A Shot With You (Bourbon Brothers)

by Teri Anne Stanley

  She giggled and wrapped her upper arm around him, twining her feet with his.

  Sexual tension hummed through him, along with something deeper, more desirable. Satisfaction that had nothing—or very little—to do with the blood surging into his cock. The pleasure of having a woman—this woman—that he liked so much, here in the darkness with him, to share confidences under the covers.

  “I feel like a bad girl,” Lesa said. “Are we going to get in trouble if I’m caught in here?”

  “I don’t know. But I can spank you if you want,” Brandon murmured, the vision of her round, firm backside bent over his lap making his voice hoarser than he intended and sending a surge of lust through him.

  He pulled her closer, wanting to feel her press against him, just for a minute. Oh, Jesus. Her nipples brushed his chest, and her lips were now millimeters from his. The urge to take her, here, now, to press her back against the pillow and consume her was so powerful he was shaking with it.

  Brandon pulled the last shred of sense from somewhere deep beneath his arousal and said, “We can’t do this here.”

  “I know, but…” She squirmed, and his restraint frayed.

  He threw it out there then. No more pretending this was all business anymore. He was in it, just as Lesa had indicated she was. “Darlin,’ when we make love, it’s gonna require some serious soundproofing.”

  “Oh.” She laughed softly and nipped at his lips, eliciting a groan that he barely muffled.

  “This place is built to withstand a nuclear bomb from the outside, but unfortunately, the walls are paper thin. I’ve been meaning to get my own house put up one of these days, but situations like this don’t arise all that often.” He’d hoped he’d have a wife—or at least a fiancée—to help him plan it. If it was left up to him alone, a house would have nothing more than four walls, a bedroom, kitchen, and living room. He’d rather his future house be built for some bigger purpose—like entertaining and raising a family, and that house had all kinds of pretty junk in it. So he hadn’t done it yet.

  Lesa’s hand was stroking his side, fingers feathering over his ribs and hip and back up again, making it hard to think. So to speak.

  But there was more than the noise involved that prevented him from making love to Lesa Ruiz at this particular moment. And he needed to say it. Because in spite of his previous mistakes, and his resolution to never, ever again get romantically involved with someone he was working with, he was doing it. And while it seemed that the sexual part of this equation was inevitable, the tragic ending didn’t have to be.

  “Lesa, I—” He cleared his throat. “I’m more attracted to you than I ever thought was humanly possible.” And that was an understatement. “But—”

  “Oh, no. Not a ‘but’. Unless it’s yours.” She gave him a firm squeeze.

  This time his groan wasn’t muffled, and he heard Maude whine from the hallway in response.

  “You’re killing me here.” He found the self-control to grab her hand and hold it, though his fingers laced with hers. “I’ve made bad decisions before when I was involved with someone I did business with. I don’t want to mess this up. Either this”—he waved between them—“or the possibility of doing business with Little Possum.”

  She stilled for a moment, then said, “I get it. The good news is, we’re not involved, because, as you know, my life plan is to be a nomad, so I won’t be hanging around. As soon as the ink is even wet on an agreement between you and my father, I’m out of here.”

  A zing of disappointment shredded his mood. But he knew this. She’d told him earlier she wanted to travel and write books about her journeys and the liquors of the world. This would be a fling. Nothing more, so he pushed his hurt feelings aside.

  She hesitated, seemed to withdraw for a moment, then said, “I’m going to strongly recommend to my father that I am endorsing Blue Mountain. It’s a solid company.”

  “But you haven’t seen it all. There are still things that—”

  “Shh. You are an honorable businessman. You will be an ideal collaborator. The people who work for you admire you, and you follow through on your promises. I don’t care what problems you have in the plant. Blue Mountain is a good company.”

  Lesa had pulled her hand free of his while she’d spoken and now rested it along his jaw. Her soft touch warmed him inside and out. Such faith. It was the kind of belief he’d spent the last five years working to build in his family, and she gave it so freely.

  “I’m going to go back to my own side of the bathroom before your mama comes in,” Lesa whispered into his neck, sending a shiver over Brandon’s skin that had nothing to do with tickles. “Maybe tomorrow we should go somewhere…away. Far into the woods. Where your family won’t interrupt us.”

  “Hmmm.” He mused. They were going to go somewhere alone, all right, but he was damned if he would end up with mosquito bites or poison ivy or bear claw marks down his back. He knew just the place.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lesa ran fingers through her still-wet hair and shivered in the morning mist that blanketed the Blue Mountain valley. What passed as winter clothing in Mexico didn’t work for spring wear in Kentucky. Her new Horse Park sweatshirt was in the wash, so Brandon had given her a Blue Mountain Bourbon hoodie, which she snuggled into now and watched the sunrise from her perch in a rocking chair on the front porch.

  It was so beautiful and peaceful here. Even though the cars whizzing by on the main thoroughfare just a half mile away went to big jobs at factories and offices in nearby Lexington, there was something about the way the sun shone on the dew here that made her feel like she was years away from the modern world.

  Here, she felt like she was staying in the interesting story, and she was a part of it.

  Weird.

  The door from the house creaked open, and two brown, snuffling forms darted out, wagged in a circle around Lesa, and clambered down the steps to the yard to do their things.

  “You like it black and sweet, right?” A steaming cup of coffee appeared next to her, attached to the sturdy forearm of the man she was beginning to feel like she’d known forever.

  Very unsettling. Lesa had to search for the grip of the claustrophobia that usually surrounded her when she got too close to someone. It was there, crouched in the corner, like an old frenemy.

  “Good morning,” Brandon said as she took the coffee, and he came around her to take his place in another rocking chair. The seats were worn and creaky, but sturdy, as though they’d been designed to hold the backsides of many people before and after their current occupants. “Are you up for a little road trip today?”

  “Always,” Lesa said, but then realized that while she was interested in going anywhere Brandon wanted to take her, she’d be just as happy staying here on this porch.

  For a while. She reminded herself that she wasn’t planning to stick around. Was her plan to spend a week or so with the sexy son of a distiller about to backfire on her? She couldn’t afford to get stuck on him. She’d made a decision, though, while cuddled up to him in bed last night. She was going to tell Papa to take the deal. He wouldn’t be able to afford it very easily, but the barrel deal with Blue Mountain would be successful, and she’d be willing to stick around a little longer to make sure he was okay. It wouldn’t be long before the tequila would be ready to go to market and Papa would be making money again.

  She took a sip of her coffee and looked at Brandon. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Something warm slid through her. He cared enough to plan a surprise for her. And she liked it. Bad. Very bad. “I should tell you that I don’t like surprises.”

  After a brief flash of uncertainty, his face cleared, eyes narrowed. “Nuh uh. You’re not going to get me to tell you.”

  “But how do I know what to wear? What should I bring with me?”

  “Wear what you’ve got on. Bring a change of clothes just like it.”

  A frisson of pleasure spread
from her head to her feet. They were going to spend the night together. Yes. She jumped to her feet, her coffee and the peaceful morning forgotten. “When are we leaving? I should go get my things together.”

  Brandon laughed. “Okay, Miss Hates Surprises. We’ll leave as soon as I talk to my dad for a few minutes and you get gathered up.”

  She grabbed her mug and headed inside, waving good morning to Brandon’s dad, who was making his own coffee as she passed through the kitchen.

  She’d take another pair of jeans and some shorts, just in case. And she had those silky lavender pajamas, in the event she needed them. She hoped she wouldn’t need them. But what if they were camping, like she’d suggested last night? She should bring a sweatshirt if they were going to be sleeping outside somewhere.

  Turning, she headed back toward the kitchen to ask, but stopped when she heard Brandon speaking to his father.

  “I just hope I’m not making a mistake,” he was saying.

  Was he talking about her?

  “Son, you’ve got to get over this. You missed a few signs once, and it bit you—bit all of us—in the ass. But that was a long time ago. You’re older and wiser now, and you’ve got better sense than all the rest of us put together when it comes to making wise choices for this business.”

  There was silence for a moment, and Lesa knew she should turn back around and retreat. She shouldn’t be listening to a private conversation, but she also couldn’t seem to make herself leave. What had happened before that was so terrible?

  “Okay. I think this is a good thing, this deal. And I’m pretty sure I’ve got the agreement set up so that we can’t get our asses handed to us.”

  His dad laughed. “It’s okay to take a few risks.”

  “Maybe for you.” There was a rustle of papers. “Do me a favor and read over this offer I wrote up for Carlos Ruiz. If you’re okay with it, go ahead and send it.”

  Lesa grinned to herself and headed back down the hall, questions about pajamas forgotten. Brandon trusted what she’d told him, that she was going to get Papa to do business with him. That made her feel like she’d accomplished something great. And she had. She was fulfilling her promise to her mama by helping Papa and making Brandon a good deal, too. For some reason, it felt even better to know that she was doing good business with Brandon. Now she just had to convince Papa to behave.

  “Hola, Papa,” Lesa said, shaking her head at Brandon, who motioned from inside of the McDonald’s where they’d stopped for lunch. No, she didn’t want to Super Size her Diet Coke. While Brandon turned and got in line for food, Lesa checked in with her father.

  “How are things?” she asked him.

  “What are you learning about Blue Mountain Bourbon?” Papa asked without answering her question.

  “This is a good company,” she told him. “The employees are happy, and everyone works hard. The product is well regarded in the area, and with so much competition, that seems like a very good sign as well.” She omitted her plans to be naked with the owner’s son in the next several hours.

  “Hmph.”

  “You’re not pleased?”

  “Of course, of course. So is the building repaired yet?”

  “Well, not quite. The repairs to the damaged rickhouse might take a few months, but they seem to have things on track.”

  “Oh.” His distrust came through the line. “Is everything else working as it should?”

  “Yes, Papa. Let’s do this.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Papa?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I hope so,” Lesa said, telling Papa that she’d talk to him again in a couple of days. He wasn’t telling her something. But then, there was a lot that she wasn’t telling him, too.

  She pocketed her phone and smiled at Brandon. It must have worked, because he shouldered open the door and smiled back at her. Heat flared inside her. They were going to do this. They were going to be together, alone soon, hopefully somewhere with a mattress.

  “How’s your dad?” he asked.

  “Okay. Wants to know how things are here.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said everything’s fine.”

  “For as much as you’ve paid attention,” he teased. “You’ve done more sightseeing than distillery-seeing.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, well, I have excellent instincts, and my instincts tell me that you’re a good risk.”

  “Good. He should have the proposal for a contract in a few hours.”

  “Great,” she said. Her goal of having PZ in shape and herself off the hook was closer by the minute.

  “So I’m going to suggest an agreement for a partial shipment of goods—”

  She held up her hand. “I don’t need the details. They’ll go in one brain cell and out the other. I’m still on vacation.”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you pouting? I just think that we both—you especially—need to put work away for a while. Let’s have some more holiday.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to do that, but for you, I’ll try. Here you go,” he said, and reached a big hand toward her, holding two enormous drink cups.

  So much for no Super Sizing. She hoped he didn’t mind pulling over to find a restroom every thirty minutes until they got wherever they were going.

  He must have had a psychic inspiration, because he said, “Don’t worry. There’s enough salt on the gigantic orders of fries to soak up all the pop. You should be able to make it to the next rest area.”

  “Great,” she grumbled good-naturedly. “And my blood pressure and my fingers will be super sized, too.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “Sausage fingers will be incredibly appealing to the fishies.”

  “Fish? We’re going fishing?” She thought about what he said. “With our fingers? Oh, no, señor studmuffin. I don’t care how cute you are. I’m not about to stick my hand in the mud to spaghetti for catfish.”

  Brandon laughed so hard that he had to put his drink and bag of food on the hood of his car and clutch his belly.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s—it’s called noodling,” he gasped. “Not spaghetti-ing.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t care what it’s called. I’m not gonna do it.”

  He grabbed her around the waist then and smacked a big kiss on her lips. Grinning down at her, he said, “Don’t worry. No noodling. No fishing at all. I promise.”

  “Oh. Then what are you talking about?” she asked, as she pulled her door open and set her drink in the cup holder. “No, Mabel,” she told the dog, shoving her nose back. “You don’t get any.”

  Maude whined from behind Brandon’s seat, no doubt smelling the luscious, greasy food.

  “Hold on, girls. I got you Happy Meals, like I promised,” he said. To Lesa, he said, “Still not gonna tell you where we’re going. You’re going to have to suck it up and wait.”

  She sighed, shoving her seat belt into the fastener. “Fine. But we better get there before this six-liter drink gets through my system.”

  “No worries,” Brandon said, pulling into traffic behind a hot pink and chrome speedboat that was long enough to require its own zip code.

  Well, she thought, diving into her Big Mac. Whatever they were doing, hopefully it would keep her mind off of Papa and his financial troubles. Her previous good feelings about making this trip successful were a little shaky, after hearing Papa’s voice and his reluctance to listen to her opinion, but she was determined to spend the next however many hours with Brandon enjoying his company and not worrying about the future. It would get there soon enough. It always did.

  The landscape had changed as they’d driven down Interstate 75. The rolling hills strung with white or black fences interspersed with wooded hills had given way to bigger hills covered with forests, now interspersed by stretches of small farms, tin-roofed schools, and the occasional trailer home. They left the main highway at
McDonald’s and sped along a two-lane state route with few major intersections.

  The road began to wind higher and higher and then descend.

  A couple of times Lesa feared they were about to tumble over the edge of the road into the trees. Mixed with the fact that, for some reason, she was beginning to feel nervous about being alone with Brandon. She’d flirted and teased and played with him, but this felt more…real. Her “I’m on vacation and I’m going to have a fling” attitude was shifting somehow, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  “The roads here are as scary as Mexico,” she observed. “How do people with boats do this?” She grabbed the dashboard as Brandon swung around a curve and hit his brakes to avoid driving up the back end of one of the boats in question. “And why are there so many boats in the mountains, anyway?”

  “Hold on for two more seconds,” Brandon told her.

  Mabel and Maude, who’d been hanging their heads out of the rear window, sending strings of drool along the back of the car the whole drive, began to shuffle and whimper with excitement, occasionally bringing a head back inside to bark in Brandon’s direction.

  “It’s okay, girls. I know. We’re almost there,” he told them. “Aaaand…here you go.”

  He swung the SUV around one last bend in the road and the forest opened to reveal an immense stretch of water, sparkling for miles in the distance, sending tendrils between wedges of stone and forested fingers of land.

  “Oh…” It was breathtaking. Just ahead of them, the road ended in a gravel parking lot and boat ramp, a marina teeming with activity. Colorful boats of all shapes and sizes bobbed at their moorings next to covered docks, and other boats drifted in and out of the area, making use of the marina’s services.

  “What is this?” Lesa asked.

  “This,” Brandon told her, pulling into a parking slot and shoving the vehicle in park, “is Lake Cumberland. I heard a rumor that the marina had de-winterized the Blue Mountain family houseboat, so I thought maybe we should stop down and make sure it still runs.”

  So they were on a family holiday, just without the family. A shiver of anxiety ran over Lesa’s skin, which was weird, because she was here to have a sexy few days with a handsome guy who was just as into her as she was into him.