A Perfect Mess

by Zoe Dawson

  “What are we talking about here?”

  He set the bottle down and sent his hands through his hair. “I think I pissed off Verity Fairchild.”

  “Aren’t you working for her daddy?”

  “Yeah. He’s already read me the riot act about his daughter.”

  “Right. You interested in her?”

  “Holy Mary Verity? Shit, no.” He took a swig, then looked away.

  Right, I thought. I knew Boone. “We have enough problems in this town without involving the preacher and his very beautiful, very sexy—”

  “Even though she tries to hide it.”

  “—daughter. You want to go to Hell?”

  Boone laughed and came around the counter and plopped down next to me. “You’re a riot. Have you seen her? She’d be worth going to Hell for, even if I wasn’t already on my way.”

  “Boone. What was it that you did that was stupid?”

  “I get these flashes sometimes. Man, I was a wasted fuck-up in school. I was lucky to graduate.”

  “The stupid part?”

  “I think she was at the same graduation party I was. But I’m not sure.”

  “And the flashes.”

  “Bits and pieces of dumb-assery.”

  “I’d say do your job, put blinders on, and stay away from that girl. Or apologize even if you want. You’ve cleaned up your act since high school. You have a very successful business.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “I just invested the funds, Boone. You’re the one that made it a success.”

  “You invested in me, Book, and in Braxton. We’ll never forget that, and we won’t let you down.”

  “I know. After that mall job you did in Lafayette, then the mayor’s mansion, you’ve gained at least grudging respect around here. That shit was in Architectural Digest. The preacher knows you’re good and he can get a good price out of you.”

  “Yeah, the preacher’s okay. If I was him, I’d tell my sorry ass to keep it professional, too. Not…that I had any intention of messing with Verity, mind you.”

  “Of course not. But, she is smokin’ hot. Ever since she came back from the Kenya mission, there’s something different about her, wouldn’t you say?”

  Boone nodded. “Yeah, she is smokin’, those gypsy eyes, that mane of hair. She does seem different. For some reason, she hates my guts.”

  “Well, keep both of your heads down.”

  “Ha! Clever, son. Did Aubree get any more texts from Langston?”

  “Not sure. I haven’t talked to her today. She’s coming over later on tonight.”

  “Too bad. I’d like a reason to kick his ass. How about her aunt? She still hanging in there?”

  “She is. She’s tough.”

  “Ma brought her flowers.”

  “I know.”

  “Ma’s great.”

  “She is.”

  “Good to know about tonight.” He rose, finished off his beer and walked back into the kitchen. “I won’t make any impromptu visits.”

  “Since you have a great house of your own, Boonie, that sounds like a stellar idea.”

  “Later ‘gator.”

  #

  “Look who I found outside,” my ma said as she dragged Aubree in with her.

  I loved that moment. The moment our eyes met, the way she made me feel all hot and cold.

  “Hey, Aubree.”

  She smiled. “Hey, Booker.”

  My ma cleared her throat.

  “Sorry, Ma.” I hugged her. “What brings you by?”

  “I was wondering if I could borrow that great carry-on you have.” She gave me a knowing look, but I ignored her.

  “Sure. I’ll go get it.” I hurried down the hall and grabbed it out of my closet. I didn’t want to leave them alone too long.

  “Here you go,” I said while Aubree laughed at something my mother was saying. Shit, that couldn’t be good.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” I said handing her the bag. “Don’t you need to pack?’

  “All right.” She laughed. “I get the message. I won’t let the door hit my backside on the way out.” She headed for the foyer and said, “It was good to see you, Aubree.”

  “You, too, Mrs. Outlaw.”

  I took her hand when the door closed and pulled her out to the deck. Candles were everywhere and she gasped and nudged me. “Look at you being all romantic.”

  Then she saw the picnic basket.

  “I’m so hungry. What you got in there?”

  “Fried chicken, potato salad, biscuits that will melt in your mouth.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Did Braxton put this together for you?”

  “Busted.”

  “You are, but thank you for going to all this trouble for me.”

  We ate, and I loved the way Aubree loaded her plate and dug into it like a trucker. That girl could eat.

  We settled down onto the part of the deck strewn with big, soft throw pillows that Boone had designed so that I could lie on my back and stare up at the stars through the skylights he’d cut in the roof of the deck.

  For once the weather had cleared and the sky was black and filled with infinite stars. I pointed up beyond the roof of the deck. She gasped and smiled as she curled up against me.

  Very softly, I started singing Blue Bayou, and Aubree sighed against my vibrating throat. As the last words of the song died down to nothing, she pressed her face into my neck.

  Keeping my body very, very still, I lifted my hand and gently cupped the lower part of her face, spreading my fingers across her cheek and letting my thumb rest on her lips.

  Softly, ever so softly, I brushed my thumb across her mouth—and watched her grow still, like her whole body was holding its breath.

  I could have stopped there, should have stopped with her eyes darkening under my gaze, with the heat rising between us at my touch. But she was impossibly out of my league, untouchable, unattainable Aubree, and for this one moment, I literally had her in the palm of my hand.

  So I kissed her, simply leaned forward and opened my mouth over hers. And she melted into me, exactly as I’d hoped she would. Nothing had ever been finished between us, and—god, her mouth.

  She had the softest lips, the sound and taste of her went straight to my dick. She didn’t move away, not so much as a millimeter. She held so perfectly still, her breath seemingly caught somewhere between us, her lips parted just enough to allow me entry, a tease that warmed with every slow thrust of my tongue into her mouth.

  She was sweet, and hot…and cautious, it was Aubree’s nature to be so. I almost grinned. Somehow, somewhere, sometime tonight, that caution would disappear. But for now, I’d take her guarded kiss. I’d take the soft, hesitant, giving way of her tongue, take her gentle exhalation inside, and imagine what I could do to make her groan.

  I pulled back and gently rubbed my mouth against hers and when she groaned, I got my reward as she made a soft sound deep in her throat and turned into my kiss—but not all the way, still holding back. Still keeping her hands to herself. Still not committing, not submitting—and that’s what I wanted, what I needed. Submission. I knew how incredibly sweet it could be, and I wanted that from her.

  But then I remembered that Aubree was a control freak. That was okay with me, too. When I pulled away and reclined against the cushions, her quizzical look made me smile.

  “Don’t you want to touch me?” I asked.

  She blushed and looked away. “Only for about a million years.”

  I spread my hands. “Then touch me. Wherever, however you want.”

  She reached for the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head.

  Her eyes traveled slowly over me. She studied me, her eyes going soft with a melting heat.

  I was so psyched to find out where she would touch me first.

  She sidled closer to me. The anticipation was murder.

  She reached out and went right for my abs. At the first touch of her fingers, I sucked in air, then she ran her
hands down the ridges and back up again like she was performing a glissando, that quick move across the keyboard that hit every key. She then flattened her palm against my rib cage and ran it up to the thick muscle of my chest, her palm gliding over my hard nipple, up to my collarbone, then over my shoulder to the bulge of my biceps.

  “You are so beautiful, Booker.”

  By this time I was panting, trying to keep my shit together. My throbbing dick was so hard I thought it would explode from the pressure against the fly of my jeans.

  I almost got off watching her face as she touched me.

  She moved to the muscle cut into my waist. “Fuucccck,” I hissed, my hips arched off the cushions at the sensation of Aubree Walker’s hand on me. It was a dream come true.

  “Did I do that?”

  “Yes, sugar. That’s just my reaction to being touched by you.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “I think I’ve created a monster.”

  “I know how you get these hip things,” she said smugly.

  I looked down and realized she was talking about the indentations curving just above my hips.

  “It’s where your abs…” She drew a line from the edge of my defined stomach muscle, “…meet your hip flexors.” Right through the indentation and to the edge of my jeans. “On a man, it forms a V, especially when your abs are ripped.”

  “Is that so?” I gritted.

  She nodded. “So sexy.”

  “Really?” I’d had no clue that women found that area of a man’s body sexy. I would need to pass that on to my brothers.

  “Aubree?”

  “Huh?”

  “Aubree?”

  She didn’t respond. She was too busy doing that thing again and watching me unravel. I swallowed hard.

  “Aubree?”

  I reached forward and slipped my forefinger under her chin and tipped her head up. “I need to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “Have you ever been with anyone?”

  Please say no.

  She took a steadying breath. “Yes.”

  Ah, damn.

  “But only in my head.”

  My heart stalled. “Who?”

  “You.”

  I closed my eyes. I had to hold on to my composure. My heart felt crushed between the need to hear that and the joy of hearing it. “You patronizing me because you think that’s the right answer?”

  She leaned forward and curled her hands into the waistband of my jeans. My dick jumped up toward the proximity of her hands. Propping herself on my hips, she leaned toward me, the warmth of her fingers distracting me. But I shook off the distraction, because I had to hear every nuance of what she was about to say.

  “You are so cool. So badass. The unholy trinity. God, that was so sexy. You swaggered around high school like you and your brothers owned the place. All that posturing, all that irresistible charisma.” She leaned closer to me and my chest heaved, her mouth was so close to my lips, her eyes devouring me. Aubree said, “We all wear masks to get by. To hide things from people who would strip us bare. We protect what’s inside because it’s too precious to be exposed. It’s who we are. The real us.”

  She brushed her mouth against mine, just a whisper of touch, and my hips jerked. Her voice was soft and compelling, her eyes direct and dead serious.

  “You know what it’s like to want something, Booker,” her voice hushed out against my skin, hot, tantalizing, and needy. “Deep down we want to be bare. We want to be exposed. We want to be intimate with someone who gets us. Someone we can trust implicitly. Someone who sees that bare, exposed, intimate part and loves us anyway.

  “So, no. I’m not patronizing you in the least.” Her eyes flicked to mine. I strained up towards her, needing the feel of her mouth on mine. She removed her hands from my waistband, dragging the backs of her fingernails against my skin. My back arched, my hips moving with the driving force of the blood pumping through my veins. I closed my eyes and groaned, my skin burning. It had already caught fire the moment she’d touched me. Now I was being consumed. And before I could react, her hands manacled my wrists and her mouth came down hard on mine.

  I trembled with the effort it took to let her kiss me. I knew about that kind of need, that kind of desperation. I wanted her to be in control because I was so afraid I would lose mine. I lived for this kind of pleasure. Writing for me was an orgasm of the mind. Good food fed not only hunger but the taste for the delectable. The high I got from running was not just about honing my body, but making my nerves and muscles sing. Music was a gift, a sound bite of pure glory for the ears. And, Aubree, a feast for the eyes, her beauty a knife that drove into my heart and stayed embedded there. It hurt so fucking good. I’d wanted her for so long that the reality of having her on top of me, kissing me like there was no tomorrow, seemed like a dream.

  But I knew it wasn’t. It was real, but I also could tell Aubree was still afraid of showing me who she really was, of revealing everything. She liked her math. It cocooned her in a safe monastery of reason, where silence was not just golden, but necessary. The walls made sense, the isolation, although it hurt, also protected her. I might not know math, but I knew people. I knew how to use characters to tell my stories, how to manipulate and cajole. I was so damn good at it. Everyone told me how much I was like my father, the con artist.

  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  I suddenly had second thoughts. Pushed that wave of pain away with monumental force, denying that I would do anything like that. But it whispered to me, saying that it was there and I couldn’t outrun it, wall myself away from it, or hide from it. But I’d rather have died right there, right then, than hurt Aubree in any way. This was all new for me. I could learn from it, change that future negative path. I could do it with her.

  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  She made a soft, aching sound in her throat, as if she just couldn’t get enough of me. Emotion flooded my chest. All those days and nights I’d thought about her mirrored that aching sound she’d made. I wanted to see beneath her beautiful. I wanted her to show me who she was. I couldn’t accept anything less.

  She was so out of my league, but that had never scared me.

  She straddled me then, and I cried out against her mouth. She was pulling at her shirt, trying to get it over her head. The pressure against my dick was enormous, and for the first time in my life I wasn’t sure I could hold onto my cargo.

  “Booker,” she said, her voice out of control and a little desperate. I rolled her beneath me and grabbed her hands. She stilled instantly and looked up at me with her wide green eyes. “Whoa, sugar.” My voice wavered with a hoarse rasp. “Breathe, babe. Breathe for me.”

  She took some quick breaths in, but they were fast. “That was crazy, right? You freaking blew my mind and almost my payload.”

  She laughed. It was spontaneous, joyous and beautiful, and came from deep inside her. She threw her arms around my neck, hugging me so tight. I buried my face into the amazing hollow of her neck and shoulder.

  “Booker, you’re like a mind sculptor. You make me into something wild and wonderful. Something real.”

  “Sugar, you are real.

  “Kiss me, Booker.”

  I didn’t need her to tell me again. I had what I needed to protect her in my jeans pocket. But it had to be slow, so that she would have the maximum amount of pleasure.

  “I sometimes wished I’d done it. Just to get that part over with so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty.”

  “Guilty. Ha! I laugh in the face of guilt. I deflower virgins at least once a week.”

  Her face paled.

  “No, wait. I’m kidding. Totally kidding.”

  “I wouldn’t have been a virgin if you hadn’t…”

  “That’s in the past, Aubree. We got through it and we moved on.”

  “Did we?”

  “I’ve learned from experience that’s it’s the best thing to do.”

  �
��Sure. I also have learned from experience that compartments work really well. Always another box to fill. So we’re alike, there. Both of us use distance.”

  I kissed her softly, her pain becoming my pain.

  “You feel good,” she whispered. “So solid. So here. Sometimes I feel like I could disappear and no one would miss me, like a pretty, perfectly formed helium balloon floating away until it vanishes.”

  “I would miss you,” I murmured, my voice a hoarse rasp.

  She closed her eyes, her hand automatically sliding over my heart. I’m not sure if she did that on purpose, or if it was purely reflex.

  “You would. I know that. It’s all that kept me going, knowing that you probably missed me. And my aunt. I think she would miss me, too.”

  “She did miss you.”

  She pressed against my chest, then did tiny little circles on my skin with the pads of her fingers. “How did you know that? What exactly is my aunt to you?”

  “She’s my editor.”

  Her eyes softened. “Really. My aunt?”

  “Yes,” I could see she was calming down, the panic of losing control diminishing. “I happened to run into her in the bookstore in town. She was looking for a book on Sherman.”

  “What? That’s blasphemy,” she whispered.

  “Ah, she told me your family’s deep, dark secret.”

  “She did not.”

  “Yes, I know about that Sherman. The Yank who marched through Georgia and incited hatred throughout the Confederacy shares an ancestry with good Southern stock.”

  “That connection to Sherman has always been hush-hush. I treated it as a big joke, thinking that mentioning it was equivalent to a prim Southern belle saying the eff word at a lady’s garden party.”

  “Yeah, that would be in bad taste. But you would never do that.”

  “Oh, no. I adhere to the rules of decorum.”

  “We got to talking. She weaseled the information out of me about the ‘novels’ I had on my computer. She badgered me until I showed them to her. Then she told me that we were going to self-publish them. She helped me with the first book. She made it infinitely better, then the second, then third. I owe my success to your aunt.”

  “You owe your success to yourself.”

  “That’s exactly what your Aunt Lottie said.”