

  Reckless

  Priceless (a Rixton Falls crossover)

  Standalones

  Dark Paradise

  Vegas Baby

  Cold Hearted

  The Perfect Illusion

  Description

  Sixty country days and nights—that’s all I wanted.

  I needed to get away from the city, away from the hot mess that had become my life.

  When I stumbled upon my childhood home on RentBnB.com, I took it as a sign, cleaned out my life savings, and hightailed it to the only place that ever meant something to me, a place I hadn’t seen since a lifetime ago.

  Only, when I arrived to the familiar South Dakotan farmhouse, I was met by a brooding, we-don’t-take-kindly-to-strangers cowboy by the name of River McCray, who insisted this was his house and most definitely not a rental property.

  I’d been Internet scammed.

  And that cocky, smart-mouthed stranger had the nerve to make me a humiliating offer: I could stay in his house for the next two months rent-free, but I had to work for him.

  With no money and nowhere else to go, I agreed. But nothing could have prepared me for the tension, the attraction, and the bombshell revelations that changed … everything.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: This full-length, angsty, steamy romance is a complete standalone and contains subject matter that may trigger sensitive readers.

  Maybe there are things inside of you that are the very same things inside of me - things that need to be together like the broken odds and ends of atoms and stars calling to be formed into something whole. Something kind of like love.

  —Lauren Eden, author and poet

  Chapter One

  Leighton

  “Babe, I’m not done yet.” My fingers press into the back of his arms as his naked body unsticks from mine. My lips, parted and breathless, wait for his to return, craving the heat of his tongue as I bask in the early Arizona sunrise peeking through our curtains.

  Grant pushes himself away from me, rolling to the cold side of the bed. The contents of his climax spill from the unsatisfied ache between my thighs.

  “Thought I told you.” He offers a two-second apologetic smile. “I’m meeting a client at eight. Have to go in early.”

  I glance at the vintage alarm clock on his nightstand. There’s more than enough time.

  “Five more minutes?” I roll to my side, my swollen lips curling into a slow grin as I trace my fingertips along the crumpled sheets between us. “Please? That’s all I need.”

  He smirks, like he thinks I’m being cute, and then he walks around to my side of the bed. Bending to kiss my forehead, he drags his thumb along my lower lip and exhales through his nose.

  “Here,” he says, reaching toward my bedside table. Pulling the top drawer open, he fishes through the contents before retrieving my purple vibrator, a relic from the early days of our relationship when I was still trying to be the girl I thought he wanted me to be. A plan that backfired and then som
e. “This ought to help.”

  If there were more light in our bedroom this morning, he’d probably be able to see the color draining from my face.

  “You don’t want it?” he asks, pausing for a beat before placing it on the bed to my left.

  I can’t answer.

  I’m speechless.

  Ever since Grant finished law school at NYU and made partner at his uncle’s prestigious law firm in Scottsdale, he’s become self-involved, self-obsessed, and disgustingly self-centered. It’s all about him, all of the time.

  I didn’t want to see it.

  I didn’t want to believe it.

  All this time, I made excuses for him, convincing myself it was a phase. Convincing myself one of these days I’ll get the old Grant back …

  … the one with the charming smile who couldn’t keep his hands off me …

  … the one I fell in love with fresh out of college …

  …the one who was obsessed with me, seeing to it personally that my happiness was above all else …

  … the one who almost made me forget about the ones before him and not think twice that there might ever be one after him …

  Grant strides toward the en-suite bathroom, his tight ass flexing as he moves, and I listen as he flushes the toilet a moment later. The shower begins to spray. My eyes move to the vibrator. I refuse to touch it.

  And besides, my mood has miraculously vanished.

  Twisting the diamond engagement ring on my left finger, I run my fingertip along the sharp edges of the glimmering brilliant-cut stone.

  It was supposed to symbolize his commitment to me. Hope for the future. Infinite love that never ends.

  Peeling myself out of bed, I wrap the percale sheets around my body. Suddenly the idea of standing naked before him feels awkward and vulnerable in a way I’ve never felt around him before. As I make my way to the bathroom, I clear my throat and feel the creep of nervous heat as it blooms up my neck.

  He turns to me, rinsing suds from his eyes as his fingertips massage his thick, sandy blond hair. “You want to get in?”

  “I don’t want to be with you anymore.” I didn’t rehearse the line. I didn’t ponder the decision longer than the time it took me to walk from the bed to the en-suite. Sliding the diamond ring from my finger, I place it gently next to the sink.

  Grant scoffs, pushing the glass shower door open and sticking his head out. “Leighton.”

  I shrug before tucking a messy strand of dark hair behind one ear, unable to meet his gaze because although my head knows the man standing before me is different from the one I once knew, my heart knows no difference. As soon as he leaves for work, I’ll clean myself up and pack my things.

  I’m not sure where I’ll go, but I’ll figure it out. Anyplace would be better than sticking around here like Grant’s personal doormat.

  “All because I didn’t give you an orgasm?” He laughs. He isn’t taking me seriously.

  Shaking my head, I say, “It’s not that.”

  He rinses the soft white suds from his body, steps onto the mat, and wraps a white towel around his waist, tucking it at his hip. The scent of cedar wood shower gel permeates the muggy air, suffocating my senses as his hands circle my waist.

  Spinning me to face him, he cups my chin in his right hand.

  “Talk to me,” he says, focused. “What’s this about? What’s going on here?”

  “You’ve changed.”

  He rolls his eyes, still smiling. “Of course I’ve changed. I’m building the life we’ve always dreamed of. The long hours? The Maserati? The wardrobe? It’s all part of an image I have to project. Nobody wants to hire a lawyer who rolls up in a rusty sedan in an off-the-rack suit. Come on. You know that.”

  “I’m not talking about that.”

  His brows meet. “Then how have I changed?”

  “You’re selfish,” I say, “And you never used to be. We used to be in this together. You and me. We used to fit together so easily, and now … now it’s like we don’t even line up anymore.”

  “Christ, Leighton. You know I love you. You know you’re the center of my world.” He drags a hand through his damp hair. “I’m sorry my career is overshadowing what we have right now, but I promise it’s not forever.”

  My mind replays a moment from last weekend, when we attended a charity gala in downtown Phoenix. I counted at least eight women who couldn’t take their eyes off Grant all night, and the man was well aware. He strutted around, peacock proud, introducing himself to anyone who so much as met his cunning emerald gaze. Never once introducing me as I stood in his shadow like a forgotten afterthought.

  There’s a difference between networking and schmoozing.

  The old Grant would’ve worn me proudly on his arm, kissed my forehead every chance he got, and introduced me like a true gentleman.

  Instead he left me alone by the open bar, at one point spending twenty-five minutes chatting up a leggy redhead in head-to-toe Givenchy. She couldn’t stop smiling in his presence, touching his arm as she laughed at everything he said, and he stood unusually close to her.

  I’m not a jealous woman, and I never have been, but seeing how Grant looked at every other woman that night with the same gaze he used to lovingly reserve for me filled me with doubt and made me question our relationship for the first time since we met.

  “You scheduled a client dinner on our anniversary last month,” I say. “And you forgot my birthday this year.”

  Grant places a hand over his perfect, chiseled chest. “And I apologized for those incidences, did I not?”

  “The old you—”

  “—the old me?” His brows lift, incredulous. “There is no old me. Stop being dramatic. I’m going to work before you make me late with all of … this.”

  A little piece of me dies every time he takes that tone with me, which lately has been more frequent than ever.

  He shakes his head, disgusted, and heads to the closet. When he returns with a red gingham tie in hand, he releases a quick breath.

  “We’ll finish this when I get home tonight.” He places the tie on a robe hook, and his tone is softer than it was a second ago.

  For a splintered moment, I second guess my decision.

  Am I being rash?

  Do other people spend almost eight years with someone and then wake up one morning and decide it’s over? That it’s not worth trying to salvage? That it’s suddenly come to this?

  I watch Grant as he stands over the sink, lathering shaving cream onto his chiseled cheekbones, humming a Rolling Stones song to himself like it’s any other day. I don’t think this man has ever worried for a single second that he might lose me, and maybe that’s why he’s pushed me to the back burner over the last couple of years.

  “I love you, Leighton.” He stares into the mirror, our eyes meeting in his reflection. “I’ll fix this. Whatever’s bothering you, we’ll figure it out tonight. I’ll make it right, I promise.”

  That’s Grant: cold and cutting one moment, sweet and tender the next.

  He never used to be this way.

  Grant’s razor drags along his cheek, leaving a track of smooth, tanned skin in its place, and he flashes his trademark disarming smile that makes me think the old him might still be in there somewhere, waiting for me to breathe him back to life.

  I pause before stepping out of the bathroom and heading back to bed. Mondays are my late day, and I don’t have to be at work for another three hours, which will give me more time to think this through.

  Passing his nightstand, I catch his lit phone screen from the corner of my eye.

  Normally I wouldn’t look, but there’s a nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach, a jarring feeling that tells me something isn’t right.

  Peering into the bathroom, I don’t see Grant. He must be in the closet, changing into his suit. Sucking in a deep breath, I steal a look at the text message taking up half of the screen.

  And then my heart drops to the floor.

  I
’M READY FOR MY CROSS EXAMINATION THIS MORNING, COUNSELOR, BUT I HAD A COUPLE OF QUESTIONS BEFORE WE PROCEED. LACE OR SILK? MY OFFICE OR YOURS? XO

  A million questions swarm my mind, all of them circling at once.

  Who is she?

  How long has this been going on?

  Is she the first?

  How could I not know?!

  Why would he initiate sex this morning?

  Why would he tell me he loves me and then run off to fuck someone else?

  “Leighton?” Grant’s voice brings me back, and my frozen stare moves from his phone to the bathroom doorway where he stands. His hands adjust the Windsor knot of his tie, though right now I’m wishing they were my hands, pulling it tighter and tighter still. If I can’t breathe right now, why should he get the privilege? “What’s wrong?”