by Candis Terry
“I’ll try.” No, he wouldn’t. And he damn well knew that. He had to think of her as his employee. Had to. No option. Options meant trouble. Trouble meant disaster. And disaster meant the end of the world as he knew it.
“Yay!” She raised her arms in a little cheer and dance that made him want to forget they were standing at the door of the nastiest dive bar in Vancouver and give in to his bottled up emotions.
“Come on.” She opened the door, grabbed his hand, and pulled. “I need a couple of Fireball shooters before I get up onstage.”
In an atomic blast, his good intentions detonated and fell back to earth in ashes. Because once that Fireball whiskey hit his blood he knew he’d never be able to drink away his snowballing desire for this woman he’d promised to treat as a friend.
To Brooke, dive bars all looked the same on the inside. Beat to shit tables and chairs wrapped around a rickety wooden stage. Neon signs with burned-out letters advertising various makes of beer. A timber bar that usually had some kind of unknown sticky substance coating the surface. And bowls of peanuts no one in their right mind would ever actually consume unless they were stone cold drunk.
There were no seats available, not even a bar stool. As Dec led her through the rough and rowdy crowd toward the bar, his big palm engulfed hers with warmth and security. Even without his touch she knew he really would protect her safety.
Protecting her heart was another matter.
“Two Fireballs.” Dec held up the appropriate numbers of fingers for the bartender, who might not have been able to hear over the woman currently onstage singing “Redneck Woman.” At least the contestant had dressed the part. Although Brooke wasn’t sure a plus-sized seventy-year-old woman in a tight jean skirt, red tube top, and pink boots was really going to gain an advantage with the outfit.
“It’s loud in here,” Dec shouted.
Brooke laughed. “Karaoke sounds better loud. The volume of the music distorts the actual singing.”
The bartender slid their shot glasses to them. Dec leaned in and lifted his in a toast. “Here’s to total and irreconcilable humiliation.”
Brooke wrestled with the enthusiastic salesladies in the lingerie department trying to give this sexy man her lace panties for free while she tapped her glass to his and downed the fiery liquid. Most people coughed after a shot or at the very least, made a bitter beer face. Not Dec. He simply pressed his lips together and ordered two more shots. She wondered if he was drinking for the courage to sing, or whether it had something to do with the lusty looks he’d given her over dinner. She prayed for the latter and that those looks hadn’t been just her overactive imagination.
“I’ll personally give you the twenty-five bucks if you sing solo,” she challenged.
“I don’t need the money.” He leaned in, bringing his delicious, warm male scent with him. His blue eyes roamed her face and dropped to her mouth as she licked away the cinnamon taste from her lips. “But if you sweeten the pot you’ve got a deal.”
Was he flirting with her?
The smile on his gorgeous masculine face hinted at yes. And since Brooke had never been one to ignore an opportunity she did what she did best—thought fast on her feet.
“How about I add one of my specialty desserts to the meal tomorrow?” Yes. She was thinking along the lines of chocolate syrup and whipped cream—all over his naked body.
“Deal.” He stuck out his hand.
“You didn’t give it much thought.” But she was singing hallelujah.
“Didn’t have to.” As she put her hand in his and shook, he flashed a smile that was two parts mischief and one part promise.
Annnnnd yes. He was flirting.
Finally.
Thank you to the Fireball whiskey gods.
As a deterrent to the direction her naughty little mind had wandered, she grabbed the karaoke song list off the bar and handed it to him. “So what’s it going to be, cowboy?”
“Cowboy?” He grinned. “Does that mean I have to sing country?”
She shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. Although I have to admit you don’t really seem like a country music kind of guy.”
“Oh really.” A low chuckle rumbled deep from his chest. “What kind of guy do I seem like to you?”
Hot.
“Maybe some R and B or . . . talk radio. Yeah. I definitely see you as a talk radio kind of guy.”
“Hmmm.” His dark brows pulled together as he scanned the song choices. “Then as a so-called talk radio kind of guy, I obviously have no idea how karaoke works.”
“It’s easy. You fill out this piece of paper with your name and your song choice and give it to the DJ. Then you wait for him to call your name.”
When he looked up at her, her knees nearly buckled from the sexual heat in his eyes. “You’re really going to make me do this?”
“Make you? No. But it would be even more humiliating if I started doing the chicken dance right now because you don’t have the right stuff.” She slammed down her second shooter. “Just sayin’.”
“Believe me.” He moved in closer, spoke in a low, sexy voice right next to her ear, and sent a parade of chills dancing down her spine. “I have the right stuff.”
She didn’t think he was exactly talking about karaoke, and that was perfectly fine with her. Especially when he moved away only a fraction of an inch. “Remains to be seen.”
His gaze dropped, lingered on her mouth, then came back up to her eyes. “All right.” He jotted down his name and song request. When she tried to sneak a peek he folded the paper, carried it up to the stage, and dropped it in the song jar.
When he returned he slammed back his second shooter. “Just remember, you asked for it.”
She certainly had. And hopefully he was picking up what she was putting down.
“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t playing fair?” she asked.
A slow, sexy smile tilted the corners of his lips. “Because I always play to win.”
That dance of awareness hit her spine again. This time it headed south and the lingerie ladies were starting a conga line.
“Your turn.” He handed her a slip of paper and pen, then at the last second grabbed it back. “On second thought.” He wrote her name down then covered the song choice he’d selected for her with his hand.
“How do you know what I want?”
One dark brow slid up his forehead.
“To sing,” she added. Yeah. Because that’s what she meant. Not.
“You’re the one who dragged me in here. You want to back out now?” He shrugged, then had the balls to make chicken sounds at her before he took the request up to the DJ.
When he came back she had a third round of shots lined up. She’d never gone past two before and she might be/would be sorry in the morning, but she was having too much fun to back down now.
“I don’t need this for courage,” she said, holding up the small glass. “But what the hell.”
He held up his shooter too and gave her a playful grin. “Neither do I.”
They clinked glasses, downed their shots, and Dec’s name was called over the sound system.
“Don’t laugh.” He pointed at her then turned to walk away.
“I’ll try.” Pointless. She was already laughing.
“Wait a second.” He turned back around. “I might not need the booze for courage, but I will take this.”
Before Brooke recognized his Fireball induced intent, he took her face between his big hands and kissed the daylights out of her. The crowd whooped, hollered, and catcalled, but with Dec’s hot, sexy mouth on hers, she barely noticed. When he made his way to the stage she locked her knees and leaned back against the bar to keep from sliding to the floor.
As Dec walked away looking all hot and just slightly frayed around the edges, the voluptuous and scantily clad blonde at the bar next to Brooke leaned in and asked, “You think he’d be into a threesome?”
Brooke laughed out loud.
Not beca
use she actually knew Dec’s sexual inclinations—although she certainly hoped to find out—but because she knew if she ever got him all to herself, there was no way in hell she’d share.
When Dec took the microphone he looked completely at ease. Brooke attributed that to either his many financial speaking engagements or the three highly potent cinnamon whiskey shooters he’d downed in less than five minutes. When his gaze cut through the spotlight and the darkness to find her, her panties melted a little bit more.
“I’m not a karaoke kind of guy. But I never back down from a challenge from a beautiful lady.” He winked to the crowd. “Especially when there’s a reward involved.”
The karaoke enthusiasts raised their bottles of beer and hooted some more. And then the music began. Without needing the words on the monitor, Dec broke into a rousing rendition of Brett Eldredge’s “Lose My Mind,” pointing to her in all the right places in the song.
At that point it became undeniably clear why women threw their phone numbers and panties onstage for a sexy man with a microphone. But for Brooke it was more. For her it was Dec’s implication that the lyrics of the song might be about them that made her weak in the knees.
Because really, who could deny that kiss?
As if she needed another reason, right then and there she fell crazy, madly, and forever in love with the one man she could never have. Because as soon as those Fireball shooters evaporated from his veins, he’d once again be the boss and she’d be out of luck.
Chapter 8
The following morning Brooke woke early, still smiling about the night before, and grateful for no signs of a hangover. Though he hadn’t kissed her again, flirty Dec had remained on scene for the rest of the evening. Especially when it came to her turn at the karaoke mic.
With apologies to the very talented Miranda Lambert, she’d butchered the song Dec had selected for her. But that was nothing new. She butchered every song she sang. The deep-in-their-cups audience hadn’t seemed to mind. And although Dec lost the twenty-five dollar prize to a woman who gave a Marilyn Monroe worthy performance of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend,” they’d both had a really fun time.
At the end of the night Dec had called Jordan to give them a ride home. While Brooke sat up front, Dec had stretched his longs legs out in the backseat and suffered through his twin brother’s good-natured ribbing. Listening to the two of them had entertained Brooke and she thought they might be more alike than Dec was willing to admit.
When they arrived at the little brick cabin, Dec had escorted her into the house. Instead of giving her an indication that the night had possibilities, he’d kissed her forehead and thanked her for a perfectly wonderful disaster of an evening. Had he not been grinning at the time, she might have slugged him. When he’d politely reminded her that she’d lost the challenge and he expected grand things for dinner, she’d had to remember that earlier that evening he’d melted her panties with a scorching kiss.
The cinnamon whiskey in her blood had made it easy for her to fall asleep with every intention of getting up early and retrieving Dec’s car from the bar’s parking lot. Last they’d seen it, it had been scrape and dent free. With a little luck it would still be that way upon recovery.
When she crawled out of bed, Dec was nowhere to be found. Looked like he’d beat her to getting his car back. While he was gone she fed Moochie and took her for a short walk so she could do her business. Then Brooke showered, made herself presentable, and started to put together some breakfast for when Dec came back.
While a vegetable frittata simmered on the stove, Brooke made a call to the office to check on things. Next she called their marketing contact to check on his progress with the stats for the vineyard. She made notes and updates in her schedule then poured a cup of coffee while she made another client call. Back to the work grind. Brooke realized that Dec would quickly fall into his routine, and any headway she’d made into getting him to realize that there was more to life than the hours between nine and five would be washed away like footprints in the sand.
Tonight she had another chance to make a difference. Somehow during the busy day ahead, she had to come up with a menu, a plan, and a proposition where he couldn’t say no.
For the better part of the day, Dec spent his time in the office, holed up with Ryan, Jordan, and Ethan discussing matters of business for the vineyard. Once they received the report from the marketing expert, they could proceed with their plans. But as they all sat huddled around Ryan’s desk and the coffeepot, they agreed that the vineyard needed a complete overhaul, including bottle labels and distribution.
A huge part of Dec’s success was based on his ability to create a well-thought-out business plan. Today he found it impossible to stay focused when all he could think of was how much fun he’d had last night with Brooke and the possibility of spending the evening with her again. She was an extraordinary woman with a multitude of facets he’d yet to discover. Finding ways to do that while keeping the boss/employee issue in mind was becoming harder and harder.
Last night, before he’d gone on that karaoke stage to make a fool of himself, he’d kissed her. For courage, he’d said, which was utter bullshit. He’d just wanted her lips on his. They’d felt so amazing he’d been tempted to carry her out of that bar to continue what they’d started. The burden of guilt had been his only saving grace, and for the rest of the night he’d managed to ignore the temptation.
“Daydreaming?”
Dec’s head snapped up. “What?”
Ryan kicked Dec’s feet off the desk and chuckled. “We just carried on a complete conversation about the pros and cons of standardizing the wine bottles from high shoulder to sloping while you sat there all glassy-eyed and staring into space.”
“Bullshit.”
“I call bullshit on your bullshit.” Ethan pointed a finger at Dec. “You were ready to kick my ass the other night when you found me outside the cabin talking to Brooke.”
“Why don’t you just give in?” Jordan asked. “You looked like you had fun last night. Ask her out. Live a little.”
“If you don’t . . .” Ethan folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I will.”
Ordinarily his brothers’ teasing repartee was status quo and he’d jump into the fray without missing a beat. But the subject matter was not up for discussion.
“Why don’t you guys give it a rest.” He stood and the chair slid back on the wood floor with a screech.
“And you . . .” He pointed at Ethan. “Keep your fucking distance from her.”
Needing some fresh air after sucking in all the crap his brothers were throwing down, Dec headed toward the door. “I’m out. See you tomorrow.”
Leaving a room of adolescent chortles behind him, he stepped outside and closed the door. But even the deep breath he inhaled couldn’t clear Jordan’s question from his mind.
Why didn’t he give in?
How could he tell them that he’d already done enough damage and that fear kept him from going any further? Sure, it was easy to lean heavily on the boss/employee snag, but Brooke wasn’t the kind of woman a guy just had a quick fling with then moved on from. Brooke was a keeper. Trouble was, Dec couldn’t afford to give in. Losing her was unacceptable. He needed her, and aside from her superior job performance, he just wanted to be around her. She made his days better. Easier. Tolerable. Enjoyable.
Because of dyslexia, all his life he’d struggled to keep things in focus. He’d found that concentrating on one element at a time worked best in his case. Unlike other members of his family who could multitask like pros, he’d never been good at juggling. Keeping his personal life in check while he constructed his career had been imperative.
He’d give anything to be like his brothers. To have that carefree simplicity that seemed to bring so much joy. But he was like a freaking Rubik’s Cube. Too complicated. Too twisted. And too much of a puzzle to solve.
His attraction to Brooke had shaken up the order of things.
> With family issues, the pieces of his personal life were falling around him. He knew his limits. He had a track record with women and it wasn’t pretty. Brooke deserved better. And though she was sweet, sexy as hell, and seemingly receptive to something more, it would kill him if he had to look into her dark brown eyes and find disappointment staring back.
If he lost her and had to watch her move on with someone else, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. But despite wanting her more than he’d ever wanted anything aside from his career, he knew he could never have her.
Not even for just a night.
Especially for just a night.
He walked toward his car in the parking lot just as a tall, cool blonde stepped out of a silver sedan parked a couple spaces away.
“Can I help you?” he called out.
Dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but something in the way she moved said she was either lost or confused.
“Hello.” She slid a hand to the waist of her jeans. “I was looking for the vineyard office.”
“It’s over there.” He hitched his thumb toward the small “Office” sign hanging above the door on the large building. “But we’re closed right now.”
“Oh.” She looked around then back at him. “Do you work here?”
“Not really. But I’m very familiar with the owners. Is there someone in particular you’re looking for?”
The woman was dressed in jeans, a lightweight blazer, and high heels. The well-put-together outfit appeared more business casual than a day-in-the-park relaxed. Her long blond hair fell over her shoulders in soft curls. She was attractive and fit, but seemed completely unfamiliar.
“I’m looking for Carlton Kincade.”
Dec’s heart thundered in his ears.
“Carlton Kincade?”
“Yes.”
Who the hell was this woman, and why was she asking for his dead father?
