A Taste of Temptation

by Heather McGovern

  His arm brushed her again. “You’re not better off alone. Everybody needs someone.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being alone.” Now that her brothers had someones of their own, she might get a little lonely, but she’d survive.

  “Hey.” Wright leaned in before turning toward her. He waited quietly until she met his gaze. “You won’t be alone unless you want to be. You’re great. Matt is the one with the problem.”

  She had no response. Not only because she vehemently disagreed, but because he was so close. Looking at her like he sometimes did, soulful brown eyes, seeing something special in her. She forgot how to speak.

  Her brothers loved her, but as far as romantic relationships, she was terminally solo. A few dates followed by long stretches of a singular existence. Her solitude was her choice. It had never bothered her until this year. The rest of her family was moving on, finding love and happiness.

  Sometimes she wanted someone in her life. More and more, she found herself longing to be with someone. And that’s what scared her.

  Being with someone meant letting them in. Too often, letting them in meant losing them.

  In the silence, Wright eased closer, putting his arm around her, trying to comfort. “Soph, I mean it. You aren’t meant to be alone. Don’t say that.”

  “I’m fine. Probably hormones or something. I don’t know.”

  “Maybe because it’s summertime? July fourth isn’t so far away.”

  She turned to him. “How did you—”

  “Come on.” His gaze was tender, eyes soft with sympathy. “We’ve lived in the same small town our whole lives. I remember when the accident happened. Everyone remembers.”

  Her parents’ car accident. Her accident. Except she was still here, and they were long gone.

  “Every year about this time, you’re a little off. Not really yourself. It’s understandable.”

  Except this was herself. She was always a little off. Beneath the managerial efficiency and enthusiasm, she was uncertain and unsure. She might be able to run an inn and wrangle her family, but when it came to handling a personal life, she hadn’t a clue.

  “I was so little when they died.” When she’d loved and lost them. “I don’t know why this time of year still messes with me. It’s stupid.”

  He tightened his arm around her, tucking her close. A comforting hold that soothed her ragged nerves. “No, it is not. They were your parents.”

  She pressed in close, refusing to cry. The anniversary of their death was coming up on twenty-two years. What the hell was wrong with her that this time of year still made her nuts?

  Wright’s warmth and closeness were both things she desperately needed but would never ask for.

  With him, she didn’t feel alone.

  Theirs wasn’t the kind of togetherness she had with her brothers. Never had been. There were times she’d dreamt of them being more than friends. When she was a teenager, again in college, then most recently before he started dating Kate.

  Then reality would kick in.

  They could never be more than friends. Her family would be shocked, and his family would have a conniption. Toss in that, to Wright, she was first and foremost the Bradley brat sister—romance was never going to happen.

  Her consolation was Wright chose to be her friend; he didn’t have to be. He chose to be with her late at night, fixing the world’s problems, and she chose him. It was nice to know that somebody, somewhere liked her for her, and they could be together without fear of everything falling apart.

  He rubbed her shoulder, his touch light against the top of her head as he brushed over her hair. “You’re going to be okay. You’re having a bad run of dates and it’s a shit time of year, that’s all. And you insist on going out with these losers.”

  A puff of laughter escaped her, jostling both of them. Didn’t he see these losers were the only ones interested?

  “Sorry, but it’s true. You could do so much better.” He kept his arm around her, touching her.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Hey.” He leaned away, making her look up. “Yes, you can. I don’t want to hear that kind of stuff from you. Got it?”

  Then she wouldn’t say more. Didn’t mean she wasn’t still thinking it.

  Wright tucked her back against him, his hand warm on her shoulder. “I’ll find you someone. I know some decent guys . . . I think. Who aren’t your brothers.”

  As they sat there, Wright trying to think of someone for her to date, the energy between them began to shift.

  The change was so slow, so subtle, that she didn’t recognize the difference until it was already upon her.

  Wright moved his hand to her hair, threading his fingers through the waves to the ends, caressing her back. And she didn’t stop him.

  His touch was nice. Gentle.

  No, it was more than nice. Her skin tingled, warmth spreading from her scalp, down her neck, and over her limbs. She craved touch. His touch, and their closeness, even as she knew this wasn’t what friends did.

  She didn’t stop him.

  As a matter of fact, her thirteen-year-old self was jumping for joy.

  What if?

  What if she and Wright could be more than friends?

  As foolhardy as the thought was . . . what if?

  But Wright had been dating Kate for months now. In Windamere, that was grounds to be called a potential fiancé. The women who Wright dated were always sophisticated, stylish.

  Sophie felt more like a girl than a woman. Half tomboy, half spastic kid sister. For god’s sake, she had freckles and only owned one pair of heels.

  Wright didn’t want someone like her. His track record proved it.

  She risked a glance up. He was so close, gaze hooded and his face even more handsome than usual.

  She wasn’t oblivious to Wright’s good looks. Since she’d come home from college, she’d been even more aware of how truly attractive Wright was.

  Good-natured, even-tempered, always steady Wright. Capable of being as goofy as always, but he’d grown into a man. With a rough baritone voice and more rugged features to match, the lanky boy she once knew was gone.

  In the four years she’d been consumed with college, Wright had been consumed with culinary arts—and catching a severe case of hotness.

  Yet he was still Wright. Like a brother to her, and her brother’s best friend. Thinking of him in any way other than platonic . . . it knotted her up inside.

  But not necessarily in a bad way.

  A thrill rippled through her body.

  He touched her hair again, weaving his fingers through the thick waves. He cupped the back of her head, his palm warm and wide against her skull. Then, so gently she almost missed it, he scratched his nails near the nape of her neck.

  A shiver shot across her skin and she bit down on her bottom lip.

  She wanted to lean into the contact, let him touch her that way everywhere. Softly drag his nails down her back.

  Oh god, she was leaning into his touch. Leaning into him.

  His hand drifted lower, to the small of her back, as he leaned slightly toward her.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  For years, she’d wondered about Wright’s kiss. How would it feel? How would he taste?

  As he leaned in, she was frozen by her longstanding curiosity, held in place by her desire to have a guy like Wright as her own, but knowing she could never actually have him.

  Wright brushed his lips against hers, tentative at first. Her pulse thumped, her heart doing back flips within her chest. When she didn’t stop his gentle exploration, he covered her mouth with his, and she whimpered.

  He was as warm and sweetly solid as she’d dreamed. Her little noise of need spurred him on, and as he deepened the kiss, all she could manage was to hang on.

  She opened to him and Wright swept his tongue inside her mouth, brushing against hers. He sucked at her bottom lip before dipping in again, and Sophie was like putty.

  Pressed aga
inst him, she gave herself over to the kiss.

  This was really happening. It wasn’t a daydream or something she conjured up. Wright was kissing her.

  He touched her face, fingers dancing across her cheek, then down her neck. He brushed past the buttons of her Honeywilde polo and cupped her breast.

  Her begrudgingly small breast.

  But he moaned against her lips. A greedy, carnal noise of appreciation, and heat coiled between her legs.

  Wright wanted her.

  He wanted her.

  Eagerness and need bolted through her, followed quickly by fear. And guilt.

  Wright wasn’t hers. He was with someone else. He had a girlfriend. A decent girl. And Sophie was the other woman. She was screwing things up; behaving like some kind of home-wrecker.

  Her muscles went stiff as she jerked away. “What—What are you doing?”

  Wright flinched, taking his hands off her like he’d been burned. In a blur of movement, he was off the counter and on the other side of one of the prep tables. “I don’t . . . I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know what happened.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Wright had a serious girlfriend. He was not that kind of guy, and Sophie wasn’t that kind of girl. He was one of the good ones. In her mind, he would never.

  But he’d kissed her.

  Since when did Wright McAdams kiss her?

  Sophie slid from the counter and followed. “That was . . . what were we doing?”

  “Nothing.” Both of his hands went up. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “You were doing something.”

  His face drained of color, his eyes going wide before he blinked. A lot. “No, I didn’t.”

  A honker of a lie if she’d ever heard one, and her brain zigzagged between excitement and disgust, elation and devastation.

  If Wright wanted to kiss her, she couldn’t be a total loss. He dated these perfect women and he was pretty close to perfect himself.

  Except . . . if he wanted to kiss her, then really, he was far from perfect. Guys with girlfriends didn’t kiss other girls. They especially didn’t kiss their best friend’s little sister.

  There was no winning ticket here, no matter how she looked at it. Either he hadn’t planned on kissing her and she did it, and she was slowly losing her mind, or he’d kissed her and was destroying the pedestal she’d put him on.

  Sophie’s stomach dropped. “You kissed me. I know you kissed m—”

  “No.” Wright gave her a hard look. “I would never kiss you.”

  * * *

  “I got the towels.” Dev hurried back into the kitchen, dragging Sophie into the present, a knot in her throat from the memory.

  Same kitchen, a totally different night, but her friendship with Wright was still in tatters.

  She had to let go of that night and the look he’d given her. Really, she needed to let go of all of it.

  The warmth of his arms, the solid caress of his touch. They’d kissed for maybe a minute, and even that was a stretch, but everything was different now.

  “Thanks, Dev.” Wright took some towels and headed to the sink.

  For weeks and weeks, she’d nurtured the hurt and betrayal, and feeding it had only made the bitterness grow. Since she’d been crystal clear how was furious she was with him, Wright barely spoke to her, leaving a gaping hole where his presence should be.

  She didn’t like living this way. This version of who they were now, stilted and awkward, withdrawn from each other’s lives, hurt as much as him saying he would never kiss her.

  The solution was simple. She could stop turning that moment over and over in her mind and try to forget. Rehashing did no one any good anyway.

  If she forgot about the kiss, then they might be able to move forward.

  She could help him clean up the kitchen, fix the mess from his fire, do her best to keep things casual and light from now on, and maybe things would be okay between them again. Somehow.

  The two of them would never be more than friends, but they could at least stop being enemies.

  Chapter 2

  Wright went to work immediately, grabbing a bunch of towels and filling the mop bucket with water.

  He was determined to clean up the lion’s share of the mess.

  The mess was his making, after all.

  Actually, the cherry pie was his making; the mess was a result of him not paying attention to what the hell he was doing. Distracted by his undecided future, confounded by his current situation, and too busy dissecting a silly comment Sophie had made in passing earlier in the day, he was screwing up perfectly good pies and catching shit on fire.

  And Sophie hadn’t even made the comment to him. She’d said it to Dev.

  “Between you and Wright, there’s enough scruff to line a coat. We’re running a nice place here. Either grow a decent beard or shave. Y’all look homeless.”

  Dev had shrugged her off, while Sophie’s words clung to Wright’s brain.

  Noticing things about him, and being a smart-ass about it, was something the old Sophie would’ve done. Months ago. Before that night.

  Fair enough—he was getting too scruffy. But shaving had slipped his mind right along with keeping an eye on his pie.

  But that wasn’t because of the break-up with Kate.

  He was in what folks called, “a quandary.”

  Today, he’d gotten another call from a completely different restaurant group. Since early spring, he’d gotten calls about job opportunities from restaurants as far away as Los Angeles to as close as Asheville. As much as he wanted to do something more, any opportunity he pursued had to be the right one. He wasn’t going to leave the Bradleys and Honeywilde for anything less than a dream job.

  He lifted the full mop bucket from the sink, and his gaze found the back of Sophie’s head, red hair piled high in a sloppy ponytail, slender neck, petite frame, and a big pile of wet towels at her feet.

  When he was with Kate, she’d constantly insisted he kiss this place goodbye.

  Instead, he’d kissed Sophie.

  With a groan, he lowered the rolling bucket to the floor and imagined smacking himself upside the head. He’d kissed Sophie while he had a girlfriend.

  What the hell?

  A testament to how badly he needed to get on with his life and get out of here. Stop wishing and start doing. Do something for himself that didn’t rely on or involve the Bradley family.

  He was so interwoven with them, the prospect of life without Bradley support was terrifying. But he had to prove, to himself and everyone else, that he was capable of success without Honeywilde.

  Kate knew that, same as his parents, but she pushed and pushed. In the end, it wasn’t her insistence and his procrastination that put the nail in their coffin. No, he’d done that all by himself.

  By kissing his best friend’s sister and unleashing a need that refused to go away.

  Wright slapped one of the wet towels on the door of the oven with too much force.

  Sophie looked up, her gaze colliding with his. “The fire was an accident. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  Easier said than done. He beat himself up because that’s what he did.

  He knelt and began wiping the oven as she took the last of the towels from Dev and set them aside. “I think Wright and I can handle the cleanup if you want to turn in.”

  She walked past him to get the mop from the storage room, and Wright froze mid-wipe, fighting to keep his mouth from gaping open.

  Offering to help him, alone, made no sense. Sophie had made sure she was never alone with him for weeks now, and hell would’ve frozen over before she spoke to him, much less helped him clean up.

  Now all of a sudden she was willing to push a mop and be in the kitchen with him?

  “You sure?” Even Dev looked suspicious.

  The three of them were close enough that the wall of ice she’d put between her and Wright was obvious. Dev had even as
ked him about it, to which Wright played dumb.

  Hell would freeze over twice before he confessed to kissing Dev’s little sister.

  “I think two people can manage,” Sophie reassured him.

  “All right then.” Dev scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I guess I’ll call Anna and turn in for the night. No more fires, okay?”

  Wright shared a look with his friend, but as soon as Dev left, the reality of him and Sophie, alone, in the kitchen, punched home.

  For his entire adult life, Sophie had been there to help. Even when they were kids, she was around, though sometimes far from helpful, but lately . . .

  Lately was a major problem.

  They hardly spoke at all, and if they did, he couldn’t say more than two words to her without recriminating himself.

  All because of one stupid mistake.

  A huge mistake that was his fault, like with this damn cherry pie.

  He took his frustration out on the side of the oven, scrubbing and rinsing, anger-cleaning, fighting the memory of the night he’d been dumb enough to kiss Sophie.

  Yes, he’d kissed her that night. No, he hadn’t owned up to it.

  In chivalrous male fashion, he’d freaked out and tried to act like nothing happened.

  He had no business making a move on Sophie. She wasn’t just his best friend’s sister, she was his friend. She trusted him, and though they sometimes flirted, they weren’t like that.

  Not to mention he was dating someone at the time. He wasn’t that guy. The guy who messed around on the side. He hated that guy.

  But Sophie felt so good in his arms.

  Kissing her was spectacular. More amazing than he could’ve imagined—and damn his soul, he’d allowed himself to imagine it a few times—but he always hated himself after.

  That night, he couldn’t have gotten away from her any faster if his ass was on fire.

  He’d bolted from the spot next to her on the counter, running from a five-foot-two-inch woman like she was a copperhead snake.

  Whether he was scared of her or scared of himself for what he’d done, he couldn’t figure out. She’d hopped off the counter and come after him. So like Sophie to chase down a problem and try to make it right.