Fragile Hearts (Poplar Falls Book 4)

by Amber Kelly

  We continue to work in silent companionship for the next hour or so until we have completely demolished the entire kitchen. When the final shards of material hit the floor, I look over to see a sweaty Brandt breathing heavily as he drops his weapon at his feet with a loud thud. His soaking-wet white T-shirt is practically transparent and clinging to every chiseled muscle as he gulps in air.

  Damn, that’s sexy.

  I thought he was attractive before, but I never realized how truly beautiful he was.

  He stares at the mess scattered at our feet for a few moments, lost in another place, and then he runs his hands through his hair as he blinks a few times. His eyes meet mine, like he just realized I was still here or that he was.

  “I bet your arms are like Jell-O, aren’t they?” I ask.

  He takes a moment to assess himself. He rolls his shoulders and squeezes his hands open and closed a few times before answering me on a grin, “Yeah, I’ll be paying for this tomorrow for sure.”

  His eyes cut behind me, and he surveys the condition of the L-shaped countertop—or what’s left of it.

  “Looks like you got a workout too,” he surmises from the pile of wreckage.

  “It deserved its fate for being such an offensive shade of avocado,” I tell him without looking from his flushed face.

  He chuckles. “That it did,” he agrees.

  I watch in fascination as he tugs up the end of his shirt to bring it up and wipe the rivulet of sweat running down his forehead. I’m treated to a glimpse of a light smattering of dark curls that leads the way down his chest to a golden six-pack, which veers down below the band of his jeans.

  Oh my.

  As my eyes crawl back up his body, I see the dimple pop from the grin as he catches me ogling him.

  I clear my throat and turn quickly to hide the blush that I’m sure is spreading up my neck.

  “What’s next, Doc?” I ask to my feet as I sweep plaster and dust into a heap with the toe of my boot.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  I look up at him. “Um, not really, no,” I say hesitantly.

  His eyes travel around the room. “We’re not going to find anything to eat in here anyway. How about a drink?” he asks.

  Drinks?

  He must see the question flash across my face because he quickly adds, “I have a bottle of tequila or whiskey, whichever you prefer. I think we’ve both worked up a thirst.” Then, he says softly, “The least I can do is help you quench it.”

  He leans in and reaches around me to open the freezer of the old fridge still standing to the side of the mess we created to show me the bottles.

  “You mean, I’m not getting paid for this? You should have told me that, and I would have clocked out today. Sucks to be you, I guess,” I tease as I turn on my heels and strut to the hall bathroom. “I’ll be right back, and I’ll have the tequila,” I toss over my shoulder.

  I hear his quiet laughter as I lock the door. I let out the breath I was holding and chastise myself in the mirror.

  He is your boss, Bellamy Wilson, and he is unavailable. He made that very clear. So, get your libido under control and stop thinking about his pecs and abs this instant!

  “Temporary boss,” I tell my reflection.

  “Did you say something?” His question comes muffled from the other side of the door.

  Shit.

  “Nope,” I squeak. “Just humming to myself.”

  I wait silently as my lie lingers between us.

  “Okay. Meet you on the porch in ten,” he says before I hear his heavy footfalls heading up the stairs to the master suite.

  I sag against the back of the door in relief.

  Brandt

  Bellamy takes a long time in the bathroom. I used the facilities upstairs and came back down to grab the tequila from the freezer. I have been out here on the porch for at least fifteen minutes before the door finally opens and she emerges.

  “Hey,” she says as she presses her back against the closed door and watches me.

  “Hey yourself. I was about to send a search party in for you,” I tease.

  “I tried to splash water on all my sweaty parts, and then there wasn’t a towel, so I had to air-dry the best I could,” she explains.

  “I thought you smelled a little better,” I rib her.

  She looks up at that comment. “Oh, really? You don’t exactly smell like a bouquet of roses yourself there, Doc,” she playfully snaps back before coming forward and taking the tequila bottle from my hand.

  “I didn’t think to pick up any mixers—or any glasses for that matter,” I tell her as she walks over and sits down on the railing.

  She pops open the top of the bottle. “I guess we’ll just have to make do, then,” she says before throwing her head back and taking a huge swig.

  I watch as the muscles in her slender neck ripple as she swallows. Then, she squeezes her eyes shut as the alcohol burns its way down. She opens them and looks at me as she wipes her lips with the back of her hand. Then, she extends the bottle out in invitation.

  “This is probably a bad idea on empty stomachs,” I say as I walk over and take it from her fingers.

  “Come on, Doc. Live dangerously,” she dares with a twinkle in her eye.

  I decide to do just that, and I take a long pull from the bottle. My eyes never leave hers as I pass it back to her.

  She glances over her shoulder and muses, “Looks like the sun is setting behind the mountains.”

  I follow her gaze and take in her silhouette, bathed in the blaze of pinks and oranges, peppered with purple from the colors streaked across the sky behind her.

  “Breathtaking,” I murmur.

  She silently stares off into the distance as she continues to sip from the clear bottle.

  Once the sun finally disappears, she breathes in a deep breath. She hops down from the railing and takes a seat on the concrete steps that lead up to the porch. Then, she looks back at me and pats the spot beside her.

  I sit next to her, and she hands me the bottle. I take another gulp.

  She lays her chin on my shoulder, and I peer down at her. Her eyes are glazed over, and she is studying me. I take another shot from the bottle and notice the liquor slides down my throat easily this time. Instead of burning, it warms my body.

  Bellamy moves her hand to reach for the bottle and take her turn just as I raise it to offer. Her hand drops to my lap instead, and rather than pull it away, her eyes follow it down and she holds it in place. My cock twitches at her near brush, and her hand is a hairbreadth from feeling its reaction.

  I hear her quick intake of breath, so I know she’s noticed.

  I try to reposition myself to hide my body’s involuntary response when she lightly grazes my growing arousal with the back of her hand. I slightly buck up off the step at the contact.

  “Bells,” I huff out hoarsely, and her eyes come to mine. Her big, beautiful stormy-blue eyes.

  She opens her mouth to say something, but she doesn’t get the chance because, without thinking, I bring my hand to her chin and rub my thumb over her bottom lip. I bend my head and slightly brush my mouth against hers. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t move.

  I pull back as I drop my hand from her face and start to apologize, “I’m so—”

  I don’t get the words out before she bears up and grasps my neck, pulling me back to her mouth.

  All thought of an apology flies from my mind as she opens to the kiss, and her tongue darts tentatively against my lips. I part for her and then deepen our connection as I wrap my arms around her back and bring her body closer to mine.

  She slides a leg over my hips and seats herself astride me without breaking our contact. It’s been so long since I was in such intimate proximity with a woman. My body takes over, and my hands slide down to the back pockets of her jeans. I clasp her ass and move her against me as she winds her arms around my shoulders and laces her fingers into my hair.

  All the despair and lone
liness of the last few years melt away, and all that matters at this moment is the feel of the woman in my arms and the glide of our tongues wrestling as we fight to get as close as possible to each other.

  I break from the kiss and drop my forehead to hers. The intoxicating smell of tequila surrounds us as our breaths intermingle. I glide my hand up and move it across the pulse throbbing at her throat. Then, I bring my lips to the spot and lay a soft kiss there. She closes her eyes, and her head falls back to give me better access to her neck. I slide my tongue down to her collarbone, tasting the sweet saltiness of her glistening skin. She moans slightly as I suck at the hollow spot just where her throat meets the top of her chest, and her breathing grows ragged.

  She releases my hair and runs her hands down my back and around to my sides. Gripping the hem of my tee, she pulls it up, and her hands roam my chest. Her fingers tug slightly at the hair she finds there before her nails score lightly down my abs. My mouth moves from the base of her throat, lower, lavishing attention just above her breast. My cock grows painfully hard between us, and I raise my hips from the step to nestle it into her heat.

  She gasps and presses down heavy on me.

  I groan.

  She wiggles her hips a little, and I dig my fingers into her ass as I try to keep myself from rocketing off the steps and laying her out on the damn dirty porch.

  She buries her face into my neck and whispers, “Brandt.”

  “Yes, baby?” I manage to respond.

  “I need to talk to Elle,” is her peculiar reply.

  “Right now?” I ask.

  She nods into my neck, and I move my hand up to the space between her shoulder blades and hold her to me.

  “Okay, I can take you to Elle,” I tell her.

  She lifts her head and brings her face close to mine. Our lips almost touching, she says, “Girl code.”

  “Girl code?” I ask.

  “Girl code,” she repeats.

  Then, she presses another sweet, long kiss to my mouth before she starts to shift, and I groan again as I help her stand.

  She extends her hand to me, and I take it as I come off the step.

  “Are you okay to drive?” she asks.

  “Yep, completely sober now,” I say as I adjust myself, and she giggles.

  I gather the bottle as she goes inside and starts to turn off all the lights.

  We lock up, and then I drive her to Rustic Peak. She texts as I drive, and when we pull into the gate, Elle and Walker are sitting on the swing, waiting for us to arrive.

  Walker stands and kisses Elle’s cheek before descending the steps and opening the door for Bellamy.

  She looks back at me as she scoots out. “I had a really good day with you, Doc.”

  “I had a good day with you too.”

  She smiles and then slides out. She walks to join Elle on the swing.

  Walker is still standing with the passenger door open, and he looks in at me.

  “Wanna go for a beer?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  I don’t even get the word out before he swings up into the seat and shuts the door.

  “I know the perfect spot,” he says, and I throw the truck in gear.

  Bellamy

  “Well?” Elle asks as we sit and swing.

  “Um, I …” I start and then stop again. Trying to figure out how to explain what happened between Brandt and me.

  I turn to face her and just blurt it all out, “I finally talked to Derrick this afternoon. I thought maybe he was sorry and we could talk like adults, but the jackass just kept trying to justify himself. While he was talking, I realized that I didn’t even like him very much. He’s handsome in a buttoned-up kind of way, but I think I was just lonely in Chicago. He was nice, but I didn’t quiver when we kissed. Does that make sense? Anyway, I told him exactly what I thought of him before hanging up on him and blocking his number. I was so pissed at that point that I took a hammer to Brandt’s house.”

  “A hammer?” she interrupts.

  “Yeah.” I roll my eyes as I continue, “I wanted the sledgehammer, but Brandt didn’t think I could lift it, and he was probably right. I had one, maybe two, good swings of it in me, and then I would have been done for sure. So, I took the pitiful little hammer he gave me, and I did some damage with it, let me tell you.”

  She looks perplexed as she tries her best to follow my rambling.

  “After we wore ourselves out, annihilating the gosh-awful kitchen, we decided to get wasted on tequila. We didn’t have any mixers or glasses, so we basically just chugged it straight up from the bottle, which wasn’t the brightest idea either of us had ever had. I guess, with the alcohol and all that pent-up aggression being released, we were on some sort of euphoric high, you know what I mean?”

  She shakes her head like she has no clue, but I power through anyway.

  “The sunset was so pretty, and he looked so good, all sweaty and disheveled. Have you ever seen him without a shirt on? Who knew he was hiding all that muscle and that V that looks so good on a man, you know? I think the tequila went to my head, and one thing led to another and … and …”

  “And?” she prompts impatiently.

  “And I might have made a move on him.” I cover my face with my hands as I fill with embarrassment, bracing for her scolding.

  “Then, what?” she asks, exasperated.

  I peek at her through my fingers.

  “Then, we made out for a while,” I mumble into my hands.

  “You made out with Brandt,” she says as she grabs the tips of my fingers and pulls my hands down.

  “Yes. Are you mad?”

  “Mad? Why would I be mad?” she asks, and her question sounds confused.

  “Because I made out with a man you used to date.”

  She raises her left hand and points to the diamond sitting on her finger, giving me a look that says, Duh.

  “I know, but it’s still not polite to come on to your best friend’s ex,” I remind her.

  “I don’t consider Brandt an ex. He and I had dinner a few times, and we never made it past a quick kiss. Not even a real kiss, kiss,” she insists.

  “So, you don’t care that I threw myself at him?”

  She laughs. “Not at all, but I want details.”

  I frown at her.

  “What? I said I didn’t care.”

  “Yeah, well, now, I’m just kind of regretting stopping in the middle and insisting he bring me here,” I mutter.

  “In the middle?” Her eyes get round as saucers.

  I open my mouth to clarify, and she brings her hand up.

  “Stop. Sonia will kill us if you go any further in this story without her here. Let’s go in. I’ll text her and tell her to get over here ASAP, and we’ll make cookies while we wait.”

  She stands, and I follow her inside. When we make it to the kitchen, Doreen is at the sink, washing her hands.

  “Bellamy, I didn’t know you were coming by,” Doreen greets as I take a seat at the table.

  “She didn’t either. She had to come to tell me she made out with Brandt this evening. I’m going to get Sonia over here, so Bells can give us details. We will need cookies,” Elle explains as she picks up the phone on the wall and dials.

  Doreen looks at me. “Chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin?”

  It takes Sonia exactly twelve minutes to make the twenty-minute drive from her house to Rustic Peak.

  In that time, Doreen has whipped together cookie dough and is adding the balls to a greased pan.

  I go back over everything I told Elle on the swing. A little calmer this go-around. Doreen and Sonia listen intently.

  “And now, here we are,” I finish as the timer on the oven goes off, startling us.

  Sonia sits back in her chair and blows out a long breath. “Well, that’s a lot of information to process. Let’s start with Derrick,” she begins.

  “Derrick!” Elle protests.

  Sonia gives her a stern glare. “Yes, Derrick. Now, I�
�m happy you shook him off. You deserve better than a weasel who goes behind your back and doesn’t discuss what he’s doing. How do you feel about cutting him loose? Any residual regret? Second thoughts?” she prods.

  “No. I feel relieved, to be honest. I didn’t realize how stressed out I had been about trying to make the relationship work with us in different states until it wasn’t an issue any longer.”

  “Okay, onto busting shit up. Did you really destroy Brandt and his mother’s kitchen? That seems extreme, even for you.”

  “Even for me? What does that mean?”

  “I mean, you are impulsive and a bit crazy sometimes, but you know that, so move on and answer the question,” Sonia demands.

  “It’s his new house. He bought the Sugarman Homestead, and he’s remodeling. We tore the kitchen out because he’s having it completely redone.”

  “He bought our house?” she gasps. Then, she looks at Elle and asks, “Did you know that?”

  Elle nods. “He told me at lunch the other day. Cool, right?”

  “Yes, cool!” She turns back to me. “He’s going to live in that big, old house all by himself?”

  “Him and his mom. But you know, it’s not nearly as massive as we thought it was. I mean, it looked humongous to our little-girl eyes, but it’s just a tad bigger than this place, to tell you the truth. We never could have raised three families in there.”

  “Really?” She sounds disappointed.

  “It’s still a good size, and it’s gorgeous—or it will be when he finishes,” I reassure her.

  “I bet. I can’t wait to see that place finally fixed up,” she says.

  “Same,” Elle interjects.

  “Now, onto the next part. Tequila and kissing. How did all that start?”

  I look over at Doreen, who is using a spatula to transfer cookies from the pan to a plate.

  She looks over her shoulder at us. “Don’t stop on my account. I want to know too,” she insists.

  “Um, I don’t think I can talk about this in front of you,” I tell her.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, why not? I’m a woman too. I know what it feels like to be excited by a man.”

  “Aunt Doe,” Elle howls.