Wrapped in Love - Lexi Ryan

by Ryan, Lexi

  As I step out into the back lot, I tug my peacoat closed against the sharp chill in the air. Winter never waits to hit Jackson Harbor. It likes to visit in November to remind us what it can do, and then settles in for good by early December. This year is true to form, and Noah has been so excited about building a snowman in our own front yard that the white powder covering my car is just another reminder of what’s on the line.

  “Molly.” Brayden’s deep voice stops me right as I reach my car.

  I turn slowly. “Hey, what’s up?”

  I keep my eyes on his face. Not on that strong chest that I remember feeling so warm beneath my cheek, and not on the hands that took me by surprise when they first touched me—rougher than I’d have guessed for a man who spends the majority of his workday behind a desk.

  “I just wanted to extend the invitation myself—for you to stay with me. Ava’s right. I have more than enough room, and it’s a reasonable solution.”

  Reasonable solution. Hardly a glowing invitation.

  I can see it in his eyes. He’s as wary about this as I am. “Thanks, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “You’ve found a better option?”

  “I have some promising leads.”

  He arches a brow, then whispers, “Liar.”

  The word throws me back to our night in New York together when I called him a liar for pretending the text from Ethan didn’t mean anything.

  “Okay, so the leads aren’t promising, but I do have some leads.” Maybe it’s irrational, but I resent Tom for making me deal with this now instead of a month ago. Christmas as a single mom means wearing a cape and doing all the things, and this year, the holiday is happening right alongside the grand opening of the banquet center and my public debut in my new role with Jackson Brews. I’m determined not to screw any of it up, but I’m feeling more than a little overwhelmed. “It’s too much to ask, Brayden.”

  “It’s not. Not at all. I do have the room.”

  I swallow. I know he does. He lives in the big house where his parents raised him and his five siblings. When his mother moved out to live in the apartment behind Ethan’s garage, no one was ready to see her sell the house. Apparently, Brayden moved in as a temporary solution, but the family continues to gather there every Sunday and for any major holiday that they can’t celebrate at their family cabin.

  “You’re looking at me like I’m offering you a room in my dungeon.”

  I shake my head. “Sorry. No. I mean, this is incredibly kind of you.” I want to be the woman who can hold his gaze through what I need to say next. But I’m not. So I study a crack in the pavement at my feet instead. “I was thinking that after our ill-advised night in New York—”

  “Christ.” Something like anger flashes over his features, and he looks toward the traffic inching down Lakeshore Drive. “Despite what you might think about our night and my ulterior motives for hiring you, this isn’t about getting you in my bed.”

  I am the world’s biggest bitch. “Brayden—”

  “I regret how I handled everything. And that my decisions that night made you feel—”

  “Stop!” I desperately want to go back to being the Molly and Brayden who don’t talk about that night and who never, ever mention the shitty accusation I made. “Please. Can we just . . .”

  When he turns back to me, his expression is guarded. “Just what, Molly?”

  “Pretend I didn’t say that?” I swallow, but the shame doesn’t go away. “I never believed you would hire me just to sleep with me, and I promise there’s no part of me that thinks you’re offering space in your home just to get in my pants.”

  “Good.” He nods, but this conversation pulled that old hurt to the surface—pain that I am responsible for—and the sight of it makes me feel so small and unworthy of everything he’s given me. “So you’ll consider it?”

  “I’m worried that sleeping under the same roof might end up more complicated than either of us wants.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, and when I drag my gaze back to his face, the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Am I that irresistible?”

  I snort. “Oh, fuck off.”

  “No, I totally get it. If having me around would distract you from your work or prove to be a bigger temptation than you can handle—”

  “I can handle it just fine.” I handle it every freaking day, thankyouverymuch.

  He holds my gaze. “Then move in. You and Noah can have the second floor all to yourselves for as long as you need. I never go up there, so you don’t need to worry about any accidental seduction.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not worried about accidental seduction.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  I search for a reasonable objection but come up empty. The only reason not to stay with Brayden is because I’m attracted to him and don’t want to make the same mistake I did in New York. Then, it was a mistake because he was my boss. Now he’s more than that. He’s . . . my friend. The label might scare me, but it’s true. As a single mom, I need his friendship far more than any bedroom chemistry that simmers between us. “I’m worried about taking too much from you.”

  “It’s not too much. Not at all.”

  “Then I’ll consider it. Thank you.”

  He grins—really grins that rare, full smile that transforms his whole face. Warmth spreads from my tummy all the way out to my fingers and toes. This guy doesn’t smile enough. “You’re welcome.” He looks at my car. “Where are you headed?”

  “I’m looking at another house. This one’s a rent-to-own kind of thing just outside of town. The commute wouldn’t be too bad, and we could move in right away.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  For a flash, I imagine it—what it would be like to have Brayden in my life as more than my boss and friend, what it would be like to have a partner who helped me make decisions when they overwhelmed me . . . What it would be like to have him look at me the way his brothers look at their women. “No, that’s unnecessary.” I force a smile. “I’ve been picking places to live on my own since I finished undergrad. I’ve got this.”

  “Do you need any help packing?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t have much, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll rent a truck for the move, though, and I could use some help loading the furniture if you think you could talk your brothers into it.”

  He shakes his head. “Save your money on the truck. Between Jake’s and Levi’s, we can get you taken care of.”

  “Thank you,” I say. But it doesn’t feel like enough. I know it’s not enough.

  “Whatever you need, Molly,” he says softly. “I mean that.”

  Despite the chill nipping at my cheeks, I melt.

  Brayden

  Seven months ago . . .

  “This one is good.” Molly nudges the tasting glass back toward the bartender. “But I think it would be better if they toned down the hops a little.” She turns to me, her cheeks flushed from the beer samples, her eyes bright from a long but successful afternoon. She’s stunning, and every time she looks at me, I feel myself being tugged toward her, a magnetic pull that might be stronger than my own willpower.

  “Agreed,” I say, nodding to my own sample. “There’s a lot of nice citrus, but it gets lost.”

  “I like IPAs as much as the next girl, but sometimes it’s like the breweries are trying to outdo each other for the hoppy-est beer available.”

  The bartender—my buddy Raine from college—grins at Molly like he’s a smitten schoolboy. She has that effect on guys. “These hipster assholes come in here trying to tell me the shit they brew in their basement is better because it has higher IBUs.”

  Molly shrugs. “I mean, it’s possible. I’ve had some delicious homebrews, but homebrew IPAs are tough.”

  “Sure,” Raine says, “me too. I’ve also had some that taste like the bottom of an unwashed gym sock.”

  I grimace at the d
escription. “I’ve had those too, unfortunately.”

  Raine rocks back on his heels and surveys my newest employee, no doubt taking in Molly’s wide smile and blue eyes, and the killer curves under her professional attire. I resist the urge to move closer—to stake a claim I don’t have. Molly is my employee, and our day of training was a success. She has the perfect personality for sales. She’s bright without being too bubbly, and informed without being obnoxious. She’s got the face for it, too. She might punch me in the nuts if I admitted it out loud, but a pretty face is an important part of sales. I learned a long time ago that the purchasing managers for these pubs are far more receptive to a beautiful woman’s sales pitch than mine.

  “I wondered if you’d ever get over Sara,” Raine says. “It’s good to see the evidence with my own eyes.”

  Molly flashes me a questioning look, but I shake my head at my old friend. I’m not sure why he’s bringing up Sara now. “It’s been ten years.” I grab my next sample—a dark, rich porter—and sniff it before bringing the glass to my lips.

  “Looks like things worked out for the best.” His gaze shifts to Molly then back to me. “So how long have you two been together?”

  I choke on my beer.

  Molly bites back a grin. “Do we look like a couple?”

  Raine arches a brow. “Shit. Are you not?”

  “No.” I cough the beer from my windpipe. “Not at all.” I could swear I see hurt flash across Molly’s face. Seriously? Surely she knows a guy like me would trip over himself to be with her. “I’m still in Jackson Harbor. Molly lives in Brooklyn.”

  Raine folds his arms. “She loves beer and has the face of an angel, and you’re going to let a few hundred miles come between you?”

  “Try eight hundred miles,” I mutter, not bothering to pretend I haven’t thought about it.

  “I work for him,” Molly says quickly, but I don’t miss the way she directs her gaze at her beer now. The way she’s avoiding my eyes. This whole situation is embarrassing the shit out of her, and I feel like a dick for not making our relationship clear to Raine from the start.

  “I see,” he says, though the look he’s giving me says he doesn’t see at all and thinks I should make my move now.

  I wish I could. Hell, I’ve been thinking about it all day. She’s . . . tempting. With every laugh that passes her lips, and every flush of her cheeks at my praise, I think about it.

  Molly points a thumb over her shoulder. “Does that old jukebox actually work?” she asks Raine.

  Nodding, he reaches into a jar behind the counter then drops a fistful of quarters on the bar. “Knock yourself out.”

  She takes the coins with a subdued smile then slides off her stool and weaves through the tables to the jukebox on the opposite side of the room. I watch every step.

  “I’m sorry,” Raine says softly. “If I made things awkward, I mean . . .”

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “She doesn’t look at you like you’re just her boss.”

  I arch a brow, waiting for him to explain what he means by that, but he shrugs and moves down the bar to help another patron.

  Molly’s staring at the musical offerings, her fingers digging into the back of her neck like she’s trying to work out a knot.

  I drain my sample before heading across the room. Since Raine turned the conversation toward awkward, we might as well address the elephant in the room.

  I stand beside her as she flips to the Purple Rain album and studies the songs. “Prince?”

  “My mom . . .” Swallowing, she shakes her head. “Before Mom and Nelson got together, Mom and I were obsessed with Prince. I’d get home from school, and she’d turn on Purple Rain, and we’d dance in the living room to every song on the album, laughing and playing air guitar.” She blinks back tears. “We didn’t have much back then. Music was my treat. My reward.” She drops quarters into the machine and punches a few buttons. “I Would Die 4 U” starts to play.

  “Nice choice.”

  She flashes me a smile before lowering her gaze back to the jukebox. “They’re all good choices.”

  “We’ve never talked about it,” I say softly.

  Judging by the way she tenses, I don’t have to define it. She knows what I’m referring to. That night, eight years ago, when she was just a kid and I found her at that party, blitzed out of her mind, and dragged her out before she could get in more trouble. “I didn’t think you wanted to.”

  “Shouldn’t we clear the air?”

  She shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’d probably rather box it up and put it in storage with all the other memories best left undisturbed.”

  “I can do that. If that’s what you want.”

  She brings her gaze up to meet mine. Those blue eyes sear into me, and I wonder what she sees. “I think I want . . .” Her pink lips curve into a sultry smile. “Dinner.”

  “I can do that too.”

  Molly

  I was eighteen when I climbed into bed with Brayden Jackson. He was twenty-seven. It wasn’t the first time I’d offered my body to a man as a pathetic sort of gratitude, but it was the first time I was turned down. Now, eight years later, Brayden’s my new boss, and every time I look at him, I think of that night and my relief when he grabbed me by the wrists and stopped my hands from moving down his bare chest. I should have been mortified, but instead I was just grateful that one guy, one time, saw me as more than an easy lay. That on some level he understood I didn’t really want to give what I was offering.

  “So, what do you think after today?” Brayden asks. He gives the waitress a polite nod as she clears our plates, then leans back in the booth. He looks like he should be in a magazine spread with those intense eyes, the stubble on his cheeks. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone.

  “About the job?” It takes a force of will to take my mind off his sex appeal and onto a professional conversation. In truth, I’m dying to know what he made of that night eight years ago and if he still thinks I’m a foolish, reckless girl who needs to be rescued. “I think it’s fun.”

  The day has been full and somehow simultaneously exhausting and exhilarating. We went to bars, liquor stores, even other breweries, and talked about Jackson Brews beer. After giving introductions, Brayden would let me lead the conversation, noting the gaps in the location’s offerings and suggesting Jackson Brews products that could allow them to have a better selection.

  “You impressed me.” He settles his arms on the table and leans forward, his eyes bright. “I thought I’d have to step in with details about our less-popular selections or at least answer some questions, but I don’t think you needed me here at all.”

  “Well, you gave me enough study materials that I should be able to write a dissertation on Jackson Brews at this point.” I grin. It was fun to show off a little—to prove to him and myself that I deserve this opportunity. I wouldn’t put it past the Jackson family to give a struggling single mom a job, even at a loss to the company. But if pity motivated them to put me on the payroll, I want to do such a good job that they never regret it.

  His phone buzzes on the table beside him, and he puts his hand over it. “Do you mind if I check this?”

  “Of course not.”

  He picks it up and unlocks the screen. I take advantage of the opportunity to study the rugged lines of his face. “Jake’s just checking in,” he says, tapping out a reply.

  I feel my smile falter at the mention of his brother. I used to have the biggest crush on Jake. I’ve never slept with a Jackson brother, but Brayden’s not the only one I’ve crawled into bed with.

  What a slut. Such typical Molly behavior.

  Brayden’s attention’s still on his phone, and he doesn’t seem to notice my mood slip. “And Ethan sent a video of my niece practicing her lines for Charlotte’s Web.” He chuckles, and little wrinkles crease at the corners of his eyes with his
smile. “Come here. You have to see this.”

  Swallowing, I climb out of my seat to take the spot beside him.

  He tilts his screen toward me and turns up the volume so I can hear the little girl recite Fern’s lines with the dramatic flair of a Broadway hopeful. When I look back at Brayden, his expression has softened and his eyes are full of love.

  “She’s precious,” I say. Then, because it’s so foreign and wonderful, I say, “Family is everything to you, isn’t it?”

  He nods. “Everything.”

  I shift my gaze back to the screen as another text comes through from Ethan.

  Ethan: Hope it’s going well tonight. Do yourself a favor and make your move. You deserve a little fun in

  I don’t get to read the rest before Brayden curses under his breath and pulls the phone away. “Sorry.”

  “Make your move?” I ask. “On me?”

  Red creeps up his neck and into his cheeks, and if he weren’t so fucking sexy, I might call it adorable. “Ethan’s just . . . It doesn’t mean anything.”

  I lick my lips. “Liar.”

  He swallows and studies my face, then his gaze drops to my mouth. “I wish you didn’t work for me so I could be honest.” He turns away and studies the photograph hanging by our table. “I’ve obviously had too much to drink, or I wouldn’t have even said that much.”

  My heart pounds harder. Faster. I’ve had a couple of beers with dinner and a few samples throughout the afternoon before that. My skin is warm, my body relaxed. Maybe that’s why I slide closer. Or maybe it’s just because I love the way he was looking at me before he turned away.

  I lift my hand to his face, relishing the brush of stubble beneath my fingertips. With a gentle nudge of my hand, I turn his face back to mine. “Be honest. Pretend I don’t work for you for a minute. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  His gaze drops to my mouth and his tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip. The sight sends pleasure bolting through me. “You want to know how much I want you?”