Last First Kiss (Brightwater #1)
Page 23
The hair on the back of his neck tingled with the unmistakable sensation of being watched. He swiped suds from his eyes and turned, nearly nose to nose with the blank stare of the old man ventriloquist’s dummy.
“Fuck,” he barked, any better word lost in the shock.
“Great Uncle Sam don’t like it when menfolk cuss,” the dummy responded in a deep, Southern drawl. Other than the puppet on her hand, Dixie-Dorothy-Darby wore nothing but a suggestive smile.
“Uh . . . morning.” He plastered on his trademark grin. Time to charm his way out of here.
“No one’s ever made me come so hard.” The puppet’s mustache bobbed as he spoke, and more of last night’s drunken jigsaw snapped into place. Desdemona-Diana-Doris had gone on (and on) about her dream to become a professional ventriloquist. She’d brought out the puppet and made Old Uncle Sam dirty talk, which had been hilarious after Tequila Slammers, Snake Bites, Buttery Nipples, and 5 Deadly Venoms, plus a few bottles of champagne.
It was a whole lot less funny now.
“Hey, D, you mind giving me a sec? I’m going to finish off here.” When in doubt, refer to a woman by their first initial. Made you look affectionate instead of like an asshole.
“D?” rumbled Great Uncle Sam.
Damn. Apparently an initial wasn’t going to cut it.
Okay think . . . Dinah? No. Two rocks glinted from her lobes—a possible namesake. “Diamond?”
Great Uncle Sam slowly shook his head. Maybe it was Archer’s imagination, but the painted eyes narrowed fractionally. “Stormy.”
And so was her expression.
Shit, not even close.
“Stormy?” he repeated blankly. “Yeah, Stormy, of course. Beautiful name, makes me think of rain and . . . and . . . rainbows . . . and . . . ”
“You called it out enough last night, the least you could do is be a gentleman and remember it in the morning!” Great Uncle Sam head-butted him. Terrific, add splitting headache to his current list of troubles.
Archer scrambled from the shower before he got his bare ass taken down by a puppet. You didn’t fight back against a woman, even if they were trying to bash your brain in with Pinocchio’s deranged elderly uncle.
“Get the hell out,” Stormy said in her own voice, which sounded a lot more Jersey Shore than gentile Georgian peach farmer. She wasn’t half bad at the whole ventriloquist gig, but now wasn’t the time to offer compliments.
He threw on his Levis commando style while Stormy eyed his package, ready to go full-scale hurricane on his junk. Scooping his red Western shirt off the floor, he made a break for the bedroom. His boots were by the door but his hat was still on the bed, specifically, on Crystal’s head. Her sleepy expression gave way to confusion as Stormy sprang from the bathroom, Great Uncle Sam leading the charge.
“What’s going on?” Crystal said just as Stormy bellowed, “I’m going to kick your ass back into whatever cowpoke hole you crawled from.”
Hat? Boots? Hat or boots? Archer only had time to grab one. He slung his arms through the shirt, not bothering to snap the pearl clasps, and grabbed the hand-tooled boots while hurtling into the hall. Yeah, definitely getting too old for this shit.
“Lovely meeting you fine ladies,” he called over one shoulder as the dove swooped.
He bypassed the elevator bay in favor of the stairwell. Once he’d descended three floors, he paused to tug on his boots and his phone rang. Pulling it out from his back pocket, he groaned at the screen. Grandma Kane.
He could let it go to voice mail. In fact, he was tempted to do just that, but the thing about Grandma was she called back until you picked up.
With a heavy sigh, and a prayer for two Tylenol tablets, he hit answer. “How’s my favorite grandma in the world?” he boomed, propping the phone between his ear and shoulder and snapping together his shirt.
“Quit with your smooth talk, boy,” Grandma snapped. “Where are you?”
“Just leaving church,” he lied smoothly.
“Better not be the Little Chapel of Love.”
“What do you—”
“Don’t feed me bullhickey. You’re in Vegas again.”
Sawyer must have squeaked. As Brightwater sheriff, he was into upright citizenship and moral standing, nobler than George Washington and his fucking cherry tree.
“Did you forget our plans this weekend?”
“Plans?” He wracked his brain but thinking hurt. So did walking down these stairs. Come to think of it, so did breathing. He needed that coffee and bacon in a hurry.
Grandma made a rude noise. “To go over the accounts for Hidden Rock. You promised to set up the new purchase order software on the computer.”
Shit. His shoulders slumped. He had offered to help. Grandma ran a large, profitable cattle ranch, but the Hidden Rock’s inventory management was archaic, and the accounting practically done by abacus. In his hurry to see if an impromptu Vegas roadtrip could overcome his funk, the meeting had slipped his mind. “Let me make it up to you—”
“Your charm has no currency here, boy.” Grandpa Kane had died before Archer was born and Grandma had never remarried. Perhaps he should introduce her to Stormy’s Great Uncle Sam. Those two were a match made in heaven. They could spend their spare time busting his balls.
He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. “Guess I forgot.”
“Funny—guess you’re too busy using women like disposable silverware.” Grandma’s tone sounded anything but amused. “Even more funny will be when I forget to put you in my will.”
Grandma’s favorite threat was disinheriting him. Who cared? The guy voted “Biggest Partier” and “Class Flirt” his senior year at Brightwater High was also the least likely to run Hidden Rock Ranch.
The line went dead. At least she didn’t ask why he couldn’t be more like Sawyer anymore.
Whatever. Archer had it good, made great tips as a wrangler at a dude ranch. His middle brother took life seriously enough and he hadn’t seen his oldest one in years. Wilder worked as a smoke jumper in Montana. Sometimes Archer wondered what would happen if he cruised to Big Sky Country and paid him a surprise visit--maybe he had multiple sister wives or was a secret war lord.
Growing up, after their parents died in a freak house fire, they all slipped into roles. Wilder withdrew, brooding and angry, Sawyer became Mr. Nice Guy, always the teacher’s pet or offering to do chores. Archer rounded things out by going for laughs, practical jokes and causing trouble because someone had to remind everyone else not to take life so seriously. None of them were getting out alive.
Archer kept going down the flights of stairs, tucking in his shirt. Grandma’s words played on a loop in his mind. “Using women like disposable silverware.”
A good time was all he wanted. And Lord knew, those women used him right back.
It was fun, didn’t mean anything.
Meaningless. He ground his jaw so tight his teeth hurt. Casual sex on pool tables, washing machines, countertops, and lawn chairs filled his physical needs, but these random hook ups were starting to make him feel more and more alone.
On the ground floor, he pushed open the door with extra force. There were two corridors. He turned left for no reason other than that was the hand he favored. Seemed as if he chose wisely because a side entrance was just ahead. He walked outside, wincing at the morning sun even as he took a gulp of fresh air. Well, fresh for the Vegas Strip, but a far cry from the Eastern Sierra’s clean mountain breeze. His heart stirred. He’d have his breakfast and get on the road. As much as he liked leaving Brightwater, he always missed home.
Archer reached to adjust his hat and grabbed a handful of wet hair instead. Twelve stories above, a stripping magician had found herself a mighty fine Stetson. Everyone wanted him to take more responsibility, but someone had to have the fun.
He stepped onto the street, jumping
back onto the curb when a city bus turned, the side covered by a shoe ad poster and the slogan, “Can You Run Forever?”
Sure. Hell, he’d been running from accountability, stability, and boring routines his whole life.
Another thought crept in and sank its roots deep. Was he running from those things, or letting his fears of commitment and responsibility run him instead?
About the Author
After studying at the University of Montana-Missoula, LIA RILEY scoured the world armed with only a backpack, overconfidence, and a terrible sense of direction. She counts shooting vodka with a Ukrainian mechanic in Antarctica, sipping yerba mate with gauchos in Chile, and swilling fourex with station hands in Outback Australia among her accomplishments.
A British literature fanatic at heart, Lia considers Mr. Darcy and Edward Rochester as her fictional boyfriends. Her very patient husband doesn’t mind. Much. When not torturing heroes (because c’mon, who doesn’t love a good tortured hero?), Lia herds unruly chickens, camps, beach combs, daydreams about as-of-yet unwritten books, wades through a mile-high TBR pile, and schemes yet another trip. Right now, Icelandic hot springs and Scottish castles sound mighty fine.
She and her family live mostly in Northern California.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Lia Riley
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Right Wrong Guy
Best Worst Mistake
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Continue reading for excerpts from
our newest Avon Impulse books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
HEART’S DESIRE
By T.J. Kline
DESIRE ME NOW
By Tiffany Clare
THE WEDDING GIFT
A SAVE THE DATE NOVELLA
By Cara Connelly
WHEN LOVE HAPPENS
RIBBON RIDGE BOOK THREE
By Darcy Burke
An Excerpt from
HEART’S DESIRE
by T.J. Kline
Jessie Hart has a soft spot for healing the broken, especially horses and children, but her business is failing. The one man who can save Heart Fire Ranch is the last man she wants to see, the man who broke her heart eight years ago . . .
Jessie heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway and stepped onto the porch of the enormous log home. Her parents had raised their family here, in the house her father had built just before her brother was born. The scent of pine surrounded her, warming her insides. Even after her brother and sister had built houses of their own on either end of the property, she’d remained here with her parents, helping them operate the dude ranch and training their horses. She inhaled deeply, wishing again that circumstances hadn’t been so cruel as to leave her to figure out how to make the transition from dude ranch to horse rescue alone.
Leaning against the porch railing, she sipped her coffee and enjoyed the quiet of the morning. When a teen girl walked toward the barn to feed the horses, she lifted her hand in a wave. The poor girl was spending more time at the ranch than away from it these days, since her mother had violated parole again, but Jessie loved having her here. Aleta’s foster mother, June, had been close friends with Jessie’s own mother, and she understood the healing power horses had on kids who needed someone, or something, just to listen. Now that Aleta was living with June again, she was spending a lot of time at the ranch.
Jessie looked down the driveway as Bailey drove her truck closer to the house. She could just make out Nathan through the glare on the windshield. The resentment in her belly grew with each ticking second at the sight of him. Clenching her jaw and squaring her shoulders for the battle ahead, Jessie walked down the stairs to meet Justin’s former best friend and the man who’d broken her heart.
The truck pulled to a stop in front of her, and Bailey jumped from the driver’s seat wearing a shit-eating grin. Jessie narrowed her eyes, knowing exactly what that meant—she was in for a week of hell from this pain-in-the-ass, penny-pinching bean counter.
She didn’t understand why he’d insisted on returning to the ranch. If Justin hadn’t begged her to give Nathan a chance to help, she would have been perfectly content never to speak to his lying ass again.
She watched him turn his broad shoulders to her as he removed his luggage from the back seat. When he faced her, Jessie was barely able to contain her gasp of surprise. After he left, she’d avoided any mention of Nathan Kerrington like the plague, going as far as changing the channel when his name was mentioned on the news. She’d been praying that the past eight years had been cruel, that he’d gained a potbelly, or that he’d developed a receding hairline. She pictured him turning into a stereotypical computer geek.
This guy was perfection. Well, if she was into muscular men who looked like Hollywood actors and wore suits that cost several thousand dollars. Every strand of his dark brown hair was combed into place, even at six in the morning, after a flight from New York. There wasn’t a wrinkle in his stiffly starched shirt.
His green eyes slid over her dirty jeans and T-shirt before climbing back up to focus on her face. Memories of stolen kisses and lingering caresses filled her mind before she could cast them aside. His slow perusal sent heat curling in her belly, spreading through her veins, making her feel uncomfortable. Was he just trying to be an ass? If so, it was working. She felt on edge immediately, but she wasn’t about to let him know it. She crossed her arms over her chest and kicked her hip to the side.
“Nathan Kerrington. You’ve got some brass ones showing up here.”
An Excerpt from
DESIRE ME NOW
by Tiffany Clare
Amelia Grant has just escaped her lecherous employer with nothing but the clothes on her back. In the pre-dawn hours of London, a horse and carriage comes barreling down on her, and a stranger rushes to her aid, sweeping her off her feet . . .
“Why did you kiss me?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but a part of her needed to know. And talking was safer right now.
“I have wanted to do that since you first stumbled into my path. Do you feel something growing between us?”
She’d been ignoring that feeling, thinking and hoping it would pass with time. She’d assumed she’d developed hero worship after Mr. Riley had rescued her and then taken care of her when she’d been at an ultimate low.
She couldn’t deny the truth now. She did feel something for him; something not easily defined as mere lust but a deep desire to learn more about him and why he made her feel so out of sorts with what she thought was right.
Not that she would ever admit to that.
Who was she to garner the attention of this man? Women probably threw themselves at his feet and begged him to ruin them on a regular basis. That thought left her feeling cold. She eyed the door, longing for escape.
“Do not leave, Amelia.” He stepped closer to her, near enough that she could kiss him again if she so desired. She ignored that desire. “Work for me as we planned. Just stay.”
There was a kind of desolation in his voice at the thought of her abandoning him. But that was impossible. And she was reading too much into his request. Logically, she knew she couldn’t feel this sort of attachment to someone she had just met. Someone she didn’t really know.
“I am afraid of what I will do,” she admitted, more for herself than for him.
“Then do not think about it. Go with what your instincts tell you. If there is one thing I have always done, it is to follow my first inclination. I would not be in the position I am today, had I ignored those natural reflexes.”
He caressed her cheek again. She nearly nestled into his palm before realizing what she was doing. With a heavy sigh, she pulled away from him before she made any more mistakes. This was not a good way to start her first official day as his secretary.
She couldn’t help but ask. “And what do your instincts say about me?”
“I do not need my instincts to tell me where this is going. It is more base than that. I desire you. And there is nothing that can stop me from fulfilling and exploring what I want. You will be mine in the end, Amelia.”
Her heart picked up speed at his admission. Her breathing grew more rapid as she assessed him. She desired him too. She, Amelia Marie Somerset, who wanted nothing more than to escape one vile man’s sick craving to marry her and claim her, was willing to let the man in front of her ruin her, only because she felt different with him than she had with anyone else.
What would she lose of herself in the process of courting dangerous games with this man? Focusing on the hard angles of his face and the steady expression he wore, one thing was certain.
This man would ruin her.
And more startling was the realization that she would do nothing to stop him.
An Excerpt from
THE WEDDING GIFT
A Save the Date Novella
by Cara Connelly
In the next Save the Date novella, mousey Jan Marone finally allows herself to live, laugh, and love . . . with a sexy fireman during a weekend wedding in Key West!
“I’m sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing I can do.”
Jan Marone wrung her hands. “But I have a reservation.”
“I know, I’m looking at it right here.” The pretty blonde at the desk tapped her screen sympathetically. “I’ll refund your deposit immediately.”
“I don’t want my deposit. I want a room. My cousin’s getting married tomorrow, and I’m in the wedding.”
The girl spread her hands. “The problem is, when one of the upstairs tubs overflowed this morning, the ceiling collapsed on your room. It’s out of service for the weekend, and we’re booked solid.”