Taming My Whiskey

by Melissa Foster

  He kissed her again, and she drank in every delicious second of it. When he disappeared into his office, she tried to pull herself together, sitting up straighter and looking around the loft. She heard him opening drawers in his office and realized she didn’t want to rush the blissful feeling away. She closed her eyes and let her head rest on the back of the couch, enjoying the racing of her heart, the swoony, dizzying feeling, and the lingering taste of him in her mouth.

  She felt his body heat before his hands touched the couch on either side of her shoulders and his lips pressed against hers. These were the moments dreams were made of, and she was so glad she got to have them with Jace.

  “You must really trust me,” he said, gazing down at her from behind the couch.

  Her head was still resting against the back of the couch. “Don’t get carried away. I trust you enough to give me a tattoo where I can see it. I don’t want to end up with your name tattooed above my ass.”

  He cocked a brow as he rose and said, “Now, there’s an idea.”

  She scowled.

  “It’s an honor to put my mark on you, Dix. You tell me where, and I promise not to brand you with my name.”

  She realized that if the situation were different, she’d proudly let him brand her with his name. “Where are you thinking?”

  “Someplace you’ll see it, so you’ll think of me.”

  “You’re like moss, Jace. You’ve invaded every inch of me. I’m pretty sure I’ll think of you even without a tattoo.” She held out her left arm and turned it over. “The inside of my wrist?”

  He lifted her wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “Perfect. Let me grab a table for my supplies and get set up.”

  He turned on music, set up a light, a table, and a chair beside the couch, and prepared his tools. When he was ready, he carefully cleansed the inside of her wrist. “Nervous?”

  “No.” She wasn’t nervous at all, but she was curious. “What are you going to draw or write?”

  “You’ll see,” he said as he grabbed his tattoo gun. “Is a little color okay?”

  “Of course. Don’t you need to draw it first?”

  “Freehand, baby. It’s the only way.” His eyes flicked up to hers. “Ready?”

  “Yes. Is it going to be something you designed?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you think I’d draw someone else’s design on you?”

  “Not really, but I wondered. How long have you been thinking about doing this, that you’re ready to go so fast?”

  The side of his mouth lifted, and he said, “You don’t want to know.”

  Oh yes she did! But she wouldn’t push, because believing he’d been thinking about giving her a tattoo for a long time felt fantastic, and clarification might bring disappointment.

  She watched him work. He had a gentle touch, and his whole face changed as he worked. There was an intensity to his eyes that was different from the type of tension she was used to seeing on him—caused by restraint or desire.

  “How’d you get into doing this?” she asked.

  He wiped excess ink from her wrist, his eyes meeting hers for a second, then focused on the tattoo again. “When I was in college I used to draw custom tats for money, and I realized I could make more doing them. I did that for a while, but then I realized I didn’t like tattooing the crap college kids wanted done, so I went back to drawing and reserved tattooing for my buddies, whose tats were meaningful.”

  “Did you do any of your own tattoos?”

  “If I can reach it, chances are, I did it,” he said as he dragged the tattoo gun across her skin.

  Jace didn’t say much as he worked, and Dixie was just fine with that. She liked watching him concentrating, feeling his hands on her, knowing he was marking her with something he designed. An hour bled into two as he added colors, working patiently. Dixie was curious about the design, but she was even more interested in the man holding the tattoo gun. He’d said meaningful things as casually as he had said line-defining comments, leaving just enough gray area for her to play with in both directions.

  She tried not to look at the ink on her wrist, focusing on him instead. She felt as though she were an outsider watching a private moment, made even more special because he was doing something he loved for her.

  A long while later he wiped her wrist, studying the design, and said, “Almost done.”

  He touched up a few spots, and when he finally set his tools down for the last time, he rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck to either side. He reached for a cloth and dampened it with rubbing alcohol.

  As he wiped her wrist clean, she said, “I think I owe you a back and neck massage.”

  “Your hands on my body sounds great to me, but don’t ever feel like you owe me anything, Dix. Like I said, it’s an honor to put my mark on you.” He met her gaze and said, “Do you want to see it?”

  Her pulse quickened with anticipation as she moved her wrist into view. She’d never seen anything so intricate and delicate and yet strong. In the center he’d drawn a heart-shaped diamond shaded with touches of white, pink, gray, and purple. The colors were so faint they were almost invisible, but their effects were remarkable, defining the intricate facets and angles of the diamond. A black dagger pierced through the heart-shaped diamond, and a mildly thick, leatherlike band draped out from either side of the diamond to the edges of her wrist. Scalloped, intricately drawn lace hung from the band on either side of the diamond, and from that lace hung a few thin threads with tiny gray-and-white diamonds at the ends.

  “Jace, this is beautiful. It’s a work of art.”

  Relief swept over his face. “Then it’s fitting,” he said modestly as he rose to his feet and stretched. He leaned in to kiss her and whispered, “Because so are you.” He took her hand in his and said, “When we were coming up with the clothing line, you’d been my muse for so long, the name came to me quickly. You’re as strong as leather and as delicate as lace. But I spent long nights trying to come up with a logo for the line. What started as an idea for a logo turned into what I would tattoo on you if I was ever given the chance. In the end, I let our marketing team design the logo and kept this for you.”

  She was stunned speechless.

  He covered the tattoo with a piece of gauze and said, “In case it bleeds. We’ll take that off in a little bit. What can I get you? Do you need a drink?”

  Thunder roared outside, and lightning lit up the room. All the emotions she’d been trying not to pick apart crashed over her. She pushed to her feet, feeling breathless and overwhelmed, and said, “I don’t know what I need right now, but I know what I want.”

  She reached for him, but he was already there, his hot mouth claiming hers as he lifted her into his arms and strode across the room. He guided her legs around his waist as he carried her up the steps, slowing only long enough to grip the railing with one hand and intensify their kisses. Blood pounded in her ears as he stepped onto the landing and carried her into the bedroom, taking them both down to the mattress.

  JACE WAS GOING to lose his mind, or maybe he already had. As he stripped them both naked, he tried to reel in his runaway emotions. He’d been in such a trance while tattooing Dixie, when he’d seen the elation and desire written all over her face, he’d nearly lost it. Now, as they kissed, their bodies grinding together, he needed a deeper connection, and he needed it now. He reached for a condom.

  “No,” she said, urgent and breathless.

  His heart sank. Did she not want him as desperately as he wanted her? Okay, he told himself. He would just hold her, kiss her, and that would have to be enough.

  “I want to feel you, Jace. Only you. I’m on the pill. It’s okay.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek so tenderly, he felt himself free-falling into her. He laced their hands together, careful not to touch her wrist. He knew they were embarking on something even more powerful than they’d already experienced, and that terrified him as much as it thrilled him. The head of his
shaft nestled against her wetness. He wanted to kiss her as he claimed her, run his hands over every inch of her skin, through her hair, feel her heart beating in the crooks of her elbows and knees. He wanted to experience every part of her, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t move his hands from their interwoven connection.

  He pushed into her slowly, savoring the feel of her opening up to him, embracing his hard heat. There were so many emotions swimming in her eyes, he was afraid he’d drown. When he was buried to the hilt, rivers of warmth flowed through him, so different from the urgency of the other times they’d come together. He knew it had little to do with the thin sheath that had separated them and everything to do with how deeply she’d gotten to him.

  “Hold me,” she pleaded, tucking her head against his neck. “Let me just feel you.”

  He cradled her beneath him, her soft body molding to his, her breath warming his skin. Remaining still was killing him, but at the same time, it was exactly what he needed. To be immersed in Dixie.

  When she whispered, “Take me slowly,” it brought an onslaught of more unfamiliar emotions. His throat thickened, and he had the overwhelming need to make this time everything they could ever want.

  He had no idea what was happening to him or how to stop it. For the first time in his entire life, he felt his world spinning out of control. He should take her hard, chase those confusing emotions away. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, because what she’d asked him to do was exactly what he wanted. He’d always known Dixie had the power to slay him. It was the reason he’d stayed away for so long. He knew how to move on from most anything, to put his head down and focus on work. But as they found a slow, sensual, perfect rhythm, he knew there was no going back.

  He’d joked about ruining her for all other men, but he’d had it all wrong. Dixie Whiskey had cast a spell on him, and he had no idea how, or if, he’d ever recover.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WEDNESDAY MORNING PASSED as slowly as molasses as Dixie prepared to leave—and faster than a raging river when they finally made it to the airport. Jace set Dixie’s luggage on the floor outside the security checkpoint, his gut twisting into knots. Dixie held her chin high, a stiff smile on her lips. She’d been putting on a brave face all morning, and she was so fucking good at it, it killed him.

  “I guess this is it,” she said lightly.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily. You’ve signed on for appearances over the next few months, remember?”

  She nodded, blinking several times, her eyes suddenly glassy. He knew she’d never let those tears fall. They were surrounded by droves of travelers, but it felt like they were the only two people on earth as he pulled her into his arms for what would be their last embrace as lovers. He couldn’t remember ever missing anyone before they’d even left, but he didn’t want to let her go. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, wishing things could be different and knowing they couldn’t. She was going back to her stable family life in Peaceful Harbor, and he was resuming a life filled with travel and focused on work. There was no doubt in his mind about how much she enjoyed her work and her family, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she worked so many hours to avoid the loneliness she’d never admit existed. He knew all about using work as a vehicle to outrun emotions, but he’d never realized loneliness was one of them until the last few days. Maybe Jayla was right and they were what she’d called kindred spirits in her last text—the one where she told Jace he was being an idiot for not dating Dixie—but that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t the put-down-roots man Dixie needed.

  He drew back and gazed into her sorrowful eyes, his chest constricting painfully. “This isn’t just it, Dix. This was everything.” Everything wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what their time together had meant or been like, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

  Her lips curved up in a sweet smile. “Thanks for everything,” she said as she reached for her bags.

  He got a glimpse of her new tattoo, sparking all of the overwhelming emotions he’d nearly died from last night. In an effort to stop his throat from closing and to ease the pain in her eyes, he tried to find safer ground and said, “I’ll send you proofs of the pictures we choose for the calendar.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  “And I’ll hit you up next time I’m in Peaceful Harbor.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, walking backward toward security.

  She turned away, but he was rooted in place, the urge to tell her not to leave swamping him. He gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists as she made her way through security and disappeared down the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

  He left the airport in a haze, wondering if it was possible she’d taken all of the oxygen in the air with her.

  By the time he got home, his muscles were so tight his whole body ached. As he walked into the loft he’d hardly noticed for years, silence echoed in his ears. He felt like Dixie had been there with him for a month, not just a few days. Her perfume lingered in the air, and as he ascended the stairs, her laughter rang in his ears. He gripped the railing, reminding himself this was for the best. He was pushing forty, and he’d never been tied down, never had a woman relying on him to be there, to listen, to pick her up when she was down or celebrate her successes. His lifestyle wasn’t conducive to being that guy. His absence would only hurt Dixie, and that hurt would turn to resentment—and that would kill him.

  He stood at the entrance to the bedroom where she’d slept that first night. Dixie had stripped the bed and folded the blankets, like she’d been a fucking guest. He went to his bedroom and picked up the pillow on the side where she’d slept. He pressed it to his nose, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Even though he’d made sure they were both on the same page, guilt at having given in to his desires ate away at him. What the hell had he done? He tore off the pillowcases and stripped the sheets from the bed in a fit of anger, throwing them into the corner.

  His eyes caught on a gift bag on the dresser that hadn’t been there earlier. There was a greeting card envelope beside it with his name written on it in Dixie’s loopy handwriting. With his heart in his throat, he opened the card. There was a picture of a kitten on the front, and inside, THANK YOU was printed in fancy gold letters above Dixie’s note, which read:

  Jace, wipe that smile off your face. You still can’t call me kitten.

  She’d drawn a smiley face after “kitten.”

  Thank you for giving me an experience I’ll never forget, and for allowing me to be part of the launch for your Leather and Lace line. I know it will be a huge success, and I’m proud to be the face of Silver-Stone. I’ll cherish the memories and always be grateful for the time we shared. Now I no longer have to wonder about my biggest crush. You are so much more incredible than I could have ever imagined. Good luck with the Boston deal.

  XOX, Dix

  PS: The gift bag is for Thane. I couldn’t buy gifts for my babies without getting him a little something, too. I loved your wonderful family. It’s obvious how much they adore you. Please thank them for welcoming me so warmly.

  His heart felt like it might implode. She’d seen Thane for only a few hours, and she already thought of him as one of her babies? Even when she wasn’t there, she still burrowed beneath his skin. He read the note again to see if he’d missed anything—the admission of missing him, not wanting it to be over—but there was nothing. He was suffering this misery alone. He needed to get out of there, away from Dixie’s ghost trailing at his heels. Keys in hand, he flew down the stairs. He was an idiot. He never should have opened that door, because he had no fucking idea how to close it.

  DIXIE SPENT THE whole flight reliving last night, which felt like the most wonderful dream, and then replaying their goodbye. No matter how many times she tried to change what Jace had said—This isn’t just it, Dix. This was everything—she couldn’t change the tone of his voice or his meaning. It was clear to her that he was drawing the
line in the sand one last time, reminding her of their agreement that what they’d had was everything they would ever get. She decided right there and then, as tears vied for release and her heart split down the middle, she wouldn’t cry or pine over what might have been. She wouldn’t show any weaknesses at all, because she’d gotten exactly what she’d agreed to. She had never blamed others for her mistakes, and she wasn’t about to blame Jace for giving her what she wanted. Or at least what she’d told him she wanted—whatever she could get, no strings attached—even if she’d thought—hoped—that if things were as great as she had expected them to be, he wouldn’t want to let her go afterward.

  That’ll teach her to think like a stupid girl.

  She never had before, and she had no idea why she’d allowed herself to do so now.

  As she headed for the airport exit, she gave herself a mental pat on the back for making it through the flight home without bursting into tears or killing anyone. Now all she had to do was make it through the next three days. What did her girlfriends say about dieting? Day one was hell, day two was practice, but day three made it a habit. After that it was just part of their lives. Surely that could also be applied to forgetting a man.

  She pushed through the doors and saw Izzy standing by her car in the drop-off area.

  Izzy waved with a big-ass smile as she ran toward Dixie and grabbed one of her bags. “I have been dying to talk to you,” she said as they hurried to her car. “I want to hear about everything!”

  Forget three days.

  Dixie needed to get through the ride home.

  They tossed her bags in the trunk, and as soon as they were in their seats, Izzy said, “You look different.”

  That didn’t surprise her. She felt different, too. Like she’d gone on a year-long vacation and fallen in love, and now that she was home she realized she’d been in a time warp. Nothing felt quite like it had before.

  As Izzy drove away from the airport, she said, “I’m going to assume that looking different is a good thing. But I really can’t tell until you say something, Dixie. Are you okay, or did Jace fuck your voice right out of you?”