Lush (The King Cousins Book 1) (The King Brothers 4)

by K. D. Elizabeth

  He bursts into laughter. I fold my arms over my chest, inexplicably embarrassed. He laughs harder. “What, Nathan? What now?”

  “D-did … did you really … just say … bumping uglies?”

  “So what? Who cares?” I say defensively.

  He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, straightening after he’d doubled over laughing. “Nothing, nothing. That’s just too precious for words.”

  “No, it’s not. Nothing I say or do is precious to you. Got it? Business partners don’t do anything cute to each other, and you better remember that.”

  “But what about those internet accounts with the cute little kitty videos? They’re so precious.”

  He just stares at me innocently while I gape at him.

  “Are you for real? Did you really just say the word ‘kitty?’ Aren’t you a grown man?”

  “Would you prefer a different word? Because I can certainly use pus—”

  “Don’t you dare finish!” I cry.

  Unable to take another word, I head for my car. I need time away from him if I’ll have any hope of acting remotely professional during this meeting. Before I open the door, I turn one last time and stab a finger at him.

  “Remember,” I say, motioning from him to me and back again. “Strangers. We’re strangers. Got it?”

  But he only grins at me, that damn disarming smile. And I know the last thing we are to each other is strangers.

  Chapter Eight

  Nathan

  Jude Shaw is Stone Cold Barbie? What the hell did I do to deserve this fate? As if the condom fiasco wasn’t bad enough, now I’m going to be working with her? She’s actually the same woman I’ve been emailing for weeks? I’ve gotten into more than my fair share of trouble, but surely my sins don’t require this punishment?

  She seemed completely different over the internet. Cordial, warmly interested in my product, sincerely willing to answer my every last question.

  The woman I fucked in the bar wasn’t a bit like that. Whenever I think back on that night, all I can picture is the fuck-hot woman ready to take what she wanted from me. Zero warmth in her. Well, I mean, there was that incredible blaze between us while I was buried inside her, but immediately prior to and for damn sure right after? Not so much.

  Which one is the real Jude? Is she the cool, take-no-prisoners woman I took on that barstool or the passionate employee I’ve been emailing? The contrast is so deliciously tantalizing. How could one person be both people at the same time? I should be freaking the fuck out about how this might screw up the deal of my dreams, but all I can contemplate is what’s the best way to figure out which woman is the real Jude Shaw.

  When she waltzed out of my bar a week ago, I truly never thought I’d see her again in my life. But now she’s here, all tangled up in my business and stupid shit that I am, I like her there.

  Screwing her was like flying directly into the sun. Exhilarating. Electrifying. Irrevocable. I’ve had one helluva taste of her, and now I can’t get her out of my mouth. Or my mind. Or my desires. I want to do it again. Only longer, harder, and without any interruptions.

  But I can’t have her.

  Doing that might jeopardize this deal, and no matter how often I think with my dick, this is one situation where that just can’t happen. As much as I want her, I have to make sure I get this distributorship lined up. Our relationship can’t be anything more than strictly professional. Obviously. She’s made that clear, and unfortunately, she’s also right.

  But a little innuendo wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Her eyes light up whenever I say something dirty to her. She likes it just as much as I do. We’re going to have to find some way to relieve the tension if we’re going to work together, especially since the whole thing has been a bit embarrassing from the start. And as much as she’d like to pretend otherwise, this attraction isn’t going anywhere. You can’t just turn something like that off—not that I’d want to.

  One thing’s for sure. This is going to be very interesting.

  When I open the door for a second time this morning, I’m greeted by the sight of two men in aggressively tailored suits, one guy wearing jeans and an open-collared polo, and Jude, who stands behind the other three and hits me with what can only be called a warning glare.

  Like I could ever forget. It’s not often that a woman demands you pretend you’ve never met her. It’s usually the opposite for me. I’m not quite sure I like it.

  “You must be Nathan King. A pleasure to meet you.” The guy in the jeans steps forward, thrusting a hand toward me. I shake it, sizing him up.

  He’s a fairly tall man, on the older side, but he must take care of himself because I can’t quite pin down his exact age. There’s more salt than pepper in his hair, but there’s also a bunch of it. His tanned skin and weather-beaten face suggest a life lived outdoors. Here’s a guy who’s probably done a couple of adventurous, if not outright dangerous, things.

  This could only be one person.

  “Charles Northwood. At last we meet. I’ve heard great things, sir,” I say.

  And I have. Northwood’s almost single-handedly responsible for the craft beer renaissance in the American market. If it weren’t for him, we’d all still be swigging Coors and Bud Light.

  His company owns thirty-two brands in eight states and has recently started acquiring distilleries. I originally pitched him because rumors abound that he’s on the hunt for a good Southern bourbon. I might not be a Kentucky boy, but I can tell the difference between shit and liquid gold. NBI distributing Old Abe’s would be a real coup for both of us.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, son,” Charles says, slapping me on the shoulder. He turns, reaching for Jude straight through the suits like they don’t even exist. “And this lovely lady is Miss Jude Shaw, my absolutely indispensable taster. I’d be positively lost without her. She simply wouldn’t let me rest until I agreed to come down here and meet with you. Insisted quite vehemently when you sent in your product that it was the best thing she’s tasted in months.

  “But you know what? Every brand I’ve acquired because of her seal of approval has been a roaring success—and every brand I acquired without it proved an utter disaster. So if she’s excited about your product, well, then, so am I.”

  My eyes narrow before I catch myself and smooth my expression into polite interest. Partner liaison, my ass. Why did she imply she was some lowly customer service rep? Northwood’s just made her out to be some sort of alcoholic god. Make that goddess.

  Some delicious mystery is afoot, and I intend to get to the bottom of it. Jude’s bare bottom, that is.

  Noooo, no, I’m not. This is business. Nothing more.

  “It’s a veritable pleasure to meet you, Miss Shaw. I must say I’ve never met such a beautiful woman before in my life.”

  I shake the hand she extends, gleefully ignoring the look of death she shoots me when she thinks Northwood’s not paying attention. Electricity zaps between us the instant our hands touch. Lust barrels through me. Jude rips her hand away as if I just scorched her. I smirk, winking when her face turns red in fury.

  Northwood chuckles. “There’s that Southern charm I’ve heard all about. You better be careful around this one, Jude.”

  Jude glances at him in alarm. I don’t miss the way he pulls her casually away from me. Interesting. Jude told me there was nothing between them, but that little interaction implies otherwise.

  “How about you introduce me to your men here?” I say, trying to change the subject before my mouth does irreparable damage.

  “Who?” Northwood says blankly.

  Jude rolls her eyes. I actually have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. He really does think those guys are invisible. I nod toward the two men standing off to the side. “Your men there. I’m not hallucinating them, am I?”

  “Oh, them,” Northwood says, waving his hand. “Pay them no mind. They’re just here to make sure all the T’s get crossed and the I’s get dotted. I’m sure you al
ready know this, Nate, my man, but in life there’s usually a never-ending pile of paperwork for men like me. It pays to get someone else to do it.”

  So they’re the lawyers. That has to be a good sign, right? He wouldn’t bring his lawyers if he wasn’t planning to strike some sort of a deal. Barring a complete screw-up on my part, this deal is as good as signed.

  “Why don’t we all head in and get situated?” I say, jerking a thumb over my shoulder.

  Northwood lets out a low whistle as he enters the bar. “Helluva place you got here, King. Love the bar top. That come from a single tree?”

  “Sure did,” I say over my shoulder. “The bar is named after my grandfather, and this tree came from my family’s property before it was converted into a peach farm when my father inherited it from my grandfather. It fell down right as I was setting up the bar, and I thought using it to create the bar top had a nice sentiment to it.”

  “A man who can appreciate symbolism. I like that.”

  I turn back in time to catch Jude giving me a speculative gaze, a strange light in her eyes. Before I can needle her, she says, “I take it you picked your label’s name for the same reason?”

  Grinning at her, I say, “Beautiful and observant, I see. Abernathy was my grandfather’s name, but everybody called him Abe. That’s quite a catch you got there, Northwood, sir.”

  Jude rolls her eyes again behind Northwood’s back, but I don’t miss her lips twitch in a smile as she turns to study the bar.

  “Call me Charles, Nate. And yes, Miss Shaw is without equal.”

  So apparently, I’m to call him ‘Charles’, and Jude ‘Miss Shaw.’ Curiouser and curiouser. What exactly is their relationship? I wonder what I’ll have to do in order to solve the mystery. Hopefully, tie Miss Shaw to my bed and tickle her until she gives.

  “Why don’t y’all take a seat, and then we can get started?” I suggest after I lead them into the back room.

  Northwood takes a leisurely stroll around the room, studying everything from the leather chairs, to the vintage alcohol advertisements on the wall, to the poker table in the corner. The suits stuff themselves into two of the chairs on the edge of the room like they’re planning to be seen and not heard. What weirdos.

  Jude just stands by the door. If I knew her better—and that’s quickly becoming the case—then I would say she’s hesitating on breaching this barrier of mine. She’s right to hesitate. This is my lair, my inner sanctum, my manly man cave. This is the exact kind of place where predators drag their prey.

  Which reminds me.

  I sidle up to her. Without looking at her, I whisper, “See that poker table? That’s where I like to taste wet, throbbing pussy. Too bad you’re off-limits.”

  Jude sucks in a sharp breath. A moment later, pointy nails dig into my arm. I flinch. Damn, those are vicious.

  “Now that I have your attention,” she hisses, “if you ever say something like that again, I’ll lop your balls off. That is the exact kind of shit I don’t want to hear from you.”

  I risk a glance at Northwood, who’s completely distracted by one of the ads. I quickly turn toward Jude, my mouth hot against her ear. “That’ll never happen, sweetheart. Your pussy loves my balls far too much to allow any harm to come to them.”

  Jude emits a low whimper. Her face turns red, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Ha. Those nails aren’t too pointy now, are they? Jude and I both know she likes my filthy mouth. Any threat she might make holds no water if her suddenly ragged breath and flushed skin are any indication.

  To the rest of the room, I say, “Miss Shaw, do take this chair, here. It’s the comfiest one in the room and has an excellent view of the poker table—if you’re into that sort of thing.”

  “I’m not,” she grumbles, deliberately taking the seat across from the one I suggest.

  Northwood turns toward us. “But Jude, just last week we played—”

  “I’m far more interested in hearing what Mr. King has to say about his label, than in debating the finer points of poker or seat selection.”

  Northwood laughs, but I whisper, “I’d make you come hard on that table,” as I slip past her to take my place at the front of the room, next to the projector I’ve set up on the far side of the wall. I turn back to catch Jude’s eyes dart away from my ass.

  Whooo boy. This presentation is going to be ten thousand times better than anticipated. I haven’t had this much fun in months. I might have to see just how much innuendo I can slip into this conversation before Jude completely blows a gasket.

  It would be better if she blew me, naturally, but unfortunately, that’s off the table. We’re going to have to settle for a lot of sexual banter because this deal is too important for it to go any further.

  But after the deal is signed, all bets are off. Once the ink on our partnership dries, I’m going to fuck Jude Shaw all the way to the airport and then send her on her merry way back to whatever Stone Cold Barbie Playhouse she came from.

  Chapter Nine

  Jude

  “So, Nate, why don’t you tell me how you came to be so damn talented. I don’t think Miss Shaw has ever raved about a fledgling label quite as much as she has yours.”

  I try not to roll my eyes. Sure, I’ve been insisting for weeks we meet with Nathan King because he has an exceptional product, and I wanted to prove that I could handle running my own subsidiary by bringing it under our umbrella, but Northwood is laying it on real thick.

  Whenever he does that during a deal, I know he’s just trying to lull the other side into a false sense of security. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s about to shoot the person down, but it’s still a blatant manipulation tactic. But for whatever reason, his doing it to Nathan bothers me.

  And since when did he become ‘Nathan’ to me, anyway? At the very least, he should be Mr. King until he invites me to use his first name. But I guess that professional ship sailed the moment I let him enter me …

  “Well, I have a whole presentation explaining exactly that, sir,” Nathan says, motioning toward the projector. He notices me studying him and winks. He appears to know exactly what Charles is about. That should not make me feel so relieved.

  Northwood waves a hand, shaking his head. “No, no. PowerPoints bore the ever-loving shit out of me—if you’ll excuse the crassness. I want to know what makes you tick, why you got started in this business, what excites you. You can’t encapsulate that in a computer presentation.”

  Nathan slides a glance toward me, and I just know that what’s running through his mind is that I excite him. I squirm in my seat as heat pulses through me. This is bad news. Whenever I look at him, the attraction flashes between us. Do I have any hope of stifling the feeling?

  This is damn inconvenient. I almost wish I’d never discovered Old Abe’s because at least then Northwood would be auditioning me for my promotion with a brand owned by someone I don’t want to spend an entire weekend riding like a pony.

  I can’t have Nathan King again. And he can’t have me. We both know it. But tell that to the heat coursing through my body, making it throb with need.

  Shit.

  Nathan finally pulls his gaze away from mine. “Okay, so no presentation,” he says, making a big show of sinking into one of the chairs across from Northwood. “But before we continue, would anyone like a glass of Old Abe’s?”

  “It’s not even ten in the morning,” I say, even though just the idea of tasting Old Abe’s has my mouth watering.

  Northwood rubs his hands gleefully. “Well, hell, King, pour away. Make it a double. And don’t tell me you’re suddenly growing a conscience, Jude? What happened to the woman who drinks me under the table?”

  Great. Bring that up now, why don’t you, Northwood? Nathan stares at me again, eyes flashing in delight at this little discovery, damn the man.

  It’s not my fault I can hold a lot of liquor. It happens to be a real asset for my job—but it’s made me a wild woman on more than one occasion.

  Nath
an no doubt is filing this information away for later. He pours Northwood a large glass, then hands another to me. I try to decline it, but he simply winks at me again and leaves it on the table, shamelessly caressing a finger along my wrist before turning away.

  Northwood takes a sip and groans. “Good God, that’s good. You’ve really outdone yourself, King. Don’t you agree, Jude?”

  Feeling Nathan’s eyes on me, I slowly reach for the glass and lift it to my mouth. Inhaling, I allow the spice and sweetness to invade my nose. The effect is so tantalizing it might as well be a narcotic. I’ve wanted more of this drink for weeks, and now I’m finally trying it again.

  I take a small sip. The fire explodes in my mouth, first on the tip of my tongue, rolling back along the roof of my mouth before hitting my throat. The liquor is fairly heavy on the tongue, the sensation more like whole milk than skim. There’s a kind of thickness to it, a weight that underscores its spicy taste. Warmth spreads in my chest as the sweet taste of peach wars with the smokey spice from the oak barrel.

  Oh, God. It’s just as perfect as I remember. How is that possible? How did this man craft such an exceptionally balanced spirit? He has no formal background, no training. By all accounts, one day he decided to grab a couple of peaches from his family’s farm and experiment in his basement. It’s almost offensive, how good it is. People work their whole careers to create something like this.

  And Nathan King absolutely nailed it.

  They’re waiting for an answer. I’m still too overwhelmed by what I’ve just consumed to give a reply without sounding like a complete zealot.

  “Hmm,” I finally manage, avoiding their gazes.

  “Oh, come now, Jude. You’ve been ranting about this bourbon for weeks. Where’s the exuberance?” says Northwood.

  I don’t respond, just tap my fingers against the glass in thought. It’s good. Damn good. But the inexplicable thing to me is why Northwood’s being so effusive. This doesn’t help him get a better deal. It gives Nathan all the power in the negotiation.