Grin and Beard It (Winston Brothers #2)

by Penny Reid

  “Friends?” Beau’s tone was edged with happy relief. “So you wouldn’t mind if—”

  “I would mind, and you can go make the salad while I show Sienna around.” Jethro then turned us away from where his brothers were gathered, mumbling, “Sorry,” as he led me out of the kitchen and out of the house.

  “Don’t apologize,” I whispered, my lips close to his neck. I squeezed his waist and ignored the way my heart galloped in my chest. Because, honestly? I was pretty much taking this opportunity to feel him up.

  Don’t judge me. You would do it, too.

  His stomach was rock hard and his arm felt strong and steady. He held me so close his beard brushed my temple and upper cheek, the texture sending spikes of loveliness everywhere. And he smelled good. Intoxicatingly. Good.

  “That’s the carriage house.” He pointed at the half-restored building I’d spotted before entering the house. “I’ve gutted the inside. The roof is new as is most of the siding. I’ll have it done in two months.”

  “You’re remodeling it yourself?”

  He didn’t stop for me to take a closer look, instead keeping our pace quick as we walked through the wildflower field I’d been admiring earlier. We were in their backyard, which was immense and backed on to a forest thick with trees. I quickly inspected the wooded area, deciding it would do nicely for privacy. I wanted to talk to him, just talk. I hoped he’d give me a chance to make a pitch for Jethro + Sienna, the sequel.

  “Yes. I just started last month since I’m mostly finished with the big house.”

  “What did you do to the big house?”

  “I refinished the porch in April. Before that I stripped all the original wood moldings, the banister, and cornices, replaced all the windows. The kitchen is new, new granite and cabinets, but I’m waiting on installing the new appliances until this summer. I haven’t updated the bathrooms yet or painted the inside. I want to test out my skills on the carriage house first before I rip up the tile inside the main house and piss everyone off. Plus, I’m not much of a decorator, so I need Ashley—that’s my sister—to help me pick colors and finishings. She and Jess chose the exterior paint. Duane and Beau had the big house painted in one week. I ordered enough so the carriage house will match.”

  “Wow. That sounds like a lot of work.”

  He shrugged, not looking at me but continuing to hold me close to his side. “To be honest, I enjoy it. The carpentry and refinishing parts especially. It’s been neglected for so long, I like making the old place new again.”

  We fell into a contemplative silence even though our steps were hurried. I surmised he wasn’t walking fast on purpose but rather hadn’t yet realized how quickly we were moving. We were almost at the edge of the field when I sensed he was about to turn us back to the house. Not wanting to return yet, I stiffened my arm, slowing our pace, and subtly steering us toward the forest.

  Now was the time for my pitch. I was far too impatient to wait until after dinner. Better to know as soon as possible whether he’d definitely friend-zoned me. I was more adept at hiding disappointment than I was at hiding hope.

  Clearing my throat, I announced, “I want to thank you for inviting me.”

  His eyes cut to mine and he lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t invite you. Cletus did.”

  I angled my chin and slipped on one of my more seductive smiles. “I guess I should thank Cletus, then.”

  His eyes narrowed. “No need to thank Cletus. I’m the one making dinner. You can thank me.”

  “How should I thank you?” I deepened my voice, pretty sure he would catch the general direction of my thoughts.

  Jethro’s pace slackened as we entered the forest, the thick undergrowth hiding us from the view of the house.

  “A simple thank you should suffice.”

  I gathered a breath for courage and made my pitch. “Is that all you want from me? Because I’m prepared to offer more.”

  His steps faltered and I glanced tentatively at his profile, trying to read his expression. Before I could, Jethro’s hand fell from my hip. He crossed his arms and walked ten paces away to a tall pine tree, giving me his back.

  I watched him for a long moment, disoriented at first. As time wore on, I began to suspect the distance he’d put between us was my answer. Heart plummeting to my feet, I was glad he’d given me his back. I was having trouble assuming a mask of friendly indifference. So much trouble I doubted I’d be able to recite the words necessary for us to transition into the friend-zone.

  In fact, I doubted I’d be able to friend-zone Jethro at all. He would exist in a new zone, one entirely of his own, where I would think of him often, and with longing wretchedness. Or was it wretched longing?

  His shoulders rose and fell with an audible sigh, and then he turned, again offering just his profile. His smile was pleasant but flat. Jethro uncrossed his arms, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

  “This is the national park.” He tilted his head, indicating to the forest surrounding us. “This house has been in the family for over one hundred years. We have fifteen acres here. Or rather, I should say, I have fifteen acres. The house and the land belong to me as the oldest. I inherited it last year, along with some other . . . stuff.”

  I nodded slowly, still absorbed by my disgruntlement but grateful for the subject change. “It’s a beautiful home.”

  “It is.” He faced me, the lines of his features serious, his eyes searching. “I’m hoping to raise a brood of kids in this house, on this land.”

  I watched him as he watched me, getting the sense he was trying to impart something important without having to come out and actually say it. I frowned when I couldn’t figure out what he wasn’t saying.

  He continued to scrutinize me, like it was my turn to speak, so I said, “You should. This is an ideal environment for raising children. I had a lot of room to run around when I was growing up and loved it.”

  His frown mirrored mine, the intensity of which seemed to increase the longer we stared at each other.

  At last he said, “I like you . . . a whole lot.” The way he said these last words left me in no doubt of how much he liked me, but then he followed them up with, “But I’m sorry if I misled you, or made you think I was available for a fling during your time here. The fact is, I’m not. I can’t see us being suited.”

  “You don’t think we’re suited?” My heart was all over the place. It had made a U-turn on its way to my feet when he said he liked me, bypassed my stomach, and now was lodged in my throat.

  “As much as I wish things were different, no. No, I don’t think we’re suited.”

  “Is it because I can’t read maps?” I squeaked the joke, because I was a bundle of new nerves.

  His lips tugged to the side and something behind his composure wavered. “No. I think I could help you with that, truth be told.”

  “Then why?” I tried to swallow but my stubborn heart wouldn’t budge. “Was it because I let you think my name was Sarah? Because—”

  “No. Like I said before, I understand why you did that. The main problem is that you’re young and you’re wildly successful.”

  “I’m not too young for you,” I contradicted, a little louder than I’d intended, taking a half step forward. “Six years isn’t a big difference.”

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s not the number. It’s the difference in life situation.”

  “So you think you’re what? Old and a failure?”

  He cracked a grin at the unadorned frustration in my rhetorical question, his gaze reminding me of a caress as it moved over my lips and neck.

  “No. I’m not old, and I’m not a failure. But you’re not just successful. You’re world famous.”

  “And you don’t want to be with someone who is world famous.” The words tasted bitter as they left my mouth.

  “No, Sienna. That’s not it, either. Your fame doesn’t frighten me. Although, if I’m honest with myself, it was overwhelming when I saw it firsthand. The real issue
is that I might be good at my job, but I’ll never be near as wildly successful at my job as you are with yours. And that’s fine by me. My ambitions aren’t career-oriented, they’re family-oriented. If I have wild success, and I hope I do, it’ll be as a husband and father, a brother and an uncle. It might not make a lot of sense to you, but I can’t start something, invest in someone, I know from the get-go is going to be temporary.”

  I could only blink at him, trying my best to absorb his words.

  Meanwhile, he shifted on his feet, his eyes darting over me and added, “I would want forever with you . . . or at least a shot at it.”

  As he finished his speech, a soft, resigned smile hovering over his handsome lips and behind his eyes, I had one thought: Could he be any more amazing?

  Really. I wanted to know. Could he?

  I would want forever with you.

  Oh my dear mother of all swoony sighs—this! So. Much. This.

  Instead of asking him whether or not his amazing level was at maximum, and without giving his speech the responsible consideration it likely deserved, I allowed my melodramatic nomadic heart to veto all deliberations. “Okay.”

  Because, honestly? Forever with Jethro, in this gorgeous house, in this secluded and beautiful part of the world sounded like perfection. It sounded like everything I never knew I wanted, but in this moment felt with absolute certainty was where I belonged.

  It also might’ve been seasoned with a dash of escapism, but I pushed that inconvenient thought away.

  “Okay.” He nodded once, as though things were settled. And yet, he looked a little sad. Why does he look sad?

  “Okay,” I said again, closing the distance between us, my hands on my hips. When I reached Jethro, I pressed a kiss to his mouth, just a quick taste, because I couldn’t help myself. His lips were soft and hot and perfect. But I touched him nowhere else. It’s just . . . he had fantastic lips. My heart skipped back to my chest at the thought of this being the first of many kisses. “Let’s do this.”

  His eyes were olive green today with gold flecks around the irises, and they looked confused. “Do what?”

  “Let’s do this thing.” I pointed between the two of us. “Let’s do this not-temporary thing.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  I gestured to the house behind him. “I love your house. I’d like a tour. And if you have a sex dungeon, I’d like a chance to mentally prepare for the sex swing, but I can totally see raising our theoretical kids here. In case you haven’t noticed, I have birthing hips, so that’s a bonus. But you need a playground back here.” I gestured to the meadow with a flick of my wrist. “Also, I must warn you, at some point my abuela will pressure you into converting to Catholicism. And all our daughters will have a quinceañera, but we’ll cross those giant dresses when we come to them.”

  The creases in his features smoothed while I spoke, and his stare adopted an edge of wonder. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.” I was.

  And yet he appeared to be torn. “Sienna . . .”

  “Jethro.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “No. I don’t, not yet. And you don’t know me. But you didn’t ask me to marry you. You asked that I not approach a relationship with you as something temporary. You asked for a shot at forever, and I’m asking for the same thing from you.”

  His hands went to his hips. His eyes moved over my features like this might be the last time we’d be this close. “You’re a movie star. A celebrity with millions of fans.”

  “And you’re a wildlife ranger who traps giant, dangerous black bears for a living and acts like it’s no big deal. Tell me that doesn’t sound like a heaping helping of crazy, with bizarre gravy, and a slice of mashed loco for Cocoa Puffs.”

  His breathing and the teetering look in his gaze told me I almost had him. Almost. Something was holding him back. He just needed one more push . . .

  “These stockings are thigh highs,” I abruptly announced. “Want to see?” Not waiting for his response, I took a step back and lifted my skirt, showing him where the tops of the stockings met my upper legs.

  I glanced up to find Jethro’s eyes locked on my legs, his gaze growing hotter.

  Excellent.

  “And the panties match,” I volunteered, biting my bottom lip and drawing his darkened gaze back to mine.

  He reached for me and stilled my hands before I could show him the underwear, too. His mouth curved in a reluctant and wicked grin. He split his attention between my lips and eyes. “You are very bad.”

  “Am I?” Once again, I felt abruptly winded. “I’m stunned. I thought I was very good.”

  “Oh, you’re good.” His eyebrows bounced once and his voice deepened to a rumble. “You’re just also very bad.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” I couldn’t wait to find out.

  Holding my gaze and towering over me, he gained the step I’d taken, then several more until my back connected with a large tree trunk. He placed his hands on either side of my legs and lifted the skirt, his fingertips connecting with the skin just above my stockings. With an achingly light touch, he drew small circles on my legs, inching the skirt higher and higher until I was breathless with anticipation.

  “You’re going to be my girl,” he growled, nipping at my jaw.

  “No.” I shook my head, evading his mouth and correcting with, “I’m going to be your woman.”

  He grinned again, that predatory flash I’d seen earlier returned. His eyes dropped to my breasts where they were pressed against his chest. “Does the bra match, too?”

  I nodded. He groaned, capturing my mouth with a searing, urgent kiss.

  His hands drifted higher on my thighs, sending sparks of heat shooting up my spine and low in my belly. Moving his fingers to the front, he encouraged me to spread my legs with his knee. His knuckles rubbed lightly back and forth over my center, still covered in white lace. Hot and needy, I tilted my hips forward as my head fell back, my hands fisting in his shirt, and I gasped for air.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He sounded awed, out of breath. I opened my eyes, wanting to see him, and found his gaze devouring, cherishing. “You’re a fantasy.”

  “I assure you, I’m very real.” My hands stroked down the front of his chest, enjoying how his body, still sadly encased in clothing, tightened under my fingertips as my touch drifted lower. When I reached his belt he caught my wrist and bent his head to my neck.

  “Don’t,” he growled. “I want you.” The words were tortured, as much an admission as a warning.

  And the ferocity of his statement sobered me, woke me from the impassioned thoughtlessness of my actions. Because as much as I’d planned to flirt and tease him into agreeing to see me again, I hadn’t planned on this. The force of my longing, this intoxicating pull between us, the internal debate warring within me—have sex against the tree or have sex on the ground? It’s not that dirty . . .

  Yes?

  Please?

  Who was this woman? I didn’t even recognize myself.

  At most I thought maybe we’d make out, kiss a lot, grope a little. I hadn’t been prepared for what it would be like to actually be touched by him. As with all things, Jethro was capable, straightforward, and in control . . . until his control had slipped, and so had mine, and desperation and passion threatened to overtake sense.

  So I swallowed and closed my eyes, made myself breathe in and out, and brought my hands to his shoulders. I tried to ignore the hard length of him pressing against my stomach.

  “We should take things slow.” The statement meant to convince us both. As we’d just agreed, this wasn’t a fling, not for either of us. We had plenty of time.

  He nodded once, kissing the skin beneath my ear and making me squirm. Withdrawing his fingers from between my legs, Jethro gripped my thighs, his hands still under my skirt, as though he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching me.

  Eventually, he lifted his head. The friction of his beard,
paired with his hot breath against the exposed skin of my neck, left me trembling.

  Jethro studied me with a heavily-lidded gaze, and I almost took back my words of caution. Almost. Because his stare seemed dark with dirty thoughts.

  I was curious. So, so, so curious. So I demanded, “Write it down.”

  “Pardon?” His voice was gravelly, somnolent as though I’d woken him.

  “Whatever you’re thinking right now, write it down. Because when the time comes, we should totally do that.”

  His eyes moved between mine, dazed lust giving way to amusement. “Really? Even if it involves the sex swing in my dungeon?”

  I wagged my eyebrows and—again because I couldn’t help myself—pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Most especially if it involves the sex swing in your dungeon.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.”

  ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

  ~Jethro~

  “You haven’t stopped smiling since returning from your walk,” my sister whispered, drawing my attention from where Sienna was charming Duane and Drew across the deck—having already charmed Beau, Cletus, and Roscoe—to Ashley’s wide eyes. “Did something happen between you and the delightful Ms. Diaz?”

  Ashley, Drew, and Roscoe had arrived during my extremely gratifying walk with Sienna. We’d all had dinner out on the deck behind the house due to the gorgeous weather. Of course, I’d also wanted to show off as many views of the house and property as possible.

  Now most everybody was sitting at the two picnic tables on the raised deck. Billy and Drew were off to one side, both too big for a crowded table.

  Ashley and I stood by the cooler. I was grabbing another beer, but she had tracked me down to tease and gossip.

  I tried to wipe the grin from my face, but it was no use. I couldn’t. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ashley.”

  She quietly snorted and took a step closer, her voice dropping to a soft accusing whisper. “You are a lying liar. You two can’t stop looking at each other, and she blushes like a pole-dancing virgin every time your eyes meet.”