Whiskey and Serendipity (Hemlock Creek Book 1)

by Josie Kerr

  “Fuck, Kat,” he ground out, ceasing to move. He felt her flex around him, and he placed his hand on her mound. “Baby, no condom.”

  “Pill. I’m on the pill.” She flexed again, and that little twinkle returned to her gaze. “Let’s finish this, mister.”

  Cal didn’t move for a moment, weighing what she was saying, the amount of trust they were putting in each other. And then he began to move with slow, languid motions designed to drive her to the brink. She thrashed against him as he rocked in and out. Then he bent down at caught her mouth in a hard kiss, each thrust of his hips bumping against her most sensitive bundle of nerves. She wrapped herself around him, and when he didn’t think he could last a moment longer, he heard her breathing change, a quiet moan that built into a cry, and then he let himself go to soar with her.

  “Kat,” he moaned into her ear. “Kathleen.” He kept repeating her name as his body slowed, until finally, they lay on the floor, completely still, wrapped around each other and whispering the other’s name.

  ´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´

  Cal didn’t remember moving to the bed, but when he woke with a start, he was under the covers. He sat up in the bed and found Kat wearing a sheepish grin and his dress shirt, and, damn, she looked good. She had a butter knife and a plate in her hand, and she glanced at a plate cover, which he assumed was responsible for the noise.

  “Our late lunch was hours ago, and I got a little hungry, so I ordered some food.” She gave him another grin and climbed over the bed, plate still in her hand.

  “Banger?” she asked, waggling the sausage in front of his face before taking a bite out of it, leading Cal to cup his own personal sausage protectively. Kat cackled and settled into the crook of his arm and laid her head on his shoulder.

  They sat there in the bed, nestled together, nibbling on the food Kat brought to their nest and sharing kisses. Cal set the empty plate on the nightstand and turned to Kat, who moved very close to him and looped her arms around his neck.

  “You okay?” She was playing with the curls at the base of his hairline, running her fingers through his hair and dragging her fingernails lightly along his scalp.

  “My old man died and I kind of fell apart. It wasn’t unexpected. He got a terminal diagnosis and they gave him six weeks. Of course, the sumbitch lasted eighteen months.” That comment got a smile out of Kat, which, of course, made him smile, because her grin was contagious. “There’s a whole lot of bullshit I’m not going to go into, but I came into some money, and Amanda started hinting that we should make it official. And I thought, ‘Well, why the fuck not? I mean, I’m a forty-fucking-five-year-old professional bartender, and this twenty-three-year-old debutante wants to marry me? Hell, I’m not gonna have a better option.’ ”

  “Twenty-three?!” Kat gaped at him before scowling. “You should have known better.”

  Cal snorted and kissed Kat on the nose. “I should have, and I did, really, but I ignored all the little warning signs of her cheating and her gold-digging.”

  “And so what happened, baby?” Kat had resumed running her fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp, so he closed his eyes and just . . . talked. Talked about how his preoccupation satisfying his young bride-to-be and her demands distracted him from building the business. Recounted those awful first few days after the discovery when he wouldn’t get out of bed, and how those days turned into weeks.

  “So how did . . .?”

  “I’d been pumping seed money into the restaurant, basically keeping it afloat. When it came time to pay for the wedding of a marriage that didn’t last, I was stuck with the bill—because I insisted I was man enough to pay for a silly girl’s extravagant dream wedding, right?—and was too busy wallowing to care about what was really important and too damn selfish enough to think about my best friend, who was stuck trying to make this dream of his, of ours, a reality. I just handed over everything to the man who took my wife. I really didn’t get that until today.”

  Kat snuggled in close and squeezed him tight. Cal slipped his hand under the shirt she wore, and was pleased to find out that she was nude beneath it. He cradled her rump in his hand and was rewarded with a throaty laugh.

  “Are you going to be all right, Cal?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine. We Harpers are a resilient bunch. Soon as I get back, I’ve got a gig lined up with another pub. It’s more traditional, but it’s struggling, mainly because they undercharge like crazy. It’s got good bones and a regular clientele, though, so it’s salvageable.”

  “Fixing this other bar isn’t going to take away the crap with Pickett and Spence, you know.”

  Cal barked a laugh. “Damn, you are a straight shooter, Kat Fahey.” He kissed her forehead and then turned and nudged her face up so he could place a kiss on her lips. “I really like that about you. You call me on my shit.” Then he kissed her again.

  Cal sighed and spent the next few moments playing with Kat’s hair and thinking. “Yeah, I know it won’t. But I can help this crew out, so I am. You know?”

  “I know,” Kat said, smiling sweetly at him.

  “So what about you?”

  “Oh, I am starting to seriously look for a new job, and quick, like ASAP. But I’ll be okay. Everything will work out. ‘If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.’ What? What is that face?”

  Cal stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Our mother had a plaque in the kitchen that said that. Haven’t thought about that in years.”

  “Well, I firmly believe that. It’s a philosophy that’s worked for me so far.”

  Kat pet his face, stroking the stubble on his cheeks, and Cal found himself wanting to tell her to move to Atlanta, which was crazy, right? They’d known each other for four days. Four days. But this . . . thing . . . they were having seemed so . . . real. Much more real than his relationship with Amanda. Cal swallowed hard and noticed that Kat was back to chewing her lip. She huffed a little sigh and mouthed a silent, “I know.” Cal had no option but to pull her close and make love to her to thank her for giving him this week.

  Kat woke up in a cold sweat despite the snoring human heater next to her. She’d been dreaming about work, showing up at the office to find it populated with nothing but Topher clones. Talk about a nightmare. But she wasn’t surprised she’d dreamed about it, given the emotional intensity of the day. She stirred, kicking the sheets off so she could feel the cool air of the room on her bare body. Cal seemed to sense her restlessness as he groped for her in his sleep. Kat caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, and he responded by gently stroking her cheek. He mumbled something that sounded like “Stay with me forever” before he returned to a deeper sleep, still cradling her cheek in his big hand.

  Kat scooted a little closer to Cal, rolling onto her side so she could look at him, as if the planes of his handsome face weren’t already seared in her memory. She hadn’t meant to get attached. This was supposed to have been a one-time thing, a fling like she’d never had before. But now it was taking every ounce of her resolve to not wake him by taking him in her mouth and not stopping until he’d come to completion this time.

  But she didn’t. She just kissed his chest and slipped out of the bed to get dressed, which she did hurriedly. The last thing she wanted was an awkward scene if he caught her sneaking out, which she most definitely was doing. Because she was a coward, a big fat chicken who couldn’t bear to say goodbye to possibly the sweetest, sexiest, most caring man she’d ever had the privilege to encounter.

  She made it to the elevator before she started sobbing. Who knew you could fall in love in four days? Her best friend would tell her it was not love but just a crush, an infatuation because he was charming and had a beautiful cock. But Kat knew that this . . . this fling . . . they’d agreed on was much, much more.

  She collapsed in the door and had to laugh at the state of her room. It was like her room was a physical manifestation of her mental state: a complete, utter wreck. She leaned back against the closed do
or and shut her eyes, letting the memories of the past week wash over her, though she pushed the niggling anxieties about her job and yesterday’s sheer craziness away. She’d unpack that mess when she unpacked her suitcase.

  As for now, she was going to indulge in one last full Irish breakfast and then head to the airport.

  ´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´

  Breakfast didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it made her feel kind of sick, so she bided her time in the US Preclearance lounge, sulking and sipping on some truly excellent ginger ale. She was flipping through books on her e-reader, trying to find a thriller, something that maybe entailed a frustrated female business development specialist strangling a coworker who happened to be her ex-husband, and getting away with it, when a hand appeared in front of the screen.

  She huffed out an impatient breath because Topher was the last person she wanted to see today, much less be stuck on a plane with for seven-plus hours. And then a realization hit her: she was officially frozen out of her accounts, and from her experience, people who got benched usually didn’t get back in the game. Plus, now that Topher was a senior vice president, she couldn’t report to him, because of nepotism rules. Therefore, Topher wasn’t her coworker, or her superior, or anything except a pain-in-the-posterior ex-husband. And as a pain-in-the-posterior ex, she didn’t owe him a thing.

  “Go away, Topher,” she said, not raising her head to look at him or even to acknowledge him other than giving his intrusive hand a hard flick.

  He snatched his hand away, so mission accomplished.

  “Ow! What did you do that for, Kitten?”

  She continued scrolling through the books and ignoring him while he loomed over her. He cleared his throat. He sat down next to her. He moved to the side of her. He moved across from her, and she still kept her attention on the glowing screen in front of her.

  “Jesus Christ, Kat, look at me!”

  Kat raised her head and shot him what her other coworkers called her Medusa Stare. He froze. They stared at each other for a few beats, and then Kat raised her eyebrows at him in silent question. She really didn’t care what he had to say, but she was enjoying seeing him squirm. And he was definitely squirming.

  “Look, Kat, I think we might have been a little . . . unprofessional when we announced the restructuring.”

  “We”? Who does this joker think he is? The king? Who is this “we”?

  Kat thought of all the ways she could respond but ended up shrugging noncommittally and going back to her book.

  “I mean it, Kitten.” The detested nickname got her to look up, and he quickly corrected his address. “Er, Kat. Let’s talk about this over dinner when we get in.”

  “No.”

  “Great. I knew—what?”

  “I said no. We will not talk about this over dinner. I already have dinner plans.”

  “Who the hell with? Don’t tell me it’s with that Hillbilly Harper guy?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, it’s not with Calhoun. He’s probably back in Atlanta already.” Kat’s voice stayed steady, but her stomach clenched as she spoke. Topher motioned for her to go on, and she gave him a deadly smile. “I’m meeting with your uncle Donald.”

  All the blood drained from Topher’s face, leaving his spray tan looking like a coat of shoe polish over his skin. “You don’t need to meet with Uncle Donald. Your accounts are frozen.”

  “Oh, this is purely a postmortem of the conference. Would you like me to tell him hello? Oh, wait—you talked to Donald yesterday morning when you orchestrated your little coup, didn’t you? You are one arrogant son of a bitch, Topher, but I don’t think you’re really dedicated enough to pull this off.”

  “Kat, surely there’s no need—”

  “Oh, hell yes, there’s a need, but I’m not discussing anything further, because I’m being audited, right? That means this is an active legal case. And—”

  Kat’s tirade was interrupted by the desk attendant calling for the flight to board, and Kat had never been so pleased to sit in economy than she was that day. She walked down the aisle, looking for her seat, and saw a familiar face.

  “Hello again,” she said pleasantly as she slid her tote under the seat.

  The man clicked his pen. “Hello. It seems to be a small world on the airplane, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does.”

  Kat settled in, fastened her seat belt, and did all the things one does when preparing for a long flight. She also felt like she was going to barf. She snagged the flight attendant, who refused to serve her, and then she was almost ready to cry. Feeling a growing sense of loss, she concentrated on her tablet, opening a game but not playing. Mr. PenClicker scratched answers down on his crossword, and a fellow two seats down was unwrapping lozenges and sniffling like it was going out of style.

  “Folks, we’re waiting on a few people from connecting flights, but we should be on our way shortly.”

  Kat sighed, impatient to get going. Not that she had anywhere to be, really. She didn’t lie to Topher about the dinner plans, but anxiety about the uncertainty of her new situation was beginning to outweigh any excitement. Coupled with her sense that she’d really, really screwed up with Cal, Kat was beginning to wish she had a sleeping pill to get her through the flight. Maybe she’d take a page from the Cal Harper playbook and drink herself into oblivion.

  She sucked in a shuddering breath as she watched the last stragglers come onto the plane and mentally prepared herself to sit next to someone who was, hopefully, neither a pen clicker nor a sniffer.

  “Excuse me, sir, my seat is right next to yours.”

  Kat raised her head at the now-familiar deep voice, and Cal’s blue eyes blazed at her from the aisle.

  “You were supposed to be on the nine o’clock to Atlanta.” Kat licked her lips, not quite convinced that he was really standing in the aisle with the Sniffler between them.

  “I was. And then I realized I’d rather check out Boston.” He turned to the Sniffler. “I’m gonna need to get my ass in that seat, sir.”

  And then Cal was sitting right there, looking at her. He stuck out his hand.

  “Hello. I’m Calhoun Harper, and I’m up for anywhere, anytime, as long as I’m with you.”

  Six Weeks Later

  “Exactly how many pairs of panties do you have?” Cal’s sandpaper-and-whiskey voice rumbled, sending shivers down Kat’s spine and making her stomach turn flips. Even after dozens of phone calls and texts, she still got a little thrill when she saw his name on the screen, and now, on their nightly call, she had a sense of anticipation that she hadn’t had in years. Every night was like the best birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. “Kat? You still there?”

  “Oh! Um. I don’t know exactly. A lot?” Kat eyed the lump of laundry at the end of the bed. Maybe her lingerie habit was a bit excessive. “Why are you asking how many lingerie sets I have?”

  “Because, darlin’, you’ve described your panties to me every night for six weeks, and I don’t think you’ve repeated a pair.” He chuckled and quickly added, “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Well, I like variety.” Kat suddenly had a visual of looking down on Cal’s broad shoulders and him gazing up at her with a devilish smile on his handsome face as he tore into the elastic of her G-string. “And besides, I seem to remember several pairs getting ripped.”

  Cal’s growly laugh shot straight to the spot between her thighs. “I promised you I’d replace them if I could see you model.”

  Kat could hear Cal shifting, making himself comfortable, and she bit her lip in anticipation. It had been six weeks since she’d said goodbye to him at the airport after he’d spent a week at her apartment. Those six weeks included at least one call a day, but usually two, and countless texts. They’d gotten into a routine, and his little sounds indicated that he was settling in to get her all hot and bothered.

  “So, chickadee, what do you have on for me tonight? Those little shorty-shorts? An
d a tank top?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and she slid her hand beneath the sleep shorts. “But I’m not wearing any of the panties.”

  Cal’s breath caught. “Holy shit. Just you, those red curls, and the little shamrocks, huh? Hot damn.”

  The change in his breathing told her he was stroking himself. “And what do you have for me tonight?” Kat bantered back, knowing full well he was probably stretched out in his birthday suit.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I have a whole hell of a lot of affection for you. Like ten inches? Something?” When she laughed at his cheesiness, Cal huffed with mock offense. “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh, I believe you,” she replied with a little giggle.

  “I like that giggle, Miss Fahey. That giggle means you’re up to something. Maybe touching yourself?”

  “Mm-hmm, maybe . . .” Kat pushed her hand deeper into her sleep shorts, between her folds, lightly brushing that nub of sensitive nerves between her legs. She whispered his name.

  “I wish I was there to put my mouth on you, darlin’, with my tongue where your hand is, tasting you.” Cal’s breathing became more ragged, and Kat imagined him stroking himself.

  “Yes . . .”

  Kat pushed three fingers into her aching core, wanting to replicate the feel of Cal’s cock buried deep inside her. Of course, it wasn’t the same without his weight pressing her into the mattress or his heat against her back as he took her from behind, but she had to make do, at least until they were in the same city again.