by Jenna Sutton
Frowning, Beck scrolled down. A picture of Ava Grace appeared. A black cap covered her bright blond hair, and huge sunglasses hid half her face.
He read the caption: Ava Grace Landy was spotted leaving her doctor’s office in Nashville last week. Sources close to the country star say she’s expecting her first child early next year. The question on everybody’s mind: Who’s the daddy?
Chills prickled Beck’s scalp. With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, he looked up and met his best friend’s gaze.
Gabe arched his eyebrows. “Are you the daddy?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“My daughter is a big fan of yours, Miss Landy.”
Even though Ava Grace’s cheeks ached, she summoned a smile for the short, middle-aged man in front of her. “How old is your daughter?”
“Eighteen. She’s going to the University of Texas this fall.”
“That’s a good school. You should be proud of her.”
Ava Grace had always been good at making small talk with strangers. All she had to do was ask a question, and the conversation flowed from there. It was a skill that came in handy when she interacted with fans.
She plucked a rolled-up poster from the tall cardboard box beside her. “Do you think she’d like an autographed poster for her dorm room?”
The man nodded. “She’d love it.”
“What’s her name?” she asked as she unrolled the poster.
“Ashley.”
Grabbing a metallic marker, she wrote a short note: To Ashley, Study hard. Dream big. Best wishes, Ava Grace.
After capping the marker, she handed the poster to Ashley’s dad.
“Thank you,” he said with a wide smile.
“You’re welcome.” She patted his shoulder. “Try not to worry too much when she goes away.”
He shook his head. “I’m a dad.” He rolled the poster into a long tube. “It’s my job to worry about her.”
“She’s lucky,” she replied sincerely. “Not every girl has a dad who takes his job so seriously.”
My dad didn’t.
After Ashley’s father left, Ava Grace glanced around. The show closed a few minutes ago, and except for her, Beck, and Gabe, the booth was empty. The guys were stacking dirty shot glasses in a plastic dish tub, and she slowly made her way over to them. Although shows like this one could be fun, they also were exhausting.
Her hand was cramped from the hundreds of autographs she’d signed, and even though she’d worn her most comfortable boots, her feet were killing her. She wished she had a man in her life to massage her hands and her feet … among other things.
Noticing a couple of dirty shot glasses on a display, she detoured to grab them. Beck looked up when she approached him and Gabe. She held out the glasses, and as he took them from her, she said, “I’m going to head back to my room.”
Beck glanced toward Gabe. “Can you finish up here, chief?”
“Yep. There’s not much left to do.”
Beck stepped out from behind the blue tub. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
He ushered her forward with a hand on her lower back. As they left the booth, they passed the easel display with a barrel lid that informed everyone of Trinity’s gold medal award in the whiskey category.
Trinity beat all the big distilleries, including Jonah Beck Distillery. The winner had been announced last night at the show’s awards dinner.
“I’m so proud of you, Beck.”
His head snapped sideways. “For what?”
“For winning the gold medal. Gabe told me what a big deal it is—like an athlete winning a gold medal at the Olympics or a singer winning a Grammy.” She nudged her shoulder against his. “I’m impressed.”
His entire face turned as red as a fire truck. Even his ears reddened.
“Thanks,” he muttered, looking down at his feet.
Beck’s response made her think very few people had praised him or acknowledged his hard work. Despite all his accomplishments, he remained humble and worked hard. She liked to think that was something they had in common.
As they approached the hotel lobby, Beck gently grasped her elbow. His fingers were warm and slightly rough, a reminder of how good they’d felt between her legs. Her stomach turned warm and liquid, and she fervently wished she’d packed her vibrator.
Show attendees clogged the spacious lobby, and a couple of guys bumped into her as they hurried toward the revolving doors. Beck draped his arm around her shoulders and brought her close to his side. Although the protective move surprised her, it also sent a thrill through her.
A large group of people were waiting for the elevator. As she and Beck joined them, several men recognized her and murmured her name to their companions. When they pulled out their phones and snapped pictures of her, Beck’s arm tightened around her shoulders, tucking her into his body.
One of the younger guys called out, “Ava Grace, can I have an autograph?”
Before she could reply, Beck drilled the guy with an icy glare. “She’s signed autographs all day,” he growled. “She’s done for now. You can come by the Trinity booth tomorrow and get one.”
The elevator doors opened, and Beck didn’t wait for the people in front of them to enter first. He pushed his way through the crowd, holding her tight against him. Once they were in the cab, he stood in the opening and prevented anyone else from getting on.
She gasped. “That was rude.”
Jabbing the button for their floor, he replied, “They were rude.”
“No, they weren’t,” she countered, shaking her head. “I know you think you were helping me, but you can’t be rude to my fans, especially when they’re polite and respectful.”
He leaned against the back wall of the elevator and crossed his arms over his chest. His olive-colored T-shirt stretched over his biceps, and her eyes locked on those well-defined muscles. She wondered what he did to make them so lickable.
“Maybe you didn’t notice, but you were about to be swarmed by a group of men who’ve been drinking all day.” The Sahara couldn’t have been any drier than his tone. “I’m not going to stand by and let someone hurt you.”
She stared at him, stunned by his words. Goose bumps broke out all over her body, and her knees wobbled like Jell-O.
“Thank you,” she said huskily.
The elevator dinged, and Beck pushed away from the wall. Placing a hand on the edge of the door, he held it open for her. She exited the cab on shaky legs, and he followed.
Their rooms were located at the end of the hall, across from each other, and they made their way down the carpeted corridor side-by-side. Stopping in front of her door, she turned to face him.
“What did you want to talk about?”
He studied her intently. “Are you pregnant?”
His question flustered her so much, she couldn’t do anything but stare at him for a moment. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I saw a bunch of articles and pictures online.”
She shook her head. “It’s just gossip.”
“So you’re not pregnant?”
“No.”
He stared into her eyes as if trying to assess her honesty. “The articles said you were spotted leaving your doctor’s office last week.”
Suddenly, his question made a lot more sense. “Oh.”
His eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “Oh? What does that mean?”
“My dad had an appointment with his neurologist. That’s why I was there. I’ve kept his condition a secret, and there’s an OB/GYN in the building, and everybody immediately jumped to the conclusion I was pregnant. If I were pregnant every time a gossip rag or website said I was, I would have fifty children.”
The stiff line of his shoulders softened, and he exhaled softly. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“What?”
“Doesn’t it bother you when people spread lies about you?”
“Not really. I’m used to it.” She waved her hand. “It’s just harmless gossi
p.”
“It’s not harmless when other people believe the lies.”
She considered his words before nodding. “That’s true. It hurts when people believe the worst of you.”
A tight smile creased his mouth. “Speaking of people believing the worst … Did you see the San Francisco Living article on Trinity?”
“Yes, Gabe showed it to me.”
“He told me what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“To quote Gabe, you saved our bacon. That was the most positive coverage we’ve ever received.”
He moved closer, and she leaned back against her door. The steel was cold through her thin T-shirt, and she shivered.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“You’re welcome.”
He propped his palm on the door over her head, and she clasped her hands behind her, worried she might do something stupid like throw her arms around his neck and tug his mouth down to hers. The last time she’d done that, he hadn’t responded very well.
His eyes darkened until they looked almost black in the corridor’s muted lighting. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”
Her heart stuttered. After all this time, Beck had finally asked her out on a date.
“To thank you for making the article a success,” he added.
All her excitement drained away. He wasn’t asking her out on a date. He was inviting her to a business dinner.
“I can’t have dinner with you tonight. I have plans.”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of plans?”
“Dinner plans.”
“With whom?”
“Shy.”
She planned to pick Shy’s brain about her cookbook. She knew he’d have a lot of great ideas for fresh, fun recipes.
“Your good friend Shy.”
She frowned, confused by the strange note in Beck’s deep voice. “Yes. Shy and I are good friends.”
Quinn’s brother had introduced her to Shy a few months ago. They’d bonded over baked goods, and she’d been a guest on his cooking show a couple of times.
“Are we good friends?”
As she stared into Beck’s eyes, she abruptly realized what he was asking: he wanted to know if she’d had sex with Shy.
Debating whether to tell him what he really wanted to know, she turned toward the door and fumbled in her pocket for her key card. Before she could fish it out, Beck crowded closer, gripping her hips in both hands and pressing his front against her back.
“You didn’t answer my question, sugar.”
“If you’re asking if I’ve had sex with Shy—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he spun her and covered her mouth with his. His lips were warm and firm yet soft too.
Perfect for kissing.
As he licked the underside of her upper lip, her eyelids slid closed, and she fisted his T-shirt in her hands to pull him closer. He turned his attention to her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before giving it a gentle nip.
She opened to him, and he plunged his tongue inside her mouth. She welcomed his aggressive strokes by twining her tongue around his and sucking lightly. He tasted even better than she remembered, like rich, buttery caramel.
She sucked on his tongue, just a little harder, and he moaned. His fingers flexed on her hips before one hand slipped under her T-shirt. He stroked upward over her side until he reached the edge of her bra.
She licked into his mouth, and he cupped his hand over her breast. His palm was so hot she felt the imprint on her skin. He found her nipple, his thumb brushing rhythmically over the tight peak as he thrust his tongue into her mouth.
He tugged down the lacy cup of her bra, and her nipple popped over the top. As he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed gently. When he scraped his nail over the tender bud, ribbons of pleasure unraveled inside her.
Moaning against his lips, she dropped her hand to his erection and pressed her palm against it. With a gasp, he pulled his mouth from hers. He reared back, and she opened her eyes to meet his. They stared at each other, trying to catch their breath.
“Damn,” he cursed hoarsely.
She licked her lips, wanting one last taste of him, and his erection twitched against her palm. She jerked her hand away and tucked it into the front pocket of her jeans.
As she took a deep breath, his thumb accidentally grazed her nipple. Tingles radiated down her spine, and she gasped softly. His fingers flexed around her breast, and her flesh seemed to swell in his hand.
“Damn,” he cursed again before slowly pulling his hand from her shirt.
Looking down, he rubbed the top of his head in agitation. His wavy hair stuck up in the front, and she smoothed the dark strands, savoring the feel of the silky tendrils against her fingers. His head lifted, and she got lost in his intense gaze.
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked.
She hoped he’d admit that he wanted to be with her … that he had feelings for her. He stared at her for a charged moment, but didn’t answer.
“Why did you kiss me, Jonah?”
“Shit.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer,” she shot back, poking him in the chest with her forefinger. “Don’t kiss me again—”
To her surprise, he caught her hand in his, turned it over, and kissed her palm. Little shocks traveled up her arm, and she yanked it away.
This man confused her more than a logic puzzle. He threw her off-balance and made her unsure of herself. She didn’t like it one bit. And his waffling pissed her off. She knew what she wanted, and he needed to get with the program.
“Don’t kiss me again unless you plan to take me to bed,” she snapped.
She heard a deep chuckle, and she and Beck jerked their heads toward the noise. Gabe stood a few feet away, a key card in his hand. He looked back and forth, a wicked glint in his blue eyes.
“Excuse me,” Gabe said, his voice threaded with laughter. “Did I interrupt your discussion?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Beck tossed the suitcase on his bed, unzipped it, and threw back the top. He’d returned from the International Wine & Spirits Show only five days ago, and now he had to leave again.
Chicken jumped up beside the suitcase and stretched out. Beck looked toward his canine best friend.
“Can you believe this bullshit?” he asked Chicken. “I have to go to Los Angeles. Gabe has food poisoning and can’t make the trip. And Ren can’t leave Gatsby on such short notice. The plane takes off in less than two hours.”
Tucking his paws under his body, Chicken laid his head on the bed and gazed unblinkingly at Beck. His tail thumped a steady rhythm against the down comforter.
“I have to go. Gabe says we can’t cancel the meeting with West Coast Wine & Spirits.”
West Coast Wine & Spirits was Trinity’s largest distribution partner. The relationship with the Los Angeles-based company was critical.
“That’s not the only reason I have to go. Ava Grace is the guest star on Roarke tonight. She’s going to be talking about Trinity, and Gabe says someone from the company should be there for moral support.” He shook his head. “I know … Gabe says. What does Gabe know? Nothing. He’s obviously not very smart if he ate sushi from a food truck.”
He glanced at Chicken. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to the kennel. You’re going to stay with Gabe and watch over him while he’s puking his guts out.”
Beck jerked open his sock drawer. “Black socks, black socks, where are you?” he muttered.
Finally, he spotted the elusive socks and tossed a pair toward his suitcase. He missed, and they landed on Chicken, who shot him a baleful glance.
“Sorry, buddy.” He closed his sock drawer. “Underwear, undershirts, socks. What else?”
After adding a T-shirt and Rileys to his suitcase, he made his way to his closet. He looked over his shoulder. “What do you think, Chicken? Do I need to wear a suit to the meeting with West Coast Wine
& Spirits?”
Chicken yawned, and Beck nodded. “I agree. A sports coat and tie should be fine. Now what about the Roarke show?”
Thirty minutes later, Beck was in his Jeep heading to Gabe’s apartment. Chicken sat in the passenger seat, his head hanging out the window.
Realizing his hands were clenched on the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, Beck took a deep breath and loosened his fingers. “Calm down, chief,” he told himself. “You can handle an overnight trip with her.”
But deep down, he worried he couldn’t handle an overnight trip with Ava Grace, not without handling her. He had zero confidence in his intellect and self-control, the two things that made him a reasonable man instead of a wild animal.
He knew Ava Grace wasn’t right for him. He knew he needed to stay away from her. Yet that knowledge hadn’t stopped him from putting his hands and mouth on her when they’d been in Seattle.
He’d replayed everything that happened during the show, over and over until it was a continuous loop in his head. He’d had a tenuous grip on his emotions from the moment he saw her on Sunday night.
His jealously over Andre Shiroc. His anxiety in the hotel lobby when he realized Ava Grace was about to be mobbed by a bunch of drunk guys. His fierce need to protect her … to make sure she was safe.
But it was his reaction to her possible pregnancy that confused and confounded him the most. The realization that he could be the father of Ava Grace’s child made him light-headed with panic.
Then the realization that another man could be the father of her child almost sent him to his knees. Even though he didn’t want to be Ava Grace’s baby daddy, he didn’t want any other man to be either.
He hadn’t planned to ask her to dinner. He hadn’t planned to ask her whether she’d had sex with her good friend Shy. He hadn’t planned to shove his tongue in her mouth and his hand up her shirt.
But he’d done all those things. And he probably would’ve done more if Gabe hadn’t interrupted their kiss.
Beck thought about that kiss too much. The softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the texture of her tongue. And when he wasn’t thinking about that, he fantasized about her breasts. He knew what they felt like in his hands—smooth and plump and firm—but he didn’t know how they looked or how her nipples tasted.