Wren Maxfield hates Creed Cooper, but now she’s working with
the wealthy rancher over the holidays! Those strong feelings hide undeniable
chemistry…and one wild night results in pregnancy. Now Creed vows to claim his
heir. That means proposing a marriage in name only. But as desire takes over,
is that a deal they can keep?
Includes Rancher’s Wild Secret, a bonus story!
Emerson Maxfield is a sheltered beauty who never steps out of line. Now she must marry her family’s enemy before desire spells downfall for them all.
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Excerpt for CLAIMING THE RANCHER'S HEIR by Maisey Yates
Creed Cooper was a cowboy. A rich, successful cowboy from one of the most well-regarded families in Logan County. He also happened to be tall, muscular and in possession of the kind of good looks, a lot of women liked.
As a result, nearly
nothing—or no one—was off-limits to him.
No one except Wren Maxfield.
Maybe that was why every time
he looked at her his hands itched.
To unwind that tight bun from
her hair. To make that mouth, which was always flattened in disapproval—at
least around him—get soft and sexy and get all over his body.
And he had that itch a lot,
considering he and Wren were the representatives for their respective families’
vineyards. Rivals, in fact.
And she hated him.
She hated him so much that
when she saw him her eyes flared with a particular kind of fire.
Fair enough, since he
couldn’t really stand her either.
But somehow, years ago, a
piece of that dislike inside him had twisted and caught hard in his gut and
turned into an intensity of another kind entirely.
He was obsessed.
Obsessed with the idea he
might be able to use that fire in her eyes to burn up the sheets between them.
Instead, he had to listen to
her heels clicking on the floor as she paced around the showroom of Cowboy
Wines, looking like a smug cat, making him wait to hear whatever plan it was
she’d come to tell him about.
“Are you listening to me?”
she asked suddenly, her green cat eyes getting sharp.
She was dressed in a
tight-fitting red dress that fell to the top of her knees. It had a high, wide
neck, and while it didn’t show a lot of skin, it hugged her full breasts so
tight it didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.
Even if it had, his
imagination was damn good. And it was willing to work for Wren. Overtime.
She had on those ridiculous
spiked heels, too. Red, like the dress. He wanted to see her in only those
heels.
He wasn’t into prissy women.
Not generally. He liked a more practical girl. A cowgirl who would be at home
on his ranch.
Wren looked like she never
left her family showroom, all glass walls and wrought iron furniture. Maxfield
Vineyards was the premier wine brand for people who were up their own asses.
And still, he wanted her.
That might be her greatest
sin.
That she tested control he’d
had firmly leashed for the last eighteen years and made him want to send it
right to hell as he burned in her body.
Of all the reasons to hate
Wren Maxfield, wanting her and not being able to do a damn thing to make
himself stop was number one on the list.
He looked around the Cowboy
Wines showroom, the barrels with glass tabletops on them, the heavy, distressed
beams that ran the length of the room.
And then there was him:
battered jeans and cowboy boots, a hat for good measure.
Everything a woman like Wren
would hate.
A testament to just why there
was no reason to carry a burning torch for her fine little body.
Too bad his own body was a
dumbass.
“I wasn’t listening at all,”
he said, making sure to drawl it. As slow as possible. He was rewarded with
a subtle flare of heat in
those eyes. “Make it more interesting next time, Wren. Maybe do a dance.”
“The only dancing I’ll ever
do is on your grave, Creed.”
The sparring sent a kick of
lust through him. They did this every time they were in a room together. Every
damn time. No matter that he knew he shouldn’t indulge it.
But hell, he was afraid the
alternative was stripping her naked and screwing her against the nearest wall,
and that wasn’t a real option.
So verbal sparring it was.
“What did I die of?” he asked.
“Boredom?”
Those eyes shot sparks at
him. “It was tragic. You were found with a high heel protruding out of your
chest.” Her magic lips curved upward and he felt it like she’d pressed them
against his neck.
“Any suspects so far?”
“Your own smart mouth. Are
you going to listen to me or not?”
“You’re already here. So am
I. Might as well.”
He leaned back in his chair
and, for effect, put his boots up on the table.
Her top lip curled up into a
sneer, and that thrilled him just as much as if she’d crossed the room to
straddle his lap. Okay, maybe not just as much, but he loved that he got to
her.
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.
In 2009, at the age of twenty-three Maisey sold her first
book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever
afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time
between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances
set practically in her back yard. She believes that she clearly has the best
job in the world.
Author Links
Website | Instagram | Facebook
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