Crude Intentions

Chapter 2: Suffocating Proximity

Theo didn't move for three long seconds. He just stared at Charlie, his dark eyes glittering with a mix of disbelief and absolute fury.

Slowly, he reached into his trousers and pulled out a sleek, top-of-the-line smartphone. He tapped the screen, glared at it, and then held it up toward the fogged-up windshield as if those extra three inches would magically connect him to a cell tower.

"No service," he muttered, his voice dangerously tight. "That’s impossible. I pay for a dedicated corporate satellite network."

"Well, you go ahead and file a complaint with your provider, Mr. Vance," Charlie said, leaning her head back against the worn vinyl seat. "But out here, the only thing your dedicated satellite network is doing is acting as a very expensive paperweight. Welcome to the county."

Theo snapped his head around to look at her. Because the truck was tilted heavily into the muddy ditch on his side, gravity wasn't on his side. His broad shoulder was pressed flush against hers, and every time he moved, she could feel the hard, rigid muscle beneath his expensive suit jacket.

"You did this on purpose," he accused, his jaw tight.

Charlie let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Right. Because I have a button on my dashboard that controls the South Texas weather and commands the dirt to turn into gumbo mud. I told you your highway tires wouldn't make it, and I told you we were taking a risk. You’re the one who threatened my boss to get us out here."

Theo closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath through his nose. He was used to commanding boardrooms, signing billion-dollar deals, and having a small army of assistants handle every minor inconvenience in his life. Being trapped in a metal box in the middle of a torrential downpour with a woman who looked at him like he was an annoying stray dog was clearly unchartered territory.

The silence returned, heavier this time.

With the engine dead, the temperamental AC was gone. Within minutes, the temperature inside the cramped cab began to skyrocket. The rain continued to hammer deafeningly against the roof, trapping the heat inside like a greenhouse. The air grew thick, humid, and entirely too intimate.

The windows fogged over completely, cutting them off from the rest of the world. The only light came from the dim, gray glow filtering through the storm.

Theo muttered a curse under his breath and reached for his tie. Charlie tried to look out the driver's side window, but her eyes were betraying her. From the corner of her vision, she watched as his long, tanned fingers impatiently yanked the silk tie loose and shoved it into his pocket. Next went the custom-tailored suit jacket.

He struggled against the cramped dimensions of the cab, his elbow brushing against her ribs, sending an unwelcome, electric jolt straight to her stomach.

"Watch it," she muttered, pressing herself closer to the driver's side door.

"If you gave me more than two inches of clearance, I wouldn't be touching you, Charlie," he snapped back, tossing the jacket onto the dashboard.

He was left in a crisp, white dress shirt that was tailored perfectly to a chest and shoulders that had no business belonging to a man who sat behind a desk all day. He unbuttoned the top two buttons, exposing the base of his throat. The scent of him—something expensive, smoky, and distinctly masculine—instantly filled the tiny space, completely overpowering the faint smell of the Bantam chicken feed on the floorboard.

Charlie swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She hated how hyper-aware she was of him.

Theo shifted his weight, turning sideways as much as the tilted cab would allow. He placed his left arm along the back of the bench seat. It didn't touch her, but it hovered just inches behind her neck, effectively caging her in.

"Alright, Landman," Theo murmured, his fiery demeanor settling into a quiet, intense focus that was somehow much more dangerous. "We're stuck. We have no signal. We aren't going anywhere until this storm passes or someone comes looking for us. So let's talk about the Henderson tract."

"There's nothing to talk about," Charlie said, keeping her voice steady and professional despite the fact that his dark gaze was locked onto her lips. "Your leasehold is invalid. Your attorneys missed a severed mineral estate from 1946. You don't have the executive rights."

"Everything has a price, Charlie," Theo said, leaning in just a fraction of an inch. His voice dropped to a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right through her. "Name it. What is it going to take to make you cure that title defect by tomorrow morning?"

Charlie turned her head, looking him dead in the eye. The distance between them had shrunk to almost nothing. She could see the faint amber flecks in his dark eyes, could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

"You think you can just write a check and make reality bend to your will, don't you?" she whispered, her sarcasm fading into a fierce, unyielding pride. "You're arrogant, Vance. But you can't buy a clean title where one doesn't exist. I represent the families who actually own this land, and I don't bend."

A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of Theo’s mouth. It wasn't the condescending smile from the office—it was something predatory, sharp, and entirely captivated.

"An immovable object," he murmured, his gaze dropping significantly before locking back onto her eyes. He shifted closer, his chest nearly brushing against hers, his hand on the back of the seat sliding just enough to touch a strand of her hair. "I’ve spent my entire life breaking immovable objects, Charlie. And trust me... I always get what I want."

Before Charlie could fire back, the truck gave a violent, sickening lurch, shifting another six inches deeper into the rising mud of the ditch.

Charlie gasped as gravity pulled her sideways, throwing her directly against Theo’s chest. His arms instinctively wrapped around her waist, locking her hard against his body.