A Shot With You (Bourbon Brothers)

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “We’ll just crash in the camper, since all of our stuff’s still out there,” Justin said.

  “Good, because I’m using your room since Lesa’s in mine,” Brandon told them.

  Justin looked at her. “Make sure you lock that connecting bathroom door. He sleep walks.”

  “I do not.” Brandon tossed a throw pillow with his non-foot-holding hand, which his brother skillfully batted away.

  “Good night, kids,” Justin called, as he and Allie disappeared through the kitchen to the back door.

  Finally, finally, Brandon looked at Lesa. The hand on her foot tightened, but that was the only acknowledgment she got that he knew he was touching her. “What do you want to do? One more episode? Or are you tired?”

  Was there a third option? “Oh, I could go for another episode.” She had no idea what had happened during the last one, because every shred of attention she had was on the way his hand on her lower extremity had been making her sex pulse.

  “Cool.” He clicked the remote to start the show and turned back to the screen.

  Lesa’s heart would have sunk—he wasn’t going to take this any further, was he?—but the erection under her leg felt like it might be a bit harder and longer than it had been before his brother and Allie left them alone.

  If only her leg had fingers. Toes didn’t count.

  Brandon wasn’t putting moves on her. He wanted her, that was clear enough, but he wasn’t doing anything about it. Maybe his enthusiasm from their after-dinner kiss had been buried by second thoughts. He did always seem to be thinking.

  Or was he? He definitely had that Southern gentleman thing going on. Was he waiting for her to take the next step?

  Well, she could do that. So to speak.

  She ever so slowly pulled the foot he was holding just enough so that her leg rubbed over his lap, and then she relaxed back into his hand. She did it again.

  His breath caught, and his grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. Instead, his thumb caressed the arch of her foot on every return move she made.

  She shifted her other leg, trying to relieve some of the pressure between her thighs, but impossibly, the feelings there grew stronger, especially when he pushed his thumb against the sole of her foot.

  Could she come, just from getting a foot massage? She never would have imagined it before, but now she was starting to think she was about to find out. It probably had more to do with how much she was aware of his arousal than any connection between her toes and her clit.

  His breathing stuttered, and he seemed to quiver with tension. His gorgeous lips were pressed tightly between his teeth, and she wanted to get over there and taste him, find out how much he wanted her. Get him to touch more than her damned foot.

  Okay. This was crazy. She had to kiss him before her body went up in a cloud of want. She pulled her foot back and sat up.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brandon felt Lesa shift again. Her leg, rubbing over his dick, had him holding on to sanity by a thread.

  Finding his brother and Allie McGrath in flagrante delicto had saved them from making a hasty lust-fueled mistake earlier and given his good sense a chance to remind him of the reasons that he shouldn’t get too close to Lesa. She was here for business, not pleasure, and he had a bad track record of getting in too deep with women with ulterior motives. And in spite of the fact that the beer he’d had with dinner had long since dissipated from his bloodstream, she was a woman and might still be feeling it. Sitting here for the past hour with her foot teasing his crotch, however, had given his libido an opportunity to discount his good sense’s objections. She was here for business—but she’d pointed out that, even so, this was the best vacation she’d been on in a long time. Hell, he was still technically on vacation, too. And Lesa wasn’t Suzanne. She wasn’t here to take advantage of his naïveté and rob his family blind—and humiliate him in the process.

  Any concern he had that she was suffering a residual buzz disappeared in a cloud of lust when she very clearly and soberly asked, “Are we going to get naked sooner? Or later?”

  He faced her, her dark eyes reflecting the moving images on the television. Which episode was this? It didn’t matter. Holding her gaze, he blindly reached for the remote and turned it off. Now the only light was a glow from the kitchen, backlighting her, making a halo around her.

  “How did you do that without looking?” she asked.

  “Testosterone. It’s a guy thing. We can’t type without looking at the keyboard, but we can find keys on any remote control, anywhere, with innate precision.”

  She laughed, the sound vibrating through her body and into his via the connection between her leg and his groin. “What else can you find in the dark?”

  It took him less than a second to reach for her and pull her to him. She came willingly, rising to straddle him, her smooth thighs on either side of his hips. The heat from between her legs had him rising up to meet her, feeling their bodies meet there, even through several layers of fabric. He groaned with the need to strip away the barriers.

  She looked down at him, her long hair forming a silky curtain around them. Her lips, when he tilted his head up to meet them, were sweeter than he remembered from any of their kisses so far. Even softer and warmer. He took full advantage of her superior position to coax her into leaning into him, to welcoming him into her mouth where he tasted and stroked and nipped. Every time they kissed, he was sure that there wasn’t anything that could be better.

  But then she moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders, returning his kiss with a roll of her hips that stroked him from root to tip and left him barely breathing.

  He slid his hands from her luscious hips to her waist then up along her rib cage where he paused, not ready to go farther until he was sure she was ready.

  She was ready. She took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts, squeezing his hands harder over her than he would have ever dared. He felt her nipples through the fabric of her bra and T-shirt, stiff against his palms. He so needed to taste her there, to suck her into his mouth, hear her cry his name.

  “Oh, God,” she sighed, pushing into his touch, kissing him harder, her hands in his hair now. “More.”

  He had more. Much more. Releasing her breasts to grab her waist, he moved her to her back on the couch and lay over her, his hips still between her legs, so that he could center himself over her core.

  Holding himself above her, he tugged at her top. She helped him, yanking it up to her armpits. He pulled down one cup of her bra and exposed her to his view. Even in the dim light from the kitchen, he could see how dark her nipple was, tight and small.

  He slid back and kissed his way down the center of her chest, over the soft curve, finally, finally reaching the center. He moved more slowly now. Learning her textures with his lips, feeling the difference between soft skin and pebbled areola, and eventually, hard tip.

  He opened his lips over it and barely pressed them back together.

  “Do it,” she growled, pulling his hair, squirming beneath him.

  So he did. He sucked her into his mouth, swirling his tongue over her nipple, and sliding his fingers over the other.

  She immediately cried out, arching beneath him. One of her long legs went over his hip and her pelvis rocked against him.

  “Dios,” she whimpered, clutching at his head. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” Her upper leg locked around him, holding him tight to her, and she trembled. The tension in her body telegraphed through every point of contact, and he had to concentrate to keep from following her over the edge.

  When she began to relax, he released her breast and turned them slightly until they were on their sides, so he could kiss her through the aftershocks while he continued to touch her. This also brought him into a position where he could press his cock against her more fully. He was so hard with wanting her that he could barely think beyond the next kiss.

  She anticipated his need and reached between them, sliding her hand over his e
rection, stroking him though the fabric of his jeans.

  And then she moved to his waistband and began to unbutton his fly, her fingers brushing inside against the head of his cock, nearly sending him over the edge. He slid his hands back up her torso, craving the soft feel of her against his palms.

  A light switched on. “I guess we should make more noise when we come in from now on,” said a gravelly male voice, and the light switched right back off.

  Crap. Grandpa. And Brandon had hands on Lesa’s breasts.

  “What did you say, Dad? What’s going on? What happened to the light?” His father stomped through the kitchen.

  Lesa shoved at Brandon’s shoulders, pulling her shirt back down.

  “Clyde? Why is your dad standing there in the dark?” Mom called.

  “Are you all daft?” Grandma asked. “Turn on the damned light.”

  With a click heard round the family, the light came back on.

  Brandon met Lesa’s eyes and smiled ruefully. “Sorry,” he mouthed. Had he lost track of days? He though they weren’t coming home until…shit. Today was Wednesday.

  “Bro.” Justin stood behind the rest of them, shaking his head and grinning.

  “Justin, you’re not helping.” Allie tugged his arm. At least someone had some common decency. Not his flesh and blood, who all stood in the doorway, watching Brandon try to figure out how to move from between the legs of the woman beneath him without showing them all just how much they’d interrupted.

  …

  “Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, I’d like you to meet Lesa Ruiz.” Brandon rose to a standing position, pulling Lesa along with him, and stood slightly behind her before his family picked their collective jaws up from the living room floor.

  “I’m pleased to meet you.” Lesa smiled her most welcoming smile, and reached her hand to the younger Mrs. Morgan.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Brandon’s mother said, smiling warmly and taking Lesa’s hand in her firm, smooth grip. She had questions in her eyes, but she didn’t voice them, although from the look she shot Brandon, there would be an inquisition later.

  “Ruiz,” Grandpa mused, stroking his chin. “I remember a Carlos Ruiz.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s my papa.”

  “How is the old cactus cooker?” the old man asked.

  “He’s…fine, thank you.” Of course, that depended on how you defined “fine.” Alive and breathing? Yes. He was fine. Loving his life and living it to the fullest? Not so much.

  “Ruiz?” asked Brandon’s dad. “The Little Possum Tequila Ruiz?”

  “Pequeño Zarigüeya. That’s us,” Lesa confirmed. Hadn’t he told them he was bringing a guest home? Maybe he hadn’t been as specific as he should have been.

  Brandon cleared his throat. “Lesa’s come to visit Blue Mountain to help her father decide about making a deal with us for our used barrels.”

  There was silence for a moment while she figured everyone digested the idea of a business associate being discovered under their son with her shirt around her neck.

  Then, “Well. That’s quite some negotiating you were doing there.” Grandpa snickered.

  Brandon put his hand on Lesa’s shoulder, as though protecting her from the possibility of censure, and continued along as though Grandpa hadn’t spoken. “We’ll be touring the plant as soon as the still is repaired. In the meantime, we’ve been sightseeing.”

  “Is that what you kids are calling it these days? Ow!” Brandon’s grandfather grabbed his shoulder where his wife smacked it.

  Lesa fought a grin.

  Brandon’s mother took the opportunity to turn to the rest of the group and make a shooing motion. “Can we please get the rest of the luggage inside? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use a shower and my own bed right about now.” She turned back and nodded to Lesa. “We’ll get acquainted over breakfast.”

  Was that a promise or a threat?

  “Glad you’re all home safe,” Brandon said, releasing Lesa to hug his mom and then Grandma. Aw, geez. There went those warm fuzzies again, cooing and wiggling. He’d only been away from his family for a couple of days. That closeness was something Lesa didn’t have with her own family.

  She watched his strong shoulders as he shook hands with his father. She was pretty sure he wasn’t prone to getting caught making out on the couch like a teenager, but he’d handled the embarrassing situation with a cool head.

  “You go on ahead,” Grandpa said as the rest of the group filed back into the kitchen. “Justin, put our stuff next to the bed. Grandma will unpack in the morning. I’m going to find out how Brandon got so cozy with Señorita Ruiz here.”

  And the old man sat down in the recliner and pulled the handle so that the footrest popped up. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Brandon and her.

  “That is none of your business,” Grandma said. “If you don’t get downstairs and unpack your grungy underdrawers in the next three minutes, you’ll be washing them out by hand all by yourself.”

  “Fine,” Grandpa grumbled, pulling the footrest back in. “I’d just go to Walmart and buy some new ones,” he told Brandon and Lesa as he shuffled past, “but they don’t carry ‘em sturdy enough to hold my junk secure.”

  “Aw, geez, Grandpa!” Brandon’s composure finally cracked. “Really?”

  “Well, son, you should understand. These sorts of things are hereditary, you know,” Grandpa told Lesa with a wink. “In case you haven’t already figured it out, we Morgan men are endowed with— Ow!”

  Grandma had come back into the room and grabbed him by the ear.

  “For chrissakes, woman!”

  Between gritted teeth, she growled, “Get your flat butt downstairs. Now.”

  “Holy crap.” Brandon sighed when they were finally alone again. “I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t realize they’d be home tonight.”

  But Lesa was laughing too hard to answer him.

  “So, uh, I guess we should get some sleep. Grandma gets up at the crack of dawn every day, and she’ll be fixing a big breakfast, since we have company.”

  He shoved a hand through his already mussed hair, and she admired the line of stomach that was revealed by his untucked shirt.

  And then she couldn’t help but look down, where evidence of his recent arousal hadn’t completely disappeared.

  “Well, okay,” she said, moving toward him and stroking her fingers across his tight abdomen, wanting to slide inside his shirt and trace that line of hair she’d glimpsed.

  He caught his breath and grabbed her hands, leaning toward her, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers. “If you touch me like that, we’ll be back to putting on a show for the whole family again, and I don’t think I can take any more of Gramps’s commentary tonight.”

  She couldn’t resist one tiny glance back down at his crotch. She raised her eyebrows at him, and said, “Well, Gramps certainly has had some interesting information to share. Maybe I’d like to know what else he has to say.”

  …

  Thirty minutes later, the family had settled down and all was quiet again. Except for Brandon’s libido, which was trying to convince him to sneak into bed with Lesa.

  It would be easy enough. The bathroom connected the two rooms. He could just casually go in and accidentally go into his own room, where she was sleeping, on the way out.

  He imagined her laying there, also awake, wanting more than one little orgasm. She would welcome him with that sexy smile and scoot over, pulling the covers back to reveal—

  He shook his head before he went too far. Because there was a big problem with this idea.

  His bed shared a wall with his parents’ room. And you could hear everything. Which he knew, because he’d had to listen to his mom and dad do it for the past thirty years.

  He had no inclination to make them listen to him have sex, and besides…they’d realize he’d been able to hear them, and wow. The level of awkwardness would be off the scale.

  Well, t
hat train of thought had helped settle things a little. What he should be thinking about was how to make sure Lesa was so impressed with Blue Mountain Distilling she’d recommend that her papa sign a deal for their barrels. He reminded himself that, with Mom and Dad home, he’d have to let his current buyers know their barrel availability was about to be cut down significantly.

  “Are you awake?” The voice purred in his ear, and Brandon jumped.

  “Sorry,” Lesa chuckled softly.

  He turned toward the side of the bed where she crouched down next to him. “How did you get in here?”

  She pointed toward the door to the adjoining bathroom. “How do you think?”

  “I mean—how did you get in here without me noticing?”

  “You were sleeping?”

  “Nope. I was laying here thinking about visiting you.” He laughed softly.

  “Scoot over. I’m not staying, but it’s chilly out here.”

  He pulled the covers aside, and she slid in next to him, bringing her warm summer scent with her.

  She curled on her side, facing him, almost nose to nose on his pillow.

  “Hi.”

  “What’s new?” he asked her.

  “I just missed you.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, trying to think of something clever to say, but all the blood in his body was pumping into his cock, not his brain.

  “Isn’t this what people do when they have friends over to spend the night? Crawl under the covers and talk after the parents go to bed?”

  “My friends and I usually slept in sleeping bags in the basement,” Brandon admitted. “We didn’t sleep in the same bed. Maybe that’s a girl thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose. Though the sad story is that my mama was sick so much when I was that age that I didn’t get a chance to know any girls well enough to have sleepovers.”

  “And yet you know me well enough for a slumber party? I’m honored.”

  “Yes. I think I do.” She leaned away and peered at him through the darkness. “So. Know any good ghost stories?” she asked.

  “No, but Justin always swore there was a troll under his bed. You’d probably better come closer and protect me.”