“Yes…”
He withdrew his fingers and gave her small nub one last, lingering kiss, causing Rachel to shudder and gasp. He moved back up her body kissing her stomach, chest, and neck, and returned his lips to hers, only breaking the kiss to open a condom and roll it on.
Rachel’s eyes were half-open and her breathing ragged. She spread her legs and Brady positioned himself over her.
“Rachel,” he whispered, “look at me. Show me those beautiful eyes.”
Her arms wound around him, and her palms were flat on his back. At the sound of his voice, she opened her eyes a little wider.
He kissed her once.
“Guide me in,” he said.
She reached down and found his erection and heard him sigh as she took him in her hand. Rachel ran the tip along her wet lips, taking the time to trace a circle around her clit. She closed her eyes as she savored the sensation of control and intimacy while she stimulated herself.
“Rachel, open your eyes. Look at me, please.”
She did as he asked and as their eyes met, she slipped him inside her. Both took deep breaths as they savored their connection.
“You feel…” he began, but failed to finish the sentence. Rachel responded by clenching against him, causing him to laugh a little as he moaned her name.
Brady began to move in slow, powerful strokes, and she reeled at finally feeling him fill her. But it was the look on his face that stole her breath as well as her heart. Brady gazed down at her with tender amazement, not mere lust. She put her hand on his face, as though to reassure herself that this really was happening: they were making love.
Rachel began to match his movements with her hips and they fell into a sweet, natural rhythm. He brought his lips to her neck, where he traced circles with his tongue, just like he had the night in the evidence vault. His thrusts soon became more forceful and deeper, and she wrapped her legs around him, willing him, pushing him further inside. Rachel closed her eyes, trying to imprint every last detail about the moment into her memory: how it felt to have his weight on and in her; his sighs as they moved together; the light flowery scent of the soap they had used in the shower; and the salty-sweet aroma of his sweat.
When she opened her eyes, Brady was again looking at her with that face full of wonder and—was it love? She reached up, put both hands on his cheeks, and pulled him into a kiss. The kiss became deeper, with their tongues tasting and teasing each other. When she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, she was thrilled to hear him gasp at her move.
Rachel sensed the pleasure building deep within her and her hips began to meet his strokes at a faster pace. She feared her movements had brought Brady very near the edge, and she wasn’t nearly as close. Brady moved out of her a little and slipped back and forth in short, shallow strokes. Somehow, he had sensed her need.
She flung her head back deep into the pillow, and her breaths came in rapid succession. Rachel grasped Brady’s broad shoulders and her nails sank into his flesh as she climbed toward the point of ecstasy.
Then Brady plunged into her, hard and deep, and she was undone. She went a little rigid, then her orgasm coursed through her body as Brady continued to thrust. Once more that night, she screamed his name as she came, this time much harder than in the pool.
As she rode her climax, Rachel sensed he was almost there, and she wanted him there with her. She thrust her hips hard up against him, making him come within seconds and their moans of ecstasy mingled and died together, leaving their labored breathing as the only sound in the room.
Brady collapsed onto Rachel’s chest, buried his head in the damp hair at her neck, and placed a little kiss on her shoulder, making her shiver. She gave a little whimper of discontent as he slipped out of her and left to dispose of the condom, but he quickly returned to bed.
“So were you right?” he asked as they embraced. He planted a quick kiss on her cheek.
“Right? About what?”
“Do you think the right guy has finally come along?”
“Oh, I know so,” she said with a smile. She moved her hands to the back of Brady’s head and pulled him close. “But I wouldn’t mind collecting some additional evidence on that point later this evening.”
Brady laughed and bent his head to kiss her.
Chapter 15
When Brady awoke in the middle of the night, he was spooning Rachel, who remained fast asleep. He couldn’t remember getting into that position, but feeling her soft, succulent body against his was the most natural, perfect thing in the world—other than actually making love to her. His arm was wrapped around her waist and he moved his hand to brush the top of her curls, causing Rachel to stir but not awaken. Adjusting his head on the pillow, the soft scent of Rachel’s perfume rose from the fabric as he brushed it with his whisker-roughened cheek.
He reeled from the events of the past few hours. They had gone from flustered, to flirting, to fucking.
Yet calling their shared experience mere fucking didn’t sit right with him.
They had made love. It had been emotional, exhilarating, and breathtaking.
And that was the moment he knew he was in love with Rachel Richards.
It was a first: he’d never been in love with a woman. His relationships, while warm and physical, had never reached that level of maturity. As the realization sank in, he involuntarily tightened his arm around Rachel’s waist. He didn’t know if he was drawing her nearer as a demonstration of affection or whether he was clinging to her out of a mild sense of panic.
How was this going to work? How could they possibly keep a relationship secret? Would she still want to do that? Sharing an office with Rachel was already a challenge. How was he supposed to sit a few feet away from the woman he loved but not do anything to reveal that love? The whole situation would drive him insane.
And could Rachel keep their secret from Hannah? From the world?
His grip around Rachel’s midsection must have tightened further because she began to squirm against him. She emitted a raspy, satisfied noise, and put her arm and hand over Brady’s across her midsection. Brady pulled her still-damp hair away from her neck and kissed her just underneath her earlobe.
Rachel turned over and nestled her head into Brady’s chest. He propped himself up on an elbow and brushed stray strands of hair away from her face.
“Rachel, how in the world are we going to be able to keep this secret?”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I’d hope you wouldn’t talk about what we’ve just—”
“No, I mean what we’d talked about when we first discussed even going out on a date. Keeping us—our relationship—a secret.”
“We still need to do that because of your judicial race.”
“Can you keep something like this secret?” he asked.
“Believe me, I can keep my mouth shut,” she said with assurance.
“You’re awfully confident. Explain,” he demanded, amused.
“Once during high school I was out at the distillery with Hannah. We were in one of the offices and I was sitting around waiting on her—I think we were going to go fishing in the creek and she was off looking for poles. I was reading a magazine to kill time and out fell a handwritten note, a kind of formula. It looked important—I think we were in her father’s or the master distiller’s office. When I gave it to her, she was shocked. Told me it was the secret mashbill for Old Garnet. Hannah took it and destroyed it at once, tearing the thing into tiny pieces. Looked as though someone had been making calculations about grain shipments and had written the mashbill down as well.”
“So you know the secret recipe for Old Garnet?” Brady chuckled while Rachel nodded. “They don’t release their mashbill do they?”
“Nope, they don’t. Family secret, or so they claim. Except I know it.”
“You can still remember it?”
She nodded. “I have a very good memory. I told Hannah I remembered it, but she didn’t believe me until I recited
it to her. She hasn’t asked me about in years. I think she likes to think I don’t remember. So I remember it, but I’ve never told a soul what the mashbill is.”
Brady’s mood changed from silly to dour.
“I don’t think I can do it,” he said, shaking his head.
“We have to,” she begged. “We have to think of your reputation first, but there’s also the problem of Hannah. I can’t tell her about us. It would kill her.”
“But won’t it kill you to not tell her? She’s your best friend.”
“I can do it. I can do it for you.”
“And then what? Election Day will come and go and she’ll have to find out. We can’t keep this secret forever,” he said.
“Of course we can’t, but we can keep things under wraps until the election. It’s only five months.”
“And that’s an eternity right now,” he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
Later that morning, Rachel’s nerves were an absolute wreck. Even though she was tired, her whole body still hummed, buzzed—no, crackled, like sparks flying off a burning cinder—after her night with Brady. She’d never had a night like that with any guy, and that told her that everything about Brady was going to be different.
Before he’d left in the wee hours, they’d made love two more times. She could not get enough of him, and she intuitively knew he felt the same way about her. It had been very difficult to say goodbye that morning, and Rachel had cried when Brady drove away.
What to do now? She dozed on her couch and considered going back to bed to get some sleep. But then she felt her phone vibrate; she had a text from Hannah.
Hannah had invited her to brunch at The Cooperage, and it would be Hannah’s treat. As tired as she was, Rachel didn’t want to accept, but she knew better than to put Hannah off. If she didn’t go, Hannah might suspect something was up—Hannah had a talent for that—and Rachel didn’t want to start making her friend suspicious.
Maybe Brady was right.
How could they hide their relationship?
Rachel put the thought out of her mind as she texted Hannah back to accept and then got ready to meet her friend. She decided to play it cool, to see if Hannah clued into something different about her.
Rachel wore her sleeveless silk teal sheath dress with matching pumps. Not wanting to do much more to tidy up, Rachel put her hair up in a bun and dabbed on a minimum of makeup. The elegant dress always made her feel good about how she looked and would be comfortable on such a warm day.
The Cooperage was doing a brisk business that Sunday morning. When Rachel entered the large circular, marble-floored lobby, a number of would-be diners milled about in their Sunday finest, all presumably waiting on a table. Rachel went directly to the hostess station to check whether Hannah had arrived. The dark-haired young woman confirmed Hannah’s presence and led Rachel through the restaurant to the table.
It was the best seat in the house. The table was right next to the large glass window which afforded a panoramic view of the low rolling hills which stretched down to the banks of Old Crow Creek. Several miles to the north, Hannah’s family’s distillery sat along the same wide creek. The distillery drew its water from the stream and several spring-fed wells and used it to make some of the finest bourbon in the world.
“So where’s Josh today?” Rachel asked as she took a seat across from Hannah.
Hannah waved a hand. “Up in Frankfort again,” she said.
“He’s gone at least one night a week and now he’s gone on the weekend?”
Hannah shrugged, causing her long blonde hair to slide over her shoulders. She looked lovely that morning in a light purple sheath with cap sleeves, a style very similar to Rachel’s dress.
“He’s trying to get a job with the administration up there,” Hannah explained, “so he’s doing a lot of consulting work for several school systems in the vicinity.”
Rachel knew the rumors that Josh, the local school superintendent, had ambitions beyond little Bourbon Springs. If that were the case, would Hannah go with him? Would he commute to the state capital to work? It was fifty miles away. Rachel wasn’t sure how she felt about this possibility; she’d never warmed to Josh Cassidy. He’d latched onto Hannah at a vulnerable time in her life. After gaining weight, Hannah had felt very insecure about herself several years ago; along came Josh, a few years her senior, and swept Hannah off her feet. Hannah lost the weight (she reminded Rachel of a thinner, latter-day Mae West), but the insecurity remained—along with Josh. Rachel thought it telling that Hannah had kept her maiden name; she wasn’t sure whether it indicated Hannah’s natural independent streak or whether it revealed a hint of doubt regarding the relationship’s longevity. Then again, Rachel understood that Hannah would always consider herself a Davenport first and foremost. That name had power, passion, and prestige behind it, and would be forever connected to Old Garnet.
“He’s gone a lot,” Rachel observed. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him.”
“You sound like my brother,” Hannah said. “As if he has any room to talk. Idiot workaholic.”
“So how’s Bo doing?”
Rachel had heard that Bo Davenport’s long-term girlfriend had recently broken up with him. The rumor was that she’d dumped him because, as Hannah's comment indicated, Bo worked too much. That part was probably true. Since Bo and Hannah’s dad had died a few years earlier, Bo had taken over running the distillery. Bo did a great job, but the personal cost was apparently getting high.
“He’s fine. In fact, I stopped off at the distillery this morning to say hi and he was out there checking on a problem with the bottling equipment.” Hannah shook her head. “The bottling line is usually offline on Sundays, but there Bo was, fretting and pacing. He fixed the problem, but then went on to look at the mash. I barely got to say hello.”
“Sounds like he needs a long vacation.”
“He needs that and a good woman, but he won’t take the time for either. That’s his problem. But forget men,” Hannah said, eyeing Rachel. “Are you OK?”
“What? Why wouldn’t I be?”
Frowning, Hannah tilted her head and studied Rachel's face. “You look tired,” Hannah observed.
Time for the truth.
Well, a little bit of it.
Rachel sighed and nodded. “I did a bunch of yard work yesterday and my mailbox got run over again. And you’ll never guess who ran over it.”
Rachel told the tale, saying that Brady left after he fixed the mailbox. It was technically true, although he’d left several hours after accomplishing that little task. Several hours and several orgasms later, in fact.
“I’d say he’s a nice guy, except it sounds like his aunt made him do it. And it’s funny you bring him up. Because he’s sort of the reason I wanted to meet this morning.”
Rachel felt a small flare of panic in her chest. “Wh-What? You want to talk about Brady? Why?” Rachel realized she sounded a touch too frantic, but Hannah didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, I don’t want to talk so much about him as his job. I want it.” Rachel stared blankly at Hannah, not understanding. “I’m going to make a formal announcement of my candidacy for the bench this week,” Hannah explained.
Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, I see,” she said, a sense of relief flooding her when she understood Hannah’s meaning. But then worry took its place.
Brady definitely had an opponent, and a formidable one at that. Hannah had money and name recognition.
And as much as she loved Hannah, Rachel knew that Brady was the better judge. He had more experience in the courtroom, especially as a prosecutor.
“I’m filing my papers tomorrow,” Hannah said excitedly as a server came to refill coffee cups and take orders. “All the arrangements for the announcement have been made. I’m doing it at the distillery, of course. The new porch overlooking the creek behind the distillery museum will be the perfect spot. It’s so Bourbon Springs.”
“You really want t
o do this?” Rachel said after the server left, inwardly cringing after she’d asked the question. She sounded a tad too skeptical of Hannah’s plans.
Hannah picked up on the doubt at once. “Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I? Don’t you think I’m qualified?”
“Of course you’re qualified,” Rachel recovered. “It’s just that there’s not much time until the election this fall. Are you sure you want to get into a campaign so late? It’ll be a lot of work for you.”
Hannah smiled and shook her head. “I’m not worried. I’ve got support in this county. My family’s been cashing in on the Davenport name for years. It’s my turn to do the same,” she declared. Rachel was taken aback by the rather mercenary attitude, and Hannah apparently noticed Rachel’s mild surprise. “That didn’t come out so nice, did it?” Hannah admitted.
“I guess you have to be a little ruthless to run for any office,” Rachel said.
To Rachel’s relief, Hannah laughed. “But I thought judges were supposed to be merciful and all that.”
“Well, maybe you can learn to be that way after you’re a judge,” Rachel joked.
Hannah rubbed her hands together. "What do you think I should do first? As far as starting a campaign, I mean?”
Rachel sat back in her seat. “Oh, I can’t help you there, Hannah.”
“What? You don’t want to help my campaign?”
“That’s not what I said. I said that I couldn’t. The judicial ethics rules put big restrictions on what I’m allowed to do as a judge, especially when it comes to elections.”
“Oh, right,” Hannah said. “Gotta be careful.” She brightened. “But just think—you and me—judges!” Rachel smiled weakly, and she saw Hannah’s enthusiasm morph into confusion. “What is it, Rachel? You don’t seem very excited for me.”
Rachel squirmed in her seat. “I’m just worried how hard the campaign could be for you.”
“Ah, the Brady Craft factor,” Hannah said, and nodded. “Not the nicest fellow, is he?”
Secret Blend (Bourbon Springs Book 1) Page 13