Brant
A few hours later, long after the sun fades. I belt out the final song of the evening.
It was pretty awesome having people clapping, cheering, and singing along with us. But none of that is half as exciting as watching Caroline watching me from across the room. Her blue eyes smolder with heat as I hit the last note.
I got such a rush from the crowd. Or maybe it’s Caroline giving me that thrill.
The four of us take a bow and I name each one of the band members and wait for applause.
“Man, you were awesome,” Boone says, then takes a pull from his Coors Light bottle.
Gracie hugs me. “Brant, he’s right. You’ve got natural talent. Thanks for bailin’ us out of this jam.”
Jet hands me a beer. “Dude, seriously, I’m gonna show Duke the video footage from tonight. If you ever want to sing with us again, we’re all for it. I’m sure Duke will be too.”
I take a long pull from the bottle. “Thanks y’all it was a blast. But I think this was my one and done.” I step down from the stage and walk toward Caroline.
“Hey,” she says, her plump lips slide into a familiar smile.
“Time to collect on that encore.”
She gazes up at me and frowns. “I can’t just yet. I gotta make sure everything gets torn down and then I need to lock up.”
My eyes sweep up to the hayloft and I nod. “How about I steal you away for a few minutes.”
A smile forms on her lips as she glances up at me. “I suppose that I’m overdue for a short break.”
Then she turns around with a flip of her blond hair and walks toward the stairs with an extra swivel of her perfect ass.
A few minutes later, I’ve got Caroline pinned between a wooden column and a stack of hay bales.
Her tongue peeks out, wetting her bottom lip. Caroline leans closer and I dip my head, until we’re so close that our breaths are mingling. Sweet mint crashes into my senses, overloading every synapse in my brain.
“I want you,” she whispers. “Do you want me?”
I take the clipboard from her hands and set it on top of a hay bale. Her thick lashes flare when my eyes meet hers.
“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want you.”
I lose myself in those blue eyes, they’re gorgeous like the ocean waters surrounding Hawaii. My hands frame her face and then our lips fuse together. It’s soft at first, then my tongue flicks over hers. My hands slide around to the back of her neck.
My fingers grasp firmer, pulling her closer. I can’t seem to get close enough. I drag my tongue across her lips tasting the mint and her.
She presses her breasts against my chest and I want to devour her. With one hand in her hair, my other hand slides down her rib cage to the hemline of her dress.
Caroline moans into my mouth when my hand skims up her thigh. I grin as I my lips feather over her jaw.
“Brant,” she whispers. “Someone might see us.”
I pivot moving us further into the darkness of the hayloft. My fingers tease the edge of her panties and I don’t want to stop. This is too much fun.
Her hips thrust forward when I push my foot against hers widening her stance.
Caroline’s phone pings. Keeping my mouth on hers I take the phone and place it on top of the clipboard.
My cock is pressed painfully against my zipper. Caroline’s eyes are hazy and hooded. She tilts her head, swiping her tongue slowly against mine.
Her phone vibrates and it’s loud.
“Brant, you’ve got to stop because I won’t be able to,” she says.
Fuck my life.
I nudge her with my nose. “Guess I’ll be the one to have all the self-control.”
She laughs breathlessly, with a hint of frustration as she glances at her phone. “I gotta sign some paperwork and lock up.”
Caroline takes a step forward and the light passes over her face. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen.
“Let me take you out tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night? Does that mean you’re leaving?”
I pull her closer. “It’s late, and I’m just keeping you from getting your work done.”
She kisses me—fast and hard. “Sure, I’ll go out with you.”
“Good, I’ll pick you up around six.”
Caroline nods, and then she skips off toward the stairs. Her blond hair spills over her shoulder when she looks back at me. “Oh, Brant?”
“Yeah.”
“Tomorrow I better get that private encore.”
I smirk. “You know it, darlin’.”
Caroline
Brant picks me up right on time.
“Sugar, you look hot . . . like crazy hot,” Brant says as he opens the door to his Mustang GT Fastback for me.
I’m wearing my favorite black minidress. It’s strapless and I pair it with a pair of gold heels and jewels that make the whole outfit.
Yeah, I like fashion. And even more, I like that Brant likes what I’m wearing. Hopefully, the visual wipes out any memory of me dressed in those silly movie theater uniforms—boring black and red, cheap cotton and rayon.
“Thanks,” I say, as he climbs into the car.
Brant’s car is so sexy. Leather interior. And it smells like a man.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to the country club,” he tells me and maneuvers down the gravel driveway.
“Big spender,” I comment and lean back into the buttery soft seat.
“Gotta make sure I do this right,” he says, and grasps my hand.
We drive through the wrought iron gates and up the long-paved drive toward the massive white mansion that sits on a plantation. It’s got this rustically beautiful country feel with all the elegance of old-school southern charm—sweeping columns, miles of lush green grass, and don’t get me started on the view of the lake.
Brant hands his keys to the valet, then he takes my hand and leads me through the front door.
“Good evening, Mister Cardwell,” a gal wearing a black shift dress greets us.
“Brenda,” he drawls. “What have I told you about callin’ me that?”
She smiles and a blush spreads up her neck. “Sorry, Brant, I’m just doin’ my job.” Brenda directs us toward the main dining room. The chandeliers cast a soft glow over the hardwood floors and the candlelit tables add that extra touch of romance. Dark paneled wood spans around the room and the hum of bluesy country music pipes through the speakers.
Brant pulls out my chair just as our server steps up to the table. While Brenda pours water into our glasses, she tells us all about the specials. Brant orders a bottle of pinot grigio and we settle on pan-seared scallops for an appetizer.
My stomach rumbles as I read over the menu debating between the risotto or the peach-glazed chicken.
“When does the school year start?”
“After Labor Day.”
“Are you looking forward to it?” he asks and goes back to looking over the menu.
I lift a shoulder. “I guess.”
“That excited, huh?”
Our server reappears with our wine before I can answer. We place our orders. I decide to try the risotto, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be back here. Brant orders the beef filet and I can’t help it when my eyes focus on the price.
He swallows a drink of wine, then levels his gaze toward me. “Do you like working at the place you graduated from?”
“It’s a good job, don’t get me wrong. But high school secretary isn’t exactly my dream job.”
“What is your dream job? Any job in the world, what would you do?”
“Honestly, I’ve never thought about it.”
“Never?”
I laugh. “Okay, not never, just not often.” Taking a sip from my wine glass, I gather my courage. “So you know how much I love to run, right?”
He smirks and meets my eyes with a playful laugh. “Well, I know how much I love the way your ass looks in th
ose running shorts.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” I lean closer to the table. “The running shorts . . . I made them myself.”
His eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“Totally serious. For my final project in my business management class, I created a six-piece collection of activewear. And I registered the copyright on my designs—in case I ever have the chance to start my company. I’m working on the patent, but for now the copyright at least covers the design sketches.”
“Caroline, that’s really cool. Amazing in fact.”
I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face. “Thanks, I think so too, but the startup costs are millions for what I want to do.” I lift my wine glass. “Here’s to pipe dreams.”
He nods. “To making pipe dreams a reality.”
I swallow a gulp of wine just as our appetizer arrives. Brant digs in and plates a few scallops for me and then himself. The smell of garlic and butter makes my mouth water.
“What about you? Is working at the family distillery your dream job?” I pop a scallop into my mouth and wait for his answer.
He exhales a laugh before tipping the fork to his lips. “Well, I guess it’s going to be pretty cool carrying on the family legacy. I’m interested in adding IoT sensors to the equipment for data analytics collection. I’ve got plans for creating experimental ageing warehouses with the hopes of refining a craft that is centuries old.”
He takes a bite and my eyes watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. And I remember what it felt like to kiss him there.
“None of this will be done to create the bourbon faster—it’s about making the process smarter and more efficient. Same old recipe. Same old yeast. But everything’s going to be computerized in the distillery. It’s going to be a huge task.”
I could listen to him talk for hours. My eyes meet his blue ones.
“Using technology to streamline production is a smart move. There are some things that you gotta let nature do though.”
He smiles. “Of course, you need the hot summer months to push the whiskey into the wood and the cold weather to pull it out.”
I polish off the last of my appetizer and wash it down with the wine. “So, tell me about the singing. Where did you learn to sing like that?”
Brant
I twirl the stem of the wine glass between my fingers. Caroline rakes a hand through her hair and curiosity lurks in those impossibly beautiful blue eyes of hers.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She laughs and fills our glasses with more wine. “Try me.”
“Well, I’ve always been interested in music. I never sang in the church choir or anything like that, I just liked to sing. We’d pass around the guitar and a bottle of whiskey at the fraternity house. Sometimes I’d hit a bar up for some karaoke, but mostly it was just all in good fun. My senior year of undergrad, I flew to Nashville on a whim during spring break and auditioned for Nashville’s Got Talent.”
Her eyes pop wide. “You did?”
I nod and sip my wine. “Yeah. And they offered me a spot.”
“What? No way.”
“It absolutely happened.”
Her brows crinkle. “But you weren’t on the show.”
“I turned it down,” I admit. “I was satisfied with just being given the opportunity if I wanted it. But . . .”
“But you had other goals.”
“I did.”
Our food arrives and Caroline stares down at her plate. “These are the biggest mushrooms I’ve ever seen.”
I smirk, because she says it so innocently. I don’t miss my opportunity to let it pass. “Mine’s bigger.” I gesture toward the very large piece of meat on my plate.
She rolls her eyes and lets out a tiny laugh. “You have a dirty mind.”
I click my tongue, cutting into the beef. “What? I was only talking about the filet on my plate. If you were thinking about something else,” I drawl out, “then, sugar, I’m afraid you’re the one with the dirty mind.”
Caroline picks up her fork and gets to work on her risotto. As the tines slide between her pink lips, I get a depraved satisfaction watching her. She hums and moans as she eats. It’s fucking hot. By the sixth moan, I’m readjusting my cock.
She tilts her head to take a drink of wine. Her blond hair slides over her shoulder exposing her neck. I can’t stop looking at her. She’s so damn beautiful. The white wine coats her upper lip and I fight the urge to lick it off her as the tip of her tongue swipes it off.
My mind races and I can’t stop thinking about how I want to suck on her lips. Nip her neck. Fuck her—slow and deep. Achingly slow and deep.
Sitting across from her right now is agonizing. This is going to be a long evening.
“Cardwell?”
I turn at the sound of my name and Mason Houser approaches our table. Houser and I have something in common, we’re both young and running the family business. He’s been running Houser Barbeque since he graduated college.
“Houser.” I nod and shake his hand.
“Thought that was you sittin’ here . . .” His voice trails off as he stares at Caroline. “Do my eyes deceive me? Caroline Stratton. Damn, girl, when did you get so hot?”
My fist curls into the palm of my hand. Etiquette. I have to remember that sometimes people in this town just don’t have any.
She smiles. “Hi, Mason.”
“Caroline, you goin’ to the reunion?”
Her gaze flicks to mine.
I nod. “Yeah, she’ll be there.”
“You comin’ to the reunion too, Cardwell?”
“Yep, I’m Caroline’s date,” I say. There’s no mistaking the pride in my voice.
Mason glances toward the entrance. “Well, I gotta be goin’, I’m here with my parents. Amber Lynn and Donnie just got here.” He nods over his shoulder. “Amber Lynn insists we have a family dinner here once a month.”
Amber Lynn is his sister. According to the town gossips, mainly my mom’s bunco group—she never took her husband Donnie’s last name because she always wanted people to know she was a Houser.
Why not hyphenate?
Small towns.
“Is he a friend of yours?” Caroline asks when Houser walks away.
“More like an acquaintance. Their family provides the pulled pork barbeque at our annual fall harvest.”
“I’ve heard about the legendary fall harvest bash at the Cardwell estate.”
“Maybe you’ll be my date this year?”
She smiles over the rim of her wine glass. Her skin radiates with the faint pink glow of alcohol. Her eyes are hazy as she leans back in her chair regarding me.
“Maybe I will.”
We finish our dinner and I insist that she’s gotta try the dark chocolate lava cake for dessert. She doesn’t object and again I can’t help but watch her mouth. Caroline slowly swallows a little bite of chocolate raspberry ganache cake. Sweet, reddish pink glaze drips onto the corner of her mouth.
She looks at me and licks her fork. The air crackles between us. I feel it and so does she. It’s profound.
I lean forward and tap my bottom lip. “You got a little something right there,” I tell her, unable to pull my eyes from hers.
She swipes it away never taking her eyes off mine. My cock twitches . . . a lot.
Fuck. Just fucking hell.
I pour the last of the wine into our glasses.
“So, tomorrow is the big day,” she asserts, tipping the glass to her lips.
“It is.”
“You ready? It’s all going to be so different . . . new.”
“I’m ready for a new chapter in my life.”
Caroline
Brant turns his head toward the music floating from the other room. There’s a dance floor and several couples are swaying to the beat.
It’s Billie Holiday’s “Love Is Here to Stay.”
I know because my mother loves all things Billie Holiday. I toss my napkin
onto the linen tablecloth and hold out my hand. “Dance with me?”
His hand slides into mine, but he quickly takes the lead. I’m not surprised. This is Brant, a born leader.
We step onto the dance floor and I wrap my arms around his thick shoulders. He slings his arm around my lower back and pulls me flush against him. The closeness makes me move one hand over his heart.
We sway for a few moments just looking at one another. Then when the chorus hums out, I lie my head against his broad chest. His chin rests against the top of my head. Brant smells like lavender, lemon and a subtle hint of patchouli. It’s alluring and seductive all at once.
I lift my head from his chest to look into his eyes. “Remember when you told me that you weren’t one for dancing?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you say that?”
He lowers his head. “Some part of me knew that if I held you—had you in my arms—I’d never want to let you go.”
I reach up for him, my lips ghost over his. Brant cups my face, his thumb strokes against my cheek. It’s soft, warm and hot as hell. He moves us toward a darker corner of the dance floor.
The taste of wine on his tongue has me kissing him deeper. Was it only a few nights ago that I kissed him for the first time?
My pulse pounds in my ears. His eyes flash with heat and I know he feels this spark between us. The way my heart beats in extreme speed against my rib cage is my proof.
“Brant,” I whisper. “Do you want to get out of here?”
A grin spreads across his face, and he nods slowly. I feel every inch of him against me. He’s all hard muscle and smells so good.
I don’t really remember Brant paying the bill or the two of us leaving. But I definitely remember Brant’s hips pinning me against the passenger door of his car.
The warm night air swims around us and I feel completely relaxed . . . happy. Our lips crash together in a desperate rush. His tongue strokes over mine and I feel his kiss everywhere. Brant’s hands tangle in my hair and I groan feeling the ridge of his cock grinding against my thigh.
The throb between my legs is pure agony. Slickness pools and sweat forms at the back of my neck.
Sweet Agony Page 6