by Tessa Layne
Her older sister, Cassie, marched over to the door, face set, and firmly unlocked the door. “You can’t keep her from Carolina,” she reprimanded. “You’re the one who’s wound up tighter than baling wire.”
Hell, yes, she was. “Only because my opposing counsel showed up to visit his sister,” she snapped.
Three pairs of eyes went round, and her sisters all spoke at once. “What?” “Who is it?” “What do you mean?” “Spill,” ordered her twin, cradling her own baby, Bubba. The cutest little chubster an auntie could ask for. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”
The barb hit home. Lexi usually told her twin, Lydia, everything. But with Lydia so wrapped up in her pregnancy, and becoming a new mom, and with helping her husband Colt, get a rodeo riding program off the ground, Lexi’s gripes and problems had seemed… trivial. Lately, she’d kept more to herself. But right now, she was trying to bring a riot of butterflies in her chest under control. She scowled at Lydia. “I didn’t know about it until I saw him in our kitchen.”
Lydia gasped, eyes going wide. “Wait. You mean to tell me that hottie who’s Jamey Sinclaire’s brother and who’s melting everyone’s ovaries within twenty miles of here is your opposing counsel?” She blinked, then burst out laughing. “Caro, I hope you’re serving popcorn at the reception. I’m gonna need a bowl.”
Cassie cocked her head, puzzled. “How did we not know your opposing counsel in ‘the trial of your life’,” she air-quoted, “was Jamey’s brother?”
Her face burned. “It was need to know?” she squeaked.
“Sure it was.” “Hmmmph.” “She didn’t want us to know,” Carolina chimed in after her sisters, giving her a big stink-eye.
Lexi’s gut clenched. It wasn’t that she was purposefully deceiving her sisters. She’d never do that. She loved her sisters more than her own life, but Jarrod was… well, a pain in her ass for starters. They had this weird chemistry that tended to raise its head at inopportune times, like when they met for e-discovery six months ago. Then there was the time at a corporate mixer right after she’d moved to D.C. when she’d made a poor attempt at flirting with him and he’d been a first-rate dick. After that, she put all her effort into being the best at her job, but he always seemed one step ahead of her — the golden boy getting the sweetest cases, making partner at an ungodly young age, the highest earnings. Just thinking about it made her blood heat. Not that she wanted what Jarrod had. She’d come to terms with the kind of lawyer she wanted to be fresh out of law school. She wanted to look at herself in the mirror every day and not cringe. Lexi looked around at her sisters, suddenly aware they’d gone quiet. “I… ah… it didn’t seem important.” Flimsy excuse, but how could she explain? She looked at Lydia for help. Lyd understood she was the more private of the two, that sometimes she needed to work things out in her head before talking about them with her sisters.
But it was Carolina who came to her rescue. “You can hide out up here if you need to, but I’ll be downstairs celebrating with my husband.” She lifted her eyebrows with a grin. “Is it time to get dressed?
“Hell, yes.” Lexi said, grateful for the attention to be off her for the moment. She crossed the room and grabbed Caro’s dress from where it hung off the top of the closet door. “This is your day. I can handle Mr. Shark Attack downstairs, and I promise not to make a scene.” She turned, draping the silky satin over her arm. “You’re going to make the perfect bride.”
Carolina reached for her hand. “And you’re going to make the perfect bridesmaid.” She looked around the room. “All of you. I couldn’t imagine doing this without my sisters.”
Lexi’s gut clenched at the sound of a knock, then promptly released when her mother entered. Jeezus, one interaction with Jarrod, and she was jumpy as a newborn filly. “Lex, will you hold Bubba? I want to give Carolina her shoes.”
“Of course. I can’t wait to make faces at my little chubbikins,” she cooed, taking her nephew into her arms. Lexi retreated to the corner, heart full as Lydia presented Carolina with a pair of luxurious black and gold boots. “Your talent never ceases to amaze me Lyds,” she said with pride in her voice.
Her twin flashed her a smile. “Don’t worry. Someday I’ll make you a pair.”
“Ha. I don’t think so. I’m happy to be auntie to all your kids.”
“Don’t be so quick to write yourself off, sweetie pie,” her mother scolded. “You’ve got enough brains in your head for all of us, and someday you’ll meet a man who appreciates that.”
Lexi made a face. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, ma. But I’m perfectly happy on my own.”
Dottie bent to pat her cheek. “You know I adore all my girls.” Her voice grew thick. “You’re the joy of my life. And little Bubba, too.”
“Mama, help me with my veil?” Carolina called.
Dottie’s hands shook as she helped tuck the veil into Carolina’s bun. She was trying her damndest to keep it together, but Lexi could tell she was struggling. They all were. After all Carolina had endured, seeing her radiate happiness made them all a little choked up. Lexi brushed at a tear as Dottie made her excuses and slipped out the door.
A flash lit up the room, followed by a loud crack of thunder. “Ooh, no,” Lydia wailed. “You can’t have rain.”
“It’s okay.” Cassie rushed to Carolina’s side. “We moved the decorations twenty-minutes ago.”
“Besides,” Lexi added, bringing Bubba’s tiny little fingers to her lips. “Rain is good luck, right?” she cooed. “And you’re going to be just as beautiful in front of the fireplace as you would on the porch.”
Another knock sounded at the door, and this time, Lexi remembered to breathe. There was no way Jarrod would dare venture upstairs. Colton Kincaid, Lydia’s husband, stuck his head in. “You want me to take the little man?”
Lydia nodded at Lexi, and Lexi crossed the room, reluctantly handing her nephew over to his daddy. “He sure is a sweet thing.”
Colton beamed. “Lydia’s already made him a pair of cowboy boots.”
“I’m sure she has,” Lexi said, casting a wry look at her sister. “I’d be shocked if she hadn’t.”
“Are we ready, sisters?” Cassidy asked, pulling out bouquets of green and white hydrangeas from the floral box.
“More than ready,” answered Carolina as she took her bouquet and stepped through the bedroom door.
“I’ll bring up the rear,” Lexi volunteered.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Lydia contradicted, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the door. “Tits up, sis. Show whatshisface what you’re made of.” She squeezed her hand before turning and heading down the stairs.
The rain pounded on the roof, drowning out the anxious buzzing in her ears, as she followed Carolina and Lydia down the stairs. The living room was crowded with happy faces, and while Lexi kept her eyes firmly on her sister, she was instantly aware of Jarrod’s presence in the room. Without even turning her head, she could sense his sheer physicality off to her right, like they had some weird electric connection. The ceremony lasted all of fifteen minutes, culminating in a loud crash of thunder that rattled the windowpanes. Lexi jumped at the noise, but no one noticed because everyone’s eyes were glued to the kissing couple. Everyone’s except Jarrod’s. His gaze collided with hers, and she couldn’t look away.
Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading and warming her like hot, melted caramel, until she was sure her face was as pink as her dress, and the ache that had been tickling her pussy for the last hour, intensified into a throb that made it hard to concentrate on anything else.
Something must be wrong with her. She didn’t react to men like this. Except for Jarrod. Always Jarrod. She’d caught him on occasion staring at her like this — once in the law library years ago, more recently in the courtroom, and once at a mixer. Her body had reacted in kind, but the looks had been so fleeting, she’d been sure her mind was playing tricks on her. Now, she wasn’t so sure. And that was very, very bad.
Chapter Three
By the time Jarrod made it back to the kitchen the party was over, except for a few stragglers sharing shots and smoking cigars in front of the dwindling bonfire in the barnyard. Jamey had patted him on the cheek as she and Brodie departed with Fiona, and with a wink, reminded him that her bottle of 12-year Redbreast was still in the kitchen. “Call if you’re too far gone to drive. Fiona will be up,” she added with a cackle.
“I’m not—”
Jamey shook her head. “Deny all you want.” She leaned in close. “My shenanigans sniffer is set to sensitive.”
He was pleasantly buzzed, no more. “Join us, Jare,” one of the veterans from the ranch next door called.
He shook his head, loosening his tie. “No thanks. I’m headed out.” He’d grab the Redbreast and be on his way. The reception had been more stressful than he’d anticipated.
For hours, now, he and Alexis had been circling each other in some kind of weird, electric dance. Whatever room he was in, whoever he was chatting with, the second she came into proximity, every cell in his body came alive. And it didn’t help that as the evening wore on, and she became more relaxed, all he could think about was fisting his hand in those sexy dark waves and pulling her in for a kiss.
He should have kissed her years ago when he’d had the opportunity, scratched the itch and moved on. But they’d been playing a game of one-upsmanship at some professional mixer, the details of which he could barely recall, and he’d wanted to win. So instead of asking her out and then kissing her like any sane man would have done, he took the cheap shot, and crushed her. He’d never regretted that choice until now.
Here, in Prairie, was a side of Alexis he’d never encountered. Yes, he could see she was happy for her sister, but for the first time he could see a tapestry of other emotions cross her face. The way her mouth pulled in when she was blinking back tears, the adoring look she cast at her nephew, the tiny eye-roll accompanied by an amused smirk, when Brodie made a bawdy comment. He couldn’t stop staring. And it occurred to him that the Alexis he was seeing here was the real one, not the tough-as-nails D.C. attorney who mercilessly went in for the kill. She was a conundrum. An exercise in contrasts. And god help him, he wanted to explore that.
He stopped short at the kitchen door. The Redbreast wasn’t on the counter where Jamey had told him it would be. It had been moved to the antique farm table. “Alexis?” he asked, not quite believing his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
She giggled. “Didn’t I already ask you that?”
“Are you drunk?”
She eyed him, then drained the glass, setting it back on the table a little too hard. “Nope. Just assessing my life. Like I’ve done at all my sisters’ weddings. I’m the last one, you know. They’re all looking at me, now.”
He folded his arms. “You’re drunk.”
She shook her head. “Pensive? Yes. Broody? Maybe. Drunk? I don’t get drunk.”
Truth. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her lose control.
She poured out a finger of whiskey into the glass and lifted it. “A toast to your upcoming loss?”
Fuck, she was cocky. It was sexy as hell. “I don’t lose.” He had a perfect trial record to prove it.
“Everybody has to lose sometime, hotshot.”
“And you think this trial is it?”
She nodded. “I know so.”
He edged toward the table. “Why don’t we talk something besides shop?”
“Like what? That’s all lawyers talk about.”
Like how about we kiss instead of talk? He cleared his throat. “I’m sure we can find something else to talk about.”
A slow smile crept up her face. “Dirty limericks.”
“Dirty limericks?” Was she for real? “You’re beyond drunk.”
“Nope. Just beyond the point of giving any shits.”
He pulled out a chair, the scrape of it against the linoleum cutting through the quiet. “I will beat you.”
“You only think you can.” She splashed more booze in the glass and pushed it across the table. “First person to crack has to confess.”
Fuck. It hit him like a Mac truck. This was the game they’d been playing when he’d crushed her. Or something like it. And when her confession had hinted at her desire for something more, he’d crushed her, going for the cheap win and the laugh. He never forgot the hurt in her eyes, though. Even now, years later, sometimes it still made him uneasy. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. Shake on the rules?”
He extended his hand. Her hand was soft and warm, encased in his. And given the way her eyes widened, she felt the same electricity zipping up her arm. Fuck. He was wading into dangerous waters, and for once, he didn’t really care about the consequences. His mouth went dry as he continued to stare at her, face flushed from the evening, eyes bright — but definitely not glazed. “You go first,” he said after clearing his throat.”
She straightened in her chair and rolled back her shoulders. “Here’s to you, here’s to me. Best of friends we’ll never be. And inevitably when we disagree, fuck you, here’s to me.” She raised the glass then drained it in one long swallow.
Huh. He folded his arms, fighting a smile. “Points for originality and changing the words, but that’s not really dirty.”
She pushed the empty glass across the table. “Fine. Your turn.”
He poured a finger’s depth, and drummed his fingers on the table, raising a finger after a minute. “Ah. Here we go. Here's to the breezes that blow through the trees… That blow the skirts off of young girls' knees… Which lead to the sights that sometimes pleases… But more often leads to social diseases.” He drained his glass, following her lead.
She crossed her arms with a scowl. “You call that dirty? That’s sexist.”
“How is that sexist?”
“Because the only way a girl catches something is from a man. If you’re going to go that direction, then you better make sure you reference your own lack of… discipline.”
He raised his hands. “Hey, don’t be mad at me. I always use condoms.”
She braced her hands on the table. “And how many interns have you screwed since moving to D.C.?”
He snorted. “Not as many as you think, sweetheart.”
“You don’t get to call me that,” she said primly. “I’m neither your sweetheart, nor your friend.”
“But I’m friend enough to exchange dirty limericks?” For once, he wanted to hear her admit that she might be wrong.
That seemed to take her aback. “Okay, fine. But you’re not a confidante.”
What would it take to become her confidante? To break down her wall of defenses and see the unguarded woman he’d watched this evening when she thought he wasn’t looking? He splashed some more whiskey in the glass, but not very much. He’d have to wait to drive, now, but there was no way he was calling his sister to come get him. The last time that had happened he’d been twenty-two, and she’d barely had her license. “Your turn.”
She tapped her lip. “Yes,” she said with a smile. The smile she gave him was genuine, and it warmed him to his toes. It did other things to his balls. “I have one.” She raised the glass. “Here’s to heat.”
“That’s it? That’s not even a limerick.”
“Shh. Not done.” Her lips pursed together. “Not the kind that ignites and burns down shanties…” she raised an eyebrow. “But the kind that excites, and slides down panties.”
He reached for the glass as soon as she set it back on the table. “Here’s to panties,” he countered while pouring. “They’re not the best thing in the world, but they’re damn close to it.”
“I prefer boxer briefs,” she said with a straight face.
He blinked. “Wearing them?”
She giggled. “No, silly. You wearing them. Me taking them off.”
He choked on the whiskey. “I don’t think you meant that,” he said when he could breathe again.
“Of course
not.” She shook her head, but her cheeks had turned the most delightful shade of pink. “It was a metaphor. An example,” she mumbled.
Except now, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head of what it would be like for her to remove his boxer briefs and pull out his cock. Arousal sliced through him, chasing away his mellow buzz. Fuck. He wanted her hands on his cock. Her mouth, her everything. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. He was wading into dangerous waters, and for once, he didn’t really care. He splashed more whiskey into the cup and swallowed it, out of turn. He needed to get his head back in the game. “May you never want for a fuck, nor yet a prick, or cunt to suck.”
Her eyes jerked to his. “Ooooh. Very naughty. And I don’t, thank you,” she answered again in that schoolmarm voice he found so fucking hot.
“I can’t imagine you would,” he murmured more to himself than her.
“What? What did you say?”
He looked straight at her. “I said…” why was his chest thumping? He cleared his throat. “I said, I can’t imagine you would. You’re very beautiful. Especially like this.” He waved at her. “All soft and sweet. A man would be a fool not to kiss you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You mean he’d be a fool not to ask to kiss me.”
He leaned across the table. “If I asked would you say yes?” Warning bells sounded in his head. This was the whiskey talking. Sober Jarrod would never be this forward with Alexis, even if everything he was thinking was true. He wanted to kiss her as much as he wanted to breathe.
She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. “Eat me, beat me, bite me, blow me.”
His stomach dropped to his toes. The look in her eyes burned him, incinerated his insides, and made his cock grow six-fold until it tented his slacks. Fuck.
