by Darcy Burke
“Yet you still hope to be a family,” Chloe said softly. “Things are better with my folks now that I’m married. I think they just worried I wouldn’t settle down after I broke up with my fiancé. Maybe your parents worry about the same thing.”
“Since I moved to Ribbon Ridge, they worry I’ll marry some farmer. And no, I don’t think I hope to be a family anymore. I got that tattoo a long time ago.” Before she’d even graduated from law school, in fact. “Besides, I have a family of three now with my aunt and uncle. They’re the parents I never had, the people I look to for advice and support.”
“Aw, that’s so great,” Maggie said, smiling. She turned her head toward Chloe. “That leaves Chloe, and I think we all know her answer—and no, it’s not a piercing, unless there’s something I don’t know.”
“Not a piercing, though I did consider having my nose done when I was in college,” Chloe said. “My mother sent me to Paris for spring break as a bribe not to do it.”
“My mom would’ve done the same thing,” Aubrey said. “Maybe even locked me in my room!”
Maggie snorted. “Classic. Actually, I don’t know about Chloe’s tattoo. I just figured she had one instead of a piercing. What is it?”
Chloe shook her head. “Stupid tramp stamp. I say stupid because I created this really cool vine with flowers and I can’t ever see it because it’s on my lower back. Derek appreciates it, though.” She arched a brow as her lips tilted into a seductive smile that prompted everyone to snicker and giggle.
Oh, they were so drunk.
And Aubrey had to work tomorrow. She ought to go. Really. It’s just that her legs didn’t want to move. The chair was super comfy. She didn’t want to leave the crazy fun girls’ clubhouse they’d created in this back corner.
Chloe scooted forward in her chair. “Let’s see, Maggie hasn’t had a drink in a couple turns, and that doesn’t seem fair. This will get her: I’ve never had sex with an Archer. Ha! Derek doesn’t count,” Chloe said smugly, sitting back.
Aubrey, feeling completely amused and more than a little blissed out on tequila, laughed as she took a drink.
Shit.
She realized just how drunk she was. Had she really admitted she’d slept with an Archer?
“Wait, what?” Tori sat up straight and blinked. “Did you just drink, Aubrey?”
Aubrey scrambled. “I was thirsty.”
Four pairs of eyes were glued to her.
“Who have you slept with?” Chloe asked, sounding a bit slurry. Was that her voice or Aubrey’s listening skills? Probably a bit of both.
Panicking, Aubrey fought to come up with something intelligent to say. “I thought you said you’d had sex with an Archer.” She knew as soon as she said it that her attempt was a total fail.
The space between Chloe’s blonde brows pleated into a little fan. “That doesn’t make sense. I joked about Derek not being an Archer.” Yep, massive, epic fail.
Sara put her arm around Aubrey. “I think it’s safe to say we’re all tanked. Aubrey could’ve heard that you’d never had sex with some guy named Archibald.”
“Good point,” Tori said.
Aubrey breathed out a sigh of relief and decided it was time to pull her butt off the chair and get the hell out of there before she was in completely over her head.
Just then a male head peeked around the screen. “Surprise!” said Derek. His gaze scanned the table, and he blew out a low whistle. “You all looked pretty blotto. Good thing I brought reinforcements.”
Derek moved into the space and was followed by Dylan, Kyle, Sean, and . . . Liam.
Oh no, had any of them overheard what Aubrey had said? No, a few minutes had transpired, right? Surely long enough that they hadn’t been within hearing distance.
Chloe smiled up at her husband. “You came to rescue us.”
Derek grinned down at her in return. “Of course. And not a moment too soon, it looks like.”
Everyone chuckled.
Tori grabbed her purse from the back of her chair. “We need to pay the bill.”
“I took care of it,” Liam said. He was standing a bit to the side. Why was he here anyway? He wasn’t anyone’s significant other.
“Why are you here?” Sara asked, echoing Aubrey’s thoughts.
Liam’s gaze connected with Aubrey’s, and her insides heated instantaneously, like a gas stove turned up to high. “I thought I could help Aubrey get home.”
“We were at the house playing pool,” Kyle said. “He just didn’t want to miss this. Come on, all of you drunk together? Who knows what we might learn?” He winked at Maggie, who rolled her eyes at him but ended up giggling.
Aubrey began to panic again. Was Kyle saying they had heard what Aubrey had said? She stood abruptly and wobbled on her feet. “I can get home by myself, thanks. It’s just a few blocks.”
Liam stepped forward and reached for her, grabbing her forearm gently to steady her. “It’s no problem.”
She snatched her hand away before she decided to move closer. Just that little touch had sparked an overwhelming lust she did not want to indulge. Okay, want wasn’t the right word. She wanted to take Liam home and jump him, but that wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t let that happen.
She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair and fished her wallet from the depths. “Here, let me pay you for my part of the bill.”
Liam’s hand closed over hers as he pushed the wallet back into her purse. “It’s fine. Come on, let’s go.”
This time she couldn’t seem to shake his hand away. She didn’t even try. She let his warmth, his masculinity seep into her and feed the fire burning in her core.
When they stepped outside, the cool, damp night air rushed over her, giving her much-needed clarity. She took a deep breath and moved away from Liam, taking her hand from his grasp and slinging her purse over her shoulder. Then she started to walk down the street. Away from him.
But he only fell into step beside her.
“You’re cute when you’re drunk. Reminds me of Labor Day weekend.”
She threw him a glare. “Do not talk about that.”
It was chilly, so she wrapped her arms around herself. She realized it was also misting, like it had been earlier, and in her haste, she’d left her raincoat back at The Arch and Vine.
She turned a smile on Liam. “Any chance you want to run back and get my coat?” Then she could get rid of him.
He chuckled. “You really don’t want me walking you home, do you? I’ll grab it later. After I make sure you’re tucked into bed.”
She turned the corner onto her street. “Oh no you don’t. You aren’t coming anywhere near my bed.”
“I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I just realized your name is almost spelled the same as liar.” She arched a brow at him. “Coincidence? I think not.”
He laughed again. “You are too funny tonight.”
It started raining harder. He pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around her. “Come on, let’s pick up the pace.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along at a steady clip.
The cooler temperature had given her a much-needed jolt of sobriety, but the speed walking was making her feel off-kilter again. “Not so fast,” she said, trying to tug her hand from his.
“Yes, fast. Or should I carry you?” His blue-gray gaze raked over her, and she realized it was possible to feel a shiver and a blast of heat at the same time. Or maybe she was just super extra drunk.
No, because if she was, she wouldn’t be thinking that, right? She’d be blithely unaware and probably gleefully clutching more than Liam’s hand.
They reached her house, and he ushered her up the driveway and onto her porch. He let go of her hand and held out his palm. “Key?”
Standing beneath the porch light, she rummaged around in her purse. Why did a woman’s purse always get more cavernous when she was looking for something?
Liam took it from her and stuck his hand inside. He immedia
tely came up with her keys.
She put her hands on her hips. “How’d you do that?”
He flashed her a heart-stopping smile. “I think I told you once that I had magic fingers.”
Even if he hadn’t, she remembered. For a brief moment, she gave herself over to the memory of his hands on her body, the way he stroked her inner thigh, the manner in which he cupped her breast.
He opened the door and pulled her inside. “You’re wet.” He tugged his leather jacket from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
Bummer because it smelled deliciously like him—cedar and citrus. God, she loved that scent.
“Did you drink any water?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “What?”
“Water. You need water, or you’re going to be miserable come morning.”
Right. Water. No, she didn’t think they’d been drinking much water. Just tequila.
He took her hand again and led her straight back to the kitchen. He moved away from her, then came back and sat her down on one of the barstools. She half expected him to pat her on the head or something.
“You don’t have to take care of me like a lost puppy,” she said.
He laughed. “Is that what I’m doing?” He pulled a glass from her cabinet—he knew exactly where they were, which was remarkable since he’d only been inside her house a few times. She thought of the first time—that night last summer. Not cold and rainy like tonight, but hot and humid. Wet and sexy in a completely different way.
Holy hell she was horny.
He set the water on the counter in front of her. “Drink.”
She saluted him before picking up the glass and downing it.
He swept it up and went for a refill. In the meantime, she realized she was wet. Her sweater was damp from the mist and the rain before he’d covered her with his coat. She glanced at his back and realized he was wet, too. Wetter than she was. His shirt was plastered to his skin, delineating every spectacular muscle.
She swallowed and splayed her hands on top of the granite to stop herself from leaping up and grabbing him. Would that be so wrong? How terrible would one more night with Liam be? She was a grown-up. She knew not to expect more from him. She could do that, right? Trade her common sense for a night of unparalleled, mind-blowing, soul-satisfying sex?
Aubrey whisked her wet sweater over her head and tossed it on the stool beside her. Common sense was extremely overrated.
Chapter Nine
LIAM FINISHED FILLING the glass from the spigot on the fridge door and turned. He nearly dropped the damn glass.
Aubrey was still sitting at the island, but instead of the caramel-colored sweater, she wore a green, lacy bra that cupped her breasts into the most inviting cleavage he’d ever seen.
Normally, he’d be completely on board with this plan. He’d sweep her into his arms, carry her upstairs, and take them both on a joyride. Except she was drunk. Or at least kind of drunk.
He was having a hard time discerning which. She didn’t seem as lit as she’d been last Labor Day, but she also wasn’t completely sober.
The gentleman his mother had raised said even a little drunk was too drunk, especially when Aubrey had told him that she didn’t want to hook up with him anymore. But what if she’d changed her mind? It wasn’t as if they didn’t have a past history of exactly this kind of behavior. Minus him picking her up from a girls’ night at which she’d clearly had a few drinks.
He took her the glass of water and tried to ignore her fabulous breasts. “How much have you had to drink?”
She shrugged. “A few shots.”
That wasn’t too much.
She drank half the water and set the glass back on the counter. “And two—no maybe three—margaritas.”
Yowza. He fought to keep his gaze from dipping to her half-dressed state. Did she have any idea how badly she was tempting him? “Finish the water, then it’s time for bed.”
“Goody.” She stared at him, her lids lowering so that her gaze went from warmly interested to provocatively seductive. Then she polished off the water and handed him the glass. “I’m ready for bed.”
He stifled a groan as he took the glass from her fingers. She slid her hand over his and stroked his wrist. He pulled away from her and put the glass in the sink. When he turned back, she was already walking out of the kitchen, her hips swaying in her perfectly fitted jeans. She paused near the front door and kicked off her ankle boots. Then she turned and stood with one foot on the first stair, her hand on the rail.
“You coming?” she asked.
Oh hell.
“I really shouldn’t.”
She didn’t appear to have heard him, because she made no response. She went up the stairs as if she expected him to follow.
Swallowing and trying to will his hard-on into nonexistence, he walked to the front door and picked up his coat from the floor. “I’m going to take off. You’ll be fine.”
“Actually, can I have some help? My hair is caught in my necklace.”
He looked at the ceiling and exhaled. He really ought to go. But her hair was caught . . .
In the end, he was just a guy, and the woman he desired most in the world was beckoning him to her bedroom.
He hung his coat on the newel post and jogged up the stairs. He remembered precisely where her room was located—at the back of the second story. They’d stripped each other the entire way up the stairs last summer. That had been an incredible night.
He looked down at his boot-clad feet and belatedly realized he should take them off before he tracked something on her carpet. The first floor and stairs were hardwood, but up here, his feet sank into the plush wall-to-wall. He quickly shucked his boots and set them on the top step before continuing to her room.
Her eyes found his as he stepped over the threshold. She’d turned on the lamp next to her bed, which only served to cast the entire room in a muted, sexy light that spilled shadows on her body in all the right places.
He licked his lips. “You need help?”
She presented her back to him and held her hair partially up. “My hair’s caught, see?”
He did, in fact, see her red hair snagged in the fastening of her necklace, a short, almost choker-length gold chain with an A dangling from the front.
For Aubrey.
Or Archer.
What the hell?
He shook his head and studied the tangle. It was hopeless. He was going to touch her bare skin. He could already smell her clove and orange scent. It would be a very short leap to taste her.
If she invited him to stay, he might not be able to say no.
“Can’t you just sleep in this necklace?” he asked, sounding a bit hoarse due to his pent-up sexual frustration.
She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Are you being a wuss?”
“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered. He gently tugged the hair from the chain, but a few strands were really wound in there. “Move toward the light.” He guided her to back up so the lamp could aid him. “Tilt your head.”
She did as he asked, and he got a fresh waft of her scent. Pure, unadulterated Aubrey. Delicious. He worked the remaining strands of hair free of the clasp and closed his eyes. He let his fingertips rest against her warm skin.
The silk of her hair fell against his hands, and he jerked his eyes open just as she turned.
“Your shirt is soaking wet.” She freed the top button, then the second one.
Liam dropped his hands to his sides and thought about telling her to stop. He really did. He thought the word so loudly he was certain she must’ve heard it. But she didn’t. Her fingers kept going until his shirt was open and she was pushing it off his shoulders.
As it fell to the floor, she braced her palms against his T-shirt-clad chest. And frowned.
“This shirt’s a bit damp, too.”
Again, he summoned the word stop to his brain, and again the word didn’t find its way past his lips.
She tugged it up h
is chest and pulled it over his head. “Now this—” she said, running her hands over his shoulders and down his pecs, “—is warm.”
Okay, he had to put a stop to this, because they were just about naked chest to naked chest, and that might be too near the point of no return. Who was he kidding? Liam could see that point as clearly as he could see the bed behind her, and both were far too close.
“Aubrey, I need to go. You’re drunk.”
She gave her head a single shake, sending her scent cascading over him once more. “Not that drunk.”
He put his finger under her chin and tipped her head up. “I can’t tell, but it sounds like you drank a lot from what you said downstairs.” He looked into her hazel eyes and had to admit it was still hard to tell. Her pupils were a bit dilated, but that could be from arousal. He knew he was aroused.
“Do you want me to walk in a straight line? Maybe recite the alphabet backward?”
He smiled at her playful flirting but felt a sense of annoyance that he didn’t know her a little bit better. He wanted to. And damn it, he should.
He traced his finger along her jaw. “Aubrey, you have me so confused.”
“You’ve seen me far more intoxicated. Or don’t you remember having sex at the amphitheater during the concert?”
He couldn’t unremember that if he lived to be a hundred. They’d snuck off toward the bed and breakfast where some of the band members stayed. Figuring out how to have sex amid desert shrubs and towering birch trees on the other side of a wire fence had proved difficult, but in the end, he’d laid his shirt down on the dirt and she’d gotten on her knees. He could still hear the thrum of the music, smell the fragrant late-summer air, and feel her slick heat gripping him as he drove into her from behind. Yeah, they’d both been drunk. Deliciously, fiendishly devoid of inhibitions.
But there had been something else, too—a level of trust they’d shared in that moment. And if she was less intoxicated now and he wasn’t the least bit drunk . . . What was happening? Maybe every time they’d been together, things between them had grown and built. Maybe something had developed, and he hadn’t been paying close-enough attention.
What did it matter now? She’d cut him loose and had reiterated that decision countless times. Tonight was an aberration, and he didn’t want her to regret it.
