“That’s fine by me,” he says. “Julep and I are going to be good friends.”
I can’t help but smile. Brant steps closer to me and captures my lips with his. His scruff scrapes along my skin. A bolt of desire lands right between my legs and my nipples harden against the soft fabric of my tank top.
Julep lets out a sharp bark and jumps in between the two of us effectively pushing us apart.
Brant chuckles and squats in front of her. “Okay, girl, you want some sugar too?”
He gives her a kiss on the forehead, but he doesn’t get away without Julep planting a sloppy kiss on his neck.
“Nice one, Julep,” I tell her and pat her head.
Brant stands and cups my cheek. “Do you want me to pick you up or are you going to drive over? If you drive, I can let you in the garage.”
Julep starts tugging on her leash and sniffing around.
“I’ll drive. I’m still helping Sawyer with practices. I work at four tomorrow too.”
“Wedding?”
Julep starts pulling harder and I’m forced to walk backward. “No. I’ll tell you all about it when I get to your house.”
He gives me that sexy, panty-melting smile. “All right, see you soon.”
A mixture of excitement and nerves swims through me as I jog back over the bridge and up the hill to the barn. The lights are still on in the main house, but the driveway is empty.
Ma is sitting at the kitchen table when I step inside. Drinking a glass of wine and reading.
“Caroline, you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Listen, the air conditioner is still wonky at my place and the fans just aren’t cutting it. Can Julep stay up here with you?”
Julep heads for the water dish.
“Of course. You want me to make up your old room?”
“No, I’m gonna go stay at a friend’s house.”
“Okay, take some of that cake with you.” She nods toward the box on the counter.
“You don’t want it?”
“I saved a slice for breakfast, but you give the rest to your friend. Unless you’re back to eating cake again,” she drawls out and eyes me from behind her reading glasses.
“What are you talking about?”
She takes off her glasses. “There’s a picture of you at the Kleiman’s wedding sharing a piece of cake with Brantley Cardwell.”
Damn. The wedding photographer’s website.
“Oh, yeah, I realized the whole not eating cake thing was dumb. Plus, buttercream frosting. Am I right?”
Her blue eyes narrow.
Yeah, she’s not buying it.
“Is Brantley the friend you’re going to spend the night with?”
I don’t appreciate her tone. And I’m not entirely sure that it’s directed at me. Maybe her evening went badly. When her inquiry is met with silence, she sighs and takes sip of wine.
For a moment, I think about seeing her and Royston together. I could take this opportunity to ask her about it, but I hold my tongue.
Annoyance simmers on low inside me as I walk out the door and back to the tack house. When I moved back home after Daddy died, it was to help out. Not to give up my independence. This is why I used some of my savings to help remodel the barn and invest in the business.
Not the business I wanted to invest in, but I like helping Ma. It’s a nice feeling making people happy.
Moving through the space, I turn off the big fans and then unplug them. I heave my bag onto my bed and toss in a pair of pajamas and clean clothes for tomorrow. Then I move to the bathroom and pack up my toiletries.
Ma’s a little old school. I respect her rules. On the condition that she agrees my personal business is just that . . . my business.
Tossing my tank top into the laundry basket, I pull my sports bra on and then a clean t-shirt.
Snatching up my purse and tote bag, I head for the door. When I climb into my car, I notice the lights up at the main house are all off.
I send a quick text to Ma thanking her again for watching Julep.
My phone buzzes a heartbeat later.
Ma: You’re welcome. Good night.
Brant
I’m up at seven and in the gym fifteen minutes later.
Caroline didn’t last long after she walked through the door of my apartment last night. I’m hoping that it was the air conditioning that allowed her to relax and fall asleep and not me.
After a thirty-minute run on the treadmill, I finish with a set of push-ups and then cool down.
When I get back up to the apartment, she’s still sleeping and I don’t wake her. I flip on the coffee maker and pull two mugs from the cabinet.
I eye the cake that Caroline brought over, but I make a cheesy bacon and spinach egg scramble instead.
In between sips of coffee, I schedule out my day in segmented blocks of time for meetings, emails, and calls. I’ve got to be in the office by ten for the production meeting.
Even after I finish my shower, Caroline is still sleeping soundly in my bed.
I’m tempted to hold a mirror under her nose, but the rise and fall of her chest tells me there’s nothing to worry about.
In case she’s not up in time for me to make her breakfast, I run down to the coffee shop on the corner and grab a few muffins. I write down the directions for the espresso machine and leave it by the mug.
After I pour another cup of coffee, I pop open my laptop and start returning emails. My concentration is all over the place.
I let out a long slow breath and try to refocus.
“Were you going to let me sleep forever?” Caroline asks as she saunters into the kitchen wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts that I think are just underwear. They’re short. I won’t be letting her out of the house in those.
Holy fuck my life.
She’s braless. Her nipples are pebbled against the fabric and my dick takes notice.
“I assumed you needed the rest,” I tell her. “You want some help?”
She picks up the mug and reads the directions for the coffee maker. “I got this.”
I stand and walk around the island. “I bought some chocolate muffins if you want or I can make you breakfast.”
She cocks a brow. “You cook?”
My hand presses over my heart. I feign insult. “Well, I’m not my future brother-in-law, but yeah, I know my way around the kitchen.”
Her arms rope around my neck. My lips fuse to hers. She moans into my mouth. She tastes like cinnamon. Her toothpaste, I assume. I fight the urge to push beneath the fabric of her tank top.
She pulls back. “I feel like a dick for falling asleep so early last night.”
“Stop that. You’re busy and the day probably just caught up with you.”
“Maybe, but it still sucks.” The coffee maker stops and Caroline adds a little bit of sugar to her mug.
“So, about breakfast?”
Caroline takes a sip of her coffee and leans back against the counter. “Those muffins look good. Plus, I don’t want you to dirty up any more dishes on my account.”
“It’s no trouble, really,” I reassure her.
She swipes the plate with the chocolate muffins and takes a seat at the island. I set the dial on the machine and refresh my coffee. Caroline tears off a piece of muffin and pops it into her mouth.
Coffee in hand, I take a seat at the island. “Tell me about work.”
“Chrissy, she owns Thistle and Ivy. She asked me if I could work tonight and tomorrow from four to ten.”
“She’s your usual go-to for catering, right?”
“Yep.” Her head bobs up and down. “I help her out from time to time. The extra cash is nice.”
I type up an email and let her finish her breakfast. Caroline sits at my island and tells me about the conversation she had with her mom.
“So, it seems that your uncle and my mother are not an item.”
My fingers rub at my chin. “Still, I’m puzzled about why they were at the club together.�
��
She pulls one leg up, wrapping her arms around it and resting her chin on her knee. “Not a clue. But at least they’re not dating, and we don’t have to worry about things getting weird.”
“Exactly. We definitely don’t need those redneck family jokes where you and I are concerned.”
Giggling she shakes her head. “If the two of them happened what would that make us? Step-cousins?”
“Nope, not thinking about that, sugar.”
I pull her stool closer to me and trap her legs between mine. My fingers massage against her creamy thighs. Goosebumps splash across her skin.
“I think you should stay the night with me again tonight. Since you’re working at Thistle and Ivy, which is only a few blocks from here, there’s no need for you to go all the way home. Then on Saturday, if you’re not busy, I want to make you dinner.”
“I’d really like that.”
She smiles and I brush my lips to hers. Caroline’s tongue dives into my mouth and I pull her onto my lap. I’m aware of everything. Every breath. Every gasp.
My hands shove into her hair and that sweet moan in her throat sends me over the edge of civility. By now I know how Caroline likes to be touched. I move one hand between her legs. The feel of her warm bare skin underneath my palm sends my blood roaring through my veins.
Caroline wiggles her ass against my cock. The friction feels incredible. She’s hot and wet and if we keep this up, I’m going to bust a nut in my pants.
My fingers dig into her hips to hold her in place. “Caroline,” I warn against her lips as I slide my hands under her tank top and up her rib cage.
“You started it,” she reminds me.
My hand cups her breast, and my thumb circles her nipple. I dip my head and suck her nipple through the fabric.
“Ahh, Brant,” she moans.
It would be so easy to slip my hand inside her underwear and stroke her the way I know she’ll love. My heart starts to jackhammer in my chest. But this is Caroline and nothing will rush us when we finally get our moment.
But honest to god, I want to call in sick to work and have my way with Caroline. Instead, I muster every ounce of willpower I have inside me. Releasing her nipple, I move her back to the other barstool before I do something more.
“Sugar, I want to stay here with you all day, but . . .”
Caroline rises to her feet, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I need to go home and let you get your day started.”
I grasp her wrist. “Stay here as long as you want.” Greed takes hold and my hand wanders beneath her shirt again. “Use my shower. There’s no way a shower will feel good back at your place with the AC out.”
She makes a small sound of protest but stops when my thumb gazes over her nipple.
“Oh god,” she whispers. “Your hands on me . . . it feels so good.”
That’s when I notice our reflection in the glass of the oven. Her eyes are closed and that perfect mouth of hers hangs open.
I love making her feel this good and I’ve barely touched her. My gaze sweeps to the clock and I’ve got twenty minutes to make it out to the distillery.
“Sugar, we’re going to continue this conversation when I see you later tonight . . . here.”
“Well, how can I resist a fabulous shower, a man who cooks, and air conditioning?”
Caroline twists out of my arms, walks down the hallway and gives me this playful smirk that makes my dick harden, then she tosses her tank top onto the floor, followed by her shorts . . . nope underwear. Definitely underwear.
Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in the production meeting. Our distillery manager, Laura, fills me in on project updates. I hear her tell me we’ve got some logistical issues, but my thoughts are with Caroline.
As the morning drags on I think about going home for lunch, but Pop caught me off guard and invited me to join him and a few others over in The Tasting Room.
I’m cruising through blog posts and catching up on industry news when my phone pings.
Caroline: I’m off to Thistle & Ivy.
Me: Have a good shift.
Caroline: BTW . . . your shower head is amazing. It works like a dream.
Caroline: All that tension just melts away.
My brows fly up. No, she did not.
Me: Are you saying that you had some fun with my shower head?
Caroline: Female shrug emoji.
Tease.
I try to get a few more things done at my desk but find it hard—very hard—to concentrate. I’m about to call it a day when my phone pings.
Caroline: I thought about you while I was having all that fun.
Shaking my head, I let out a deep groan.
This woman. It’s agony . . . sweet fucking agony.
Caroline
The rainstorm is in full effect by the time the dinner crowd rushes in.
With the patio being closed, the bar room is extra busy tonight, which is my assigned section. Almost every table is full and the bar itself is standing room only. The low hum of jazz music pipes over the speakers and conversations rise and fall in succession between booms of thunder.
“Caroline, table twenty-one,” Jenny, the hostess shouts at me. “They just sat down, requested you personally.”
My face scrunches. The only person who knows I’m here is Brant. Well, Sawyer too. I mentioned it to him at practice. What I didn’t mention was anything about our parents being an item.
I skirt up to the table to find Sawyer and Jake smiling at me.
“Oh, my gawd,” I drawl out. “Why are you two here?”
“Haven’t been able to check this place out yet and we . . .” Sawyer pauses and looks toward the door. “Ah, our friends have arrived.”
My gaze swings to the front door where I see Maybelle and Olivia. I almost don’t recognize Olivia. Her black hair is shiny and cascades over her shoulders in big waves. Usually it’s up in a bun or top knot. She’s wearing makeup. Olivia never wears makeup. Not only that, but she’s lost weight.
“Olivia,” I squeak and she pulls me in for a hug.
“Hi. You look incredible.”
Her shoulders rise and her face lights up. “Thanks, so do you.”
Maybelle moves to hug me and I’m still trying to process Olivia’s transformation. Then Maybelle takes a seat next to Sawyer.
“So, tell me about your . . . well, your new look.”
Sawyer slaps his hand to the table. “No, no way. I’m starving and I’m not listening to Olivia brag about this kettle diet.”
“Kettle diet?” I ask, directing my attention back to Olivia.
“Key-toe . . . Keto diet,” Olivia corrects. “No carbs, well some carbs.” She picks up her menu and tells me all about what she’s been up to since I last saw her.
“That’s awesome, Liv. Good for you.”
“Ookay,” Sawyer interrupts. “I want the bourbon pork sliders with french fries.”
Maybelle nudges Sawyer. “Don’t be an ass.”
I take their food and drink orders then I scurry to check on my other tables.
Key in orders.
Serve drinks.
Deliver food.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
The night whizzes by in a blur. The bar erupts with cheers and my gaze swings to the televisions above the bar. Pre-season football. The Indianapolis Colts are playing the Cincinnati Bengals.
I step up to the four-top where my friends are sitting and pass out the check presenters.
“Everything was great,” Maybelle tells me. “This place is really cool.”
Smiling, I hand Olivia hers.
“It was great to see you, Caroline,” she says, and hands me her credit card. “I’ll be at the reunion.”
I shake my head. “Geez, time seems to be flying by . . . can’t believe our eleven-year reunion is Labor Day weekend.”
“And then school starts,” Sawyer adds.
Jake laughs. “Suckers. I can’t imagine spending my days in the place I spent so man
y years trying to escape.”
“Tell me about it,” Olivia says. “High school definitely doesn’t bring back any ‘glory days’ memories for me.”
“How could it not?” Jake says to her. “You’re one of the smartest girls in our class. Not to mention you won like every art show.”
Olivia’s brown eyes pop wide. “You remember that?”
Surprise hits me as hard as it hits Olivia. I step over to the computer station to close out their checks but I can still hear their conversation.
“Of course, I remember. You have some killer abstract work.”
“Are you into art?” she asks.
“Mostly photography now.”
When I finish getting their bills finalized, I walk to the back and get their desserts. I set the bags on the table and Sawyer hands me a fifty-dollar bill.
“This is too much,” I tell him.
“Consider it a small payment for helping me all week at practice.”
“You don’t need to pay me. We’re friends. Friends help out and don’t expect anything in return.”
“Yeah, I know.”
My fingers splay against my forehead. “Hey, uh . . . I got something to tell you but promise me you’re not gonna freak out.”
Maybelle taps his arm. “Stay, chat. I’ll go get the car.”
He hands her the keys and she kisses his cheek.
“See ya, Maybelle. Thanks.”
“What’s up?” His deep green eyes stare at me with intensity.
“Do you know about our parents?”
His eyes narrow and confusion passes over his face. “What about them?”
“Uhm, your daddy and my mother are . . .” I swallow harshly. “Dating”
He lets out a puff of laughter. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope, Ma told me the other night before your dad came over for dinner.”
Sawyer’s hands scrub over his face. “Wow, and here I thought Dad would never date again.”
“I know the feeling.”
He punches my arm. “What if they get married?”
I put my hand up. “Okay, stop. Go home and enjoy your dessert.”
Sawyer hugs me again. “See you later . . . sis.”
I push him back. “I’m not talking about this with you. Go home.”
Sweet Agony Page 10
