The dew-heavy milking parlor at dawn holds more than the scent of warm milk and hay for Harriet Quarles. Nicholas Quinby's partnership is the only way to save her farm, yet his thick forearms and the steady pull of his hands on the animals awaken a craving to feel that same rhythm on her own full breasts, a need she has always refused to name. The risk of losing everything wars with the pull to surrender to him in the same way.

His palm settles at her waist in the storage room, unmoving until she decides. One nod and he will open her shirt, his mouth and hands working her in tandem the way he tends the herd, drawing out her hidden responses with deliberate care. The farm's future depends on this partnership, but so does the question of how completely she will yield to his control before dawn breaks.