Blame it on Texas: Lightning in a Bottle (Kindle Worlds)
Page 5
“Don’t be. The sample I had was delicious. I have a feeling your brewery’s going to be very popular here.”
She resettled in her chair in front of the generous wedge of cheesecake drizzled with a dark pink syrup. “Strawberry?”
“Raspberry,” he replied.
She slid a forkful of the silky dessert into her mouth. Delicious. Everything about the man was delicious. Dang, she couldn’t even sit across from him without picturing him without those glasses, with his wheat-colored hair tousled from bed-rumpling, and a big ol’ satisfied smile on his face. She shook off the image with difficulty. “I…umm…I should go back to work. Mitch is good, but even he can’t wrangle that wild bunch of Texans.”
“It’s hard for anyone to wrangle us wild Texans.”
Oh, crud, there went her body temperature again, straight into the stratosphere. “You done?” she asked, gesturing to his side of the desk. At his nod, she picked up the aluminum dishes and crushed them in her wastebasket.
“How much time do you need?”
The question threw her, and she looked at him, agape. “Huh?”
“I’m taking you home, remember?”
“Oh, right. Give me about an hour or so. Does that work for you?”
“Sure. Whenever you’re ready.”
Oh, I’m ready, all right.
****
It was two hours later when Bo finally climbed the stairs to her office to let Drew know she was ready to go home. She rapped on the door jamb. “Knock, knock.” As she walked inside, the floor beneath her seemed to tilt, and she swayed on her feet.
He looked up from his laptop, concern etched on his face. “What time did you get up this morning?”
“In New York? I don’t remember. I guess around six or so.”
“Which means you’ve already put in a…” He glanced at his wristwatch. “…a twenty-hour day.”
“Don’t be ridic—” She stopped and burst into giggles. “Oh, crap. I’ve been looking at the clock on the floor downstairs and forgetting I’m in a totally different time zone now than I was when I woke up today. No wonder I’m so sleepy.”
“Yeah.” Closing the lid of his laptop, he rose to his feet. “Give me five minutes to pack up, and I’ll take you home.”
“Okay. I’ll just go downstairs and check—”
“Sit!”
She folded her arms over her chest and assumed her battle stance. “Excuse me?”
He waved at the cushioned chair behind her desk. “Take a seat. If I let you out of this office now, you’re bound to get involved in another project, and more time will pass before you get home. If it hurts your ego to have me tell you you’re too tired to keep going tonight, take pity on me. I’m exhausted, too. And I can’t leave ‘til you do. Tomorrow’s another day for both of us.”
She would’ve liked to argue, to tell him she didn’t appreciate his high-handedness, but couldn’t muster the energy for a heated debate. It was as if the minute she realized the time, her body gave up, saying, “That’s it, girl. You’re done.”
He must have sensed the war she fought within herself because he added in a wheedling tone, “Come on. Don’t you want to see your house? See where the movers put all your furniture?”
“All my furniture?” She blew air through her pursed lips as she sank into the chair. “Please. I had them set up my bed, a dresser, my kitchen table with a couple of mismatched chairs I found at a tag sale, and a couch. That about sums up my worldly possessions.”
“You don’t have towels? Bed sheets? Dishes?”
Despite her exhaustion, she smiled. “Still in boxes. At least, they better be. I don’t want strangers handling my personal things. The moving company was in charge of unpacking my furniture only.”
“So, you don’t even have sheets on the bed yet?”
“Nope.”
“Then, we’d better get you out of here so you can get a good night’s sleep.” He slid his laptop into his bag and added the file folder he’d been working on—a case regarding a local woman whose fiancé stole her engagement ring to give to another woman. Nancy Sanders wanted to sue for breach of promise to regain the monetary value of the ring, roughly about five thousand dollars, but her ex was claiming the ring was never meant as a promise of marriage. “C’mon. Grab your gear.”
Within minutes, she was in the passenger seat of his Jeep, staring up at the star-studded night sky. “I missed the sunset,” she murmured.
“What’d you say?”
“The sunset. Ian said the sunsets here will take my breath away. I missed it.”
“There’ll be another tomorrow,” he assured her. “I’ll come by and take you to the perfect spot to see it, if you like.”
Her eyelids were heavy, but she managed to glare at him with open suspicion. “Is everyone here so nice?”
“We try to be.”
“It gets on my nerves.”
Chuckling, he started the Jeep, and drove out of the brewery parking lot, and all too soon, the rhythm of the road beneath them lulled her into closing her eyes. Just for a minute, she told herself.
The next thing she knew, his hand was on her shoulder, and his voice whispered in her ear. “Bo? Come on, darlin’. Wake up.”
She came awake with a start. “We’re here?”
“We’re here.”
She climbed out of the car and faced a Victorian-style home with twin pointed turrets above and a wraparound porch below. Soft lighting in the ground bathed a row of perfect pink and red roses in front of a series of tall, spiny grasses. “Ooh. It’s prettier than I thought.”
“You like it?” Drew said from beside her.
“I love it,” she said. “It’s perfect.”
“Good. Let’s go inside. See what you think of that.”
She climbed the stairs to the porch where he pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the front door lock. “You’re gonna give me that key, right? I thought Mitch already gave all the house keys to me. They’re in my bag.” She veered her gaze to the car. “Shoot. I left my bag in your back seat.”
“I’ll go back for it after I get you settled. As for the key…” He pushed the door open and ushered her inside. “…if you still want it come morning, I’ll be happy to give it to you.”
“Whaddya mean if I want it? Of course I want it. It goes to my house.”
“Actually,” he said, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose. “This is my house.”
She nearly snapped her neck, swerving from him to the house’s interior and back again. “Yours?”
“Mine. Come on.”
He took her hand in his, and static electricity zapped her. Still, she clung tighter as he led her down the hall. So, he had understood her earlier invitation! Too bad he hadn’t said something a few hours ago. She hoped she could muster up enough energy for bedroom acrobatics.
“You’re way too tired to deal with sheets and towels tonight.” He stopped at the first door and pushed it open. “My guest bedroom. A comfortable, already-made bed, all prepared for you to sink into.” He pointed at another door on the other side of the room. “Private bath with a deep tub, shower stall, and clean, fresh towels through that other door.” After pulling her inside, he closed the door and rattled the knob, drawing her attention there. “Good sturdy lock so you won’t be disturbed. No funny business, no ulterior motives. Just a place to crash until you can conquer your house tomorrow when you’re well-rested and more alert.”
She gazed around the room with surprise. The bed was a massive four-poster, big enough to hold a family. On either side sat twin matching nightstands with hurricane-style lamps in frosted white, decorated with golden mums and orange roses. A large armoire took up most of one wall, broken only by the door that led to the private bathroom.
He pointed at the armoire. “I’ve got some old t-shirts in there, if you need something to sleep in. Nothing fancy, but they’ll do for one night.”
Before he could say anymore, she whirled, g
rasped him by the shoulders and planted her lips on his. Her head swam in the taste of him, and he kissed her back with that same burning need they’d struggled against since their first meeting twelve hours ago. She pulled away and dropped her head to the crook of his neck. He was, at best, an inch or two taller than her, and yet, she fit into him like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. “What if I don’t want to lock my door tonight?”
“While I appreciate the offer, darlin’, I won’t be spending the night in this room with you tonight. Don’t get me wrong. One day, probably soon, you and I are going to share a bed, but when it happens, it’s going to be all night, not just for a few hours before dawn. And you’ll want to be an eager, energetic participant. That, I promise you. Tonight, you just need sleep.” He kissed her again, short, quick, still dazzling enough to take her breath away. “I’ll get your bag for you.”
With that, he left her standing there, limp as a dishrag, wondering what exactly had come over her, and wishing to God she’d stopped working about ten hours ago.
Chapter 4
When she woke the next day, sunlight streamed through the sheer ivory curtains onto the bed. She stretched from shoulders to toes and sighed with delight. God knew when she’d slept so soundly. Shoving the covers to the side, she slid out of the bed then grabbed her watch from the nightstand. Eight-thirty?! Holy cow! She never slept this late.
She stripped out of the Texas A&M Law t-shirt she’d borrowed last night and changed back into her own clothes with lightning speed. She left her boots and socks on the floor and padded down the hallway, looking for Drew. Muffled snippets of conversation reached her ears, and she followed the sound, coming to a halt at the edge of a bright, airy kitchen.
Drew paced the wide area between the appliances and a cozy breakfast nook while on his cell phone, deep in conversation, which allowed her to take him in with all her senses. This morning, he wore a dark gray suit with a white shirt and deep blue tie. She’d always loved the look of a man in a perfectly-tailored suit. Drew was no exception. He filled out the jacket with his broad shoulders, conveying confidence and authority. His voice while he spoke was smooth, with a charming southern drawl that warmed her belly. She could almost see him inside a courtroom, his audience riveted to his every word. His cologne, a combination of sandalwood and citrus, appealed to her sensitive palate, and she smacked her lips.
He must have sensed her presence because he cupped the cell’s mouthpiece with his palm and craned his neck to greet her with a hushed, “Morning!” He pointed to the counter. “Coffee’s over there. Make yourself at home. I’ll just be another minute.”
She mouthed a quick thank you and strode to the counter where a set of white ceramic mugs was arranged next to the coffeemaker.
“That’s right,” he said into the phone while she poured the steaming beverage and inhaled its aroma with a sense of gratitude. “July thirteenth.”
Since she always drank her first cup of the day black, she turned back to Drew, who gestured for her to sit at the table beside him. She sat, allowing her gaze to take in the rest of the room so as not to appear as if she eavesdropped on his conversation.
“You can’t change the court date because you’re going on a cruise that week.” Pause. “Because you’re a material witness!” He rolled his eyes like an aggrieved teenager, and Bo clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Yes, I think it would be best if you contact the cruise company. See if they can give you a credit toward another trip at a later date.” Another pause. “Okay, Mr. Walsh. I certainly hope so. You take care now. And good luck.”
He disconnected and placed the phone face-down on the table near her hand. He leaned closer on his bent elbow, focusing his full attention on her, which woke her up faster than the burst of caffeine. His close proximity made her heartbeat gallop and her pulse quicken.
“Sorry about that. Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Great, thanks.” In an attempt to cool her rising ardor, she struggled to come up with a banal topic. She nodded toward his cell. “You get clients like that often?”
He shrugged. “A few. Are you hungry?”
Food? Food was good. Food could always distract her. “Famished.”
“Well, then, you’ve come to the right place. I make a mean western omelet. How does that sound?”
It sounded great. But she was no princess, expecting him to wait on her hand and foot. He’d already brought her dinner last night and opened up his home to her. She quirked a brow. “How about you let me make breakfast this morning?”
“Next time.”
Who said there’d be a next time? She bit her tongue to keep from insulting her host. “You’ll get your suit messed up,” she pointed out.
“Nah.” He opened a cabinet drawer near the stainless steel cooktop, pulled out a white chef’s apron, and then draped it over his clothing. “See?”
He seemed to have an answer to everything. She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Are you always so prepared?”
“I try to be. Old Boy Scout habit. You wanna help?”
She shot up from the seat. “Yes.”
“Good. Grab me six eggs from the fridge while I dice the peppers and onions.”
“You got it.”
For the next ten minutes, they worked together in the close confines of the kitchen, and Bo had never felt more at home anywhere. In no time, the eggs and chopped vegetables cooked in the skillet.
“Now, all we need is some fresh grated cheese,” he said.
She attempted to slip by him to grab the cutting boarding at the same time he whirled to open the refrigerator door, and they collided in the narrow space. She wobbled. Drew reached out to grab her by the forearms in an attempt to steady her, bringing his face within a whisper of hers. She inhaled sharply, and he took that as the signal he needed to kiss her again. Braced against the center island, she arched her back, and he followed, deepening their kiss.
She couldn’t get enough of him. His citrus-sandalwood scent surrounded her like a cloud. Conscious of his perfect suit, she allowed her hands to rifle through his hair, but in her clumsiness, she knocked his glasses loose to fall onto her chest. He broke contact with her lips to kiss her throat, and she gasped at the sheer sensuality of his action. While he continued to rain kisses on her fevered flesh, one of his hands snaked between their bodies to snag the stem of the glasses and place them behind her.
His hands roamed lower, cupping her bottom, squeezing, kneading, and she moaned as pleasure washed over her. Then he lifted her, seating her on top of the butcher block. Her ankles hooked behind his back, keeping him pinned, while his lips drew a soft, hot trail from the notch at the center of her throat to the hollow at the top of her cleavage.
Screeeeeeeeech! The sudden blare of the smoke alarm yanked them apart.
“Shit!” Drew whirled to the stove where the eggs and peppers in the skillet had sizzled to a blackened mess.
While he dealt with the smoking pan and the wailing alarm, Bo took advantage of his distraction to get her emotions—and her clothing—back in order. Her button-down shirt hung from her forearms, and her tank lay crumpled around her neck, exposing her tiny pink lacy bra. How in the hell…? The man was gifted, she had to give him that much credit.
Still, the last thing she needed right now was to become romantically involved with a stranger. For God’s sake, she’d known a lot more about Rob before she allowed him to get inside her panties, and in the end, she still hadn’t known enough. She’d have to apply the brakes to whatever Drew expected out of her—right now.
By the time he turned back to her, an apologetic smile on his face, she'd regained control of her heartbeat and managed to convince herself that what just happened could never happen again.
"How do you feel about cold cereal and toast?"
"I'm for it," she said with a grin of her own. As long as it meant no more kitchen shenanigans—or any other shenanigans for that matter.
****
She rose from her chair and leaned her hip against the table edge. “That depends.”
He rinsed the bowls and placed them in the dishwasher. “On what?” He would’ve expected them to be awkward around each other after the burnt offering breakfast. To his surprise, though, she was fun, completely at ease, and he found her attitude sexy as hell. Who was he kidding? He found everything about her sexy as hell.
“Did you bring in my bag last night?”
He nodded.
“Oh, good. Where’d you put it? I have an extra toothbrush in it.”
“You do?” What reasons could she possibly have to keep a toothbrush in what he’d discovered was an enormous toolbox? He said a silent prayer she didn’t use it to clean tile grout and then plan to brush her teeth with it.
She shrugged. “I pull a lot of all-nighters at work, and I like to be prepared. Crazy as it sounds, brushing my teeth sometimes revives me faster than an espresso bullet.”
“Ah.” She said the oddest things. Lucky his lawyer skills had taught him long ago how to keep his expression impassive.
“How about some old clothes I can borrow?”
“Probably. What do you need?”
“Well, I can wear these jeans again,” she said, running her hands down her thighs, “but a good sturdy work shirt would be helpful.”
“I can definitely fix you up with one of my chambrays. Will that do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” She cocked her head, her gaze straying lower. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was studying his crotch. “Boxers or briefs?”
He kicked the dishwasher door closed with the back of his foot and stared at her, agape. “What?”
“Do you wear boxers or briefs?”
“Boxer briefs,” he said.
She seemed to consider this information for a minute then flipped her hair off her shoulder. “Oh, good. Boxers are usually too loose for me.”