Two Brutes, One Barista: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy (Alaskan Romance Book 3)

by Shaye Marlow

  Over the tingling rush of anticipation, I heard the door latch rattle. With a yelp, I launched myself off him, scooped my shirt off the floor, and held it over my breasts as I spun. Shit, shit, shit! What was I doing?

  Mitzi halted in the doorway, the guy with the sexy smile just behind her. J.D. propped himself on his elbows, not trying to conceal a darn thing.

  My roommate saw shirtless me and shameless him on my bed, and came to the right conclusion. She broke into a huge smile. “You go, girl!” she said, stepping forward to give me a high-five.

  I returned it automatically, just managing to keep my shirt in place.

  “Did you—oh, of course you didn’t yet, look at him, poor guy. I’m sorry to interrupt. I was just grabbing condoms,” she said, crossing the room.

  “No, it’s okay. J.D. was just leaving,” I said, giving him a meaningful look.

  He sat up, looking befuddled and kissable. “I was?”

  “Yep. That’s it for the massage. Just work on the exercises we talked about and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thea…” Mitzi and J.D. both said it at the same time. Mitzi was the one that continued. “Honey, you don’t have to stop ’cuz of me. See, I got the condoms. I’ll be out all night. Enjoy yourselves, okay? Toodles!” And, they were gone.

  J.D. got up, and moved toward me. He lifted a hand, and brushed his fingertips gently along my jaw. “What’s up?” he asked.

  I sighed. “I just… I got carried away, and I feel really bad for stopping. I’m sorry I did that to you. But… I’m not ready.” I looked up imploringly, willing him to understand.

  He nodded. “Okay.” He grabbed his shirt. “Well, I’m really, really turned on, so I think the best thing for me to do would be to go cold turkey.” He yanked on his shirt, and saw my questioning look. With a muttered curse, he dipped his head to mine.

  Considering the abruptness of the motion, I was expecting to be ravaged. To have my lips bruised and resolve stolen. But instead, he laid the softest, sweetest kiss on my lips that I’d ever experienced. He hovered there a moment, just breathing me in.

  “I gotta go,” he finally muttered. Scooping up his shoes, not even bothering to put them on, he headed to the door.

  I extended a hand. It was right on the tip of my tongue to call him back.

  He paused there, his gaze raking down me, setting me on fire all over again. “Good night, Thea.” He smiled wickedly. “Sweet dreams.”

  Chapter Twelve

  J.D.

  “You’re about to see the genuine article,” Rory said. He actually was wearing a fur hat today, to cover his scorched hair.

  “The real deal,” Zack agreed.

  They’d monopolized my day, not even giving me time to see Thea this morning. Everything had been an emergency. Those targets needed to be shot, now. That Jeep needed to be worked on.

  After the emergency mechanicking, they’d somehow conned me into a weight-lifting/loogie-hawking contest, and then I got roped into filming while they flung some random items lying around the yard from the catapults lined up out front. We’d burned some brush to clear their ‘home ignition zone’, and patched some of the holes Zack and I had put in the walls—because they were ‘threatening the structural integrity’—and now we were here.

  All of which was the worst kind of insanity, considering how I’d left Thea last night.

  “Wait,” Rory said, holding out an arm to stop me just a couple feet from the Hindmans’ front door. “We haven’t discussed objectives yet. We need to establish some goals.”

  “We want him to see a perfect example of masculinity,” Zack said.

  “Yes,” said Rory. “We want him to bask in Harv’s aura.”

  “Be injected with his manly essence,” Zack agreed.

  I stared at him.

  “Yeah, that last sounded kinda bad,” Rory said, clapping Zack on the shoulder. He looked at me. “We’ve asked Harv to teach us how to make his famous ribs, and since he’s such a perfect specimen of an ideal mating of X and Y chromosome, we figured you could learn by example.”

  I crossed my arms. “What makes Harv such a ‘perfect specimen’?”

  “Have you seen the man?” Rory asked.

  “Yeah, probably, but I didn’t really notice—”

  “Harv is chiseled,” Zack said.

  “Stoic,” said Rory.

  “—and why the heck are you two sounding so gay right now?” I finished.

  “He’s a man’s man, does men’s work, while Dotty keeps up his house and cooks his meals.”

  “Yeah, he’s got that woman trained!”

  “And that silver in his hair… You know what that’s called, right?” asked Rory.

  “A silver fox,” said Zack. He shook his head. “The man has got it. If I had a vagina, I’d do him.”

  Rory nodded solemnly. “You know, we’re probably all gonna go straight to white,” he said mournfully. “No sexy silver for us.”

  “Or we’ll be bald, like Uncle Owen.”

  “Yeah.”

  I watched both of my older brothers pout contemplatively for several long seconds. What alternate dimension had I been catapulted into? Had my straight, tattooed, hockey-playing brother just declared that he’d do a seventy-year-old man?

  I wiggled my finger in my ear, suddenly doubting my hearing and—worse yet—my sanity. My brothers did that to me. Regularly.

  The front door swung open. Harv stood framed in the doorway, looking at us. And in the moment that we took each other’s measure, I was ashamed to say I sort of agreed with their assessment. The man looked rugged in a green flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up over work-browned forearms. He had a steely squareness to his jaw, and a studly squint in his eye.

  “Hey,” he said. Then, he spit.

  My brothers gasped and went all aflutter, jostling me back and forth with their elbows. “Did you see that?” one demanded in an awed whisper, while the other exclaimed, “Omigawd, his technique!”

  Harv stepped back in the darkened doorway, and with a tilt of his head, he beckoned us in. He walked with a slow, confident swagger as he led us to the dining room. He held out a hand, indicating we should sit, and then claimed the chair at the head of the table.

  Rory kicked my ankle, I assumed to make sure I’d noticed the gesture. I bared my teeth at him in a gesture of my own.

  “So,” Harv said. He leaned back, drumming his thick fingers on the table. “You want to learn to make ribs.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Rory. “J.D. is deeply in need of tutoring. Barbecue, hunting—just, whatever wisdom you’re willing to impart, really.”

  Harv glanced over at me. “Cookin’ ribs is an art,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” I was trying to ignore the way Zack had propped his chin on his hands and gone all starry-eyed.

  Harv grunted, and Rory kicked my ankle again. It stung like a bitch.

  Harv pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and slapped it in front of me. “Recipe,” he said. “A good rib starts with—”

  Dotty clattered in the back door, arm looped through a basket bristling with chickweed, a pair of rubber gloves dangling from her hand. She spotted us immediately. “Oh, Harvey love, we’ve got company! Why didn’t you tell us they’d arrived?” She made a sound of excitement as she set down her things. “Let me just go get you boys a drink. You must be parched.” With that, she bustled into the kitchen.

  Sensing what was coming like a Jedi knight, I moved my leg—and just in time, too. Rory’s steel-toed boot, bent on having me note how ‘well-trained’ Dotty was, whistled by. I gave him my imminent-death glare.

  Harv cleared his throat. “So, the secret is—”

  “Oh, Harvey honey, I only have just a teensy bit left of your sweet iced tea,” Dotty said, poking her head around the corner. “I could maybe stretch it to two, but I didn’t want to do that to company, and I realized I didn’t ask you boys what you would like. Coffee? Lemonade? I could probably find a packet or two
of hot cocoa.”

  Zack opened his mouth.

  “Coffee would be perfect, wouldn’t it?” Dotty said with a warm smile. “I’ll have it out in five.”

  Throughout Dotty’s monologue, Harv had remained silent, his expression unchanging. When she disappeared back into the kitchen, he restarted. “Ribs—”

  The door opened again, and Thea walked through. I had to do a double-take, but it was definitely her. She was in jeans with dirty knees, her auburn hair wisping all around her face, making a ratty pink T-shirt look like haute couture. Not that I knew what haute couture was. In fact, should my brothers ask, I’d deny it to the end. I’d just tell ’em the shirt made her tits look nice; that was true enough.

  Without looking up, she turned and toed off her dirty shoes on the mat. Yep, if I hadn’t known it was her from the front, those luscious curves would’ve confirmed it. She’d taken a couple steps into the room before she realized there were a few extra people at the table.

  It was a little gratifying that her gorgeous dark eyes went straight to me. And held. “J.D.? What…?”

  “They’re here to be tutored by Harvey on how to be real men,” Dotty said, emerging again from the kitchen. She set down a breakable-looking, fancy cup-thingy of sugar, and a plate of cookies.

  Would it help to explain this hadn’t been my idea? Probably not.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, in a tone I immediately regretted. Caught off guard and embarrassed, it came out downright accusing.

  “Thea Marie is our granddaughter,” Dotty said.

  …Oh. Thea’d said something about that, hadn’t she?

  “She’s here helping me with the garden.” Dotty shook her head and clucked. “It’s just such a coincidence y’all are here at the same time,” she said with a wink at me, before ducking back into the kitchen.

  Thea rolled her eyes. Then she crossed to the table, plopped into the chair next to mine, and grabbed a cookie. Nibbling on her chocolate chip, she glanced over at me and smiled shyly.

  Nipples. Dark pink nipples, adorning the tips of full, beautiful, swaying breasts, shiny with oil. I shifted, desperately blocking those thoughts. Just what I needed: A boner in her grandparents’ dining room.

  Harv’s fingers never stopped drumming. “That woman’s plotting something,” he said.

  “I can heaaarr yoooouuuu!” Dotty called cheerfully from the kitchen.

  Thea shrugged. “So what’s this about man-lessons?” she asked. The look she slanted me from beneath her lashes didn’t help the situation under the table at all.

  “Oh, you haven’t told her?” asked Rory.

  I shook my head emphatically, but he only grinned.

  “We’re devoting our summer to guiding J.D. in the manly arts,” he said, digging in his pocket. “We’ve created a whole plan of study, a syllabus, a reading list. Here, check out the calendar,” he said, unfolding and handing it to her.

  She skimmed down the page. “Brute Kit on Jeep. Blow something up. Rescue a damsel in distress. Ballroom dancing,” she said, with a glance at me.

  “You consider ballroom dancing to be ‘manly’?” Dotty asked, emerging from the kitchen.

  “Well, we figured anything that would help J.D. get chicks would increase his confidence, and boost his testosterone levels. It’s a holistic approach,” Rory explained.

  Dotty set the tray with mugs and coffee pot down on the table, and handed Harv a tall, cold glass of iced tea. She gave Rory a considering look. “That’s an excellent point,” she said. Then she looked at me. “I could give you some pointers on how to treat a lady.”

  One of my brothers muffled a groan.

  “Let me give you an example. Harv, honey, how are you liking that tea?”

  Harv lowered the glass from his lips. “It’s good,” he said dutifully.

  “So… you’d say I did good?” she asked. She moved oddly, sidling closer to him.

  He sighed. “Yes, dear.”

  She stood still, smiling expectantly, and he finally patted her butt.

  “Harder,” she said through her teeth.

  Harv landed a sharp slap on her ass.

  She squealed and caught herself on the table. Her eyes glinted, and she was a little flushed as she looked back at us. “A woman wants to know when she’s pleased you. A job well done deserves a firm slap on the ass.”

  Our jaws all hung open—except Harv’s, of course. The magnificent bastard was completely unrattled. He sipped his tea.

  Thea finally groped her way out of speechlessness. “Gram-ma!”

  “The-a!” Dotty answered. She sat at Harv’s left hand and looked around the table conspiratorially. “A real man,” she said, “can please a woman. In bed,” she clarified, in case we didn’t catch her drift.

  Thea made a little ‘urp’ sound and started to turn an alarming shade of purple. I thumped her on the back, and a wet chunk of cookie flew across the table, straight at Zack’s eye. I was really excited for a millisecond, but Zack, with his catlike fucking reflexes, dodged it.

  “You okay?” I asked her. Nodding, she waved me off.

  “Go on,” Rory urged Dotty.

  Harv, I shit you not, had just pulled a cigar from his pocket. After making sure Thea was, in fact, still breathing, I watched with fascination as he used an antler-handled knife to trim off the tip.

  “A real man,” Dotty said, “knows his way around the clitoris. Speaking of which, sweetie, did you find a man yet to help you with your little problem?” she asked, looking at Thea.

  Thea stared back at her, and at first her expression was bewildered. Then, understanding flooded into her eyes. Her cheeks turned red, and I had to admit, Thea’s imminent-death look was better than mine.

  Her grandmother, however, seemed impervious. She waved a small, wrinkled hand. “Oh, no matter. What was I saying? Oh yes. A real man is good with his fingers. And, his tongue. You see…”

  Ten shocking, but strangely riveting minutes later, Zack managed to get a word in edgewise. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone. Did you just say you were a groupie in the sixties?”

  “Yes,” Dotty said with a frown. “Did you not know?”

  “No!” Rory leaned forward. “Tell us more.”

  “Better yet, I’ll show you.” Excited, she jumped to her feet, then dashed from the room.

  “Uh…” Like me, Thea looked worried as to what exactly she was going to show us.

  “Let’s move this into the living room,” Harv said. His cigar smelled improbably, amazingly, really freaking good. It smelled… sorta like manhood.

  We all sat. Rory and Zack looked excited. Thea looked shell-shocked.

  I probably looked fascinated, watching Harv. The man was positively bomb-proof.

  “You want to know the secret to conducting yourself like a man?” he asked me.

  Because it was him, asking me in such a studly manner, I nodded.

  He grunted. “Keep your mouth shut,” he said. “Learn to nod and smile, and make vague affirmative noises.”

  I nodded and said, “Uh-hm.”

  He pointed his cigar at me and cracked a smile. “You’re a quick study. I like you.”

  I found his approval strangely thrilling. Of course, would he still approve if he knew the things I wanted to do to his granddaughter?

  “Harv,” Zack said, leaning forward on the couch. “Tell us how you got those scars.”

  “These?” Harv asked, sweeping a finger along the puckered lines decorating the left side of his neck. I hadn’t noticed them because I’d been sitting on his right, but now I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, my brothers were right—the man was fucking cool.

  “Yeah. Did you fight a bear?” Rory asked eagerly.

  “Nope,” Harv said, tapping his cigar in the bear paw-shaped ash tray. He sat back, looking at us through the curling smoke. “It was a wolverine.”

  Thea’s snort dragged our attention from her grandfather. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, holding her belly. “I just
couldn’t—hold it—” She erupted into fits of laughter.

  Harv’s lips quirked.

  “So… it wasn’t a wolverine?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Broken bottle. Bar fight.”

  Jesus. That was almost as good. Rory and Zack’s enthralled gazes said they agreed.

  Harv glanced toward the hall, where Dotty still hadn’t emerged, then back at us. “You boys want to know how to get women?”

  We all nodded eagerly.

  He sighed, stubbed out his cigar, and rose to his feet. He crossed to a wooden cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a guitar. This one didn’t look like your regular run-of-the-mill instrument. It was solid, and curvy, much more rock-and-roll than strumming-on-the-porch.

  Harv hefted it with easy familiarity and came back to the couch. He quietly plucked a couple chords, adjusting the pegs.

  Then, he started to play. His fingers wandered over the strings, picking out a gentle, melancholy tune. His chest expanded, and he embraced the first words.

  “Maybe I didn’t love you,” he crooned, his voice deep and sexy and I woulda banged him if I’d had a vagina, “quite as often as I could have.”

  From somewhere deep in the house, we heard a squeal.

  Bent over the guitar, Harv smiled. “Maybe I didn’t treat you…” His voice was complex, and breathy, and it lingered in the room like smoke, captivating us. “Quite as good as I should have.”

  From the hall came the patter of running feet.

  The melody continued, with Harv beautifully apologizing for being blind.

  Dotty burst into the doorway. She caught herself on the frame, and clutched her other hand to her chest. Her smile was wide, her breaths panting as she gazed, utterly enthralled, at her husband.

  He looked up, meeting her eyes. “But you were always on my mind,” he crooned, singing to her.

  She squealed again. And, apparently unable to hold herself back one second longer, Dotty flew across the room, and landed square in Harv’s lap.

  And somehow, she didn’t land on the guitar. And somehow—somehow—the man never missed a chord. Zack, Rory, and I all watched in awed silence as he continued.

  “Telllll me, tell me that your sweet love hasn’t died,” Harv sang, holding Dotty’s gaze.