Southern Hotshot: A North Carolina Highlands Novel

by Peterson, Jessica

  Emma blinks, hard, eyelashes fluttering. “You’re killing me, Samuel.”

  “I know,” I say, managing a smirk despite the lump in my throat. “So tell me to fuck off and I’ll leave you alone. You’ll break my goddamn heart, but if you can’t see a way for us to be together, then say the word and I’ll never bring this up again. But I really do believe this is a risk worth taking. Take it with me. Please. I want to wake up with you every morning. I want to fuck you without a condom. I want to be yours, Em.”

  She sniffles. Shit, she’s crying. I reach over and catch a tear with my thumb. My body ignites at the contact. Judging by the way Emma’s breath catches, she feels it too. The spark that remains alive between us despite the very real obstacles keeping us apart.

  “But how? How would we make that work? And what would it look like?”

  I gently thumb her chin, urging her to look up at me. “We take it one day at a time. We communicate. We gotta be intentional about everything, even the smallest decisions. Basically, we do what we can to explore this thing between us while minimizing the impact if—”

  “If shit blows up in our faces.” She digs her teeth into her bottom lip. “What then?”

  I tug at that lip with my thumb. “We figure it out. Look, I wish I had a better answer for you. I know I’ve hurt you before, but I promise to try my best to never do it again. I’m done bullshitting people, you most of all. I’m done being angry and stupid. Will it suck if things don’t work out? Yeah, absolutely. But could it be amazing if they do? Fuck. Yes.”

  She grins at that. “I don’t disagree with what you’re saying. And I appreciate your honesty, Samuel. Really, I do. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is, you being so up front about where you’re at and what you want. It’s kind of the biggest turn-on ever.”

  I reach for her free hand and put it on my chubby. She wags her brows. I growl.

  “You’re killing me,” I say.

  “I know,” she replies. Her eyes flash with heat. For half a second, I really do think she’ll set her coffee down and climb me like a tree and end this conversation with a quickie fuck on the counter.

  Instead, she pulls her hand away and sips her coffee, taking a beat to gather herself. When she looks back, her eyes tell a different story. One that has me feeling hopeful and scared all at once.

  “But here’s the thing, Samuel. I have a hell of a lot more to lose than you do. The risk we’d each be taking isn’t equal. Emotionally, yes, we both risk getting burned. But think about the professional and financial side of the equation.” Her eyes flick to the kitchen around us. “You don’t need your job. I do.”

  The words are on the tip of my tongue. What if I promise to be the one to resign if we can’t make it work?

  But something stops me from saying them. That would be a tidy solution to the problem. Whatever happened, I could take the blame and quietly go away, leaving Emma to crush it as both the wine and the food director here at the resort. She could go on working. And I could—

  What? What the hell would I do?

  I tug a hand over my face. It’s important for Emma to keep her job, and I get that. She doesn’t have the financial cushion I do to weather any storms.

  But this job is important to me too. In different ways, granted, but it would still hurt like hell to lose it.

  “There’s a way we can both win,” I say, as much to myself as to Emma. “There’s gotta be. If anyone can figure that out, it’s us. Who’s to say we can’t keep our professional relationship amicable if our personal one doesn’t work out?”

  She cuts me a look. “You’d really want to work side by side, day in and day out, after the horrific breakup we’ll inevitably have if it happens?”

  I sip my coffee, averting my gaze. “What makes you think it’ll be horrific?”

  “Because. Whatever this thing between us is, it’s not casual. It’s not forgettable or easy or clean. You say what we have is a once-in-a-life time connection, and with that comes this…this voraciousness for each other, I guess.” She pauses, searching for the right words. “Something like that just doesn’t go away. You can’t stop feeling those feelings on command. We’ll be jealous and hurt, and seeing each other every day will crush one or both of us. You know it. I know it.”

  Voracious is exactly how I’d describe this feeling I have for Emma. And the fact that she wants me as fiercely as I crave her is exactly what I need to push my case.

  “I want you, Em. Badly. I don’t know how else to say it. I’d love for you to give me a chance, but again, I understand if it’s too risky for you. You’re right to say I’m voracious for you. You’re right to say the fallout wouldn’t be pretty.” I take her hand again, only this time I twine our fingers, same as she did last night. “But how beautiful could it be if we made it work?”

  Emma’s fingers curl around mine. Ever the courageous one, she doesn’t break eye contact. She’s just thoughtfully quiet.

  “Give me time to think about it,” she says at last, and lets out a breath. “Part of me wonders if it’s already too late to go back. Like, have we crossed the Rubicon without knowing it?”

  “I don’t rightly know what the Rubicon is, but I think I get what you’re saying. It’s possible. If you decide you don’t want to pursue this…yeah, I’ll be really fucking bummed. Especially after last night. And this morning. You gotta believe me when I say I didn’t mean for any of this”—I flick my eyes over her bare legs—“to happen. When I stopped to help you last night, I still had every intention of keeping things professional. I just wanted to feed you, Em.”

  “Then I tasted your lasagna—”

  “And the rest is history.” I lift our joined hands and kiss her wrist. “Take all the time you need, all right? I’m not going anywhere.”

  She nods. “Okay. Thanks. I have a lot to process. Some loose ends I need to figure out.”

  I want to ask about those loose ends, but instead I think about my own.

  I have to end things with Lady V. She’s great, and we had our fun, but Emma’s the clear winner here. I’m not gonna go after one woman while keeping another in my back pocket, just in case. I feel like that’s just begging karma to deliver swift justice to my faithless ass.

  If I’m gonna do this thing with Emma, I’m going all in. No second-guesses. Definitely no second choices.

  I’ll get in touch with V later, when I have some time to myself.

  I look at Emma. “Can I ask you to stay for the rest of the day? At least until the roads are clear?”

  “But the restaurant—”

  “Is closed. Beau called while you were in the bathroom—no doubt your phone’s lighting up now too. We’ll be offering in-room service only at the main house, at least until tomorrow. Then we’ll see how the weather looks. I’ll make you breakfast. And I’ll make you come. And then lunch maybe?”

  Her laughter is a low, husky sound. Not a belly laugh, but the kind of laughter you have over drinks with friends or over an inside joke with family told for the five millionth time.

  I want to make her laugh this way every morning.

  “Lunch may be tough because I have to go over some inventory today—yes, I’ll be using my laptop, so I won’t need to go into the office.” She hesitates.

  I reach for her hand. “Stay. Please.”

  She bites her lips, and meets my eyes for a beat, then another. “Okay.”

  I set down my coffee and reach between her legs.

  “I thought breakfast came first,” she breathes.

  Aw, yeah, she’s wet. “You always come first, Em.”

  And I make good on that promise right there in the kitchen. Only this time when she’s finished, Emma rewards me with a smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Emma

  My overnight bag draped over my shoulder, I draw up short when I see the navy-blue BMW SUV parked in front of my cottage.

  I catch a familiar pair of brown eyes in the rearview mirror. The driver’s side doo
r opens and my sister emerges, dressed in impeccable athleisure: black sneakers, black leggings, black cashmere poncho.

  Really, everything about her is impeccable. Her neatly styled short blond hair. The large diamonds winking in her earlobes. The enormous Louis Vuitton tote she hauls out of the passenger seat.

  I glance down at my rumpled jeans and snow boots. My unzipped bag overflows with dirty, wet clothes. This morning I brushed my teeth with my finger (I forgot to pack my toothbrush) and washed cum out of my hair.

  Deep down, I don’t regret any of that. But seeing how beautifully put together my sister is—how expensively neat and organized—yeah, makes me feel less than great about the hot mess express I am at the moment.

  “Lindsey!” I say, trying valiantly to keep the burn creeping up my face at bay while tucking my hair behind my ears. Her timing, like her clothes, has always been impeccable. “What are you doing here?”

  She flashes me a smile before pulling me into a quick, tight hug. “I wanted to surprise you with a little weekend visit! You said you were off work because of the snow, so I figured I’d take a ride up to Blue Mountain. See how things were going at this dream job you keep talking about. How gorgeous is it up here? And this cottage? So cute. How long are they letting you use it?”

  My antenna goes up. Lindsey’s always on, but there’s something almost…frantic about her energy today.

  “Hey. Hi. Were the roads okay?”

  Lindsey nods at her car. “That thing’s amazing in the snow. It’s the tires. They’re ridiculously expensive, but damn, do they work.”

  I feel a flicker of envy. Followed in short order by shame, because it’s not the good, constructive envy I’ve felt about Lindsey before. “Is it new? The car?”

  “Yeah. I got it as a little promotion gift to myself. Sweet, right?”

  “It’s beautiful. You weren’t waiting long, were you? You should’ve called.”

  “Got here twenty minutes ago. Took less time getting up here than I thought.”

  A beat of uncomfortable silence blooms between us. My face is on fire now. I tilt my head toward the cabin. “Come on in. I, um, wasn’t expecting visitors, so it may be a little messy—”

  “No worries.” Lindsey’s eyes flick to my bag. “I hope I’m not coming at a bad time?”

  I’m tired as shit, and I was really looking forward to some time alone to think about what I should do about Samuel. Because thinking about him fills me with this warm, homey, achy feeling.

  But I somehow manage a smile. Lindsey and I are always so crazy busy we rarely get to hang out, especially just the two of us, and I have a feeling something’s up with her. As great as my sister can be, she wouldn’t just “surprise me” with an unplanned visit. Is she pregnant? Did she and Palmer buy a beach house or something?

  “Lindsey, please.” I move toward my front door, and she follows. “There’s never a bad time for you to visit. I’m glad you’re here. How about I order some food from the main house? We can eat and catch up.”

  “Cool if I stay the night?”

  I unlock the door and hold it open. “Sure. What’s Palmer up to this weekend, other than missing you?”

  “He’s working.” She sets her bag on the kitchen island, then looks around with her hands on her hips. “Wow, Em. This is beautiful. No wonder you love it up here so much.”

  “Thanks. It’s…yeah, insanely gorgeous. Going back to an apartment after living here is gonna suck.”

  Unless I go live with Samuel instead.

  Twenty-four hours ago, the idea would’ve been ridiculous. A month ago, it would’ve been laughable.

  But now, I’m really considering Samuel’s proposition. Things have moved quickly with Samuel in a way they never have with anyone else. Is that a sign our connection really is special? Or is it just lust leading us headlong into disaster?

  “What have you been drinking these days?” My sister is combing through the bottles on my counter. “Anything special I should try?”

  I blink. “Now?”

  Bottle of sauvignon blanc in her hands, Lindsey shrugs. “Why not? It’s Saturday. Plus, it’s a snow day. What else are we going to do?”

  “Linds, it’s not even ten o’clock. In the morning.”

  Smiling, she starts opening cabinets, clearly in search of wineglasses. “Exactly. When was the last time you just said fuck it and did what you wanted? C’mon, have a glass with me. I can’t believe I’m having to beg a sommelier to drink.”

  I open the cabinet above the coffee maker and pull out two white wineglasses. Someone—I have a good guess who—stocked the kitchen with several kinds of wineglasses. Big balloons for meaty reds. Slim flutes for sparkling. Dainty glasses for white wine like this one.

  “Here, you open it. Corkscrew’s right there beside the stove. I’m gonna go change real quick.”

  My mind races while I slip into leggings and a sweatshirt. Mine, not Samuel’s, although he gave me his to take home because I “look really fucking good” in it.

  My heart flutters. Full-on flutters, like I’m a middle schooler with a crush.

  But beside that flutter lies a sharp edge. One my excitement keeps catching on.

  What about my job? My reputation?

  My future?

  A part of me thinks Samuel and I could make it all work. We’re dedicated enough. Passionate enough too.

  We’re also well seasoned. We know what it’s like to live alone, and we know what we’d be giving up to live together. To think about everything we’d gain, though…

  I mean, it could be pretty incredible.

  But then a part of me thinks I’m just being stupid. There’s no way a relationship with Samuel doesn’t end badly. He’s got all the power. Not only is he rich as sin, but his family literally owns the company I’m working for. He owns it. So while he is my coworker, he’s also kinda sorta my boss. And dating your boss is dicey territory in the best of circumstances.

  Hell, I’m already blushing about seeing him tomorrow at the barn. What if it gets out that Samuel and I are sleeping together, and our employees, who’ve known Samuel a lot longer than they’ve known me, start to form less than great opinions about me? It’s sexist and terrible, yeah, but sometimes it’s how the world works.

  What if having such a giant distraction around all the damn time makes me fuck up my work? What if it makes me self-conscious to the point I can’t perform? What if we get sick of each other? We’ll be around each other day and night. Will that make the magic wear off?

  And was it wrong of Samuel to make such a proposition in the first place? And if it was, why does it make me feel so damn good?

  He makes me feel good. And therein lies the problem. I don’t need him to feel good about myself. But being around him definitely makes me feel great. Which means not only does he have power over the future of my career, but he’s got power over my feelings too. If he can make me feel good, he can also make me feel like shit. He’s certainly done it before.

  He could destroy me.

  I don’t have time to be destroyed. I have goals. Big, scary, super ambitious things I am determined to get done.

  It’s terrifying, knowing that committing to Samuel could mean losing all that. I could always find another job. But if I leave Blue Mountain under…well, not great circumstances, who knows if they’ll give me the reference I need to land a comparable position somewhere else? Beau is a great guy, and I know he’s in my corner, but Samuel is blood. That’s a kind of loyalty I can’t compete with. If Beau ever had to choose between the two of us, I know without a doubt whose side he’d be on.

  But God, I really do like it here. A lot. I like the people, the scenery, and the food. It’s a special spot, the kind of place I dreamed of landing when I first started my career in wine.

  I want to have my cake and eat it too. And I get that it may not be possible with Samuel.

  But with Blue? I glance at my laptop, which I left on the nightstand beside the bed last night.
/>   With Blue, I could have both. I could fall in love and keep my job, no problem.

  That’s assuming a lot. Mostly that Blue and I will not only hit it off but also connect as instantly and as deeply as Samuel and I have.

  I’m in deep with Samuel. That much is obvious. And the fact that I’m thinking about someone else makes me feel slimy, sure. Can I really fall for two people at the same time? Am I delusional to think anyone will come remotely close to making me feel as accepted and sexy and valued as Samuel does?

  But I gotta be smart. The smart thing is to explore my options, right? Especially the option that allows me to thrive in all areas of my life without being scared shitless I’ll lose everything.

  I guess I just need to know.

  I need to know if my connection with Blue is real, or if it’s just some internet-induced fantasy that exists only inside my head.

  I need to know if Samuel really is the one, or if there’s someone else out there. Because if I don’t explore this option, I may be leaving my perfect future on the table. One that doesn’t make me sweat the way I’m sweating now.

  Also, Lindsey’s here. Which means I’ll have someone to come with me for my meetup with Blue. If anyone will be an honest judge of a guy and his potential, it’s her.

  I open my laptop and fire off a message to Blue. Feeling a million different things as I type.

  Tonight. Let’s meet.

  Weirdly enough, my phone dings with a text message less than a minute later.

  Even weirder? It’s Samuel, asking me if I want to come over again tonight. He’s thinking about firing up his wood-burning pizza oven—because of course he has one of those—and wants to know what toppings I like.