by L. B. Dunbar
In addition, there’s a cozy corner in the back where I have a loveseat and an overstuffed chair for those who want to linger and read in quiet. It’s a tight fit in the corner for my First Chapter Fridays, but I don’t want to move the book night to another location. The point is to bring readers into the store and discuss books.
However, Billy’s presence at my home has the rumors circulating as we convene the Friday after his Oktoberfest.
“So, a certain someone has been seen frequenting the upper stairs of this place,” Cora Conrad simpers, eyeing the rest of the other ladies present tonight. Alyce Wright, an English teacher at the high school and assistant girls’ volleyball coach to Mati Harrington, is present, along with Hetty Miller, owner of the floral shop down the street. Penelope Stryder, the owner of Pearl’s next door, two newbies, and Cora, who’s really been on my nerves this week, are also in attendance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, keeping my eyes on the book before me, flipping pages well past chapter one in my haste to avoid this topic.
“I’ll give everyone a hint. He’s tall. Silver on top and dark on the bottom. Oh my, that sounds scandalous, and I think he works right—”
“Alyce, why don’t you begin this month?” I interject, cutting off Cora who’s craning her neck like she can see through some nonexistent window behind my head and peer across the street.
“I’d be happy to,” Alyce replies, giving me a wink, which I appreciate, and she begins to read a new MC book about a woman returning to her small town after a broken marriage and meeting a man she never meant to love. It sounds similar to our community with Rebel’s Edge outside of town, and I notice Cora grow more uncomfortable with each passage.
“I think it sounds wonderful,” Hetty says when Alyce finishes.
“I think it sounds impossible,” Cora mutters, her eyes focused on the cover of the book in her hands.
“I think it all sounds like a bunch of romantic hullabaloo,” a masculine voice interjects, and we all look up to see Billy Harrington in his Friday finest—jeans and a BRMP tee. “The real thing can do better than that.” His smoky-brown eyes land on mine, and a slow, cocky grin grows. I have no idea what he means, but if he’s implying he’s the real thing and can fulfill fantasies, I’m certain he isn’t wrong. I’ve been dreaming of him all week.
“Thought you ladies might like a little sample with your reading hour.”
A few ladies break into a wave of snickers, and Billy clarifies his innuendo by holding up two growlers of craft beer. Did he bring us his fall blend?
“I’d love one.” Alyce smiles appreciatively, and I stand for my office.
“I’ll see if I have any plastic cups.” I pass Billy and enter my office, needing a moment to ponder his presence.
“Roxie,” he addresses me from behind, startling me, and I jump before spinning to face him.
“William.” I draw in a breath, the sound of his name ragged on my lips. “That was sweet of you. I’ve always wanted to do a pairing of your beer with books.”
“Really?” His brows rise, but his expression looks sheepish. “My sister had the same idea for a while as well, but I wouldn’t let her.” His lips clamp shut after he speaks as if he’s said too much, and I take a moment to digest what he’s said.
“You wouldn’t let her?” I question. He looks away from me, and I form my own assumptions. “Because you don’t like me.”
His face returns to me, and his brows rise even higher, wrinkling his forehead. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Roxie.” He steps forward, filling my personal space, and I try to step back but bump into my desk. Everything in my shop feels too small tonight, and I can’t get enough air, especially with him standing so close before me. “Not dislike.” His voice lowers, and he brushes back my hair, his eyes following the motion as he curls his fingers around my ear and then pauses on my neck. His thumb reaches for the corner of my lip. The corner he kissed that first night.
The corner that’s never been kissed like that.
His eyes leap up, and I swallow.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Like how, Roxie?” His thumb strokes over the curl of my mouth, rubbing back and forth on the edge.
“I’ve never had a corner-lip kiss.” I exhale with the admission, a cross between relief and embarrassment. Billy’s lip crooks again, and another cocky grin appears.
“I’m happy to be your first.” The statement is filled with suggestion, only the ship of my virginity sailed long ago. Still, there are many firsts I haven’t had. Positions. Locations. This man.
What am I thinking?
My hands lift to push him away, only my fingers dig into the shoulders of his tee as if tugging him to me.
“You’ve been so busy this week.” His eyes scan my face but eventually land on my mouth. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about last weekend.”
“Life of a small business owner,” I jest, hoping he’ll understand. “Although you’re hardly small business in this town.” He doesn’t fall for the compliment or allow me to divert us. I’m expecting a retort of how big he is when he only whispers my name, and the brush of air crosses my lips.
“I apologized,” I stammer as if that clarifies everything.
“For puking on my boots.” He chuckles, watching his finger trace over the lower curve of my mouth. “But do you remember apologizing for nearly kissing me?”
“Why would I try to kiss you?” I stammer defensively against what I did try to do. Billy purrs in response.
“You also told me a few other things that night.”
Panic settles in quickly. What could I have said to him? Oh, God, there are so many things. My stomach flips, and my shoulders fall.
Your eyes are beautiful.
You are an incredibly sexy man.
I’m attracted to you more than I should be.
“You told me you’d never had a man take care of you like I did.”
I pause, blinking up at him. “What?” I choke. We didn’t do anything. I’d have known, right? I would have felt something, aftereffects or…Billy wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t take advantage of someone in my condition.
“You were so sick, and I held back your hair. Then I brushed your teeth for you and washed off your face.”
Oh. “You did?” How could I not remember these things?
“I led you to bed, and you kept apologizing, telling me you didn’t mean to kiss me, and it would never happen again.”
Oh God, but it’s true. I wouldn’t ever offer myself up to him again, but then I feel the warmth of his fingers against my neck while his thumb continues to rub my lip, and I’m a mess even lower. I’d throw myself at him in a heartbeat if I knew he wouldn’t reject me again.
“Then you told me you could fall in love with me.”
I gasp. If I said that, it was the worst attempt at a seduction in the history of seductions. On the other hand, I would never admit to him how I could fall in love with him under better conditions. My eyes freeze on his face. I don’t think I even blink. “I did not say that.”
“I guess you’ll never know.” The corner of his lip curls even deeper while he continues to watch his thumb outlining my lips.
I decide ignorance is bliss and continue to pretend I didn’t do what he said. “Why would I want to kiss you?” I adamantly defend, returning to the first offense.
“Me thinks she doth protest too much.” One brow tweaks.
“I don’t,” I state, although I’m unsteady as I speak, and my eyes continue to drift to his lips.
“Oh, but you do.”
“Why would I want to kiss you?” I repeat as if I’m looking for an answer. The one where he tells me he wants to kiss me.
“Because you know it might be the best kiss of your life,” he teases.
“You are so full of it,” I snap, our eyes locking. Fine. I can play his game. “Kissing you would mean nothing.”
“I guess we’l
l never know,” he mocks, and I take the challenge. I lean into him, clamping my lips over his. My first thought is he won’t escape me again. My second is I can’t believe I’ve thrown myself at him again, and my final thought is, I hate when he’s right.
Our mouths move like they were meant to be pressed together. His hand cups the back of my neck, holding me in place as he quickly takes control of the moment, no longer allowing me to lead but him to command. He wants my lips, my tongue, my breath, and he’s stealing it all from me. And I’m giving it to him like the fool I am.
The desk edge bites into the back of my thighs as my full body presses against the wood. I’m leaning back when I realize where this could lead, but like I challenged of him, this will mean nothing. I press at his shoulders, not as forcefully as that first time but enough to signal I’m done. Billy pulls back reluctantly, stealing another quick tug before meeting my eyes. His brow arches in question.
“See? Nothing,” I lie as my stomach flutters and my palms sweat. A beat races at my core. My voice betrays me. I’d keep kissing him if I didn’t think he gave in to prove his point, and he proves mine with his next words.
“Kissing is my specialty, darlin’, and I know that was the best yet.”
The brakes on this moment screech to a halt.
“Because you’ve kissed a lot of women.” It’s more a reminder to myself of his history than a question asking for an answer.
“That I have,” he teases, but the words are like a slap of reality. My hands push at his shoulders, and he has the decency to step back, giving us some space. Shock fills his face. “I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t need to explain,” I snap. He’s had a lot of practice to perfect his craft while I’m relatively inexperienced compared to his done-it list, and compared to my first attempt, this goes down as the second worst seduction.
Billy scrubs a hand up his throat like he does and pauses under his chin.
“You still think I’m a total manwhore, don’t you?”
“Well, you just admitted it,” I say. We stand in a very precarious position, further justifying my thoughts, and not for the first time do I realize the real Billy Harrington and the fantasy of him are two different things.
“You know what, Roxie? You’re a piece of work,” he huffs, slapping a hand on his thigh and then turning for the door. He throws his hands up next. “I don’t know why I try with you.”
He takes two steps and spins back to me. “And for the record. It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, Roxanne. I think you’re fucking stunning and worthy of wall sex, but when you open that mouth…I just…dammit...I just can’t…”
Then he actually turns away and leaves me stumped for words.
17
Cat got her tongue
[Billy]
I cannot take her tongue, I think as I exit the back door of her store and return to the pub. I mean, I took her tongue and those lips. I want a few other body parts of hers, too, because the feel of her under my hands from the other night won’t leave my damn head. I didn’t take advantage of her. Didn’t grope a feel or experiment, but just having my hand on her hip and then slipping it forward to wrap my arm over her middle, something clicked inside me. I held her to my chest, possessively holding her as if I didn’t want to let her go, couldn’t let her go.
I could love you, Billy Harrington, and that would be the worst thing I could do.
That sharp tongue of hers—so help me God—I meant what I said. I don’t know why I try. I’m busting my balls to get to know Sadie and learn about Roxie at the same time, and I tried to do the right thing the other night by being a gentleman and not kissing her when all I wanted was to ravish that willing mouth. The same mouth that spewed on my boots and calls me a manwhore. Then I held her all night, although honestly, that wasn’t a conscious choice. I told myself I’d only lie down next to her and keep her on her side, so she didn’t vomit in her sleep, but as my arm wrapped over her and her fingers unconsciously brushed my arm, I was too comfortable. More comfortable than I’d been in a long time. Click-click, like the turn of a lock.
I don’t really cuddle. I’m not opposed to it, but I haven’t held someone other than my ex-wife. It felt awkward after random sex. Do I hold her all night when I don’t want to? Or do I hold her for a few minutes? But for how long? I was like Billy Crystal in that movie When Harry met Sally. How long was too long?
With Roxanne, it ended up being all night, and it didn’t feel long enough. Then she let me crawl back into her bed, but when I reached for her, she was gone. It was a strange feeling. The emptiness. I’m the one who always leaves. I’ll never allow myself to be left again. I’ll always be the first to exit, but I wasn’t in a rush that night, or in the early morning, or even later when Sadie asked me to stay for breakfast. I was relieved she asked as I didn’t want to beg to hang out, but I was close. Too close. I had to cut out of there when I started envisioning myself being there all day.
Roxie’s been so busy this week she’s hardly had time for Sadie, let alone me, and I didn’t like the feeling—the feeling of her ignoring me. I didn’t intend to confront her this evening. I was going to bring over the beer, hoping it might encourage the ladies to visit the bar afterward.
Oh, who am I kidding? I was hoping Roxie would visit the pub, only it’s been another strikeout.
Her mouth. It wants mine. The way her tongue peeks out and she nibbles at the tender skin of her lower lip, she wants me. I thought I’d bring over the beer, hang out a bit, and then…
What, Billy? What did you have planned? Taking her over her desk while the ladies wait outside? Not a bad thought but also not logical. I keep fucking everything up when it comes to this woman.
After entering the Blue Ridge Microbrewery & Pub, I slip behind the bar through the hinged service entrance and let the piece slam back into place as I stalk toward the taps. I’d snap someone’s head off for that behavior with the counter, but I’m not thinking straight. I’m headed straight for a beer. I pull back the tap and give myself a hearty pour. Then I drink the entire tallboy in one swallow.
“Didn’t go as planned?” Clyde teases beside me. He saw me leave with two large growlers, and without asking, his assumption of where I went can’t be denied. I continue to swallow, not acknowledging him. When I finish with a loud ah, I answer.
“Nothing with that woman ever does.”
“What happened this time?” Clyde chuckles.
“She accused me of being a manwhore.”
Clyde’s brows rise. “Did she say that?”
“No, I said I’ve kissed lots of women and—”
Clyde’s raised paw stops me. “And somehow you think that statement convinces her otherwise?” His expression turns stern, almost reprimanding. What is the deal with Clyde and Roxanne?
“Well, it’s true, but I was hoping to impress her with my kissing expertise.” I’m filling the glass again while I listen to myself, and the words sink to the pit of my stomach.
“And I’m sure that statement did the trick,” Clyde mumbles. I lift the glass and begin drinking again. What does he know about women? “A woman likes to feel special, one of a kind.”
Did I ask my question out loud, or is he suddenly into mind reading? I don’t stop to ask. I just continue guzzling down the crisp taste of our house specialty. It’s the head on this brew that makes it so good, and I chug it to keep the flavor consistent.
Let me give you a taste of my head, I like to joke as I pour for a flirtatious female customer.
“A woman wants to be wooed.” Clyde’s still rambling.
“She wants my wood,” I mutter, removing the empty glass from my lips and reaching for the tap again.
“Not your wood, nimrod. Wooed, like wined and dined. When’s the last time you took a woman on a date and not your office for a quickie?”
I don’t take women to my office. That’s my sacred space at the pub. But I can’t answer his question about a date. I haven’t dated in years
. The only time I take with a woman is the time it takes to…
“You sound like a goddamn woman, Clyde. How do you know so much about this shit?”
“I read,” he states proudly, standing to his full height and puffing out his chest. I shake my head. Well, that explains it.
You don’t touch a book, William. You read it. You enjoy it. And you’ll never read mine.
“Yeah, well, there’s a reason I don’t read,” I mumble. Too many words, like those that hurt.
18
Floored
[Roxanne]
By standing near the front counter, I see him coming before he even enters the store. I’m fixing a display on the side counter when his body appears in my periphery. I turn and watch as Billy crosses the street, holding up a hand to stop an oncoming car in order to reach my side of the road. My eyes remain fixed on him as he yanks open the front door that sits at an angle to the corner, and then he struts up to the counter, only he doesn’t stop to speak to me. He rounds it, takes the step up to the platform, and reaches for my wrist.
“William,” I snap as he tugs me forward. He looks both ways as if crossing a street, which is ironic, considering he charged right across the legitimate road outside and continues to drag me down the main aisle of my store.
“Got any customers in here?” he asks as he leads me toward the back, and I hustle to keep pace with him.
“No,” I answer too quickly. It’s Monday afternoon. Several businesses are closed on Monday, allowing themselves a break from the weekend visitors, but I like to remain open. I consider it my business day. Inventory checks. Restocking. Basic accounting. “But what are you doing?”
He tugs at my wrist in a way that I spin to face him, backing me up between travel books and writing manuals. His other hand comes for the nape of my neck, and he responds, “The ungentlemanly thing.”
His mouth crushes against mine. It’s a battle of wills for a moment. Mine is under surprise attack. His is out for total control. Eventually, we find common ground, and then we lower for it. His mouth is taking mine as if I’m the air he needs to breathe, and the pressure of his kiss is dragging me to the floor, literally. He lowers to his knees, bringing me with him, refusing to remove his mouth while keeping his grip on the back of my neck. Dammit. I hate when he’s right. He is the best kisser I’ve ever experienced. This, of course, reminds me of the other night, and how he reminded me he’s kissed many.
