Her hand fell to his thigh, and she sang, “Thick thighs, cherry pies,” as Whispers came into view. “Turn right at the next light.”
He tried not to make too much out of her hand on his thigh, but his body had other ideas. As he turned down the road and drove toward a residential area, he said, “You live across the street from the bar? Why didn’t you tell me before I drove you all around town?”
She grinned up at him and squeezed his thigh, which sent heat straight to his groin. “And miss all the fun? Besides, we needed this time alone.”
Yeah, they needed time alone all right, but not with her ten sheets to the wind.
She traced the tattoos on his forearm, whisper-singing, “Call me babypop, lollipop, lollipop.” She hummed as she directed him down two more streets to a quiet residential cul-de-sac. “I’m renting the one at the end. Why are you so gruff all the time when everyone else thinks you’re a hero?” she asked out of the blue.
He cut the engine and wondered who had been filling her head with bullshit. “I told you, I’m no one’s hero.” He unhooked her seat belt. She curled her fingers around his forearm, gazing hungrily into his eyes. Her hair was tousled, and her cheeks were flushed. He wished he’d been the cause of those things. It took all his restraint not to lean forward and kiss her.
Tinkerbell’s head popped up behind the seat and she barked, startling Finlay into Bullet’s arms. If this was how she reacted to dogs, maybe they’d take a stroll through the pound.
“Lie down, Tink.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, as if talking alone might call Tinkerbell into the front seat. “You didn’t answer me,” she said quietly, looking temptingly innocent. Her hand moved up and down his forearm, slow and painfully soft. “Why are you so gruff?”
He wasn’t used to women like her, all pure and honest. She made him want to talk, and the feeling was so foreign, he forced himself to climb out of the truck rather than contemplate it. She scooted over to the door, her frilly dress bunched around her thighs. A tiny gold heart hung around her neck on a sparkling chain, and she had a sad look in her eyes that nearly dropped him to his knees.
“Talk to me,” she pleaded. “You can’t hide behind all that bigness forever.”
Wanna bet? “How about we get you inside.”
He helped her to her feet, steadying her as she swayed, and then grabbed her purse from the seat. He peered into the back and said, “Hold down the fort, Tink. I’ll be back.”
As he cracked the window for Tinkerbell, he took in the incredibly small house. The covered porch was barely wider than the front door. A small picture window overlooked an even smaller garden, and a single window was centered in the gable. It looked more like a dollhouse than a residence.
“You remind me of that guy in that show,” she said as they walked up a narrow walkway. “The big guy. The one everyone hated.”
He put an arm around her to keep her from tipping backward as they ascended the porch steps. He had no idea what show she was talking about, but he had a feeling neither did she.
He held up her purse, and she dug out her keys. When she dangled them in front of her eyes like they’d magically appeared, he took them from her and unlocked the door.
She leaned against the wall fidgeting with the little bow at her waist. “Why do you open doors and help drunk girls? It doesn’t really go with your bad-boy image.”
She pushed from the wall, swaying forward. He caught her before she could fall, and lifted her into his arms, reveling in her softness and her heavenly scent. It had been too long since he’d gotten laid, and his dick instantly rose to the occasion.
“Whoa!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against him. “Your chest is so hard.”
He bit his tongue against a filthy retort and carried her inside, closing the door softly behind him. His gaze swept over the room, taking in the white shag rug, a beige sofa and love seat, fluffy pink, purple, and flowered pillows, and a host of neatly stacked notebooks and a giant calendar atop a glass coffee table. Across the room, a round kitchen table littered with ledgers, colorful sticky notes, a cup full of pens, and several cookbooks sat in front of a set of glass doors. The walls were decorated with photographs of Finlay, Penny, and he assumed, their parents, intermixed with happy and inspirational sayings, like, Make today beautiful! and Believe you can and you will.
He headed for the couch and she pointed down the hall. “Bedroom, please.”
Clenching his jaw, he hesitated. Finlay Wilson’s bedroom. The place he’d been fantasizing about since he’d met her at Truman’s wedding. He’d fantasized about the feminine beauty having a dark side that came out in the bedroom. He’d also fantasized about taking her in a soft, frilly bed that was all Finlay.
She leaned up and ran her finger over his beard as she whispered, “Bedroom, Brutus.”
Brutus. Why did that make him even hotter? Against his better judgment, he carried her down the hall.
Her hand slid down his neck, playing over the skin just above the collar of his T-shirt. “Why did you get a snake tattoo? What else do you have tattooed on you?” She tugged at his neckline, peered beneath his shirt, and gasped. “Chest hair! I love chest hair.”
Her hand dove down the front of his shirt, grazing his nipple. Christ. She wrecked him.
“Male models don’t even have chest hair anymore.” Her fingers moved along his pecs. “I bet they shave everywhere.” She leaned up again as he crossed the threshold to her bedroom and whispered, “I bet you don’t shave anywhere.”
He tried to quell his mounting desire, but it came out in the form of a groan. Her bedroom looked just as soft and innocent as she did. Floral-patterned pillows rested against a tufted white headboard, and cutesy knickknacks in light colors filled the room.
She peeked down his shirt again. “I see ink. What is it? Show me?”
He set her on the edge of the bed, and she grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him so close he could taste her sweet breath.
“Finlay,” he warned.
“Brutus,” she said with a giggle, and pushed his shirt up.
The feel of her warm hands on his stomach sent heat streaming through his veins. He grabbed her wrists and shook his head.
“The guy in that movie had tattoos, too. You could be him, you know. You’re big and burly, and I bet you’re good at being naked like he was.” She covered her mouth and whispered, “Oops! Did I say naked?”
He cocked a brow.
“I meant…naked.”
Fuck. Hearing her alluring voice say that word made him hard as stone. “Finlay, stop. You’re drunk, and I don’t want you to regret anything tomorrow.”
She glared at him. “For your information, I’m not drunk.”
“Are you sober?” he asked.
She leaned forward, and the neckline of her dress shifted, giving him an eyeful of her gorgeous breasts straining against pink lace. She pressed her lips together. “No, but I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy.”
“Right, we’ll see if you remember any of this tomorrow.”
She pushed to her feet, using his hip to steady herself, and said, “You think I don’t know what I’m saying? Well, guess what, Brutus?” She accentuated her words, which flew from her mouth at breakneck speed, by poking him in the sternum. “I know exactly what I’m saying. I wanted to drink too much tonight so I could stop thinking about you and your dirty talk. I want to see you without your shirt on. I want to see your tattoos because I want to know why you have them, and what they mean, and how you got them with chest hair? Did they shave it? I do think you look like that actor Jason Mammoth, or whatever his stinking name is. And I know I want to see you nake—”
A slow smile crept across his lips.
Finlay slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “I think you’d better go,” she said from behind her hand as she lowered herself to the bed.
“Sure you’re okay?”
She nodded.
“For the re
cord—”
She closed her eyes and held up her hand, silencing him.
“I want to see you naked too,” he said honestly.
Her eyes popped open, her cheeks flamed red, and her jaw gaped again. He used his index finger to lift her chin so her mouth closed.
Thrusting a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “I’m going. Lock up after I leave.”
Chuckling, he headed out to his car. For the first time in years, he couldn’t wait to go to work the next day.
Chapter Four
“I’M GOING TO slaughter you,” Finlay said to Penny over the phone the next afternoon as she stood by the kitchen counter, cracking eggs into a bowl.
“Why? You needed to cut loose, and it’s not like you got into any trouble.”
“Oh no?” She began beating the eggs. “What would you call telling Bullet Whiskey that I wanted to see him naked? You know I can’t hold my liquor. You’re my sister. You should stop me from doing bad things.”
“Then you’ve got the wrong sister, because I was thrilled that you finally had some fun, Fin. You haven’t gone out and had any fun since you lost Aaron.”
Finlay added more ingredients to the bowl and beat them as hard and fast as she could. She did not want to think about Aaron, or how long it had been since she’d been interested in a man. She’d finally gotten some perspective on Aaron’s death. And talking about the fact that she hadn’t dated much since she’d lost him wouldn’t change it. She only wanted to figure out how to walk into Whiskey Bro’s today and look Bullet in the eye without feeling like she was standing there buck naked now that she’d revealed her innermost thoughts.
“You’re baking,” Penny said.
“Of course I’m baking! Didn’t you hear me? I told Bullet I wanted to see him naked. And I knew I was saying it when it came out. It wasn’t like I was too drunk to think straight. I was just drunk enough to think straight and tell the truth.” She had always turned to cooking when she was emotional. When she’d lost Aaron she’d come up with five new recipes in one weekend, and when they’d lost their father she’d baked enough desserts for three homeless shelters in the first five days. It was a wonder she didn’t weigh three hundred pounds.
Penny laughed. “Aren’t you the one who preaches honesty?”
“Yes, but I’m working for his family, and he’s the kind of guy who probably sleeps with women like other guys eat chips. And you know I am not that kind of girl.”
“Maybe not, but how do you know he’s like that? I’m so glad you moved home, by the way. You really have been out of the real world for too long. There’s more to life than just work, Fin. And besides, be careful what you say. Maybe I’m one of those girls. I’m no saint.”
“I’m sorry.” Finlay set the bowl aside and sank down to a chair at the table. She knew Penny wasn’t the kind of girl who slept with lots of guys, but her sister did have a more active sex life than she did. Then again, didn’t most socially active twentysomething women?
“Fin, it’s been years since you lost Aaron. Why can’t you explore a little?”
“I did explore, remember? Last year?” The last time she’d had sex was at the end of last year, and it hadn’t gone well. She hadn’t felt any pleasure, and definitely not the type of connection she should have. That experience had been the catalyst to her decision to move back home. Even with Isabel’s friendship, she’d been lonely. If she wasn’t whole enough to love a man, then she could at least be near her sister, who loved her unconditionally.
“I know, but one bad experience does not mean that you won’t find a connection with someone else. Listen, Fin, I’ve had more sex than you have, and I’m four years younger than you. Maybe you should admit to remembering everything. Tell Bullet the truth, that you think about sleeping with him. Go out with him. Heck, sleep with him if you want to. This is your life and your body, and no one is going to judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried anyone will judge me. I just…I can’t tell him that. I don’t even know if I want to sleep with him. I just know that he makes me confused, and hot. Definitely hot. But that doesn’t mean I need to jump his bones.”
“Then you could lie and say it was a minor lapse in judgment due to alcohol consumption, or just act like you don’t remember anything from last night. He’ll probably believe that. And don’t be embarrassed, which I know you will be. It’s not like he knows you well enough to realize that the side he saw last night has been kept under lock and key for years.”
“Ugh. Why does everything sound so easy when you say it?”
“Because it is. You have choices. Lie or be honest. I personally think you should take a ride on the Bullet train and then figure it out. What do you have to lose?”
“Only my mind. I can’t believe my baby sister is telling me to sleep with a biker.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wants to get naked with him. I’m just being supportive. Besides, I like the Whiskeys. I’d date one of them in a second.”
“How are we even sisters?” Finlay laughed. “You jump into things with your eyes closed, and I have no idea what I want. All I know for sure is that he’s got this way of looking at me, and it makes me nervous, but the good kind of nervous, you know? With Aaron I felt sparks, but this is like lightning. And I don’t understand it, or know what to make of it. He’s everything I never wanted. You know me. Clean-cut guys all the way. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since I saw him at Tru and Gemma’s wedding with their kids when he made that ridiculous pass at me. Remember?”
“I’ll never forget that one. Heck, I want you to sleep with him just so I know if he really is a Bullet train.”
They both laughed.
“Listen,” Penny said in that I-have-all-the-answers-little-sister voice that Finlay knew so well. “You’re curious because he’s tough and confident and strong. He’s everything you are—”
“What? Have you lost your mind? I’m none of those things. I’m like a flower and he’s a lawn mower.”
“You’re so wrong. You’re one of the strongest women I know. When we lost Dad, you were my rock. And now you’re here. Do you know how much courage it takes to pick up your life and start over?”
“Do you know how much courage it takes to open your own ice cream store with your inheritance and have no idea if you’ll sink or swim?”
“See?” Penny said. “We are definitely sisters, ’cause you’re doing the same thing with your catering company. Will you bring me some of whatever you’re making?”
“Sure. They’re cookies. I’m going to spend the morning choosing new appliances for the bar, and this time when I go there, I’m not going to run like a scared kitten into the kitchen. I’m going to pretend the customers are my catering clients, and put myself at ease.”
“In other words, you’re going to distract them from your blond hair, blue-eyed goody-two-shoes image with food.”
“Pretty much. But really, it’s about distracting me, not them.”
“Throw some jeans on, and a pair of boots. That’ll help you fit in.”
“This is about me being comfortable, and I’m comfortable in skirts and dresses. I’ve got this. You’ll see. I’ll come by before I head over to the bar.”
After she ended the call, she noticed her message light was on and scrolled to her text messages. She didn’t recognize the number, but when she opened the text and read it—Here when you need me. B—she realized it was the message Bullet had sent her last night, and lightning ricocheted inside her.
She stared at the text, thinking about the way he’d plowed into the bar last night and had dragged them all out of there, no questions asked. Was that the way the Whiskeys did things? Or was that just Bullet’s way? What if she hadn’t been tipsy? Would he have let her stay to find her own way home?
Would I have wanted him to?
She added his name to her contacts, then set about making the cookies. She mixed and kneaded, rolled, and cut, creati
ng dozens of motorcycles, leather jackets, and boots. She was excited to see the customers’ faces when they tasted her special recipe. Yes, it’s the customers I’m hoping love them. Not Bullet. Nope. Not him.
Yeah, right. I can’t even lie to myself!
While the cookies baked, she shopped online for appliances, comparing prices, sizes, and warranties. She called the companies and negotiated discounts for her top three choices, printed out the spec sheets, and put them in a folder alongside the budget she and Dixie had come up with. She and Dixie were meeting again Friday morning to discuss the kitchen renovation.
After the cookies cooled, she took her time decorating them, copying pictures from the Internet to define the motorcycle parts from the seats and fuel tanks (which she’d had no idea was the big thing in front of the seat), to the spokes on the wheels and fenders. As she studied and copied, she learned the locations of shock absorbers and other mechanical parts, making mental notes to try larger motorcycle cookies so she could include those details. She used black frosting on the jacket- and boot-shaped cookies, added silver zippers to the jackets and soles to the leather boots. She wrote WHISKEY BRO’S or WB’s on each one, and made a special cookie for Bullet. Then she set them carefully on her pink catering trays, wrapped them up, adding her standard pink ribbons with FINLAY’S printed on them. She changed into a pretty coral-colored dress, and because Penny might be right, she wore her brown leather knee-high boots.
She stuffed her folders and phone into her bag and hoisted it over her shoulder, taking one last look around her living room. Her gaze caught on a yellow sticky note on her calendar. She plucked the calendar from the coffee table, laughing and shaking her head as she read what could only be a note from Bullet, written in red ink and stuck to that coming Friday. This is when you need me.
She vacillated between smiling and stewing nervously all the way to Penny’s ice cream shop. When she arrived, she was in a smiling stage. She breezed in the door, the bells chiming overhead, and it took her sister less than thirty seconds to say, “Holy crap. You either got laid or you’re about to.” Penny looked at her watch. “It’s five thirty. I’m going with about to get laid.”
Driving Whiskey Wild Page 5