A Shot With You (Bourbon Brothers)

by Teri Anne Stanley

  She gasped, and he released her hand.

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. That was…that was weird.” He picked up the roll of paper towels, then dropped it and grabbed her arm, tugging her toward the kitchen sink.

  He flipped on the water and shoved her hand toward it. “Here. There’s some hand soap around here—”

  Lesa pulled back from the faucet and stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  He froze, and their eyes met. Time stood still for a heartbeat, and then Lesa, feeling daring and bold, rose on her tiptoes and laid her lips against his.

  He remained frozen. Eyes wide in shock.

  For an endless, horrifying moment Lesa remained there, suspended in space, her lips glued to his unmoving mouth.

  With a jolt she jerked away.

  “So, um, okay. I guess I’ll go back to bed now.” She grabbed the remains of her apple and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “I’ll, uh, see you in the morning. Sleep well!” she squeaked as she scurried from the kitchen and Brandon’s motionless figure.

  Chapter Five

  Brandon awoke before sunrise as hard and aching as he’d been when he’d gone to bed just a few hours ago.

  Damn. The memory of that kiss still had him wound up as tight as a spool of baling twine.

  Lesa Ruiz had kissed him in the kitchen last night. Sort of. Okay, she had kissed him. But he’d turned into Chicken Boy. After sucking her finger into his mouth, he’d been mortified at his behavior, expecting her to slap him down for being inappropriate, so when she laid one on him instead, he froze. Only to lie awake all horny as fuck until nearly sunrise.

  Peanut butter, apple, the surprise, the feel of her breasts brushing his chest—

  And then she’d disappeared down the hall.

  “Good night!” she’d called, before disappearing from his stunned sight.

  He’d thought about following her, but the distinct sound of the door shutting behind her was enough to discourage him.

  Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. She was probably still a little buzzed from the drinking they’d done earlier in the day. And fatigued. She was his guest, and he’d pulled her slender finger between his lips and run his tongue over the ridges and grooves, sucking gently and then more firmly before realizing what he was doing.

  Jesus. Just remembering the feel of her skin against his tongue had him twitching and dying for a repeat. A repeat and a further exploration.

  Maybe she was just trying to ease the awkwardness with that little kiss. But who eased awkwardness with kissing?

  He didn’t need to do this, to get distracted from his goals by a woman. But she was so fun, sexy, and appealing.

  It didn’t matter. He had no business trying to puzzle out the intentions of a woman he barely knew before he’d had a significant amount of coffee. He wasn’t going to sleep with her, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Rising, he dropped his flannel pajama pants and pulled on clean khakis—damn. These were a little tight. He reminded himself to add an extra couple of miles to his next run. But hopefully the snug fabric would keep his still-enthusiastic morning erection from reaching out for her when he passed his bedroom, where she no doubt still slept. Damned thing was like a divining rod where she was concerned.

  He found his running shoes and slid his feet into them without bothering to untie the laces, and shoved his wallet into his pocket. He grabbed one of Justin’s sweatshirts from the back of a chair. Crockett Rockets? Justin must be getting nostalgic, if he was wearing their old high school’s spirit wear. Most everything else he owned seemed to be Government Issue USMC. Shrugging, he shoved his arms into it and pulled it over his head, moving toward the kitchen.

  He scribbled a quick message to Lesa.

  After snatching his keys from the peg next to the door, he jogged to the car and started her up.

  There was a heavy mist over the valley below him, but he knew what was there—Blue Mountain Distilling, and a few dozen hard working friends and neighbors.

  “Hey, Caleb.” He greeted the distillery manager who slowed as he approached the main office building.

  Caleb pulled off his Blue Mountain ball cap and ran a hand through his graying hair. “I saw you got home last night. Everything okay? I thought you were gone until Wednesday?”

  “That’s when the folks will be back. I came home early for business.”

  “Of course you did.” Caleb frowned at him. “I’m surprised you lasted as long as a week on that boat.”

  Brandon grinned. “Well. It did have internet access, and I took my laptop.”

  The older man shook his head. “You need to get a life, son.”

  He had a life. Especially right now. “I actually brought a guest home with me. Lesa Ruiz, whose family owns Pequeño Zarigüeya tequila. We have a chance to make a deal with them, and I’m going to spend a few days impressing her with our rock-steady organization.”

  Caleb’s expression didn’t change when he asked, “Is that so?”

  Uh oh. “What?”

  He put his hands in his back pockets and rocked back on the heels of his ancient steel-toed boots. “Well now, you know about the rickhouse fire.”

  “Yeah. So do the Ruiz’s. That’s why we have to show her how great everything else is.”

  “The number three still sprang a leak, so she’s down.”

  Great. Number three was the big still, the one that was used to produce their major product.

  “How long is it going to be out of commission?”

  Caleb looked toward the horizon, apparently calculating the difference between the last stars and the rising sun. “A few days. Depends on how long it takes to fix the hole in the roof that the welders are going to need to—”

  Brandon cut him off. “Okay. We’ll start in the bottling house.”

  “Uh, sure.” Caleb looked doubtful, but Brandon didn’t have time to find out what that was about.

  He drew back into the car window. “I’ve got to go get my girls before the sitter charges me an extra week’s fees.”

  “You’d better hurry. The fact that you got anyone to keep those two nut jobs is a miracle in itself. You should have to pay extra just for the pain and suffering,” Caleb told him, stepping back from the car and slapping the roof. “I’ll do what I can with the still.”

  Brandon drove on. Before he turned onto the main road, he looked back up the hill at his family’s home. There was a spot a little farther to the north where he planned to build his own home someday. He’d always imagined a traditional farmhouse type deal—old fashioned with a big porch. But then that crap with Jamie McGrath and Suzanne happened. The humiliation still burned in his gut—the woman he was thinking of proposing to, asking her to move into that imaginary house on the hill, and her betrayal—he couldn’t bring himself to start on the house, and it made sense to keep living with the ‘rents a while longer.

  He should revisit that house-building thing. Maybe it was time. He’d meet a nice girl one of these days—one who didn’t have anything to do with the industry, and therefore would never have a chance to wreck his career, or his family’s business.

  He wondered what Lesa’s long-term goals were. She’d told him that she’d like to travel. But didn’t she plan to settle down some day? Take over her father’s business? He felt a pang at the mental image of some handsome, dark-haired stranger with his arm around her as they laughed at the antics of their children.

  Geez. He was losing it. Jealous of some imaginary man with the woman that he wasn’t getting involved with.

  …

  I went to pick up my girls, be back soon.

  GIRLS? He had GIRLS? As in…children? Kids. Offspring. Babies. The sinking feeling in her chest was mostly likely her normal anxiety about being trapped by home and family. Which was crazy, because she was on vacation and not in the process of digging her roots in, but Brandon hadn’t mentioned that he was a father in any of the conversations they’d had so far, and that was weird.

  She looked aroun
d the kitchen and back toward the enormous living area. No signs of kid things. No pictures on the refrigerator, no toys underfoot, no stack of picture books on the bookcase next to the fireplace.

  Well, she supposed, if he was an absentee father who didn’t even tell people that he had children, it might follow that he didn’t care enough to stock things to keep them entertained when they came to visit. But surely his parents—the kids’ grandparents—would have pictures around.

  There was a distinct hollowed-out dark spot in the middle of her chest, and Lesa tried to remind herself that her interest in Brandon was strictly casual. No matter how sexy the man was, she wasn’t going to marry him, for crying out loud. There was the business associate part of things, but that was for her father and the tequileria. Brandon’s relationship with his children—or lack thereof—shouldn’t affect his business acumen, no matter how much she might want to do him.

  She was supposed to be charming him into telling her all his secrets—his corporate ones, not his intimate ones. She had the sense that he was a straight arrow, but surely not everything here was as picture perfect as it seemed. Everyone, and every place, had weaknesses. And it was business, right? She knew she was going to have to suffer through a distillery tour and spend some time in the offices checking out the books, but she was hoping to get some vacation in before she bid him farewell and disappeared into the sunset. Kids would put a definite wrinkle in her ideas about what fun vacation activities involved.

  Babies. She shuddered. They were awesome when they belonged to someone else, but they were just one more weight holding a person in place, and Lesa was born to be on the move.

  She sighed and went back into the bedroom, and sank onto the bed.

  She’d shown up in the middle of Brandon’s scheduled time with his daughters, and they would probably hate her.

  Maybe they’d like a present. If she’d known about them in advance, she’d have brought something wonderful, colorful, and Mexican from home. But what did she have with her that little girls would like? Surely they couldn’t be much older than ten or twelve at the most—probably even younger—because Brandon was only about thirty, she guessed.

  Her suitcase lay open on the foot of the bed.

  Jewelry would be good, she supposed, but the only thing she’d brought was her mother’s locket and a pair of gold hoop earrings. One earring per girl wouldn’t cut it, even if they had pierced ears.

  She had a couple of ceramic dishes that she’d brought as gifts for Brandon’s mother and grandmother, but that was dumb. Kids would be bored and break them.

  Her brand-new gold, high-heeled sandals peeped out from beneath her turquoise skirt. She pulled one of them out and admired its shiny leather straps. She’d splurged a whole week’s worth of travel money on them, but they were so incredible, she hadn’t been able to resist.

  The shoes, and the adorable clutch purse that went with them. She didn’t know if she’d have an opportunity to wear anything so nice while she was here, but they took up so little room in her suitcase, she’d indulged herself.

  Well, girls liked to dress up. The shoes and purse had been expensive, but when she thought of meeting Brandon’s girls, girls who didn’t even have their own toys at their dad’s house…she took the dishes from their gift bags and replaced them with the shoes and purse.

  And just in time, it seemed, because she heard a car pulling up the driveway when she got back to the kitchen.

  She took a deep breath. It was ridiculous to be so nervous. They were just kids, and Lesa was good with kids. Sort of.

  There was the sound of one car door opening and closing, and then another, and then Brandon yelling, “Knock it off. I told you to stop that! I’m going to lock you in the garage before you’ve even met Lesa.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t so attracted to the man, or desperate to get Papa to sign a contract with him, that she would stand here and listen to him verbally assault his kids, no matter what they’d done. Her spine stiffened.

  Plastering on a welcoming smile, she grabbed the gift bags and flung the door to the porch open and strode outside.

  “Dammnit, girls, NO!”

  Whaaaa?

  A tangle of furry brown legs and ears turned at the sound of the screen door shutting and started to whine. Before Brandon could yell again, two enormous, slobbering, grinning bloodhounds broke free of his grasp. Leashes trailing, they bound toward the stairs. Toward Lesa.

  In the next second, she was flat on her ass. Her brand new jillion peso shoes were being gleefully devoured—paper bag and all—by one dog, and the other swiped its enormous wet tongue over her face.

  Chapter Six

  “Damn, Lesa, I’m sorry,” Brandon panted, as he fought to drag Maude away from her. He loved his dogs, but not everyone else cared to be licked to death.

  “I guess they like the gifts,” she gasped.

  “Gifts? For them?”

  “Oh, sure,” she nodded, looking for a dry spot on her T-shirt to wipe dog spit from her face. “It’s traditional.”

  Maude was momentarily distracted from molesting Lesa by Mabel’s excitement, and Brandon turned to see what they were tearing apart. The remains of a couple of those fancy gift paper bags flew across the deck, and Mabel turned around to reveal a— “A purse?”

  While he was trying to decide if he should take it from the dog, her sibling thundered back over to Lesa.

  A quick glance told him that, whatever she thought would happen to them, the accessories were toast, so he pulled off his T-shirt and went to her, helping her to her feet.

  “Lesa, I’m so sorry. Maude’s not usually so, uh, attracted to women.”

  She stared at him, gaze scanning his naked chest before returning to his face. “So, um, these are your girls?”

  “Yeah. You’ve met Maude. And that’s Mabel.” He pointed at the other hairy brat.

  She took the shirt from him and swiped at her cheeks, holding it to her face for a long second. Was she crying?

  “Did she hurt you?”

  She jerked the shirt down. “No! I’m fine.” But she was flushed, clearly upset.

  He put an arm around her shoulders and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear that had come loose from its clip. That was when he realized she was laughing, not crying. Her shoulders shook, and the giggle she released made Mabel look up and bark happily. The dogs settled at her feet, alternately chewing on her purse and shoes, and staring up at Lesa like she was the second coming of the Purina fairy.

  Turning his gaze back to Lesa, he noticed a strand of Maude slobber that she’d missed on her shirt, quivering as she laughed.

  “Here.” He took the T-shirt back and tried to blot the slooby goop—right over the slope of her breast.

  “Oh!” She gasped, clutching at his bare shoulder. Her dark eyes were wide and shocked, but not dismayed, just—surprised, he thought.

  His instinct was to pull away and apologize, but he realized Lesa’s nipple was beaded under the fabric of the shirt he held. The soft weight of her breast in his hand made his already snug pants tighten. Her grip on his shoulder loosened, fingers stroking over the muscle there, sending a shiver down his spine.

  Holding his gaze, she slid her fingers down his arm, over his hand, and pressed him tighter against her. Her lips parted, and he fixed on her mouth, so inviting, her tongue slipping out to moisten her lip.

  Somehow his other hand held not only the dogs’ leashes, but also her hip.

  He pulled her closer, lowered his head to hers in the bright morning sunlight, and Mabel woofed, tugging at her leash.

  “Damn!” He released Lesa and stepped away from her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” she asked, brow furrowed, slow to let go of the hand that had been feeling her up. But she loosened her grip on his fingers and straightened her top.

  Crap. Her nipples were staring at him as reproachfully as her eyes.

  “I…we can’t do this.” He waved his hand b
ack and forth between them. “It would be inappropriate, right?”

  “Why?” Then her eyes widened. “Do you have a girlfriend? Oh. Dios, I—”

  “No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” he hastily assured her. “But I shouldn’t be manhandling you—”

  “It’s not manhandling if I like it,” she interrupted, lips curved.

  He groaned. “I’m trying to make a business deal with you, not—not feel you.”

  “Oh.” She waved that away. “You’re doing business with my father, not me. I’m just here as his corporate spy.” She grinned. “I won’t be signing any contracts, he will.”

  “But it’ll be based on your opinion. And I don’t want to influence—” Brandon stopped, realizing how arrogant that might sound. What? He might impress her so much with his seduction skills that she’d lie to her father about anything that she found unacceptable at Blue Mountain? And he wasn’t going to sleep with her and then watch her eyes cloud when he offered to buy her father’s distillery out from under her. “We need to have a working relationship, not a flinging relationship.”

  “Flinging.”

  “Yeah. The two don’t mix.”

  “They don’t.” She quirked up the side of her mouth and put a hand on that hip he’d just been handling.

  He groaned. This woman was torturing him. But he didn’t do this stuff. He’d learned not to let his imagination take off—and definitely not his body—with anyone in the industry. It led to bad decisions.

  It was a shame he liked her so damned much.

  “We can start looking at the distillery today, if you’re ready,” he told her.

  She shrugged. “I guess we should, huh?”

  Wait, wasn’t that why she was here?

  “I mean, I want to see Kentucky while I’m here, too, you know?”

  He did know that. And even though he had a little disconnect when he thought of taking off in the work week to play, going to play tourist for a while—with Lesa—held a definite lure.

  He looked at the dogs, who had each laid claim to a shoe and were somehow managing to fight over the purse at the same time. Bits of leather and fabric were already stuck to the deck.