Sweetheart

by Sarah Mayberry

  In my bedroom, I sat on the end of the bed to pull my boots off. Then I stripped my jeans and reached for my running shorts. Two minutes later, Larry and I slipped out into the backyard. It was too dark to run through the fields, so we circled the building and jogged down the driveway to the main road. Then I lengthened my stride and waited for the repetitive thump of my feet on the road to clear my mind.

  It wasn’t long before we hit downtown Montpelier. Larry loped alongside me, her black coat gleaming in the streetlights, then fading in the occasional shadows of trees and buildings.

  The whirling dervish of my thoughts settled as I ran, all the unimportant stuff sloughing off until I was left with nothing but my personal truth.

  Which was this: I had been drawn to Haley Elliott from the moment she reappeared in my life.

  The realization felt like a bolt from the blue, but it also felt inevitable, because she’d been a nagging, undeniable presence in my thoughts from the moment she startled the crap out of me nearly a month ago.

  The image of her from that afternoon was very clear in my mind, from the clothes she was wearing to the way her mouth had curved into a tentative smile as she apologized for startling me. In that moment, I’d noted her pretty brown eyes and heart-shaped face and felt an urge to step closer.

  I hadn’t known who she was then—or, more accurately, whose sister she was—but I’d wanted to be closer to her.

  That had been my first, primal instinct, and apparently the feeling hadn’t gone away.

  Maybe it had even gotten more intense, based on the way I’d acted tonight, because despite the fact that I had every reason in the world to want as little to do with Haley as possible, I’d been unable to control myself when we were standing in the darkness just a few feet apart.

  And once she was actually in my arms, it had been game over.

  It was a pretty unsettling realization, and it made me rethink every single one of our interactions. Was it possible that all those times I’d thought I was rejecting all things related to Jess Elliot I was actually subconsciously freaking out over the fact that I found her little sister scorchingly hot?

  I stopped in the middle of the Main Street bridge, staggered by the very real possibility that the answer to that question might be yes.

  Holy. Shitballs.

  Larry looked up at me with an inquisitive expression, sensing my inner turmoil. My chest was heaving, and sweat trickled down my spine as I lay a hand on her back, searching once again for my equilibrium.

  I wasn’t Einstein, but I considered myself reasonably smart and savvy, and while once upon a time I might not have had the life experience to know when to protect myself, I now considered myself an expert.

  So why did I have a thing for Haley Elliott, of all people? It just didn’t make sense, not when her sister had been responsible for the most emotionally fraught, fucked-up year of my life. I didn't want anything to do with her, ever again.

  And yet here I was, hot for her sister.

  I pushed my hair off my forehead, then used the hem of my T-shirt to wipe the sweat off my face. Then I turned toward home and started jogging, slower now that we were headed back.

  By the time I got home, my thighs were burning, and Larry was giving me reproachful looks, a sure sign I’d pushed her too far.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” I told her as we made our way up the driveway.

  She went straight to her water bowl when we entered the apartment, slurping up every drop before fixing me with an intent gaze that demanded a refill. I obliged, then stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower.

  I didn’t know what to do about my unwanted attraction to Haley Elliot, but at least I had a little more insight into what had happened between us tonight. For my part, anyway. What had been going on in her head I had no idea—except that she’d been as into it as I’d been.

  That I was sure about. The little sound she’d made when I grabbed her ass and hauled her closer... Yeah, she’d been into it.

  I could feel myself getting hard again, and I made a disgusted sound. Seriously? My dick was on that much of a hair trigger?

  I gave my cock a disparaging look, but it was standing at full attention now, roused by the mere thought of Haley. I eyed the cold-water setting on the faucet, but instead of reaching for it I wrapped my hand around my shaft. I felt weak as fuck for doing it, but that didn’t stop me from closing my eyes and letting my head fall back against the shower wall as I relived those heated minutes outside the Gin Mill.

  The softness of her skin. The taste of her... God, the taste of her. The curve of her backside. The press of her breasts against my chest. The way she’d touched me. The noises she’d made.

  I came hard, my body wracked with pleasure, my head full of Haley.

  Then I washed the evidence away and turned the water off. I stepped out of the shower feeling like a guilty teenager.

  Stupid to have indulged myself like that.

  It wasn’t going to happen again.

  15

  Haley

  I spent nearly an hour getting ready for work Monday morning, fussing with my hair, changing my outfit no less than three times. All because I knew I was going to see Beck again.

  I’d told myself all weekend that Friday night had meant nothing. When that hadn’t worked, I’d reminded myself that he’d confessed he had issues with my sister. And when I’d reached for a sexy red lipstick, I’d very deliberately pictured the stunned look on his face when we’d broken our epic kiss.

  Not a stunned happy look.

  And yet I still painted my mouth Vixen Red.

  What can I say? It had been a great kiss. The hottest few minutes of my life—and we’d both been fully clothed.

  Roddy did a double take when I arrived at the Bean, then let out a low whistle.

  “Hello, sailor. Someone’s looking smokin’ today,” he said. “What’s his name, and when can I meet him?”

  I laughed a little too loudly. Was it that obvious I’d dressed to impress?

  “I’ve got a thing I need to go to after work,” I fibbed.

  “Sure you do. When you’re ready to spill, I’ll be boiling bagels in the kitchen,” Roddy said with a cheeky wink.

  I rolled my eyes and got my opening routine underway. I was ready to go early, so when the first car pulled into the lot five minutes ahead of opening, I unlocked the door and waved the customer inside rather than make her wait in her car. The day took off from there, but the closer it got to midday, the more nervous I became. Beck usually came in just before the lunchtime rush, or just after it, and I spent every second between customers looking out for his van.

  I spotted a flash of white driving by just as the lunch rush was dying down and automatically checked my reflection in the coffee machine’s shiny stainless-steel side. My features were blurry, but my red lipstick stood out so boldly it reminded me of those baboons whose butts swell and turn red when they’re in heat.

  Since that wasn’t the look I was going for, I reached for a napkin and wiped my lipstick off, hoping I hadn’t simply smeared it all over the place. Then I went to clear the tables on the far side of the dining room, so I wouldn’t look as though I was standing around waiting for Beck when he came through the staff entry. By the time I returned, I could hear Beck’s voice behind me in the kitchen as he chatted with Roddy.

  Hand on my heart, a little shiver ran down my spine as his deep voice registered in my brain. The good kind of shiver, not the bad kind.

  All of a sudden, I was back in the parking lot, his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my ass. Heat rushed north and south all at once, a wave of remembered lust that made my heart skip a beat.

  Take a chill pill, desperado.

  But it was too late. My cheeks and underwear were both on fire, and Beck and I weren’t even standing in the same room. In other words, I had it bad.

  Feeling more than a little flustered, I ducked out the door and did a tour of the tables on the patio, collecting two mor
e coffee orders and clearing plates galore. I was turning to go back inside when Beck appeared around the side of the building pushing an empty hand-truck. His chin came up minutely when he saw me, and maybe I imagined it, but it seemed like there was a hitch in his gait. Then he lifted his hand and waved. I lifted mine and waved back, then I sped toward the entrance in the vain hope that he wouldn’t think my flushed face was all about him. My heart was beating a million miles an hour by the time I was safely inside.

  Was I a smooth operator, or what? Clearly the man didn’t stand a chance.

  Jess would know how to wrap him around her finger.

  The insidious little thought burrowed its way into my mind like a worm into an apple. I really didn’t want to remember that Jess and Beck had once been together. And I really, really didn’t want to compare myself to her, because that opened the door to wondering if Beck had ever compared me to her, and that was not a door I wanted to walk through.

  A large group arrived, saving me from my torturous thoughts, and I worked my butt off for the next hour until Audrey arrived for her shift.

  “How’s your tummy?” I asked after I’d finished updating her on the morning’s business.

  “So much better. I swear, kids are walking Petri dishes. I know picking up bugs is supposed to challenge their immune systems and all that, but it would be nice if we could leave mine out of the discussion.”

  “Have you considered hazmat suits?” I suggested.

  “That’s a very helpful, practical solution, Haley,” Audrey said. Then she flicked me playfully on the leg with a dishtowel. “Go home and make beautiful things, you dufus.”

  I dutifully gathered my things and headed for home, but I knew already that I was going to be useless for work this afternoon. My head was too full of Beck.

  The way he’d looked with the sun glinting in his dark-blond hair. The shadow of stubble on his handsome jaw. The breadth of his shoulders. The size of his hands.

  I wanted those hands on my skin. On my breasts. In my pants.

  God, I wanted those hands in my pants.

  You know that probably isn’t going to happen, don’t you?

  The voice in my head was right. Friday night had probably been just an accident of alcohol and hormones.

  Still, that wasn’t going to stop me from buying fresh batteries on the way home.

  I was only human, after all, and all this pent-up energy had to go somewhere.

  16

  Beck

  Not since I was fourteen years old had I spent so much time with my hand wrapped around my cock thinking about a girl. It was seriously starting to get embarrassing, but in the week following our clinch outside the Gin Mill I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Haley.

  She was in my dreams every night, a sighing, moaning siren with soft skin and big doe eyes and a wet, hot mouth. Every morning I woke with a painfully hard erection, and every morning I gave in to the urge for release, images of Haley dancing behind my closed eyes.

  Afterward, I would remind myself why it was a stupid indulgence. It was much easier to remember why she was off limits when I wasn’t hard for her. She might have a luscious mouth and an even more luscious body, but she was still Jess Elliott’s sister. That was the dealbreaker to end all dealbreakers, a complete and utter, Hell No.

  Problem was, every time I saw her at the Bean I was too busy noticing how good she looked to remember why I shouldn’t be noticing how good she looked. On Monday she’d been wearing skinny jeans that made her ass look so fine my fingers had twitched, remembering how beautifully she’d filled my hands. She’d looked flustered at the sight of me, which was pretty much how I’d felt about seeing her, too.

  On Thursday she’d worn a knee-length jean skirt and a tight tank top, and the whole time I’d been in the Bean, I’d had to fight not to stare at her shapely calves and ankles.

  That was how bad I had it for her.

  I kept waiting for the memory of our kiss to fade, but I was still dreaming about her at the beginning of the following week.

  Waking from yet another R-rated wish-fulfillment session on Monday morning, I knew that something had to give. Instead of closing my eyes and taking myself in hand, I did what I probably should have done right from the start: I marched into the bathroom and subjected myself to a brutally cold shower, the chilly deluge shrinking my junk to snack size in no time. I was covered in gooseflesh by the time I stepped out, but my mind was clear.

  So far, so good.

  We were due for a run to the Bean that morning, and even though it made me feel like I was giving in, I decided it was time to play it smart.

  “Hey, you mind doing the deliveries this morning?” I asked my brother as we fired up the roasters.

  There was a small pause before he responded.

  “Sure, not a problem. I can take Larry if you want, so she doesn’t miss out on her road time.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  My brother shrugged off my thanks with the lift of a shoulder, and I got to work shifting bags of beans and filling up the roasters. The floor was covered with burlap fibers by the time I was done, so I grabbed the broom and tidied up. Sam let me know he was heading out twenty minutes later. My dog gave me a mournful look to let me know it pained her to the core that she was heading out on an adventure without me. Then she bounded up into the van and scrambled to stick her nose out the window the moment Sam started the engine, her tail wagging eagerly.

  I waved them off, then went back to work.

  I fielded a couple of enquiries from businesses Sam had left sample packs with, then started reconciling the accounts, my most hated chore.

  I heard the familiar note of the van’s engine just after lunch, and minutes later Sam joined me in the office.

  “You eaten yet?” he asked.

  “Nope,” I said, eyeing the paper bag he was carrying with interest.

  He pulled out a bagel sandwich and passed the bag to me.

  “You were going to eat both of these if I’d had lunch already, weren’t you?” I guessed.

  “In a heartbeat.”

  I recognized the bagels as Roddy’s handiwork and took a big mouthful of what turned out to be a peppery, lemony chicken salad.

  “Wow. That’s good,” I said.

  “Really regretting sharing now,” Sam said around a mouthful, and I could tell he was only half joking.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes, testament to how good our bagels were. When I was done, I dusted sesame seeds off my hands and eyed the coffee machine, wondering if it would be wrong to have a third cup for the day.

  “So which one is Jess Elliott’s sister? The cute little one with the awesome ass or the sassy tall one with the long hair?”

  I frowned. “The tall one is Zara. One of the co-owners.”

  “So the cute one is the sister. Interesting.”

  My brother had a speculative look on his face that I didn’t much like.

  “What’s interesting?”

  “She’s pretty cute,” he said.

  “You already said that.” Twice.

  He shrugged. “As a man, I find her cuteness interesting.”

  “Believe me, you don’t want to mess with that family.”

  “Unwad your panties. I’m not going to marry her.”

  The implication that he’d like to do other, non-married things with her was not lost on me.

  “What happened to the redhead?”

  My brother frowned, obviously trying to work out which redhead I was referring to.

  “The Gin Mill. Last Friday,” I said, helpfully narrowing the field of contenders for him.

  “Oh, yeah. That redhead.” He got a stupid smile on his face that told me all I needed to know about how that night had ended.

  “Steer clear of Haley. She’s more trouble than she’s worth.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew they were motivated more by jealousy than concern for my brother’s happiness.

  Which was an awesome developmen
t. So much for me being smart from now on.

  “Sometimes a little trouble is worth it,” Sam said with a cocky smile.

  I turned away from him and grabbed the pages I’d printed earlier.

  “We landed a new customer. That diner in Randolph you spoke to last week.”

  “Yeah? Hey, that’s cool,” Sam said. “We’re having a pretty good month between these guys and landing the Busy Bean.”

  I nodded, pleased to have successfully diverted him from talking about Haley.

  We discussed the new customer for a few minutes, then Sam headed off to check on our packaging stock. He got halfway out the door before he paused and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Happy to do the delivery runs on Mondays and Thursdays from now on,” he said, his tone carefully casual.

  “I’m good. Just had a few things I wanted to sort out in the office today,” I replied, my tone even more casual than his.

  He hovered for a beat, and I knew he was trying to come up with a legitimate business reason to insist on taking over the delivery runs. I started typing out an email, and after a few seconds he continued on his way.

  I deleted the paragraph of hogwash I’d just written and frowned at the computer screen, disturbed by how much I’d bristled at my brother’s interest in Haley. I’d just gotten pretty possessive over a woman I was determined to keep at arm’s length.

  “You are so fucked,” I whispered to myself.

  Problem was, I didn’t know what to do about it.

  17

  Haley

  It’s not him. Stop being so pathetic.

  I tore my gaze from the tall, blond man sorting through the canvases at the art supply store in Montpelier and kept making my way up the aisle toward the leather paints.

  Of course it wasn’t Beck. For starters, Beck was much more muscular, his shoulders wider, his ass a million times more delicious. About the only thing Canvas Guy and Beck had in common was their hair color and the fact they were men, but apparently that was more than enough for my over-active, Beck-starved imagination.