Secret Blend (Bourbon Springs Book 1)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “I certainly hope there will be,” he said as his piercing blue eyes remained fixed on her face.

  The intensity of his stare surprised her and she was the one to look away first.

  She decided to lighten things up and described what she had done after her clerkship with Justice Nolan ended. Rachel talked about working a desk job in state government but deciding she wanted more time in the courtroom.

  “So when I heard about the public defender job here in Bourbon Springs, it was just what I’d been looking for. It was time to come home.” An uneasy silence descended, and Rachel finally broke it. “Brady,” she began, “there’s something I don’t get.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why did you act like I didn’t exist for the past five years? I certainly didn’t expect you to be my best friend, but when I got back to Bourbon Springs, you seemed…different.”

  “How?” he asked, the muscles in his face suddenly tense.

  She sighed and gathered her thoughts. “You weren’t the Brady I remembered when we worked for Justice Nolan. And when we were doing the criminal cases together you acted like we’d never known each other at all. But now that we’re both judges—well, you’ve changed again. You’re almost like the old Brady I remember.” She put her arm on the back of the couch as she faced him.

  “Almost?” he asked with mock indignation, putting a hand to his chest.

  “Well, you still can be damned difficult,” Rachel said, thinking of how he’d handled the whole office-sharing problem.

  They both laughed and the tension between them momentarily dissipated.

  Brady turned to face Rachel squarely and put his arm along the back of the couch. He reached for her hand and took it, and she did not shy away from his modest but intimate gesture.

  “I guess I’m glad to hear you say I’m more like the old Brady you remember.”

  “So what happened?” she asked.

  Brady dropped his head.

  “You’re right. I did change,” he admitted and then lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Almost as soon as I got back to Bourbon Springs after my clerkship, I realized I wanted to be a judge. I’d first thought about getting on the bench when I clerked for Justice Nolan—I think she sparked that interest in me. But when I came home and became a prosecutor, got my chance to be there in court almost every day and be a part of the system, to work and live in that ebb and flow of the law, I knew that was what I wanted to do. I wanted to wear the robe. I wanted to be that person, to serve my community and profession in that way. And I worked toward that goal for ten years. But I became too focused on it. I didn’t really think about anything else,” he confessed.

  That was readily apparent to Rachel. But it still didn’t explain his change of attitude back to the more likeable version of Brady.

  “So why this most recent change?”

  “You already figured it out, Rach.”

  “I did?”

  “You nailed it when you said it killed me that you became a judge before I did.” He dropped his head. “And because you got there first, I started to see you differently.”

  “Differently? You resented me, right?” she asked, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

  He finally looked up at her. “I did at first,” he admitted. “But then something else happened. Something that should’ve happened years ago, but I was too much of a jerk that I couldn’t acknowledge it.”

  “And what was that?” she snapped.

  Brady took a deep breath and didn’t answer her immediately.

  “I finally started seeing you as an equal.”

  “No longer the junior clerk, right?” Rachel asked, still irritated.

  He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

  “I had a feeling it was something like that,” Rachel said, and loosened her grip on his hand, signaling she wanted him to release her.

  He opened his eyes. “But I think there was a big advantage in me being such a—a….” Brady stammered.

  “The word you’re looking for is jerk, Brady,” Rachel said, and pulled her hand away.

  But Brady snatched her hand back and pulled her closer to him. Rachel’s eyes widened in surprise at his move.

  “Yes, I was a jerk, Rachel,” he confessed. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so shallow. But it may have been for the best.”

  “For the best? That you were a jerk to me these past years?”

  “Yes,” Brady said. “Because if I’d had to work with you seeing you like I do now—like I always should have seen you—and feeling about you like I do now…well, I would’ve gone crazy not being able to act on those feelings.”

  “Not act on—you mean because you were a prosecutor and I was a public defender?”

  “Yes,” he whispered and moved nearer to her on the couch.

  Rachel's breathing quickened.

  “And now that we’re—I mean—you’re free to follow up on your feelings,” she said breathlessly, leaning toward him, “what are you going to do?”

  He inched closer to her, and she could see the rough tease of a five o’clock shadow along his jaw.

  “Only what you want me to do,” he whispered.

  Chapter 7

  Brady slowly bent his head, giving Rachel every opportunity to pull away. Instead, she parted her lips and waited for him to come to her.

  Their lips touched and the first kisses were gentle, even shy. These were the tentative kisses of two people who had known each other for a long time and knew that things between them were about to change forever. Each waited for the other to pull back, to stop before the world turned upside down.

  But then Brady took his free hand and wound it into Rachel’s hair as she draped her arms around his neck and entangled her fingers in his thick, dark hair. When his simple touch made Rachel moan into his mouth, something inside him apparently ignited. Brady’s kisses became more forceful, with his tongue repeatedly darting into her mouth as he swept his hand from her hair to the curve of her neck, where his thumb lightly stroked her collarbone. He trailed kisses along her cheek and jaw line until his lips reached her neck where his tongue made slow spirals on the delicate skin, eliciting shivers and groans from Rachel as she pressed her body against him. Pulling away, Brady cradled her face in his hands as her arms dropped from his neck to encircle his waist.

  “Rachel…”

  The ardor in his half-closed eyes was exhilarating and scary. Empowered, aroused, and weakened all at once, Rachel was in shock at his confession, at his passion, and at her own physical reaction to his touch. And that touch was like fire on Rachel’s skin. It seared yet she craved it like nothing else, pulling him closer as she felt the bittersweet, exhilarating mix of doubt and wonder nip at the corners of her consciousness, asking her where their hearts and bodies would take them that night and beyond.

  Slowly, gently, Brady brought her face to his and kissed her tenderly, as their first kisses had been. He moved, shifting until Rachel was underneath him; she felt his hardened desire as she instinctively moved her hips against his, causing him to quake and sigh. The ache between her legs deepened, and she sensed herself becoming slick with need and anticipation.

  Brady moved his hands under Rachel’s blouse until he cupped both breasts through the thin fabric of her bra, and she pushed herself into his palms, her back arching off the couch. When she saw the look on his face as he realized she was wearing quite the lacy little thing, she drew a long breath from desire as much as amusement. Looking directly into Brady’s eyes, she grinned, and he removed his hands from her sensitive mounds.

  “What is it?” he asked, apparently fearing he’d crossed a line.

  “I bet old Judge Bailey would be rolling over in his grave if he knew what was happening on his couch,” she laughed.

  He laughed with her as she put her arms around him once more and pulled him into a long kiss, her hands moving slowly down his back as she allowed herself to savor the texture of his hard sinews. Delicately, her finge
rs traveled lower until she slipped the tips of them under the waistband of his trousers.

  And then they heard it.

  Someone was fiddling with the door from the other side.

  At once, they both sat up straight and started neatening clothes and hair. As the door opened, Rachel gave Brady a wide-eyed look of alarm.

  “What?” he asked. She glanced at his crotch, and he pulled his messenger bag onto his lap.

  One of the custodians appeared from around the door. “What the—” he said, squinting into the gloomy area.

  Rachel took the initiative and left Brady to sit. “Thanks so much for rescuing us,” she said, walking toward the man.

  He yelped, then calmed. “Whoa, there, Judge Richards! Scared me to death! But why are you—and is that Judge Craft?” the custodian said, peering around her.

  Brady waved but didn’t stand up, and Rachel rolled her lips into her mouth to hide her amusement at her companion’s dilemma.

  She turned back to the custodian. “We got locked in. I had to return an exhibit, and Judge Craft accompanied me.”

  “Ya’ll didn’t know the door locks behind?”

  Rachel shook her head. “The only time I’d ever been down here was when a clerk accompanied me. Same for Judge Craft. We’ve never been down here since we became judges.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I came along or you’d both been in here all night!” He laughed, propped the door, and began to sweep.

  Rachel met Brady's eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing.

  All. Night.

  Rachel swallowed, wondering what would’ve happened if the custodian hadn’t shown up.

  And what if the custodian had caught them?

  Brady didn’t seem to notice the change of her mood. He stood and moved the messenger bag away from his lower torso, although Rachel could still see a noticeable bulge in his pants.

  Thanking the custodian, they left and headed outside. The twilight was lovely and soft, suffused with the light scents of clover, freshly-mown grass, and the unmistakably sweet aroma of the mash cooking at the Old Garnet Distillery several miles north of town. It was the perfect late spring evening in Bourbon Springs.

  Rachel had remained silent since departing the evidence vault, and her stillness had apparently unnerved Brady during the walk to their respective vehicles.

  “What’s wrong? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” he asked upon reaching her car.

  Rachel closed her eyes and smiled. “Quite the contrary, Judge Craft.”

  “So what’s the matter?” he asked in a pleading voice. “And by the way, I really like it when you call me Judge Craft.”

  Rachel looked into his eyes and saw the raw edge of his need for her still lingering there. She licked her lips and kept breathing through her mouth. She wasn’t over the intensity of their encounter and wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or frustrated it had been interrupted.

  Was it possible to feel both ways? It must be, because Rachel felt extremely confused.

  “Brady, what if he’d caught us?” she asked.

  “Well, he sort of did, didn’t he?”

  “Not really,” Rachel said, and smoothed her long hair. “We heard him before he entered the vault. And he believed my story about us simply getting locked in.”

  “Well, that’s true. It did start out that way.”

  “But it didn’t end that way,” Rachel whispered, watching him button his shirt. She rather wished he’d leave his shirt open since she liked having that little glimpse of his chest.

  “Are you saying you regret what happened?” Brady asked, anger and hurt in his tone.

  “No!” she cried, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. But they were alone on the courthouse square, except for a few birds and one squirrel scampering toward a magnolia tree.

  He gazed down at her hungrily. “Glad to hear it.”

  “But I am a little overwhelmed by what just happened,” Rachel admitted.

  “That makes two of us."

  “Then that means we have to think about this. I remember when you asked me out that you said something about going someplace where it wouldn’t be likely we’d be spotted together. I think your instincts were right about us being cautious when it comes to being seen together.”

  “Because of all the wagging tongues in this town?” he asked. “Two unmarried judges getting together would make quite the tasty bit of gossip.”

  “Exactly. As much as I hate it, that’s the truth. Reputation is important, especially for very new and young judges who just happen to be sharing chambers. And reputation is especially important right now for you,” she said, and gently poked his chest.

  “Me?”

  “Because you could draw an opponent,” Rachel pointed out, thinking about Hannah’s crazy idea to run. Rachel still chalked it up to drunken chatter, but that didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t file against Brady. She’d heard rumblings that Bruce Colyard would like a seat on the bench, but was reluctant to give up his lucrative private practice.

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” he said and looked away. He rubbed his chin and looked back to her with gentle, needy eyes. “So what do we do? Because I don’t want to pretend tonight didn’t happen. I feel like something has finally fallen into place.”

  “I couldn’t ignore what happened if I tried,” Rachel sighed softly.

  “It’s too late to take you to the place I intended tonight, but we could go somewhere else if you like.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I don’t think I can trust myself with you right now.”

  He shook his head and blinked at her several times. “Just about any other man in my shoes would be whisking you away from here at this very minute.”

  She laughed. “I know. But you’re not just any other man. And that’s why I want to be careful.”

  He took in a breath and shivered. “It’s killing me that I can’t kiss you.”

  “Likewise, Judge Craft,” Rachel said, using his title to give him a little thrill. “But you’ll have other chances to kiss me.”

  “That sounds a lot like a promise.”

  “You plan on holding me to it?”

  “Count on it, Judge Richards. What about this weekend? Care to go on the date we missed tonight?” he suggested.

  “Agreed, but let's try to make it through the next few days at work without anyone getting clued in. Then take me to your surprise place for our date.”

  “Deal.”

  Still trembling, she gripped the steering wheel.

  It took Rachel every last ounce of self-restraint to get in her car and drive away, leaving Brady in the parking lot.

  Because she did want him to take her someplace.

  Oh, yes.

  Because if they hadn’t been interrupted, Rachel had no doubt what would have happened between them on the old couch in the evidence vault.

  Brady would’ve teased, licked, stripped, stroked, and probed her. She would’ve let him take her right then and there and loved every second of it.

  Rachel pulled into her garage, turned off the car, and put her head on the steering wheel.

  It was going to be torture not to have Brady scratch her itch tonight.

  Brady briskly walked the two short blocks to his townhouse, strategically keeping the messenger bag over his midsection.

  Cold shower. Cold shower. Cold shower.

  Hastily entering his home and slamming the door behind him, Brady dumped the bag in the foyer and started peeling off layers of clothing, starting with his suit coat, tie, and shirt. By the time he reached the bedroom, he was unbuckling his belt and kicking off his shoes. He sat, ripped off his socks, and then pulled down his boxers, finally freeing the erection he could no longer suppress.

  He hurried to the bathroom and turned the water in the shower to cold. As he closed the shower door, his hand drifted to his aching rod and began to move slowly. His forehead hit the shower wall as the cold water mercilessly beat down
upon his back. The icy blast had no impact on his arousal, which was completely unabated.

  “Rachel…” he whispered as he began to pump himself.

  In less than two minutes after she had arrived home, Rachel was nude and standing above the deep end at the edge of her pool. She didn’t bother putting her hair up and dove right in without testing the temperature.

  The coolness enveloped every square inch of her body and the shock of the temperature change made her forget Brady. But only for a few seconds.

  After surfacing, Rachel wiped the hair from her face and stood in the middle of the pool with her arms outstretched. She felt her breasts rise and float, and luxuriated in an exuberant sensation of weightlessness and arousal.

  She looked down at her breasts, still feeling Brady’s hands upon her. He had only managed to caress her there through the wispy barrier of her bra, but Rachel had delighted in his touch and had yearned for so much more. Before they had been interrupted, Rachel had longed for him to slip his fingers under the fabric and rake his hands over her nipples, so taught beneath that thin fabric he barely touched.

  Cupping her breasts with both hands, her fingers migrated to the tips where she teased her nipples until they were perfectly pebbled. She slipped one hand further down her body until it found the tender flesh at her core, and groaned Brady’s name as she moved a finger over her most sensitive spot and slid it inside herself.

  Brady lay flat on his back, nude, in his bed, covered with one very tented sheet. He seriously considered throwing it off since he was still so fucking hot.

  He’d had some release in the shower, but it had only been enough to take the edge off. He was unsatisfied, restless, and already hard again. He wanted Rachel there with him and vowed that someday, she would be.

  His hand moved to his erection, and he began to stroke himself.

  How the hell was he going to be able to work in the same office with the woman if the mere thought of her turned him into such a mess?