He was starting to conclude that he was just a whole lot of too much for the average twenty-three-year-old woman.

“It’s just because you’re the last one,” his sister Jeannie said. “Nine kids and eight are married. Mom wants to close the folder on her parenting.”

Yet another one of the joys of being the youngest.

Though most of the time, he didn’t mind it. His childhood had been happy, and his sisters had all doted on him, carrying him way past the age when he needed to be carried, and slipping him treats. He’d been their mascot of sorts and had satisfied their desire to role-play as mommies. But there was no question his parents had been a bit worn out by the time he’d been coming up, and he had never quite gotten over his resentment about his name. It had given him countless bloody lips and bruised knuckles on the playground when he’d been forced to defend himself against bullying.

Maybe he could let the whole thing go if just once his mother admitted that perhaps it had been a poor choice, but she didn’t. She still thought his name was the shit.

“She can do that whether or not I’m married. I have my own apartment. I have a job. A social life. It’s all good.” He glanced at Eve again, but she was cramming a dinner roll in her mouth.

“Speaking of social lives, or lack thereof. Eve, do you still have your book club?” Danny asked. “Can I join it? I would love to do something like that and get out of the house a little.”

Nolan laughed. “Eve’s book club is a front for getting together with her friends and drinking wine. She had it last night and they wound up in a bar.”

“I’m in,” Danny stated emphatically. “I need one night to be an adult. Who else is in the group?”

“It’s not a front,” Eve protested. “We read all the books and we do discuss them. It’s just, why not discuss them with wine, right?”

Nolan scoffed. “That still doesn’t account for the bar. And don’t tell me that was Harley’s or Shawn’s idea, because I seriously doubt either one of them would suggest it.”

Shawn? Rhett set his fork down and looked down the table at his sister-in-law. How many women named Shawn could there be in this town? Who had been in a bar the night before? With female friends?

“Are you suggesting it was me?” Eve asked hotly. “Nolan Ford, you are going to pay for making me sound like an alcoholic in front of your mother. It was actually Charity’s idea, because Shawn said that a place like that doesn’t exist.”

Rhett went still. The Shawn in the club had said virtually the same thing.

“Bars don’t exist?” Jeannie asked.

Shawn. Four girlfriends. Skepticism about a fetish bar.

Holy shit, Eve had been in the club the night before with the woman he had danced with.

Eve suddenly seemed to realize what she had revealed. “Oh, sh–, I mean, shoot. I mean, like a specialty bar. Never mind.” When she glanced at him, her cheeks were burning red, confirming that Rhett was one-hundred-percent right.

Whattya know. Rhett grinned at Eve.

While his initial reaction was one of mortification that his sister-in-law had seen him out at a fetish club, it paled in comparison to the rush of excitement and satisfaction he felt knowing that he now had a way to find out who Shawn was and where he might be able to see her again.

Rhett took the platter of sliced pork tenderloin his brother-in-law passed him and served himself a hearty helping. His appetite had suddenly returned, full force.

* * *

EVE couldn’t look at Rhett without picturing him paddling a simpering female. It was pissing her off. She liked her brother-in-law, damn it. They worked together and were just starting to get to know each other. They were essentially starting a new business venture together, and she did not want to know about his sex life. It was like walking in on your parents having sex. Or seeing your husband’s father naked in the shower. She didn’t care what Rhett did in his private life, she just didn’t want images of it popping up in her head every time someone used the word “bossy.” Or “dominate.” Or “whip.”

There had to be some sort of mental trick she could use to disassociate Rhett from sex. Like every time she started to conjure up inappropriate imagery, she could think of dead rabbits or something. That might work.

As long as he never knew that she knew, they would be cool.

Speak of the devil, when she opened the door to the kitchen from the garage, having gone out there to snag a beer from the overflow fridge, he was standing there, smiling at her. He gestured for her to go back into the garage and then he pulled the door firmly shut behind him.

“So Eve, how did you like The Wet Spot?” he asked.

Crap on a cracker, how did he know? Never one to back down from what she’d done or a challenge, Eve just shrugged nonchalantly. “It was alright. A little underwhelming, to be honest. I take it you saw me there?”

“Nope. But I put two and two together, given that the woman I danced with was named Shawn, and she was with three friends out strictly to satisfy their curiosity, not pick anyone up.” He leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “But you saw me.”

“Yes, I did. And we don’t have to discuss it in any way. Ever.” It was cold in the garage, given that it was the beginning of February, so she gestured for him to move. “Now let me in the damn house, I’m freezing.”

“Who is your friend Shawn? That I danced with.”

Uh-oh. Eve recognized that look on Rhett’s face. She saw it on Nolan every night when he climbed into bed with her. Lust, plain and simple.

“I don’t think so,” she told Rhett. “You are not pumping me for information, because I have no idea if Shawn would be okay with that or not.” Though the truth of the matter was he was going to figure out who Shawn was soon enough, given that he was set to start racing at her track come spring.

Nonetheless, how and when Shawn wanted to encounter Rhett was up to her, not Eve. She would warn her, then Shawn could proceed however she chose.

“Oh, come on.” Rhett’s nostrils flared. “I could just go and ask Nolan, you know. He’d tell me before he’d even know why he should or shouldn’t.”

“That’s low, Rhett,” Eve told him with disapproval.

“I’m legitimately interested in her,” he said. “Please?”

Pleading sounded about as sincere on him as it did on her—which meant not at all. Eve snorted. “You met her for like sixty seconds.”

“So? How long were you dating Nolan before you married him?”

Ouch. The kid was good. She’d give him that. “Don’t be an asshole. Look, I’ll talk to Shawn and see if she’s interested in hearing from you, okay?”

His tense posture relaxed slightly. “That’s fair. Did she mention me at all?”

Eve grinned. Rhett had a crush. It was actually kind of adorable, except that the object of his alpha affection was one of her oldest friends. “Yes. Then she wrote your initials in a heart on her notebook.”

“Fuck you.”

Nolan opened the garage door in time to hear this last annoyed remark from his brother. “Excuse me? Did you just tell my wife ‘fuck you’? I think you need to apologize or you’ll be eating my fist for dessert.”

Rhett was taller than Nolan, but her husband had bigger biceps. They glared at each other, chests puffed out. Good Lord. Eve rolled her eyes. Though she couldn’t really pull off the pious act since most of her childhood she and Evan had fought like a couple of rabid dogs. The fact that she was a female hadn’t factored in at all. There had been fists involved often, much to her mother’s dismay.

“It’s fine, babe. I deserved it. I was giving your brother a hard time. I know you find that difficult to believe, given how generally sweet and passive I am.”

Nolan raised his eyebrows and took a step back from his brother. “About what?”

“It turns out Rhett was in the same bar as us last night and he’s taken a shine to Shawn. He wanted to know how to contact her.”

“Really?” Nolan eyed his brother. “She’s too old for you.”

For some reason, that annoyed Eve. Shawn was actually a year younger than her. And while she one hundred percent agreed that she wouldn’t want to date a guy Rhett’s age if she wasn’t married, she didn’t want a man dismissing her or her friend as too old. It got her back up.

“That’s not the issue here,” she told her husband. “Men date younger women all the time, and no one says a damn word about it.”

“Sure they do,” Nolan protested. “Everyone says she’s a gold digger.”

“So they call younger women dating older men gold diggers and older women dating younger men cougars. Yet no one says anything about the men at all. That pisses me off.”

“I never called Shawn a cougar,” Nolan told her easily. “Frankly, my point was she’s too mature for Rhett. I don’t think he can keep up.”

“Hey.” Rhett frowned. “How exactly am I so immature? God, you and mom both. I have a job, an apartment.”

“That was my apartment,” Nolan pointed out. “I let you take over the lease when I got married and moved in with Eve. And I’m not saying you’re immature, just not as mature as a woman who runs a dirt track almost entirely on her own.”

Ah, shit. There was no way Rhett wasn’t going to be able to figure out who Shawn was now.

Eve gave her husband an annoyed look and pushed him into the house. “I’m freezing. Plus, I want pie for dessert.”

The garage door swung down slowly on automatic hinges and Rhett leaped inside before it shut. “Wait a minute,” he said, the wheels clearly turning. “That was Shawn Hamby, wasn’t it?”

Eve didn’t answer, and she put her hand on her husband’s mouth before he could further blow it. But it was too late.

Rhett broke into a grin. “It is. There can’t be two women you know named Shawn who run a dirt track. Damn. Who knew the owner of Hamby Speedway was so freaking hot?”

“She’s too old for you,” Nolan said again.

Eve didn’t say anything at all. She just pulled her phone out of her pocket. She needed to warn Shawn she was about to be stalked by a horny member of her pit crew.

* * *

“YOU cannot be serious,” Shawn said, staring at her grandfather’s lawyer, Clinton Oiler, across the desk of her office at the track. “There is no way that is even legal.”

“Oh, I can assure you it is. Your grandfather owned this track, and he had the right to do whatever he wanted with it.”

Shawn fell back against her chair, sending it rolling a foot to the left and colliding with a box of leftover programs from the previous season on the floor. Her office was a contender for putting her on an episode of Hoarders, but she wasn’t detail-oriented. She was a big picture person, and she loved this dirt track, had loved helping her grandfather run it until his death three months earlier.

Losing Pops had been rough for her. She had known it was coming. He’d battled cancer for two years before losing the fight, but he had always managed to seem like he would beat it. Until the very end, he had still been at work, and she had deluded herself into thinking he would never be gone. Then in the blink of an eye, he’d taken a turn for the worse and he was gone. But what had comforted her after he died was that she had been entrusted with his legacy, this track. It was her home, her heart, her passion.

But apparently her grandfather had thought her passion was slightly misguided.

“Are you sure it wasn’t a joke? Pops had a sense of humor.”

“No, it’s no joke. You don’t inherit the track unless you’re married. Plain and simple.”

Married. Good God. Her grandfather was blackmailing her into marriage. Unbelievable. Shawn stared at Clinton, suddenly speechless. This was the most insane thing she’d ever heard.

The lawyer pulled off his wire-frame glasses and rubbed the sagging skin under his eyes. He and her grandfather had been friends for sixty years, and he probably knew him better than anyone. “We had several conversations about it, Shawn, and I have to tell you that I told Jameson I didn’t approve of this, but he was adamant. He thought that you spent too much time at this place and that you needed more balance in your life. He wanted you to be settled and have a family, like your brother does.”

Shawn blinked. “So forcing me to marry some dude off the street is going to give me balance? That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“I imagine he had Sam in mind, not some stranger off the street.” Clinton steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips. “Everyone always thought you and Sam would get hitched.”