by S. J. Drum
“Abigail? What’re you doing on the floor, sweetheart?”
Chocolate-brown hair hung over her shoulders in big, loopy curls, covering her face and brushing her thighs. Her head slowly tilted up until red-rimmed eyes were visible through all that amazing hair. She squinted. “Jed? Why you here? Don’t want you seeing me like this.”
The half-empty bottle of Jack clutched between her hands accounted for the slurred speech. He’d never seen her drunk before. As far as he knew, a beer once or twice a week was her limit. A half-bottle of Jack meant she’d wanted to get obliterated, most likely in response to the phone call she’d received earlier.
Jed shook his head.
The woman couldn’t be more than five and a half feet tall. She wasn’t as thin as some women—she had the perfect amount of ripe curves—but still, she’d consumed an amazing amount of alcohol for her size.
He moved forward until he stood close enough to see the worry lines etched between her brow, as if even in a drunken stupor she couldn’t avoid whatever was bothering her. He looked down at her once-again bowed head and sprawled legs, then dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands seemed to act on their own, one tucking a lock of silken hair behind an ear while the other made gentle circles on her back. “Ah, sweetheart. What am I gonna do with you?”
* * * * *
Jed managed to lock up the shop, get Abigail into his truck and all the way to the generations-old farmhouse he’d inherited from his grandfather—six miles outside town—without her being sick. He might have taken her to her apartment in town, but he couldn’t locate her keys and she’d passed out before he could get her to tell him where she’d hidden them.
He downshifted, slowing as his tires crunched over the long, dirt and gravel drive leading to the house. His headlights reflected off a few curious animals’ eyes as he drove past the fenced pastures on either side of the drive. The scent of fresh-cut hay drifted in through the open windows and he took a deep breath, enjoying the calming scent.
When he parked and shut off the truck, Abigail was slumped forward in her seat, held up by the seat belt he’d strapped over her chest and waist.
“This is so not a good idea,” he mumbled, trekking around the front of the truck, batting away a few mosquitoes as he made his way to the passenger side. Having Abigail in his house, in his bed was a bad idea all around.
He swiped the ball cap from his head and slapped it back on, tugging at the bill before opening the truck door. He leaned across her lap to release the seat belt—a hint of her usual vanilla-and-cinnamon scent still clung to her underneath the scent of whiskey. He scooped her into his arms and cradled her against his chest before she had a chance to slide to the floor.
Abigail moaned, her head lolling to the side before she settled and snuggled in against him, burrowing her cute little nose into his shirt. “Mmm, you smell good.”
At least, that’s what he thought she’d said. It was hard to tell at this point.
“Let’s get you inside. You need to sleep this off. Tomorrow, you will tell me why the hell you tried to drown yourself in a bottle of whiskey.”
“Bossy.”
“Damn straight.”
“He was bossy too. Mean though. Not like you.”
Jed paused, one foot raised over the first of the wooden stairs leading up to his bedroom. “Who was mean?”
Abigail never talked about her past and as far as Jed knew, she had no family—at least none that she claimed.
He hefted her higher in his arms and started up the stairs. Giving her a jiggle, he asked again, “Who was mean, Abbey?”
She didn’t respond, apparently passed out again.
Hell.
He stopped in front of the only guest bedroom he had bothered to outfit with furniture. Looking down at her in his arms, he couldn’t make himself put her in there. Whatever the reason, he wanted her in his room, in his bed. Besides, it made sense to keep her close, right? Just in case she needed something during the night.
As he laid her down on his unmade bed, comforter and sheets still askew from his fitful sleep the previous night, his hand grazed the side of her breast and he jerked back as if burned. Abigail was his boss, his friend, and she was passed out cold. No matter how much he wanted to worship every lush inch of her body, he wouldn’t be touching her tonight—maybe never. He still didn’t understand his changing feelings, and though he suspected her feelings had begun to change for him as well, he still had Sherrie to deal with and he wasn’t one to fool around with more than one woman at a time. Besides, dating one’s boss was rarely a smart move.
He allowed his gaze to linger on the fall of dark hair spread across his pillows, the smooth, pale line of her throat, down to the curve of her breast, then the dip of her waist. Forcing himself to skip over the apex of her thighs which was shrouded by her jeans, he concentrated on removing her boots. Like him, Abigail wore broken-in cowboy boots. That she wore her boots every day like a second skin was a major turn-on he hadn’t given proper consideration before now.
After he removed his own boots, he placed them next to hers by the door and felt a pang in his heart at the sight of them there. One large pair, one smaller, side by side in his bedroom. It raised a longing inside him he thought he’d successfully beaten back years ago.
With a trash can placed beside the bed—just in case—and Abigail still in her clothes but tucked under the covers, Jed headed into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower.
Stripping off his clothes, he tried without success to ignore the woman sleeping in his bed on the other side of the closed door. He felt as if he’d had a hard-on all damn day and knowing he was about to share a bed with Abigail, even if he wasn’t going to touch her, swelled his erection to a painful hardness.
He stepped into the shower, pulling the blue-and-tan-striped curtain closed behind him. Steam rolled over him—he inhaled deeply, catching a hint of vanilla and cinnamon that must have transferred to him while he cared for Abigail. Fuck, he loved her scent.
Stop thinking about it.
He lathered some soap between his hands, hoping the musk and pine scent would cleanse his mind as well as his body. He scrubbed his close-cropped hair with the body soap, not bothering with shampoo. Working the lather down his chest, over his arms and legs, he avoided his throbbing shaft.
You can’t jerk off with your boss on the other side of the door. There has to be a rule against that. Just wash, get out, dry off, go to sleep. Don’t—
His soapy hand skated over his shaft, dipped down to swipe across his balls and back up. He groaned.
Fuck. Too late.
A pearl of pre-cum beaded on the tip. He palmed his cock and pumped once, twice. He braced his free hand against the shower wall, letting his head drop forward and the spray of water hit his back just below the tender skin around the new tattoo. Already close, he thrust, pumping into his fist. Less than a dozen strokes had him shuddering in release, struggling to remain standing and twist the valve to turn the shower off.
After drying off, he pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants, crept into the bedroom and slipped under the covers, taking care not to slide in too close to Abigail.
Chapter Three
Abigail’s head felt like a large ax had taken up residence in the back of her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block out what was surely the brightest light on the planet. Her mouth felt furry and tasted worse.
Why the hell did I think drinking was a good idea? Oh…right.
Resolving to put her father out of her mind and seek out a big glass of water, or better, a cold Coke, she attempted to sit up. Immediately, she fell back against the mattress, crossing her arms over her stomach as if to hold herself together while a violent wave of nausea engulfed her.
After panting through the urge to vomit, she cracked her eyes open, hoping she’d set a glass of water on her nightstand before she’d fallen into bed.
That’s not my ceiling.
She opened her eyes a bit mor
e to take in her surroundings.
Not my room, not my comforter, not my goddamn house.
Starting to panic, she lifted the covers and confirmed her clothes were still on. At least that was something. Now, where the hell was she?
Light-gray walls, dark wood floors, a sturdy dresser and night table along with the blue comforter on the bed told her she was in a man’s bedroom, but that couldn’t be right. She’d broken up with her last boyfriend two years ago and the worn batteries on her vibrator were proof she hadn’t spent the night with anyone since.
So, where am I?
Finally feeling as if her stomach might not object to her sitting up, she slowly leaned forward and scooted backward until her back rested against the thick, stained-oak headboard.
Her breath caught in her throat and refused to budge.
She wasn’t alone.
The only thing possibly worse than waking up in a stranger’s bed after a drunken one-night stand was waking up in her secret crush’s bed with no idea of how she’d gotten there. Last thing she remembered was doing her best to crawl inside a bottle of Jack in her office at the shop.
She felt both thankful and embarrassed over having been found and obviously cared for by Jed. Right now, with her memory playing hide-n-seek, yesterday’s clothes sticking to her skin, her hair in tangles and the most wicked dragon’s breath she’d ever woken up with, embarrassment was taking a front-row seat.
One of Jed’s smooth, tattooed shoulders peeked above the dark-blue comforter. His body lay on the very edge of the mattress as if he’d been afraid of getting too close to her.
No wonder, with as bad as I must look…and smell. Damn.
Abigail scrubbed both hands over her face, rubbing at the mascara she felt gathered beneath her eyes. She slanted her eyes back to Jed, taking in his shirtless form and trying to decide if she hoped he had pants on underneath the covers.
Her fingers clenched around the comforter until she’d made fists, stilling the temptation to tug the covers down far enough to see if she’d find a tight, naked ass, sweatpants, or maybe a pair of those obscene bikini underwear some men seemed fond of. Her nose crinkled at the thought of Jed wearing something so metrosexual and she had to choke back a laugh.
No way.
If she had to guess, she’d say Jed was a boxer-brief man. She let herself study him—it seemed safe enough with him unaware of her perusal. Too bad he wasn’t in a position where she could catch a glimpse of the silver barbells pierced through his small, dark nipples. She’d seen his bare chest a few times in the past—the man wasn’t shy about taking his shirt off—and she thought those pierced nipples on an alpha male such as Jed were the sexiest damn things she’d ever seen.
She shook her head, attempting to force that dangerous train of thought out of her mind. A wave of dizziness assailed her.
Bathroom. Need to find a bathroom.
There were two doors in the bedroom, one open and leading into a hallway, the other ajar with a towel hanging from a hook in the middle.
Bingo.
With careful movements, trying not to disturb Jed or her own fickle, post-drunk equilibrium, she slid over the side of the bed and dropped her feet onto the cool hardwood floor. It took her a moment to gather enough strength to tackle the short walk to the bathroom.
Fuck you, Jack Daniels. I am so never spending another evening alone with you.
* * * * *
Jed feigned sleep when Abigail awoke. He stayed still while she shifted in the bed, mumbling to herself then finally making her way into the shower. Obviously she wasn’t happy waking up in his house, in his bed. Though after her affair with Jack Daniels the previous night, she wouldn’t have been too happy to wake up this morning no matter where she was. The shower whooshed on and he decided it was safe to get up.
He groaned and stretched, working out the kinks after what was an incredibly unsatisfying night—on a couple of levels.
Coffee. A strong cup of coffee is what this day needs.
With his legs swung over the side of the bed, he contemplated putting on a shirt and then decided to hell with it. He rose and padded across to the hallway and down the steps on bare feet, enjoying the muted sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains covering the windows in the old farmhouse. The sounds of cows and chickens, even a few horses nickering, drifted in through the window over the kitchen sink, which he left open during the summer when it wasn’t raining.
The noise coming from the aged pipes told him his guest was still in the shower, probably trying in vain to wash away her hangover. He shook his head, wandering over to the sink to fill the coffee carafe with water. A cool morning breeze blew in through the open window, bringing with it the sweet scent of dew-laden grass and farmland. Even the smell of the barnyard animals appealed to Jed. The combination of scents brought to mind generations of hard work, love and family.
He scooped several heaping spoonfuls of whatever discount brand of coffee he’d picked up the last time he’d headed to the store. Not concerned with all the fancy, specialty coffees out there and not particularly interested in paying eleven dollars for a bag that’d only last a week, he tended to grab the biggest and cheapest canister he could find.
Once the coffee was started, he wiped his hands on the faded yellow dish towel hanging on the front of the oven and tried to decide how to play it when Abigail came downstairs. He didn’t want to make the situation more awkward for either of them, but he was going to get the story of how she ended up drunk on the floor of the shop at 2:00 a.m.
The water shut off to the shower, the pipes going silent. He slid over to the spot on the counter where he’d plugged his cell phone in to charge and checked the screen.
Great, a message from Sherrie.
She probably wanted to know why’d he’d run out on her last night as if she’d suddenly sprouted a second head, which she sort of had, considering he’d seen Abigail every time he’d closed his eyes.
He rubbed a hand over his hair and blew out a breath before thumbing off the lock on his phone and reading the message. Hope you’re over whatever was bothering you. You promised to take me to the movies tonight.
God, why have I never noticed how petulant she can sound, even through a text message?
He didn’t have an answer, but he knew he wouldn’t be taking Sherrie to the movies tonight or any other night. She liked to think—and tell people—what he and Sherrie had between them was much deeper than their relationship actually went. No matter what she pretended, they weren’t in love, they weren’t much of anything beyond fuck buddies and he’d be putting a stop to that today.
When Abigail came downstairs and stepped into the kitchen looking nervous and unsure, wearing one of his T-shirts, yesterday’s jeans and bare feet, he couldn’t believe he’d overlooked her for the past three years. Sherrie was the furthest thing from his mind.
“Sorry, I borrowed one of your shirts. Mine smelled like booze and embarrassment and I didn’t want to put it back on after my shower.”
Jed chuckled, delighted with her unwavering sense of humor. Even though she’d been eying the front door as if the house was on fire and she was planning her escape route since she’d stepped foot off the stairs, she still managed to make a joke.
“Look, I don’t remember much about last night.” She curled her toes under until the pink painted toenails disappeared beneath the hem of her jeans. “I hope I didn’t do anything—” A blush stole over her fair-skinned cheeks and she looked away.
“We didn’t have sex if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She sucked in a breath at his blunt statement. Her sexy mouth made a perfect “O” and brought his thoughts right back around to the bed only a staircase away. Seeming to gather courage, Abigail narrowed her eyes and dropped her arms to her sides from where they’d been clasped about her middle.
“Well, what did happen? ‘Cause I woke up in your bed with you like—” She gestured to his bare chest accusingly. “That.”
>
He felt a grin stretch his lips as he stepped toward her. He knew he must look predatory, a hunter’s gleam in his eyes as he stalked her. “Darlin’, wasn’t neither of us naked, so what’s got your panties in a twist?”
Dangerous ground, Jed… Abigail’s not just a friend you want to screw, she’s also your boss.
She retreated until her back met the wall and she seemed startled to realize what she’d done. Those small hands of hers fisted and planted on her hips, she stared at his nipple piercings as if it was somehow their fault she’d ended up drunk in his bed and then hungover in his kitchen.
Jed got close enough to lean in and brush his lips against the shell of her ear. He felt a shiver run through her as he spoke in a whisper. “You’re gonna tell me what all that drinking was about, sweetheart.” He moved back so he could look into her beautiful, conflicted eyes. Then, in a stronger voice, he added, “I know it had something to do with that phone call, so let’s start there.”
After pulling out one of the hand-crafted wooden chairs surrounding the matching kitchen table and motioning for her to take a seat, he filled two coffee cups and set them on the table along with the cream and sugar.
He took his seat and waited as she stood next to her chair, eyes flickering from Jed to the coffee cup to the front door before she sighed and slumped into her seat. It occurred to him that if he’d taken her back to her apartment last night he wouldn’t have been able to force this little talk. Here, she was more likely to humor him because he’d have to give her a ride back into town.
Abigail took her time measuring out three spoonfuls of sugar and enough cream to top off her cup before she took a sip. She wrapped those slender fingers around the cup and stared at the tan liquid inside as though searching for answers. Maybe she found them, because at last, she began to speak. “The phone call was about my father.”
Jed nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“He’s been in prison for the last ten years. He died yesterday in a riot the guards didn’t get control over fast enough.”
