by Melissa Blue
He cupped her face. “Let me kiss you, lass.”
She kissed him instead. Tasha had the softest lips he’d ever had the pleasure to touch with his own. Everything in him wanted to take that touch deeper, harder. Grant needed to take the lead because that’s what he always did in every part of his life.
But why, when Tasha knew how to swipe her tongue right along the sensitive edge of his bottom lip? His need was sated simply by the way she grabbed hold of his shirt to pull him in closer, to tilt her chin for better access to his mouth.
It was perfection. Their mouths moved in sync, in such hunger. The heat in his gut built in slow degrees until he was guiding her toward the couch and then tugging her into his lap. She placed her hands on the back of the couch, wiggling to get comfortable on his lap, and never letting her mouth leave his.
Their mouths fell in sync again, once she ground against his cock, pulling apart enough to end the contact and start up again. Each time, there was a slight variation of tongue, teeth or just lips. Each time more arousing than the last.
And it was killing him to keep his hands on the sides of her stomach. His fingers dug into the soft flesh. Fuck.
He broke the kiss long enough to ask, “Where do you need to be touched?”
She took his hand and placed it on her right breast. He spread his fingers to take as much as he could and then tightened the pressure in slow degrees. She moaned in his mouth. He dropped his hands to the hem of her shirt.
Tasha’s breath whooshed out when he let his fingers climb up her torso to her breasts. She scrapped her teeth against his bottom lip when he lifted the bra up. They both seemed to hold their breath as he closed his thumbs and forefingers around her nipples. He plucked them and was rewarded by her rubbing her pussy against him.
“Kiss my neck,” she whispered.
He started at the curve and ended right where her collarbone and the dip in her neck ended. A generous amount of time was spent acquainting his tongue with her skin. It had been a long night in the pub, yet he didn’t mind the hint of salt to her skin that only heightened the taste of something citrusy, musky, and all her.
She didn’t seem to mind it when he tugged her low-cut shirt up to free her breasts. That was the obvious trail to follow after leaving kisses along her neck. Her arching toward his mouth was all the permission he needed.
Grant feasted. Her imperfectly round and stiff nipples looked better wet from his mouth. He didn’t know how long he worshipped the dark tips but when he met Tasha’s gaze, he couldn’t hold back a smile. Lust and need clouded her eyes.
Her tongue flitted over her swollen bottom lip. “I think this is all I can take.”
Disappointment was such a paltry word. So was the phrase sexually frustrated. Grant could feel his heartbeat in the base of his skull and deep in his balls. No cold shower could remedy his ache. Still, he offered gentle, heated kisses as he redressed her. She took every one until she slid from his lap to sit beside him on the couch.
By the time the night’s cold seeped through his jacket— after she pushed him out of Baird’s flat, and so very far from her bed—he’d already planned their next night. Either his fingers or his mouth would be buried in her pussy. He wasn’t too particular about which option. Maybe she knew enough about him to see that wicked promise in his gaze because she pushed him back another step on the stoop so not even their arms could reach.
“Tasha,” he murmured.
She clung to the edge of the door and looked down at her feet. “Have you said anything…”
“Anything to my brother about what we apparently like to do after closing? No, but despite his looks, he’s a smart man.”
Her gaze shot to his. “Are you bragging—”
“Bragging is for people with no self-esteem.”
Her gaze hardened. “I’m—”
“Not a sure thing? I know.” He smiled at the promise of murder in her gaze.
“You’re so sure yourself you’re finishing my sentences.”
“I’ve had to be. You can’t bring up teenagers without a degree of certainty. They can smell blood in the water better than sharks.” He clamped his mouth shut at the widening of her eyes.
She worried her lip, and he could almost feel the way she shifted through every reply. The air laid heavy on his shoulders.
Tasha leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “The things I could tell you about my adolescence.”
The wind offered a cold stiff breeze, but he only turned his collar up and closed a bit of the distance between them. “Do tell me all of it.”
He meant the words, but he’d never tell her, or anyone, how he craved those kinds of stories. He hadn’t had an adolescence. He had strategic plans. Logan cooked. His brother had a keen aptitude for taste and the patience to watch over slow boiling pots. His sister knew how to host, in retrospect. She could calm tempers and play mediator, something necessary for a household of boys. Elliot had been Elliot. If he’d been home, he would have entertained, distracted and sucked up the spotlight.
And Grant had choreographed it all.
Maybe something else Tasha could see in him because her gaze softened. “Maybe another time. I’m dog tired.”
“I know that feeling. Good night, lass.” He stole the space between them and kissed her forehead. She melted against him for a fraction.
Grant left her there on the stoop and could barely remember how she felt hot and soft against him. His mind was too wrapped up in plans.
6
T
asha snuggled into the knitted blanket on Baird’s couch, her laptop screen the only light in the room to combat a nasty glare from the fluorescent bulbs in the room. At least a month had passed since she’d last used Photoshop. She didn’t let that shake her confidence. How many times had she whipped out a logo for a client barely knowing their business or their goal?
This time, she knew quite a bit about her client and what he wanted in the long run—to make good booze with his family by his side. She’d tried heather, tartans and even some things that looked military-ish for the background and nothing looked right.
She didn’t want to blame the previous night’s activities for her creative mental block. It was just foreplay. Really hot, soul singeing kissing and groping and titty sucking. With a man she absolutely should not have let do those things. He used charm to soften harsh truths. He wanted what he wanted and didn’t too much care about consequences. He loved his brother enough to put his life on hold. He fixed what he fucked up.
Yeah. Their late-night interlude was so not the reason for her inability to concentrate on the design. Tasha closed her eyes and tried to tamp down the memories that wanted to play on repeat in her head. She wasn’t going to lie to herself and say groping would never happen again. Hell, she couldn’t even scrounge up a feigned disinterest about what he revealed about his upbringing. She definitely couldn’t ignore the way her stomach had gone all tight and uneasy at the flicker of interest to hear about her teenage years. His eagerness hadn’t felt like rudimentary curiosity.
As though the very thought of parents, and the intentional or unintentional harm they caused, summoned fate, her phone rang with her mother’s ringtone. She let out a bitter laugh and barely quelled the sound when she answered. “Hey, ma.”
“I’m checking in on you, since you didn’t call to tell me you’d made it safe.”
Tasha cringed. “Sorry. I hit the ground running. I’m actually working right now.” She’d hoped her mother would end the call on that note.
“How’s Mia?”
Tasha quickly hit save on her progress then closed her laptop. “Really happy and settling in. No surprise though. She’s traveled enough to know how to make a home no matter where she ends up.”
“Do you have that skill?”
Ah. There it was. The real reason her mother had called. Their relationship wasn’t as close as it used to be. How could it, when Tasha had to
decide which parts of her life she’d reveal to her mother? “I do not, and you know that. I’m here helping a friend. When I’m done, I’ll be back home.”
“Hmph.”
Tasha cringed again. That was an all-too familiar sound. The noise was equivalent to I’m judging you but keeping it to myself, kind of. Tasha sucked in a calming breath and tried to ignore the landmine but the damn thing sat there in the silence. “Why are you skeptical?”
“No reason.”
Why did she suddenly feel so tired and anxious? “Don’t do that. You know I hate when you do that.”
Her mother sighed. “I’m just worried.” Her mother’s tone could have been flippant, but this was her mother. “You think I haven’t noticed the long face whenever you visited? I know it can’t all be me, so it must be how much you’ve missed Mia. It’s one thing for her to galivant around the world, and another for her to settle down on another continent.”
“You’re right, Mother. I did miss Mia, and that is a big part of why I’m here. I’m also here to enjoy myself. This is the first time I’ve ever left the country.”
“In Scotland, during the fall?” Her mother said, deadpan.
“What does that even mean?”
“I checked the weather report.”
Tasha had to laugh. “I know where we are in California, rain or actual cold weather is breaking news, but I promise I’ve packed every sweater and boot I own. I’ll be home soon to enjoy climate change in California.”
“In time for the holidays?” her mother pushed.
“Yes and that’s months away. I’ll let you know if things change.”
“Hmph.”
And on that note, it was time for Tasha to get off the phone. Her mother would just devolve the conversation. She would definitely point out following Mia to the ends of the earth wouldn’t change the fact her friend was never coming back to live in California. A true thing Tasha knew, but that wasn’t the point.
For once in her life, Tasha had done something so incredibly impulsive she hadn’t considered the consequences. Well…maybe not purely impulsive, but unexpected of her. Could she not just experience dropping everything and going to Scotland? Months later, if at all, she could think of how her life had changed.
Thankfully, Mia chose that moment to pop her head in.
“Mom, I gotta go. I need to show my client what I have so far on their logo. Okay. Love you. Bye.”
Her mother sucked her teeth. “I know what you’re doing, but I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Mia offered another brown paper bag. This time, there was still sausage, and now included a croissant and apple sauce. To anyone the last would be a weird addition but Tasha squealed. “You know how I feel about off-brand apple sauce.”
“I know, but I don’t get it. Apple sauce was practically made for people without teeth or with strict diets.”
“But that’s why it’s underrated.” Tasha peeled back the top and motioned to her laptop with her chin. “I have some comps that I hate if you want to look at them.”
Mia rescued the laptop from any possible apple sauce spills then settled next to Tasha on the couch. The movement reminded Tasha of the beginning of their friendship. They both had computer science introductory courses, and Work Study in the computer lab and lived on the same floor in the Black student union dormitory.
At some point they had what started as an awkward filler conversation as they waited for friends, and that turned into them doing homework together. Many nights, they sat side by side like this tossing ideas or solutions out into the ether. They shared hopes and dreams.
Tasha didn’t want anything more to change between them, but that was like wishing for anything. Wishes didn’t come true. The only other alternative was to enjoy the time they had now before Tasha headed back home, and they went back to phone calls, texts and Facetiming.
“You know what might help...” Mia said, tapping the computer screen.
“A lobotomy?”
“Or, if we gave you a concrete name. It’s the font you’re fighting against.”
“It’s always the damn font.” She glanced at the laptop’s screen. Since she didn’t have a name for the brewery, she’d used some placeholder font designating ‘name here’ to get the gist of the design. “So do you guys have a name?”
“I bugged him about it last night and finally got an answer. The final name is…”
Without more prompting, Tasha slapped on her thighs like it was a drumroll.
Mia snorted then said, “Glaswegian Brews.”
“You’ve been making him listen to Isley Brothers and like Al Green, haven’t you? So now he feels like he’s found that inner soul, that inner…brews.”
“Shut up.” Her friend laughed.
With a chuckle, Tasha asked, “Other than that, am I close on the design?”
“You’re on the right path. He’d love something traditional that really screams Scottish. Matter of fact…” Mia typed in a quick search on Google. “The Cameron crest has like this belt buckle I think you can use as the focal point.”
An image immediately popped into her mind. She pushed aside the food for her laptop.
Her friend laughed, likely recognizing the expression. “You’re welcome. Kincaid and I were just dropping in to pick up a few kegs. We’ll be later than usual tonight.”
Tasha’s focus remained on the screen, but she asked, “Something I should worry about?”
“Actually, no. It’s Kincaid’s first real sell. One of the patrons is having a party at their place and wanted something on tap. It’s unexpected but welcomed.”
At that Tasha glanced up. “Oh, shit. Look at y’all.”
“He’s been bursting with pride all day and trying not to act like it. Apparently, this patron is well-connected. We’re going to glad-hand a bit to see if we get any bigger bites.”
“Are you guys ready for that?”
“He has been stockpiling a disgusting amount. Once we have a logo, we can really dig into branding and branching out. It should have been done months ago, but…” Mia shrugged.
That trailed off sentence had been Tasha’s unspoken worry. “Sounds hopeful.”
“But stressful.”
Tasha considered biting her tongue but why start now? “Is this pushing for bigger and more from Kincaid or Grant?”
Mia tilted her head, considering the question. “Hard to say, because bigger is what Kincaid wants. He’s so excited about the possibilities. I can’t really say if it’s Grant who is pushing about the timeline. Him and Grant…”
Tasha held her breath and when her friend didn’t go on, she asked, “What about them?”
“Without breaking any confidences, I can simply say that I think out of all the siblings they shouldered a lot. It’s why they are so close. Obviously they are different, they disagree on a lot, but sometimes if Kincaid thinks it then Grant does and vice versa.”
She had only noticed what the two men had disagreed on, but she didn’t doubt Mia’s experience. Truth, Grant’s relationship with Kincaid mattered because it affected her friend. “Is going big what you want?”
“Yes…in a way. It’s been fun, challenging, different, but I fear I’m going to end up with a beer gut if things keep going the way they are. We need more people. More specialized people.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know.” Mia smiled.
Once again Tasha considered swallowing her words and this time decided to keep her mouth shut. She’d been there just a few days but not once had a wedding date been mentioned by anyone. After being there, she could understand it simply had everything to do with the influx of responsibility. Shit, she hadn’t called her mama once she’d made it to Scotland…knowing her mama. She couldn’t decide if the extra responsibility had been encouraged by no one other than Grant.
He was smart enough. He was a bastard enough to let some
thing as ordinary as stress do the dirty work of breaking Mia and Kincaid. And look, he’d even roped her in by sheer sex appeal and charm she couldn’t fight it. God. What a CFO he must be if he had her this twisted up and there was no business to save on the line with an equity firm breathing down her neck.
Still, Tasha managed to keep the conversation light with Mia. After more world domination plans and shooting the shit, her friend left to run errands. The pit in her stomach dug in deeper.
Was Grant just as in over his head as everyone else? Or was he just sitting back and enjoying how the chaos whipped through their lives?
And this was the problem with lust and being impulsive. Those two emotions blinded one to nuance and context or simply seeing things for what they were.
She hated this—being braced.
Blowing out a breath, she opened her laptop and pushed aside any thought that wasn’t putting together a logo. She could deal with Grant and her below the waistline feelings later.
Grant finally understood the saying ‘one step forward and two steps back’ as he tried his best to wait tables during a weekday rush. He shouldn’t even have been at Baird’s, but his brother had called last minute in need of help, but for the best reason—Kincaid had secured a venue. In comparison, barmaiding wasn’t half bad.
He told himself he had the pleasure of interacting with patrons. That meant he could ask what did and didn’t work at the pub while on the actual ground floor. Unlike takeovers, no one feared their answer could change their fate.
Glaswegians told him the truth without filters. Wait times topped the complaint list. They had to nip that problem, or soon enough, no one would bitch because they would find a better run pub.
While he handled the floor, Tasha helmed the bar. Objectively, she bartended better than Davina or the Baird. She remembered everyone’s preferred drinks, their names, and whatever they’d chatted about the last time she’d seen them. She put as many drinks out as he could deliver to the tables.
The Unicorn and Kincaid’s brews moved because she upsold them like her salary depended on it, and she did it so effortlessly even he almost missed the charm. Grant was impressed with how she not only did her job without complaints, without fanfare, all while she was out of her element, far from home.
